3: "Independence Or Death"
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The restoration of Ferdinand VII to his throne in 1814 encouraged
the liberals of Spain, no less than the loyalists of Spanish
America, to hope that the "old King" would now grant a new
dispensation. Freedom of commerce and a fair measure of popular
representation in government, it was believed, would compensate
both the mother country for the suffering which it had undergone
during the Peninsular War and the colonies for the trials to
which loyalty had been subjected. But Ferdinand VII was a typical
Bourbon. Nothing less than an absolute reestablishment of the
earlier regime would satisfy him. On both sides of the Atlantic,
therefore, the liberals were forced into opposition to the crown,
although they were so far apart that they could not cooperate
with each other. Independence was to be the fortune of the
Spanish Americans, and a continuance of despotism, for a while,
the lot of the Spaniards.
As the region of the viceroyalty of La Plata had been the first
to cast off the authority of the home government, so it was the
first to complete its separation from Spain. Despite the fact
that disorder was rampant everywhere and that most of the local
districts could not or would not send deputies, a congress that
assembled at Tucumán voted on July 9, 1816, to declare the
"United Provinces in South America" independent. Comprehensive
though the expression was, it applied only to the central part of
the former viceroyalty, and even there it was little more than an
aspiration. Mistrust of the authorities at Buenos Aires,
insistence upon provincial autonomy, failure to agree upon a
particular kind of republican government, and a lingering
inclination to monarchy made progress toward national unity
impossible. In 1819, to be sure, a constitution was adopted,
providing for a centralized government, but in the country at
large it encountered too much resistance from those who favored a
federal government to become effective.
In the Banda Oriental, over most of which Artigas and his
horsemen held sway, chaotic conditions invited aggression from
the direction of Brazil. This East Bank of the Uruguay had long
been disputed territory between Spain and Portugal; and now its
definite acquisition by the latter seemed an easy undertaking.
Instead, however, the task turned out to be a truly formidable
one. Montevideo, feebly defended by the forces of the Government
at Buenos Aires, soon capitulated, but four years elapsed before
the rest of the country could be subdued. Artigas fled to
Paraguay, where he fell into the clutches of Francía, never to
escape. In 1821 the Banda Oriental was annexed to Brazil as the
Cisplatine Province.
Over Paraguay that grim and somber potentate, known as "The
Supreme One"—El Supremo—presided with iron hand. In 1817
Francía set up a despotism unique in the annals of South America.
Fearful lest contact with the outer world might weaken his
tenacious grip upon his subjects, whom he terrorized into
obedience, he barred approach to the country and suffered no one
to leave it. He organized and drilled an army obedient to his
will. When he went forth by day, attended by an escort of
cavalry, the doors and windows of houses had to be kept closed
and no one was allowed on the streets. Night he spent till a late
hour in reading and study, changing his bedroom frequently to
avoid assassination. Religious functions that might disturb the
public peace he forbade. Compelling the bishop of Asuncion to
resign on account of senile debility, Francía himself assumed the
episcopal office. Even intermarriage among the old colonial
families he prohibited, so as to reduce all to a common social
level. He attained his object. Paraguay became a quiet state,
whatever might be said of its neighbors!
Elsewhere in southern Spanish America a brilliant feat of arms
brought to the fore its most distinguished soldier. This was José
de San Martín of La Plata. Like Miranda, he had been an officer
in the Spanish army and had returned to his native land an ardent
apostle of independence. Quick to realize the fact that, so long
as Chile remained under royalist control, the possibility of an
attack from that quarter was a constant menace to the safety of
the newly constituted republic, he conceived the bold plan of
organizing near the western frontier an army—composed partly of
Chilean refugees and partly of his own countrymen—with which he
proposed to cross the Andes and meet the enemy on his own ground.
Among these fugitives was the able and valiant Bernardo
O'Higgins, son of an Irish officer who had been viceroy of Peru.
Cooperating with O'Higgins, San Martín fixed his headquarters at
Mendoza and began to gather and train the four thousand men whom
he judged needful for the enterprise.
By January, 1817, the "Army of the Andes" was ready. To cross the
mountains meant to transport men, horses, artillery, and stores
to an altitude of thirteen thousand feet, where the Uspallata
Pass afforded an outlet to Chilean soil. This pass was nearly a
mile higher than the Great St. Bernard in the Alps, the crossing
of which gave Napoleon Bonaparte such renown. On the 12th of
February the hosts of San Martín hurled themselves upon the
royalists entrenched on the slopes of Chacabuco and routed them
utterly. The battle proved decisive not of the fortunes of Chile
alone but of those of all Spanish South America. As a viceroy of
Peru later confessed, "it marked the moment when the cause of
Spain in the Indies began to recede."
Named supreme director by the people of Santiago, O'Higgins
fought vigorously though ineffectually to drive out the royalists
who, reinforced from Peru, held the region south of the capital.
That he failed did not deter him from having a vote taken under
military auspices, on the strength of which, on February 12,
1818, he declared Chile an independent nation, the date of the
proclamation being changed to the 1st of January, so as to make
the inauguration of the new era coincident with the entry of the
new year. San Martín, meanwhile, had been collecting
reinforcements with which to strike the final blow. On the 5th of
April, the Battle of Maipo gave him the victory he desired.
Except for a few isolated points to the southward, the power of
Spain had fallen.
Until the fall of Napoleon in 1815 it had been the native
loyalists who had supported the cause of the mother country in
the Spanish dominions. Henceforth, free from the menace of the
European dictator, Spain could look to her affairs in America,
and during the next three years dispatched twenty-five thousand
men to bring the colonies to obedience. These soldiers began
their task in the northern part of South America, and there they
ended it—in failure. To this failure the defection of native
royalists contributed, for they were alienated not so much by the
presence of the Spanish troops as by the often merciless severity
that marked their conduct. The atrocities may have been provoked
by the behavior of their opponents; but, be this as it may, the
patriots gained recruits after each victory.
A Spanish army of more than ten thousand, under the command of
Pablo Morillo, arrived in Venezuela in April, 1815. He found the
province relatively tranquil and even disposed to welcome the
full restoration of royal government. Leaving a garrison
sufficient for the purpose of military occupation, Morillo sailed
for Cartagena, the key to New Granada. Besieged by land and sea,
the inhabitants of the town maintained for upwards of three
months a resistance which, in its heroism, privation, and
sacrifice, recalled the memorable defense of Saragosa in the
mother country against the French seven years before. With
Cartagena taken, regulars and loyalists united to stamp out the
rebellion elsewhere. At Bogotá, in particular, the new Spanish
viceroy installed by Morillo waged a savage war on all suspected
of aiding the patriot cause. He did not spare even women, and one
of his victims was a young heroine, Policarpa Salavarrieta by
name. Though for her execution three thousand soldiers were
detailed, the girl was unterrified by her doom and was earnestly
beseeching the loyalists among them to turn their arms against
the enemies of their country when a volley stretched her lifeless
on the ground.
Meanwhile Bolívar had been fitting out, in Haiti and in the Dutch
island of Curaçao, an expedition to take up anew the work of
freeing Venezuela. Hardly had the Liberator landed in May, 1816,
when dissensions with his fellow officers frustrated any prospect
of success. Indeed they obliged him to seek refuge once more in
Haiti. Eventually, however, most of the patriot leaders became
convinced that, if they were to entertain a hope of success, they
must entrust their fortunes to Bolívar as supreme commander.
Their chances of success were increased furthermore by the
support of the llaneros who had been won over to the cause of
independence. Under their redoubtable chieftain, José Antonio
Páez, these fierce and ruthless horsemen performed many a feat of
valor in the campaigns which followed.
Once again on Venezuelan soil, Bolívar determined to transfer his
operations to the eastern part of the country, which seemed to
offer better strategic advantages than the region about Caracas.
But even here the jealousy of his officers, the insubordination
of the free lances, the stubborn resistance of the loyalists—
upheld by the wealthy and conservative classes and the able
generalship of Morillo, who had returned from New Granada—made
the situation of the Liberator all through 1817 and 1818
extremely precarious. Happily for his fading fortunes, his hands
were strengthened from abroad. The United States had recognized
the belligerency of several of the revolutionary governments in
South America and had sent diplomatic agents to them. Great
Britain had blocked every attempt of Ferdinand VII to obtain help
from the Holy Alliance in reconquering his dominions. And
Ferdinand had contributed to his own undoing by failing to heed
the urgent requests of Morillo for reinforcements to fill his
dwindling ranks. More decisive still were the services of some
five thousand British, Irish, French, and German volunteers, who
were often the mainstay of Bolívar and his lieutenants during the
later phases of the struggle, both in Venezuela and elsewhere.
For some time the Liberator had been evolving a plan of attack
upon the royalists in New Granada, similar to the offensive
campaign which San Martín had conducted in Chile. More than that,
he had conceived the idea, once independence had been attained,
of uniting the western part of the viceroyalty with Venezuela
into a single republic. The latter plan he laid down before a
Congress which assembled at Angostura in February, 1819, and
which promptly chose him President of the republic and vested him
with the powers of dictator. In June, at the head of 2100 men, he
started on his perilous journey over the Andes.
Up through the passes and across bleak plateaus the little army
struggled till it reached the banks of the rivulet of Boyaca, in
the very heart of New Granada. Here, on the 7th of August,
Bolívar inflicted on the royalist forces a tremendous defeat that
gave the death blow to the domination of Spain in northern South
America. On his triumphal return to Angostura, the Congress
signalized the victory by declaring the whole of the viceroyalty
an independent state under the name of the "Republic of Colombia"
and chose the Liberator as its provisional President. Two years
later, a fundamental law it had adopted was ratified with certain
changes by another Congress assembled at Rosario de Cucuta, and
Bolívar was made permanent President.
Southward of Colombia lay the viceroyalty of Peru, the oldest,
richest, and most conservative of the larger Spanish dominions on
the continent. Intact, except for the loss of Chile, it had found
territorial compensation by stretching its power over the
provinces of Quito and Charcas, the one wrenched off from the
former New Granada, the other torn away from what had been La
Plata. Predominantly royalist in sentiment, it was like a huge
wedge thrust in between the two independent areas. By thus
cutting off the patriots of the north from their comrades in the
south, it threatened both with destruction of their liberty.
Again fortune intervened from abroad, this time directly from
Spain itself. Ferdinand VII, who had gathered an army of twenty
thousand men at Cádiz, was ready to deliver a crushing blow at
the colonies when in January, 1890, a mutiny among the troops and
revolution throughout the country entirely frustrated the plan.
But although that reactionary monarch was compelled to accept the
Constitution of 1819, the Spanish liberals were unwilling to
concede to their fellows in America anything more substantial
than representation in the Cortes. Independence they would not
tolerate. On the other hand, the example of the mother country in
arms against its King in the name of liberty could not fail to
give heart to the cause of liberation in the provinces oversea
and to hasten its achievement.
The first important efforts to profit by this situation were made
by the patriots in Chile. Both San Martín and O'Higgins had
perceived that the only effective way to eliminate the Peruvian
wedge was to gain control of its approaches by sea. The Chileans
had already won some success in this direction when the fiery and
imperious Scotch sailor, Thomas Cochrane, Earl of Dundonald,
appeared on the scene and offered to organize a navy. At length a
squadron was put under his command. With upwards of four thousand
troops in charge of San Martín the expedition set sail for Peru
late in August, 1820.
While Cochrane busied himself in destroying the Spanish blockade,
his comrade in arms marched up to the very gates of Lima, the
capital, and everywhere aroused enthusiasm for emancipation. When
negotiations, which had been begun by the viceroy and continued
by a special commissioner from Spain, failed to swerve the
patriot leader from his demand for a recognition of independence,
the royalists decided to evacuate the town and to withdraw into
the mountainous region of the interior. San Martín, thereupon,
entered the capital at the head of his army of liberation and
summoned the inhabitants to a town meeting at which they might
determine for themselves what action should be taken. The result
was easily foreseen. On July 28, 1821, Peru was declared
independent, and a few days later San Martín was invested with
supreme command under the title of "Protector."
But the triumph of the new Protector did not last long. For some
reason he failed to understand that the withdrawal of the
royalists from the neighborhood of the coast was merely a
strategic retreat that made the occupation of the capital a more
or less empty performance. This blunder and a variety of other
mishaps proved destined to blight his military career.
Unfortunate in the choice of his subordinates and unable to
retain their confidence; accused of irresolution and even of
cowardice; abandoned by Cochrane, who sailed off to Chile and
left the army stranded; incapable of restraining his soldiers
from indulgence in the pleasures of Lima; now severe, now lax in
an administration that alienated the sympathies of the
influential class, San Martín was indeed an unhappy figure. It
soon became clear that he must abandon all hope of ever
conquering the citadel of Spanish power in South America unless
he could prevail upon Bolívar to help him.
A junction of the forces of the two great leaders was perfectly
feasible, after the last important foothold of the Spaniards on
the coast of Venezuela had been broken by the Battle of Carabobo,
on July 24, 1821. Whether such a union would be made, however,
depended upon two things: the ultimate disposition of the
province of Quito, lying between Colombia and Peru, and the
attitude which Bolívar and San Martín themselves should assume
toward each other. A revolution of the previous year at the
seaport town of Guayaquil in that province had installed an
independent government which besought the Liberator to sustain
its existence. Prompt to avail himself of so auspicious an
opportunity of uniting this former division of the viceroyalty of
New Granada to his republic of Colombia, Bolívar appointed
Antonio José de Sucre, his ablest lieutenant and probably the
most efficient of all Spanish American soldiers of the time, to
assume charge of the campaign. On his arrival at Guayaquil, this
officer found the inhabitants at odds among themselves. Some,
hearkening to the pleas of an agent of San Martín, favored union
with Peru; others, yielding to the arguments of a representative
of Bolívar, urged annexation to Colombia; still others regarded
absolute independence as most desirable. Under these
circumstances Sucre for a while made little headway against the
royalists concentrated in the mountainous parts of the country
despite the partial support he received from troops which were
sent by the southern commander. At length, on May 24, 1822,
scaling the flanks of the volcano of Pichincha, near the capital
town of Quito itself, he delivered the blow for freedom. Here
Bolívar, who had fought his way overland amid tremendous
difficulties, joined him and started for Guayaquil, where he and
San Martín were to hold their memorable interview.
No characters in Spanish American history have called forth so
much controversy about their respective merits and demerits as
these two heroes of independence—Bolívar and San Martín. Even
now it seems quite impossible to obtain from the admirers of
either an opinion that does full justice to both; and foreigners
who venture to pass judgment are almost certain to provoke
criticism from one set of partisans or the other. Both Bolívar
and San Martín were sons of country gentlemen, aristocratic by
lineage and devoted to the cause of independence. Bolívar was
alert, dauntless, brilliant, impetuous, vehemently patriotic, and
yet often capricious, domineering, vain, ostentatious, and
disdainful of moral considerations—a masterful man, fertile in
intellect, fluent in speech and with pen, an inspiring leader and
one born to command in state and army. Quite as earnest, equally
courageous, and upholding in private life a higher standard of
morals, San Martín was relatively calm, cautious, almost taciturn
in manner, and slower in thought and action. He was primarily a
soldier, fitted to organize and conduct expeditions, rather than,
a man endowed with that supreme confidence in himself which
brings enthusiasm, affection, and loyalty in its train.
When San Martín arrived at Guayaquil, late in July, 1822, his
hope of annexing the province of Quito to Peru was rudely
shattered by the news that Bolívar had already declared it a part
of Colombia. Though it was outwardly cordial and even effusive,
the meeting of the two men held out no prospect of accord. In an
interchange of views which lasted but a few hours, mutual
suspicion, jealousy, and resentment prevented their reaching an
effective understanding. The Protector, it would seem, thought
the Liberator actuated by a boundless ambition that would not
endure resistance. Bolívar fancied San Martín a crafty schemer
plotting for his own advancement. They failed to agree on the
three fundamental points essential to their further cooperation.
Bolívar declined to give up the province of Quito. He refused
also to send an army into Peru unless he could command it in
person, and then he declined to undertake the expedition on the
ground that as President of Colombia he ought not to leave the
territory of the republic. Divining this pretext, San Martín
offered to serve under his orders—a feint that Bolívar parried
by protesting that he would not hear of any such self-denial on
the part of a brother officer.
Above all, the two men differed about the political form to be
adopted for the new independent states. Both of them realized
that anything like genuine democracies was quite impossible of
attainment for many years to come, and that strong
administrations would be needful to tide the Spanish Americans
over from the political inexperience of colonial days and the
disorders of revolution to intelligent self-government, which
could come only after a practical acquaintance with public
concerns on a large scale. San Martín believed that a limited
monarchy was the best form of government under the circumstances.
Bolívar held fast to the idea of a centralized or unitary
republic, in which actual power should be exercised by a life
president and an hereditary senate until the people, represented
in a lower house, should have gained a sufficient amount of
political experience.
When San Martín returned to Lima he found affairs in a worse
state than ever. The tyrannical conduct of the officer he had
left in charge had provoked an uprising that made his position
insupportable. Conscious that his mission had come to an end and
certain that, unless he gave way, a collision with Bolívar was
inevitable, San Martín resolved to sacrifice himself lest harm
befall the common cause in which both had done such yeoman
service. Accordingly he resigned his power into the hands of a
constituent congress and left the country. But when he found that
no happier fortune awaited him in Chile and in his own native
land, San Martín decided to abandon Spanish America forever and
go into self-imposed exile. Broken in health and spirit, he took
up his residence in France, a recipient of bounty from a Spaniard
who had once been his comrade in arms.
Meanwhile in the Mexican part of the viceroyalty of New Spain the
cry of independence raised by Morelos and his bands of Indian
followers had been stifled by the capture and execution of the
leader. But the cause of independence was not dead even if its
achievement was to be entrusted to other hands. Eager to emulate
the example of their brethren in South America, small parties of
Spaniards and Creoles fought to overturn the despotic rule of
Ferdinand VII, only to encounter defeat from the royalists. Then
came the Revolution of 1820 in the mother country. Forthwith
demands were heard for a recognition of the liberal regime.
Fearful of being displaced from power, the viceroy with the
support of the clergy and aristocracy ordered Agustín de
Iturbide, a Creole officer who had been an active royalist, to
quell an insurrection in the southern part of the country.
The choice of this soldier was unfortunate. Personally ambitious
and cherishing in secret the thought of independence, Iturbide,
faithless to his trust, entered into negotiations with the
insurgents which culminated February 24, 1821, in what was called
the "Plan of Iguala." It contained three main provisions, or
"guarantees," as they were termed: the maintenance of the
Catholic religion to the exclusion of all others; the
establishment of a constitutional monarchy separate from Spain
and ruled by Ferdinand himself, or, if he declined the honor, by
some other European prince; and the union of Mexicans and
Spaniards without distinction of caste or privilege. A temporary
government also, in the form of a junta presided over by the
viceroy, was to be created; and provision was made for the
organization of an "Army of the Three Guarantees."
Despite opposition from the royalists, the plan won increasing
favor. Powerless to thwart it and inclined besides to a policy of
conciliation, the new viceroy, Juan O'Donojú, agreed to ratify it
on condition—in obedience to a suggestion from Iturbide—that
the parties concerned should be at liberty, if they desired, to
choose any one as emperor, whether he were of a reigning family
or not. Thereupon, on the 28th of September, the provisional
government installed at the city of Mexico announced the
consummation of an "enterprise rendered eternally memorable,
which a genius beyond all admiration and eulogy, love and glory
of his country, began at Iguala, prosecuted and carried into
effect, overcoming obstacles almost insuparable"—and declared
the independence of a "Mexican Empire." The act was followed by
the appointment of a regency to govern until the accession of
Ferdinand VII, or some other personage, to the imperial throne.
Of this body Iturbide assumed the presidency, which carried with
it the powers of commander in chief and a salary of 120,000
pesos, paid from the day on which the Plan of Iguala was signed.
O'Donojú contented himself with membership on the board and a
salary of one-twelfth that amount, until his speedy demise
removed from the scene the last of the Spanish viceroys in North
America.
One step more was needed. Learning that the Cortes in Spain had
rejected the entire scheme, Iturbide allowed his soldiers to
acclaim him emperor, and an unwilling Congress saw itself obliged
to ratify the choice. On July 21, 1822, the destinies of the
country were committed to the charge of Agustin the First.
As in the area of Mexico proper, so in the Central American part
of the viceroyalty of New Spain, the Spanish Revolution of 1820
had unexpected results. Here in the five little provinces
composing the captaincy general of Guatemala there was much
unrest, but nothing of a serious nature occurred until after news
had been brought of the Plan of Iguala and its immediate outcome.
Thereupon a popular assembly met at the capital town of
Guatemala, and on September 15, 1821, declared the country an
independent state. This radical act accomplished, the patriot
leaders were unable to proceed further. Demands for the
establishment of a federation, for a recognition of local
autonomy, for annexation to Mexico, were all heard, and none,
except the last, was answered. While the "Imperialists" and
"Republicans" were arguing it out, a message from Emperor Agustin
announced that he would not allow the new state to remain
independent. On submission of the matter to a vote of the
cabildos, most of them approved reunion with the northern
neighbor. Salvador alone among the provinces held out until
troops from Mexico overcame its resistance.
On the continents of America, Spain had now lost nearly all its
its possessions. In 1822 the United States had already acquired
East Florida on its own account, led off in recognizing the
independence of the several republics. Only in Peru and Charcas
the royalists still battled on behalf of the mother country. In
the West Indies, Santo Domingo followed the lead of its sister
colonies on the mainland by asserting in 1821 its independence;
but its brief independent life was snuffed out by the negroes of
Haiti, once more a republic, who spread their control over the
entire island. Cuba also felt the impulse of the times. But,
apart from the agitation of secret societies like the "Rays and
Suns of Bolívar," which was soon checked, the colony remained
tranquil.
In Portuguese America the knowledge of what had occurred
throughout the Spanish dominions could not fail to awaken a
desire for independence. The Prince Regent was well aware of the
discontent of the Brazilians, but he thought to allay it by
substantial concessions. In 1815 he proceeded to elevate the
colony to substantial equality with the mother country by joining
them under the title of "United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil, and
the Algarves." The next year the Prince Regent himself became
King under the name of John IV. The flame of discontent,
nevertheless, continued to smolder. Republican outbreaks, though
quelled without much difficulty, recurred. Even the reforms which
had been instituted by John himself while Regent, and which had
assured freer communication with the world at large, only
emphasized more and more the absurdity of permitting a feeble
little land like Portugal to retain its hold upon a region so
extensive and valuable as Brazil.
The events of 1820 in Portugal hastened the movement toward
independence. Fired by the success of their Spanish comrades, the
Portuguese liberals forthwith rose in revolt, demanded the
establishment of a limited monarchy, and insisted that the King
return to his people. In similar fashion, also, they drew up a
constitution which provided for the representation of Brazil by
deputies in a future Cortes. Beyond this they would concede no
special privileges to the colony. Indeed their idea seems to have
been that, with the King once more in Lisbon, their own liberties
would be secure and those of Brazil would be reduced to what were
befitting a mere dependency. Yielding to the inevitable, the King
decided to return to Portugal, leaving the young Crown Prince to
act as Regent in the colony. A critical moment for the little
country and its big dominion oversea had indubitably arrived.
John understood the trend of the times, for on the eve of his
departure he said to his son: "Pedro, if Brazil is to separate
itself from Portugal, as seems likely, you take the crown
yourself before any one else gets it!"
Pedro was liberal in sentiment, popular among the Brazilians, and
well-disposed toward the aspirations of the country for a larger
measure of freedom, and yet not blind to the interests of the
dynasty of Braganza. He readily listened to the urgent pleas of
the leaders of the separatist party against obeying the
repressive mandaes of the Cortes. Laws which abolished the
central government of the colony and made the various provinces
individually subject to Portugal he declined to notice. With
equal promptness he refused to heed an order bidding him return
to Portugal immediately. To a delegation of prominent Brazilians
he said emphatically: "For the good of all and the general
welfare of the nation, I shall stay." More than that, in May,
1822, he accepted from the municipality of Río de Janeiro the
title of "Perpetual and Constitutional Defender of Brazil, " and
in a series of proclamations urged the people of the country to
begin the great work of emancipation by forcibly resisting, if
needful, any attempt at coercion.
Pedro now believed the moment had come to take the final step.
While on a journey through the province of Sao Paulo, he was
overtaken on the 7th of September, near a little stream called
the Ypiranga, by messengers with dispatches from Portugal.
Finding that the Cortes had annulled his acts and declared his
ministers guilty of treason, Pedro forthwith proclaimed Brazil an
independent state. The "cry of Ypiranga" was echoed with
tremendous enthusiasm throughout the country. When Pedro appeared
in the theater at Río de Janeiro, a few days later, wearing on
his arm a ribbon on which were inscribed the words "Independence
or Death," he was given a tumultuous ovation. On the first day of
December the youthful monarch assumed the title of Emperor, and
Brazil thereupon took its place among the nations of America.
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