ctions. Only the
regiment led by the undaunted Santiago endeavoured to cover the
retreat, and at last it too fled.

Not so their brave leader; he remained on the field. I found him
later, with a hole in his side and a nasty gash across the face. He
was not dead, however, and with assistance I carried him to the
village, where a surgeon dressed his wounds. Then I returned to my
regiment.

"It's all over!" cried Alzura exultantly. "The viceroy is taken
prisoner, and Canterac has come to sue for terms. He is with Sucre
now."

"Where is Plaza?"

"Just gone to find poor Cordova. It's hard lines to drop off in the
moment of victory. And the war is over now; the Royalists will never
lift their heads again."

This was not quite correct, as a few still held out in other parts of
the country, but they were powerless to do any real mischief. This
battle of Ayacucho--or Battle of the Generals, as we called it--secured
the independence of Peru. Fourteen Spanish generals, some of them the
most famous in South America, gave up their swords; nearly six hundred
officers and most of the rank and file became prisoners of war.

Late that evening I went to see Santiago. He lay on a bench in a
miserable hut, where several wounded officers had been brought for
shelter. Two small earthen lamps gave a feeble light, barely
sufficient for us to see each other's faces. I bent over him, and
choked back the sob that would rise in my throat. We neither of us
tried to gloze over the truth. He was dying, and we both knew it.

"I am glad you have come," he whispered. "It will soon be over, and I
am not sorry; I have tried to do my best."

"Indeed you have, old fellow; friend and foe alike are loud in your
praise."

"I have been loyal to my king; I have done my duty," he continued, not
heeding the interruption. "Life is precious, Juan, but honour is the
first thing. My name is unstained. I die as I have lived, a cavalier
of Spain!"

That thought cheered him as he took his last and long journey. He was
young and handsome and well beloved; he had fair estates and hosts of
friends; he might have risen high in the councils of his nation; but
death, stern and unyielding, claimed him, and he braced himself to meet
it.

"Thank God!" he murmured; "I die with a clear conscience."

I stayed with him till nearly midnight, when he became unconscious.
Then having work to do, I sorrowfully went away. Next morning, on my
way to th