"After this victory our people began to feel the stirrings of independence from Spain itself, and a spirit of revolution took hold of the officials and people. At last, an open revolt took place in the Plaza Mayo, on the twenty-fifth day of May, 1810, and under the leadership of splendid men--patriots all of them--our independence was declared.
"But this was only the first step, just as it was with the great republic of the United States when on the fourth of July they declared their independence from England. So our twenty-fifth of May was but the beginning of a long struggle. A _Junta_ was formed to govern, but it was no easy task. To the north were Uruguay, Paraguay and Bolivia; to the west Chile and Perú; all Spanish colonies. The _Junta_ sent troops to these countries to endeavour to arouse the people to throw off the yoke. They sent General Belgrano to--"
"Oh! Belgrano! I know about him, Uncle. His tomb is in the little square in front of the church in Calle Defensa, and it was he who originated our flag. He said the long blue bars were to represent our faithfulness, as true as the beautiful blue of our skies; and the white bar was to symbolize our honour, spotless and fair."
"Yes. Well, he went first to Paraguay; but the Spaniards had so intermarried with the Paraguayan Indians, whom they had found in that wild country, that they did not respond to the stirring appeal of General Belgrano. He, however, succeeded in some of the northern provinces, and thus encouraged, they organized a small navy. Do you know who was our first admiral? No? Well, it was an Englishman and his name was William Brown.
"With this navy, Montivideo, the capital of Uruguay, was taken. Enthusiasm ran high, and it was just here that Don José de San Martín came into the light of publicity, as commander-in-chief of the army. Now let us take the automobile, awaiting us over in front of the house, and ride to the Cathedral where the remains of our hero rest, and I will tell you more about him there."
They rode along the clean streets, the fresh morning air blowing straight into their faces, the curious, sing-song cries of the street venders following them as they sped along Calle Florida.
"Uncle Juan, why is it that most of these street peddlers are Italians? See, there goes an onion-man with his long strings of onions, their stalks knit together into yard lengths; there is a vegetable cart; there is a vender of fruit, and all of them speaking broken Spanish with an Italian accent."