The two clerks, or, The orphan's gratitude :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was in the early summer of 1821, and
near the town of Carabobo the army of the
South American republicans, under Bolivar,
had encamped, awaiting the command of
their general to attempt the dislodgement of
the enemy from their entrenchments in the
almost impregnable mountain-fastnesses.

Around a watchfire, at one of the outposts,
a party of Republican officers were engaged
in conversation.

“You are certain that Paez is in Varinas?”
asked a tall officer in the uniform of Bolivar's
staff, of another, whose bluff, careless air,
plainly discovered him to be one of the trans-atlantic
adventurers who had joined the army,
and whose valor had mainly contributed
to its success

“Ay, by me sowl,” answered he, with a

rich Irish brogue; “and with as fine a set of
barelegged llaneros, as ever throttled a wild-bull.
Och! he's a broth of a by, that same
Paez. But when does the gineral intind to
make a clane swape of the dirty blackguards
up there?” continued the Irishman, pointing
with his sword, to the far-off fires in the
mountains, “Mr. Diego?”

“At day-break,” answered Don Diego,—
“and you are on the vanguard.”

“Thank his excellency for that same,”
said the Irishman. “Who leads?”

“The General himself.”

“Before Paez comes up, Mr. Diego?”

“Se, Senor O'Callagan,” said a voice, and
another officer advanced towards them.

“Ah, how are you, Major Mina? good
luck to you; where's our young frind, the
liftinant?”

“He is here,” said Mina, and at the same
moment a young officer made his appearance,
beneath whose white plume, still shone
the blue eyes of Henry Fowler. “I am
here, my good O'Callagan,” giving his hand
to the officer. “And Major Mina,” said he,
turning to one whom the reader will recognize
as the captain whose life Henry had
saved in the streets of Boston, “We are on
the attack to-morrow.”

“Ah, 'tis well, amigo. We must prepare,
buonos noches cavalero,” said he, touching
his cap to Captain O'Callagan.

“Swate slape till the trumpit sounds,” answered
the captain. And Mina left the
watchfire.

“Captain,” said Henry, as he seated himself,
“I have something to request of you?”

“And you can do that, my darlint, asily?”

“You have always, since I joined the army
of Bolivar, expressed an interest in me.”

“Niver mind that, me young soldier, sure
aren't you a 'Mirican of the ould states of
Washington?” asked O'Callagan, using a
term by which the South American Republicans
designated the North American Union.

“But you have never heard why I left the
States, and it is time you should,” said Fowler,
and he proceeded to narrate to his Irish
friend the story of his life, up to the time we
left him.

“It was through the influence of Captain
Mina,” continued he, “that I have become
the favorite with our general, and an officer
of his staff.

“When we arrived at Callao, the castles
were still in the possession of the Spaniards,
and Captain Mina resolved then to put into
operation a plan he had long contemplated;
to join the Republicans, and strike one blow,
at least, for the freedom of his country. But
he generously gave me my choice to proceed
with him to the camp, or remain in a situation
which he would procure me in one of the
seaports. I had but one desire—to win an
honorable name—and I resolved to follow
him. We arrived at the camp; you were
the first, my dear captain, to take by the
hand the young volunteer—”

“Yes, and a lucky take it was for me,
maybe you forget the sabre-cut that you got
instead of meself at the battle of Coronas.”

“No matter for that, captain. But what
I ask of you is this, as I may not survive to-morrow's
action; will you bear the tidings of
my fate to my friends—my sister?”

“Och! don't be talking of dying; ye're
worth twinty dead min, yet, me young liftinant.”

“But I may fall, captain, and Mina may
never again visit North America. Will you
promise me, captain?”

“It's I that'll do whativer you ask,” said
the captain. “But don't spake of dying;
for if a dirty bullet should be after shaping
its course for you, by St. Patrick! it must
first make a hole in Dinnis O'Callagan.”

“Thanks! my kind friend,” said Fowler,
as he drew his cloak around him, and returned
to the General's quarters.

The morning had not yet broken, when
the army of Bolivar was in motion. Paez
was still in Varinas, and it was not probable
he would come up with the main army in
season to join in the attack, with his mountain
llaneros. Nevertheless General Bolivar
determined to attempt the passage of the
heights, and Cedeno was despatched to reconnoitre.
General La Torre, the Spanish
commander, had entrenched himself strongly
among the almost inaecessible cliffs, and defended
in person the only pass through the
mountains—a Thermopylæ which a handful
might have defended, and which the numbers

of the Spaniards seemed to make indeed
impregnable.

“We shall have hot work, captain,” said
Fowler.

“Throth, I think it; you're in the van?”

“With the staff.”

“Thin I'll be near ye. But, gallop!
there's the trumpit,” and putting spurs to
their horses, the two friends parted.

There was in Bolivar's army, a battalion
composed entirely of English and Irish, in
which Captain O'Callagan held his command.
Fowler, through the influence of his
friend Mina, and his knowledge of the language,
for which he was also indebted to the
instructions of the major, had obtained a
place near the person of Bolivar, as a lieutenant
of the general's staff.

The attack commenced. Oh, it was a
glorious sight! those brave men, mounting
the rocks with steady march, in the teeth of
the deadly and masked batteries. Rank after
rank was swept away by the fiery hail, and
still the trumpet sounded the attack.

At once La Torre and his grenadiers
emerged from among the rocks. Like a torrent
he bore down upon the assailants! Back
—back they rolled! Only one firm phalanx
withstood the rushing stream. It was the
Irish battalion, and the clear voice of O'Callagan
rose high above the din of the fray.

“Stiddy, my boys! strike for the honor
uv the green Isle!”

“Strike for the name of the three kingdoms!”
cried a brave Englishman to his
countrymen; “back, and drive the Spanish
dogs to their kennels!”

“Strike for the glory of the Stars and
Stripes!” shouted a Kentuckian, where a
small band, from Yankee-land, from the middle
States, and from the West, sustained the
hottest of the assault.

As the rock withstands the lashing waves,
the brave battalion kept back the advancing
Spaniards. La Torre himself led on his
men, but in vain. Far down the mountain
fled the scattered Republicans, in wild disorder.
But still the brave foreigners, behind
a rampart of their dead comrades, maintained
the unequal battle.

Bolivar, from a height, and surrounded by
his staff, surveyed the rout of his native
troops. He saw the battalion of foreigners
make its gallant stand, and his heart revived
again. “Forward, gentlemen, to the rescue!”
shouted he, waving his sword, and
plunging from the height. Mina and Fowler
dashed after the general. They gained
the ravine, and Cedeno met them.

“All is lost!”

“Back, back, ye cowards!” shouted Bolivar,
as he passed the flying throngs; “shall
the strangers achieve our freedom?”

The scattered Republicans rallied at the
trumpet-tones of their leader's voice.

Bolivar dashed forward, into the melee,
followed by the animated troops. The plain
of Tinaquillo presented one vast battle-field.
Foot to foot, breast to breast—the opposing
forces fought, and disputed every inch of
ground. At once a rush—a sweep—and the
General was separated from his officers. A
Spaniard's sword waved over his head—a
bullet struck the neck of his horse, and the
brave steed staggered beneath his master.—
Mina sprang forward, and a sabre-cut brought
him to the earth. The General's fate seemed
certain; a dozen bayonets were at his breast,
the hail of musket-balls fell fast around him.

“To the rescue!” shouted Henry Fowler
to the Irish captain, who, forced to retreat
from the rocks, had just reached the scene;
“Bolivar is in danger.”

“Come on, thin,” was the response of
O'Callagan, and together they plunged to
the rescue of the chief. A timely stroke levelled
a Spaniard who had aimed his knife at
the back of Bolivar, and enabled the General
to mount the horse of the lieutenant. Taking
the fallen Mina in their arms the Republican
officers now fought their retreat, while
the enemy, elated with their success, pressed
on with new vigor.

At once a trumpet was heard far up in the
mountains. It was the signal-blast of Paez,
who stopping not to join the army of Cedeno
and Anzuategui, had dashed boldly on to
dispossess the Spaniards of the heights.—
Like a hurricane he swept at the head of his
wild llaneros through the dangerous pass.
The frowning batteries stopped not his course.
On he dashed, and the terror-stricken foe,
fled far before him. It was his blast of victory
that Bolivar heard in the mountains.—
The battle was gained, and La Torre completely

routed, ere the Commander-in-chief
was aware that Paez had passed him.

A glorious scene, the plain of Tinaquillo
preseated the morning after the battle of Calabobo.
The host of La Torre were scattered,
and the banners of liberty waved from
every height, that was crowned the day before
by the batteries of the Royalists.

“Senor Americano,” said the General; “I
owe my life to you; you are a captain; henceforth,
be this your country, and Bolivar your
friend forever!

“To the brave Paez, Republican soldiers,
we owe this day's victory. On the field of
battle I make him major-general of the army
of liberty.

“To you, brave, undaunted foreigners,”
continued Bolivar, turning to O'Callagan,
and the English and Irish troops, who were
drawn up behind the staff, “For you, let
your brave band be forever called `the Battalion
of Carabobo.”

A shout rose up, from the troops, and the
voice of O'Callagan cried, “long live Bolivar.”