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Title: The war maker
Being the true story of Captain George B. Boynton
Author: Horace Smith
Photographer: Pirie MacDonald
Release date: April 11, 2024 [eBook #73378]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co, 1911
Credits: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAR MAKER ***
THE WAR MAKER
BEING THE
TRUE STORY OF CAPTAIN GEORGE B. BOYNTON
[Illustration: Photo by Pirie MacDonald]
THE
WAR MAKER
BEING THE TRUE STORY OF
CAPTAIN GEORGE B. BOYNTON
By
HORACE SMITH
WITH PORTRAIT
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1911
Published March, 1911
W. F. Hall Printing Company
Chicago
NOTE
The hero of this book was a real man, though he has carried to his
grave the secret of his true name. It was not Boynton, although it is
known that he was born in Fifth Avenue, near Fourteenth Street, New
York, May 1, 1842, and that his father was a distinguished surgeon,
with an estate on Lake Champlain. He rarely talked of his remarkable
life, and recounted in detail to the author of this volume the facts of
his career of adventure, only in the closing months of his life.
Captain Boynton was of the type of filibuster that is read of so
often, but rarely met with in life. He was a tall, bronzed, athletic,
broad-shouldered man, one of the most picturesque and daring of the
many soldiers of fortune who have sought adventures over the world.
From Hongkong to Valparaiso fighters of all races knew the name of
Boynton. From Cape Horn to New York he did not permit himself to be
forgotten. Whether exploring the sources of the Orinoco, or hunting
elusive supporters for a deserted American President, or battling in
the Haytian army, or spying out court secrets in Venezuela, or running
a distillery in Brooklyn with Jim Fisk as partner, he was invariably
master of himself and continually a personality to be reckoned with.
Captain Boynton was the original of the “Soldier of Fortune” in Richard
Harding Davis’s story of that name, and gave to Guy Boothby the facts
of his novel “The Beautiful White Devil,” with which dashing heroine
Captain Boynton was on terms of intimacy. In the account of his life
given in this volume fictitious names have in two or three instances
been used for persons still living who figured in business deals with
him. Otherwise the story is told almost identically as Captain Boynton
narrated it to the author.
After escaping death in scores of forms, including a Chinese pirate’s
cutlass, an assassin’s dagger, the fire of a file of soldiers at
sunrise, and war’s guns, this utterly fearless, cheerfully arrogant
retired blockade runner, revolutionist, and hunter of pirates died
peacefully in his bed, at a ripe age, on January 19, 1911, in New York
City, where he had led a quiet life since 1905, when he voluntarily
left Venezuela, after withstanding repeated efforts by President Castro
to drive him from the country.
H. S.
New York,
_Jan. 25, 1911_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
A Soldier of Fortune’s Creed 9
I Under Fire the First Time 13
II Filibustering for the Cubans 34
III In League with the Spanish Pretender 54
IV Lawless Latin America 78
V The Marooning of a Traitor 102
VI A Swift Vengeance 121
VII Preying on Pirates 140
VIII “The Beautiful White Devil” 165
IX A Death Duel with a Pirate King 193
X The Burial of the “Leckwith” 217
XI Stealing a British Ship 243
XII A Land of Mystery and Murder 264
XIII Adventures on the Nile 289
XIV Rapid-Fire Revolts 327
XV Revolution as a Fine Art 357
XVI At War with Castro 387
A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE’S CREED
Throughout my life I have sought adventure over the face of the
world and its waters as other men have hunted and fought for gold or
struggled for fame. The love of it, whether through the outcropping
of a strain of buccaneer blood that had been held in subjection by
generations of placid propriety or as a result of some freak of
prenatal suggestion, was born in me, deep-planted and long-rooted.
Excitement is as essential to my existence as air and food. Through
it my life has been prolonged in activity and my soul perpetuated in
youth; when I can no longer enjoy its electrification, Death, as it is
so spoken of, will, I hope, come quickly.
To get away from the flat, tiresome, beaten path and find conditions or
create situations to gratify the clamorous demand within me has ever
been my compelling passion. I have served, all told, under eighteen
flags and to each I gave the best that was in me, even though some of
them were disappointing in their failure to produce a pleasing amount
of excitement. In following my natural bent, which I was powerless, as
well as disinclined, to interfere with or alter, to the full length of
my capabilities, it perhaps will be considered by some people that
I have gone outside of written laws. To such a contention my answer
is that I have always been true to my own conscience, which is the
known and yet the unknown quantity we all must reckon with, and to my
country. In the transportation of arms with which to further fights
for freedom or fortune I have flown many flags I had no strictly legal
right to fly, over ships that were not what they pretended to be nor
what their papers indicated them to be, but never have I taken refuge
behind the Stars and Stripes, nor have I ever called on an American
minister or consular officer to get me out of the successive scrapes
with governments, but most often with misgovernments, into which my
warring wanderings have carried me. Red-blooded love of adventure, free
from any wanton spirit and with the prospect of financial reward always
subordinated, has been the driving force in all of my encounters with
good men and bad, with the latter class much in the majority. Therefore
I have only scorn for sympathy and contempt for criticism, nor am I
troubled with uncanny visions by night nor haunting recollections by
day.
There is just one point in my philosophy which I wish to make
clear before the Blue Peter is hoisted, and that is that most of
the so-called impossibilities we encounter are simply disguised
opportunities. Because they are regarded as impossible they are not
guarded against and are therefore comparatively easy of accomplishment
when they really are possible, as most of them are. Acceptance of this
theory, with which every student of the history of warfare will agree,
will help to explain my ability to do some of the things which will be
told of, that the thoughtless would promptly put down as impossible.
The name by which I am known is one of the contradictions of my
life. Save only for my father, who sympathized with my adventurous
disposition at the same time that he tried to curb it, I was at war
with my family almost from the time I could talk. I am a Republican
in politics from the fact that they were active supporters of James
Buchanan, and I became a Southern sympathizer simply because they were
bitterly opposed to slavery. When I left home to become an adventurer
around the globe I buried my real name and I do not propose to uncover
it, here or hereafter. I am proud, though, of the fact that my family
is descended from a King of Burgundy; for since reaching years of
discretion, though I have been as loyal to the United States as any man
since 1865, I never have believed in a republican form of government.
In the course of my activities I have used many names in many lands,
but that of Boynton, which had been in the family for years, stuck to
me until I finally adopted it, prefixing a “George” and a “B.,” which
really stands for “Boynton.” I made it my business to forget, as soon
as they had served my purpose, the different names I took in response
to the demand of expediency, but I remember that Kinnear and Henderson
were two under which I created some comment on opposite sides of the
world.
THE WAR MAKER
CHAPTER I
UNDER FIRE THE FIRST TIME
I was born on May 1, 1842, on Fifth Avenue, New York, not a long way
north of Washington Square. My father was a distinguished surgeon and
owned a large estate on Lake Champlain, where most of my youthful
summers were spent. I had three brothers and two sisters; but not for
many years have I known where they are, or whether alive or dead.
After having had a private tutor at home I was educated by jumps at
the Hinesburgh, Vermont, Academy; at the old Troy Conference Academy
at Poultney, Vermont, and at the Burlington, Vermont, Academy, where,
young as I was, I became deeply interested in the study of medicine,
for which I had inherited a pronounced liking; that was the one point
on which I seemed to fit in with the family. I did not stay a great
while at any institution because of my success in leading the other
students into all sorts of dare-devil pranks, to the detriment of
discipline and the despair of the dominies. As an evidence of the
inclining twig I remember, with still some feeling of pride, that
during one of my last summers on Lake Champlain I organized fifteen
boys of the neighborhood into an expedition against the Indians of the
far West. We were equipped with blankets stolen from our beds, three
flasks of powder, and nearly one hundred pounds of lead, which was to
be moulded into bullets for the extermination of the redskins of the
world. As Commander-in-Chief I carried the only pistol in the party but
we expected to seize additional arms on the way to the battlefields.
I had scouts ahead of us and on both flanks and by avoiding the roads
and the bank of the lake we managed to evade capture until the third
day, although the whole countryside was searching for us, in rather
hysterical fashion.
After a somewhat scattered series of escapades, which increased
the ire of the family and intensified my dislike of their prosaic
protestations, my father solemnly declared his intention of sending me
to the United States Naval Academy. It was his idea, as he expressed
it, that the discipline which prevailed there would be sufficient to
restrain me and at the same time my active imagination would find a
vent in my inborn love of the sea. I was delighted with this promised
realization of my boyhood dream, for it seemed to me that the career
of a naval officer presented greater possibilities of adventure than
any other. Former Congressman George P. Marsh, of Burlington, Vermont,
an old friend of the family, who afterward was sent to Italy as
American Minister and died there, arranged to secure my appointment
to Annapolis, and I entered a preparatory school to brush up on the
studies required by the entrance examination. The machinery to procure
my appointment had been set in motion and I was ready to take the
examination when the opening gun of the Civil War was fired at Fort
Sumter, on April 12, 1861.
I was immediately seized with a wild desire to be in the fight, but my
father would not consent to it, on account of my age. He would not hear
to my going into the army as a private but promised that if I would
wait a year, and was still of the same mind, he would try to get me a
commission. As I have said, my sympathies were with the South but it
was more convenient for me to take the other side, and at that moment
I was not particular about principles. The family were duly horrified
one evening when I went home, after some things I needed, and told them
I had enlisted. The next day my father bought my discharge and hustled
me out to the little town of Woodstock, Illinois, where I was placed
in charge of an uncle who was abjured to keep me from going to war,
without regard to anything else that might happen. He prevented me from
joining an infantry regiment which was then forming but I got away
with a cavalry regiment which was raised in that section some months
later, and was made one of its officers. We went to Cairo, Illinois,
and from there by transport to Pittsburg Landing, where we arrived just
in time to take part in the battle which was fought on April 6 and 7,
1862. My regiment was pitted against the famous Black Horse Cavalry of
Mississippi and we came together at the gallop. I was riding a demon of
a black horse and, with the bit in his teeth, he charged into the line
two or three lengths ahead of the rest. A Confederate officer came at
me with his sabre raised. I ducked my head behind my horse’s neck and
shot him between the eyes, but just as my pistol cracked his sword cut
through my horse’s head to the brain and the point of it laid open my
right cheek, from the ear almost to the chin. The horse fell on my leg
and held me there, unconscious. In the evening I was picked up and sent
to the general hospital, where I stayed for three weeks.
When I was discharged from the hospital I was too weak for active
service so I was sent into the Tennessee mountains in charge of a
detachment to intercept contraband which was being sent into the South
from Cincinnati. We had been there about ten days when, early in the
morning, one of the patrols brought in a fine-looking young man, who
had been arrested as a spy. There was a refinement about the prisoner
that aroused my suspicions, and during the day I satisfied myself that
“he” was a woman. While she would not acknowledge her identity, I had
reason to believe, and always have been sure in my own mind, that she
was none other than Belle Boyd, the famous Confederate spy. I was
born with a fondness for women, which then was strong within me, and
besides, my heart was with her cause. Therefore it is without apology
that I say I arranged things so that she escaped the next night through
a window in the shed in which she was confined.
Soon after my return to headquarters I contracted a bad case of
malaria and was sent home, which meant back to Woodstock, where I had
eloped with a banker’s daughter just before going to the front. I was
disgusted with the war and I expressed myself so freely, and was so
outspoken in my sympathy for the South, that I made myself extremely
unpopular in a very short time. It probably is true, too, as was
charged against me, that I swaggered around a lot and presumed on
the reputation I had made. At any rate the people set their hearts on
hanging me for being a “damned copperhead,” and they might have done it
if old man Wellburn, the proprietor of the hotel at which my wife and I
were staying, had not helped me to stand off a mob that came after me.
I met them at the door with a revolver in each hand and Wellburn was
right behind me with quite an arsenal. They suggested that I come out
and renounce my principles and make certain promises, or be hanged at
the liberty pole. I told them I would renounce nothing and promise less.
“If I am a copperhead,” I told them, “I am a fighting copperhead, while
you are neither kind. If you want a fight why don’t you go to the front
and get it, instead of staying home and making trouble for a better
man, who has fought and bled for the cause you are shouting about? If
you prefer a fight here, come on and get it. I’ve got twelve shots here
and there will be just thirteen of us in hell or heaven if you try to
make good your threat.”
Old Wellburn was known as a fighter and the sight of his weapons added
weight to my words, so the crowd concluded to let me have my way about
it, and dispersed. That experience intensified my dissatisfaction with
the whole business and I sent in my resignation. It was accepted, and
when I had thought it all over I considered that I was lucky to have
escaped a court-martial. It was fortunate for me that Governor “Dick”
Yates and my father were warm friends. The Governor was thoroughly
disgusted with the way I had conducted myself, but he stood by me.
I then moved to Chicago, with my wife. She had a small fortune and I
had come into considerable money on my twentieth birthday, so we were
in easy circumstances. I bought a vinegar works on Kinzie Street; but
the dull routine of business was repulsive to me and I sold it in less
than a year, after having operated it at a handsome profit, and went on
to New York. We stopped at the old St. Nicholas, at Broadway and Spring
Street, which was the fashionable hotel in those days.
I was looking for anything that promised excitement. I had heard that
Carlos Manuel de Cespedes was fomenting a revolt in Cuba,--afterward
known as the “Ten Years’ War,”--and had conceived the idea of taking
a hand in it. To my disappointment, I found that no Junta had been
established in this country, nor, so far as I could discover, were
there any responsible men in New York who were connected with the
revolution. While I was wondering how I could get into communication
with Cespedes my interest was aroused by a newspaper story of the
new blockade runner “Letter B,” which had made one round trip from
Bermuda to Beaufort, North Carolina, and was being looked for again
by the Federal fleet. The “Letter B”--its name a play on words--was a
long, low, powerful, schooner-rigged steamship, built by Laird on the
Mersey. Though classed as a fifteen-knot ship she could do sixteen
or seventeen, fast going at that time. The story which attracted my
attention told all about her and said there was so much money in
blockade running that the owners could well afford to lose her after
she had made three successful trips.
In five minutes I decided to become a blockade runner and to buy the
new and already famous ship, if she was to be had at any price within
reason. I bought a letter of credit and took the next ship for Bermuda.
On my arrival there I found that the “Letter B” had been expected in
for several days from her second trip and that there was considerable
anxiety about her. I also learned that her owner was building a second
ship on the same lines and for the same trade. A fresh cargo of
munitions of war was awaiting the “Letter B,” and a ship was ready to
take to England the cotton she would bring. I got acquainted with the
agent for the blockade runner and, after making sure that he had an
ample power of attorney from her owner, offered to buy her and take
the chance that she might never come in. He was not disposed to sell,
at first, and wanted me to wait until the arrival of her owner, Joseph
Berry, who was daily expected from England.
After waiting and talking with the agent for several days I said to him
one morning: “It looks as though your ship has been captured or sunk.
I’ll take a gambler’s chance that she hasn’t and will give you fifty
thousand dollars for her and twenty-five thousand dollars for the cargo
that is waiting for her; you to take the cargo she brings in. I’ll give
you three hours to think it over.”
I figured that the waiting cargo of arms was worth a couple of thousand
dollars more than my offer but it looked as though I was taking a
long chance with my offer for the ship. However, I had a “hunch,” or
whatever you want to call it, that she was all right, and I never have
had a well-defined “hunch” steer me in anything but a safe course,
wherefore I invariably heed them. At the expiration of the time limit
there was not a sign of smoke in any direction and the agent accepted
my proposition. In half an hour I had a bill of sale for the ship and
the warehouse receipts for the cargo of war supplies. At sunset that
day a ship came in from England with the former owner. He criticised
his agent sharply at first, but found some consolation in the fact that
the vessel he was building would soon go into commission. When two more
days passed with no sign of the anxiously looked for ship Mr. Berry
concluded that he had all the best of the bargain and complimented his
agent on his shrewdness.
On the third day the “Letter B” came tearing in, pursued at long range
by the U. S. S. “Powhatan,” which proceeded to stand guard over the
harbor, keeping well offshore on account of the reefs and shoals that
were under her lee. The “Letter B” discharged a full cargo of cotton
and was turned over to me. While her cargo of arms was going in I went
over her carefully and found her in excellent condition and ready to go
right back. She was unloaded in twelve hours and all of her cargo was
safely stowed in another forty-eight hours. I took command of her, with
John B. Williams, her old captain, as sailing master, and determined to
put to sea at once. I knew the “Powhatan” would not be looking for us
so soon and planned to catch her off her guard.
There was then no man-of-war entrance to the harbor and it was
necessary to enter and leave by daylight. With the sun just high enough
to let us get clear of the reefs before dark, and with the “Powhatan”
well offshore and at the farthest end of the course she was lazily
patrolling, we put to sea. The “Powhatan” saw us sooner than I had
expected she would and started to head us off, but she was not quick
enough. The moment she swung around I increased our speed to a point
which the pilot loudly swore would pile us up on the rocks, but it
didn’t, and when we cleared the passage we were all of four miles in
the lead. As I had figured, the “Powhatan” did not suppose we would
come out for at least a week and was cruising slowly about with fires
banked, so it took her some time to get up a full head of steam. She
fired three or four shots at us but they fell far short. As soon as it
was dark, with all of our lights doused, we turned and headed a little
south of west so as to come up to Charleston, South Carolina, which
was my objective point, from the south. At sunrise we had the ocean to
ourselves.
I started in at once to master practical navigation, the theory of
which I knew, and to familiarize myself with the handling of a ship.
I stood at the wheel for hours at a time and almost wore out the
instruments taking reckonings by the sun and the stars. Navigation came
to me naturally, for I loved it, and in three days I would have been
willing to undertake a cruise around the world with a Chinese crew.
We arrived off Charleston late in the afternoon and steamed up close
inshore until we could make out the smoke of the blockading fleet,
standing well out, in a semicircle. Then we dropped back a bit and
anchored. All of the conditions shaped themselves to favor us. It was a
murky night with a hard blow, which came up late in the afternoon, and
when we got under way at midnight a good bit of a sea was running. With
the engines held down to about half speed, but ready to do their best
in a twinkling, we headed for the harbor, standing as close inshore as
we dared go. We passed so close to the blockading ship stationed at the
lower end of the crescent that she could not have depressed her guns
enough to hit us even if we had been discovered in time, but she did
not see us until we had passed her. Then she let go at us with her bow
guns and while they did no damage, we were at such close quarters that
their flash gave the other ships a glimpse of us as we darted away at
full speed. They immediately opened on us but, after the first minute
or two, it was a case of haphazard shooting with all of them. They
knew how they bore from the channel and, making a guess at the proper
allowance for our speed, they blazed away, hoping for the best but
fearing the worst. The first shells exploded close around us and some
of the fragments came aboard but no one was injured. When I saw where
they were firing I threw my ship farther over toward Sullivan’s Island,
where she could go on account of her light draft, and sailed quietly
along into the harbor at reduced speed. At daylight we went up to the
dock and were warmly welcomed.
Before the second night was half over we had everything out of her and
a full cargo of cotton aboard and we steamed out at once. I knew the
blockaders would not expect us for at least four days and we surprised
them just as we had surprised the “Powhatan” at Bermuda. It was a thick
night and we sailed right through the fleet, at half speed so as better
to avoid detection, but prepared to break and run for it at the crack
of a gun, without a shot being fired or an extra light shown. As soon
as we were clear of the line we put on full speed and three days later
we were safe at Turk’s Island, the most southerly and easterly of the
Bahama Islands, off the coast of Florida, which I had selected as a
base of operations. Though these islands ought long ago to have come
under the Stars and Stripes, as they eventually must, they are still
owned by England, and in those days they were a haven and a clearing
house for the outsiders who were actively aiding the Confederacy--for a
very substantial consideration. Most of the blockade runners, including
the “Banshee,” “Siren,” “Robert E. Lee,” “Lady Stirling” and other
famous ships, were operating out of Nassau, which had the advantage of
closer proximity to the chief Southern ports, being within six hundred
miles of Charleston and Wilmington. Turk’s Island was nine hundred
miles away, but I never have believed in following the crowd. It is my
rule to do things alone and in my own way, as must be the practice of
every man who expects to succeed in any dangerous business. It is no
part of my philosophy to become a party to a situation in which I may
suffer from the mistakes of others or in which others are likely to
get into trouble through any fault of mine. The popularity of Nassau
caused it to be closely watched by the Federal cruisers that patrolled
the Gulf Stream, while the less important islands to the south and east
were practically unguarded.
Though precarious for the men who made them so, those were plenteous
days for the Bahamas, compared with which the rich tourist toll since
levied on the then hated Yankees is but small change. The fortunes
yielded by blockade running seemed made by magic, so quick was the
process. Cotton that was bought in Charleston or Wilmington for ten
cents a pound sold for ten times as much in the Bahamas and there
were enormous profits in the return cargoes of military supplies.
The captains and crews shared in the proceeds and the health of the
Confederacy was drunk continuously, and often riotously. By the time I
projected myself temporarily into this golden atmosphere of abnormal
activity, running the blockade had become more of a business and less
of a romance than it was in the reckless early days of the war. The
fleet was made up of fast ships of light draft, especially built to
meet the needs and dangers of the trade, and they were so much faster
than the warships which hunted them that the percentage captured was
relatively very small.
Before leaving Bermuda I had ordered a cargo of munitions of war sent
to Turk’s Island. We had to wait nearly a month for this shipment to
arrive but the time was well spent in overhauling the engines and
putting the “Letter B” in perfect condition.
My second trip to Charleston furnished a degree of excitement that
exalted my soul. While we were held up at Turk’s Island the blockading
fleet had been strengthened and supplemented by several small and fast
boats which cruised around outside of the line. Without knowing this
I had decided--it must have been in response to a “hunch”--to make a
dash straight through the line and into the harbor. It was fortunate
that we followed this plan for they were expecting us to come up from
the south, hugging the shore as we had done before, and if we had taken
that course they certainly would have sunk us or forced us aground.
We were proceeding cautiously but did not think we were close to the
danger zone when suddenly one of the patrol ships picked us up and
opened fire. Her guns were no better than peashooters but they gave the
signal to the fleet and instantly lights popped up all along the line
ahead of us. When caught in such a trap, if I had not been thirsting
for thrills, I would have shown them our heels, for we could have
gotten away without any trouble; but the demon of dare-deviltry seized
and gripped me.
In the flashing lights ahead I saw all of the excitement I had been
longing for, and with an exultant yell to the helmsman to “tell the
engineer to give her hell,” I pushed him aside and seized the wheel.
I fondled the spokes lovingly and leaned over them in a tumult of
joy. It was the great moment of which I had dreamed from boyhood. I
had anticipated that when it came I would be considerably excited
and forgetful of all my carefully thought out plans for meeting an
emergency, but to my surprise I found that I was as cool as though
we were riding at anchor in New York Bay. In the first flash I felt
myself grow cold all over and then a gentle current of electricity
began running through me, as though my heart had been transformed into
a dynamo and my veins into fine wires. The opening gun cleared my mind
of all its anxieties and intensified its action. I remember that I took
time to analyze my feelings to make sure that I was calm and collected
and not stunned and stolid, and that I was silent from choice and not
through anything of fear. I counted the blockading ships as their
hidden lights flashed out and wondered how their officers and crews
enjoyed being dragged out of their first sound sleep by my impertinent
little vessel. I measured the distance we would have to go to clear
their line and tried to figure out, from a rough calculation as to the
number of their guns and the accuracy of their fire, the mathematical
probability of our being sunk. Strange though it may seem, the
possibility of our capture never occurred to me. We might be sent to
the bottom, and would be if it were so decreed by Fate, but otherwise
we would get away, and the only other question was as to the nature and
extent of our injuries. When we were fairly under their spiteful guns
I thought of what great sport it would be if we could only return their
fire on something like even terms. I compared the wide, individualistic
opportunity of naval warfare with routine battles on land, which are
fought by rules laid down for every condition that can arise, and
unhesitatingly decided in favor of the sea, with its long-nursed
passion for the man who dares its fury, and its despotism over him who
fears it.
As though spurred by a human impulse the good little ship sprang
forward as she felt the full force of her engines, and never did she
make such another race of it as she did that night. In the sea then
running and at the speed we were going we would ordinarily have had two
men at the wheel, but I found it so easy and so delightful to handle
the ship alone that I declined the assistance of Captain Williams,
who stood just behind me. Though I am not tall, being not much over
five feet and eight inches, nature was kind in giving me a well set up
frame and a powerful constitution, devoid of nerves but with muscles
of steel,--in those days and for many years after,--and with a reserve
supply of strength that made me marvel at its source. Through all of
my active life I kept myself in as perfect condition as a trained
athlete, despite occasional dissipations ashore, and I never got into a
close corner without feeling myself possessed of the strength of half
a dozen ordinary men. Consequently the tugs of the wheel as we tore
through the water toward Charleston seemed like a child’s pulls on a
string.
The widest opening in the already closing line was, luckily, directly
in front of us, and I headed for it. The sparks that were streaming
from our smokestack and the lights of the patrol which was trying to
follow us, gave the blockaders our course as plainly as though it
had been noonday, and they closed in from both sides to head us off.
Evidently they considered that time was also fleeting for they lost not
a moment in getting their guns to going, and shot and shell screamed
and sang all around the undaunted “Letter B.” First the mainmast and
then the foremast came down with a crash, littering the decks with
their gear. A shell carried death into the forecastle. One shot tore
away the two forward stanchions of the pilot house and another one
smashed through the roof but neither Captain Williams nor I was injured
by so much as a splinter. All of our boats and most of our upper works
were literally shot to pieces. That we were not sent to the bottom on
the run was no tribute to the skill of the Yankee gunners. They could
not have been more than half awake when they began firing on us and we
were flying so fast that it appeared to disconcert them, even after
they got their bearings. If they had taken time to depress their guns
the race would have been a short one, but they all wanted to sink us at
once, with the result that only one shot struck us below the main deck,
and that did very little damage to the ship.
From first to last we must have been under that terrific fire for half
an hour but it seemed not more than a few minutes, and it really was
with something of regret that I found the shots were falling astern,
for I had enjoyed the experience immensely. When we got up to the dock
we found that five of our men had been killed and a dozen more or
less seriously injured. The ship had not been damaged at all so far
as speed and seaworthiness in ordinary weather were concerned, though
she looked a wreck. The blockaders thought we were much more seriously
injured than was actually the case but their mistake was one that could
easily be pardoned. They expected we would be laid up for a month.
Consequently when we steamed out on the fourth night, after making only
temporary repairs, they were not looking for us and we got through
their line without much trouble. A few shots were fired at us when
we were almost clear but not one of them came aboard and we were not
pursued; they had come to have great respect for our speed. We refitted
at Turk’s Island, where we laid up for three weeks.
I made two more trips to Charleston without any very exciting
experiences, though we were fired on both times, and then sold the ship
to an enterprising Englishman who was waiting for me at Turk’s Island.
I had made a comfortable fortune with her and sold her for more than I
paid for her. She was in almost as good condition as when I bought her,
but I have made it a rule never to overplay my luck, and I knew I had
run about as many trips with her as I could expect to make without a
change of fortune. I am under the impression that the ship and her new
owner were captured on her next trip to Charleston, but am not sure as
to that.
CHAPTER II
FILIBUSTERING FOR THE CUBANS
Having succeeded as a blockade runner I was ambitious to become a
filibuster, which kindred vocation I thought offered even greater
opportunities for adventure. Immediately after the sale of the “Letter
B,” in the latter part of 1864, I returned to New York, in the hope
that the Cespedes revolution in Cuba would have been sprung and a
Junta established with which I could work. I found that the revolt was
still hatching and that no New York agent had been appointed, so, for
want of something better to do, I bought from Benjamin Wood, editor of
the New York _News_, the old Franklin Avenue distillery in Brooklyn.
This venture resulted in an open and final rupture with my family, who
were virtuously outraged to begin with because of the aid I had given
the South as a blockade runner. I left home in a rage and swore that
I would never again set foot in it or set eyes on any member of the
family, and except for a visit to my father just before he died, not
long afterward, I have kept my vow. I was always his favorite son, in
spite of my wild love of adventure and the ways into which it led me,
and when I got word that he was seriously ill I went to him at once,
but I saw no one else in the house except the servants.
The Franklin Avenue distillery was then the largest in the East but it
had not been in operation for several years. I put Charles McLaughlin
in charge of the plant and set it in motion. Two or three other
distilleries were then running in Williamsburg, one of which was owned
by Oscar King. I had been in the distillery business only a few months,
during which time the property had shown a large profit, when, while
attending a performance at the old Grand Opera House with Andrew W.
Gill, I met “Jim” Fisk, with whom I had become acquainted in my boyhood
days. At the time I had known him he was running a gaudy pedler’s wagon
out of Boston. He was laid up for a week by a prank which I played on
him in George Steele’s store at Ferrisburg, Vermont, but after that we
became good friends.
Fisk, big and loudly dressed and displaying the airs which later helped
to earn for him the sobriquet of “Jim Jubilee Junior,” entered the
theatre in company with Jay Gould, his new friend and future partner
in the looting of the Erie and the great Gold Conspiracy, to say
nothing of many minor maraudings into misappropriated millions. In the
dramatic surroundings, Gould, half-dwarfed but plainly making up in
nerve and shrewdness what he lacked in stature, with his black beard
and darting eyes and his careless attire, put me in mind of a pirate,
wherein my artistic judgment played me no trick, and, to complete the
picture, Fisk suggested himself as the little man’s business agent.
Fisk swept his eyes around the theatre with something of a look of
challenge, as though he wondered if there were any persons there who
knew him, and, if so, how much they knew about him. His roving gaze
fell on me and he nodded and smiled. A moment later he excused himself
and came over to talk to me, while Gould followed him with his snapping
eyes and drove them through me with a searching inquiry which seemed
to satisfy him that I was simply an old acquaintance and harbored
no predatory plot. Their intimacy was then in its infancy and Gould
appeared to be half suspicious of every man with whom Fisk talked.
No doubt it was fate that drew Fisk and me together. He intimated, in
his grandiloquent way, that he was in a huckleberry patch where nothing
but money grew on the bushes, and asked what I was doing that I looked
so prosperous and well satisfied with myself. I told him briefly and
he asked me to call on him the next day. I did not go to see him but
the following day he called on me at the St. Nicholas Hotel. After we
had exchanged confidences regarding our careers he said he wanted to
buy a half interest in the distillery and asked me to put a price on
it. I told him I did not want a partner. He insisted and said he had
influence at Washington, which he afterward proved, and that it would
be valuable to us.
“We will make a good team,” he said. “Here,” and he scribbled off a
check for one hundred thousand dollars and tossed it over to me, “now
we are partners.”
“Not much,” I said, as I tossed it back to him. “I am making too much
money for you to get in at that price, even if I wanted you as a
partner.”
“All right, then,” he replied, as he wrote out another check for one
hundred and fifty thousand dollars and handed it to me, “take that. I
am in half with you now.”
Before I could enter another objection he stalked out of the room and
I let it go at that, for I had a scheme in mind and figured that his
influence, if it was as powerful as he claimed, would be useful.
The constant and heavy increase in the tax on spirits had forced
all of the distillers except King and me to shut down, and when it
finally reached a point where high wines which it cost two dollars and
forty cents a gallon to produce, by the ordinary methods and with the
payment of the full tax, were selling for one dollar and ninety cents
a gallon, King was compelled to go out of business. In the meantime I
had devised a scheme for reducing the proof before the tax was paid
and then, by a chemical process which operated mechanically, restoring
the proof until the product was almost, if not quite, equal to Cologne
spirits. My contention was that my process improved the quality of the
spirits, which it assuredly did, but the effect of it was that I and
not the Government received the full benefit of the change. By Fisk’s
advice I engaged Robert Corwin, of Dayton, Ohio, a cousin of the great
“Tom” Corwin, and an intimate friend of high officials in the Treasury
Department, whose names it is not necessary to mention at this late
date, to secure a patent on my process. While the application was
pending I was given permission to use my process, the result being
that I could operate at a good profit, while the other distillers
could not run except at a heavy loss. We were, as a matter of fact,
cheating the Government, and I have since thought that it probably was
Fisk’s influence rather than any merit in my invention that made it
smooth sailing for us, but I did not then look at it in that light. I
considered that I was a very clever young man and that I was rightfully
entitled to profit by my shrewdness, without any regard to the rights
of the Government, or to what rival concerns might think about it.
King and the other distillers, convinced that there was something wrong
somewhere, tried repeatedly but in vain to discover our method of
operation. Then they complained to Washington and one revenue officer
after another came over to investigate us. During the progress of these
protests, which in the course of a year or more increased in number and
vigor, the revolt in Cuba had broken out and the old sea lust, with its
passion for excitement, came over me. I wanted Fisk to buy my interest
in the distillery but he suggested that we quit business and we did so,
with a profit of about three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Fisk and I continued in partnership and in the Summer of 1866 we bought
the fast and stanch little steamer “Edgar Stuart,” which had been a
blockade runner. We bought a cargo of arms and ammunition, consisting
of old Sharps rifles and six mountain guns, and were just putting it on
board when the first Cuban Junta came to New York and opened offices
on New Street. They sent for me and wanted to buy our cargo and pay
for it in bonds of the Cuban Republic, at a big discount. I refused,
as we insisted on gold or its equivalent, which has always been my
rule in dealing in contraband. They finally arranged that we should
be paid part in cash, on the delivery of the arms, and the balance in
fine Havana cigars. The Spaniards were not as watchful then as they
found it necessary to be later on and the arms were delivered without
much trouble at Cape Maysi, at the extreme eastern end of Cuba. On our
return the cigars we had received in part payment, in waterproof cases
and attached to floats, were thrown overboard in the lower bay, to be
picked up by waiting small boats and sold to a tobacco merchant who had
a store in the old Stevens House.
By the time we got back the Junta had raised funds from some source
and engaged us to deliver several cargoes of arms to the rebels. I
was always in command of these expeditions, with a sailing master in
charge of the ship, while, in keeping with our agreement, Fisk stayed
at home and attended to the Washington end of the business. When we
sailed without clearance papers, as we sometimes were compelled to do
to avoid detention and arrest, for we were constantly under suspicion,
Fisk exerted his influence with such good effect that we never were
prosecuted. We made three or four trips to Cape Maysi, and on one
occasion took one hundred women and children from there to Cape San
Antonio, at the western end of the island, where the rebels were better
able to protect them.
In furtherance of their efforts to establish a government and make such
a formidable showing as would secure their recognition, especially by
the United States, as belligerents, thus making it legal to sell them
munitions of war, the revolutionists attempted to build up a navy.
Through the Junta they bought the fore and aft schooner “Pioneer,”
which was fitted out as a warship and placed in command of Francis Lay
Norton, who was given the rank of Admiral of the Cuban Navy. He sailed
up through Long Island Sound and out past Montauk Point, where he
hoisted the Cuban flag, saluted it, and gravely declared the “Pioneer”
in commission. He neglected to wait until he was well out on the high
seas before going through with this formality and a revenue cutter
which had followed him seized his ship and brought it dismally back
to port as a filibuster. I did not then know Norton but we afterward
became partners and fought side by side through adventures and exploits
more thrilling than any that have ever been told about in fiction, so
far as I have read. Without knowing him I had great respect for his
nerve but not much for his discretion, as displayed in the “Pioneer”
incident, and the intimate association of later years did not change my
opinion of him except to increase my admiration for his superb daring.
One night I received a hurry call from the Junta. The “Stuart” was then
partly loaded with a fresh supply of arms and was waiting for the rest
of the shipment, coming from Bridgeport, Connecticut. The Cubans had
been tipped off from Washington that she was to be seized the next day
on suspicion of filibustering, which could have been proved easily, and
they asked me to take her out that night and call at Baltimore for the
rest of the cargo, which would be shipped there direct from Bridgeport.
Greatly pleased by this evidence of increased Spanish activity against
us and the prospect of some exciting times, I went to the ship without
returning to my hotel and we got under way soon after midnight, though
with a short crew. At daylight I hove to and repainted and rechristened
the ship and presented her with a new set of papers, making it appear
that she belonged to William Shannon of Barbadoes and was taking on
supplies, including some arms of course, for West Indian planters.
We loafed along and the balance of the cargo, which had been sent to
Baltimore by express, was waiting for us when we got there. We hustled
it on board and were just preparing to sail when the ship was seized by
the United States Marshal, under orders from Washington.
“Why, Captain, your new coat of paint isn’t dry yet,” said the marshal.
“That ship was the ‘Edgar Stuart’ when you left New York, all right
enough.” I protested that I was sailing under the British flag but he
only smiled and, naturally, I did not appeal to the British consul for
protection. There were fraternal reasons why the marshal and I could
talk confidentially, and, though he had no right to do it, he told me
that he expected to have a warrant for my arrest in the morning. That
made it serious business for me, as I had no desire to become entangled
with the authorities even though I had full confidence in Fisk’s
ability to get me out of trouble, and I determined to get away, and
take my ship with me.
The marshal left three watchmen on the ship to guarantee her continued
presence. Edward Coffee, my steward, was a man who knew every angle of
his business. Soon after dark he served the watchers with a lunch and
followed it with a bottle of wine which had been carefully prepared,
though no one could have told it had been tampered with. In ten
minutes they were asleep and in twice that time we were out in the
stream and headed south. We cleared the Virginia capes at daylight,
aroused the surprised guards and loaned them a boat in which they rowed
ashore. There was no government ship in those waters that could catch
us so we proceeded on our course without any misgivings, leaving it
to Fisk to straighten matters out. We delivered the cargo about sixty
miles west of Cape Maysi and then went to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I
wired to Fisk to ascertain the lay of the land. He replied that he had
“squared” things with the authorities and it was safe for me to return
but that it would be best to leave the ship at Halifax for a while.
I accordingly took the train for New York and in two or three weeks
Captain Williams followed with the “Stuart,” which had been restored to
her real self, though painted a different color than when she left New
York.
Our expeditions with the “Stuart” had been so successful that the
Spanish Government, through its minister at Washington, had arranged
with the Delamater Iron Works, on the Hudson, for the purchase of
several small gunboats, each carrying two guns, which were to operate
against filibusters. We had not lost a single cargo, either while
operating with the Junta or independently of it. In some instances the
Spanish cavalry swooped down and captured part of the shipment before
the rebels could get all of it back into the bush, but that was in no
sense our fault. Fisk had learned the terms of the Spanish minister’s
contract with the Delamater Company and the date that was specified
for the delivery of the gunboats, but we did not know of a secret and
verbal understanding by which they were to be delivered several weeks
in advance of that time. The result was that on my next, and last, trip
to Cuba I ran full tilt into one of the new boats, as I was not looking
for them.
We raised Cape Maysi late in the afternoon and were close inshore and
not far from the lighthouse when a little steamer came racing up on
our starboard bow. I saw that she was flying the Spanish flag but that
meant nothing in those waters and I paid no attention to her, as she
was nothing like the ordinary Spanish type of gunboat, for which I was
on the lookout. She steamed up to windward of us and I opened my eyes
when she fired a blank shot across our bows, as a signal to heave to. I
promptly ran up the British flag and kept on my course, whereupon she
sent a solid shot just ahead of us. Then I hove to and a lieutenant
and boat’s crew came aboard. It looked like a bad case. While the
lieutenant was being rowed to the “Stuart” I had a lot of black powder
stored under the break of the poop, just below my cabin, and laid a
fuse to it. I did this primarily for the purpose of running a strong
bluff on the Spaniards, but I had made up my mind that if it came to
the worst I would blow up my ship and take a long chance on getting
ashore in the small boats. I figured that the commander of the gunboat
would stop to pick up those of his crew who were sent skyward by the
explosion and that this would allow sufficient time for some of us, at
least, to escape, which was much better than to sit still and have all
hands captured and executed.
When the lieutenant came aboard he called for my papers and I gave him
the usual forged set, which indicated British registry and concealed
the nature of the cargo. He was not satisfied and ordered me to open
the hatches, which I refused to do. He procured some tools and was
having his men open them when I gave the signal to lower the boats
quickly, and man them. The Spaniards looked on in wonder but interposed
no objection to our hurried departure. Then I ostentatiously lit the
fuse in my cabin and as I was getting into my boat I said to the
lieutenant: “I wish you luck in going over my cargo. You’ll be in hell
in just about three minutes.”
Without asking a question or saying a word the young officer bundled
his men and himself into his boat and I lost as little time in hustling
my men back onto the “Stuart” and pulling out the fuse, which was a
long one, as I had a notion things might turn out just as they did.
Had he not flown into a state of panic, which is characteristic of the
Latin races, the lieutenant could have pulled out the sputtering fuse,
just as I did, and removed the danger, at the same time putting the
rest of us in a bad way; but it seemed that such an idea never occurred
to him. It was simply a case of matching American nerve against Spanish
blood, and I won. The gunboat was half a mile to windward and a choppy
sea was running so the lieutenant had his hands full managing his boat
and had no time to try to make any signals. I ordered full speed ahead
and ran across the gunboat’s bows, dipping our ensign as we passed. The
commander of the gunboat, thinking everything was all right, returned
our salute and dropped down to pick up the lieutenant. When he got to
the small boat and discovered the trick that had been played on him he
sent a shot after us, which went a mile away, and gave chase, but it
was no use. It was getting dusk by that time and in fifteen minutes it
was dark, for there is no twilight in the tropics. I swung around in a
wide circle, picked up a little inlet near Gonaives Bay in which the
rebels were waiting, and had my cargo unloaded and was headed back for
New York before daylight.
Some of the filibustering trips were made at long intervals, on account
of the difficulties encountered by the Junta in raising funds, and
between two of them, in 1867, I went to Washington, at the invitation
of Leonard Swett, of Chicago, and Dr. Fowler, of Springfield, Illinois,
and was introduced by them to President Johnson. Swett and Fowler were
trying to line up Illinois for Johnson, and Fisk thought it might
strengthen his hand in Washington to have me meet the President and
offer to assist him in any way I could. A few days later the President
sent for me and asked me to become his confidential political agent.
He frankly said he doubted the accuracy of reports which had been made
to him regarding the feeling in the Middle West toward his nomination
for the presidency, and he wanted me to visit that section and advise
him as to the real sentiment, with particular reference to Illinois.
I accepted, being flattered, I presume, by the idea of being in
confidential relations with a President. To give me a standing and
clothe me with an air of mystery he appointed me acting chief of the
Secret Service, from which he had removed General W. P. Wood. “Andy”
was careful to explain, however, that my appointment was not to be
announced or generally known for the time being and that he did not
want me to bother about the ordinary operations of the Secret Service
Bureau, which were in charge of Colonel L. C. Whitely, later appointed
chief. Within two months I reported to the President that his friends
had flattered him, that he did not have a chance of carrying Illinois,
and that sentiment was running strongly against him throughout the
West. The insight I thus gained into politics quickly convinced me that
it was too dishonorable and not exciting enough for me, so I resigned
and went back to filibustering.
If Johnson had ever had a chance of being nominated to succeed himself
in the place of power to which he was elevated by the murder of
Lincoln, it would have been destroyed by his “swing around the circle,”
when he went to Chicago, in 1866, to attend a cornerstone laying in
honor of Stephen A. Douglas. During the trip he quarrelled violently
with every one who disagreed with his reconstruction policy and
descended, in his speeches, to the level of the ward heeler. I never
was paid for this secret service work, nor for the expenses I incurred,
and my failure to receive vouchers for my salary made it apparent to
me that my appointment had not been a formal one. The experience was
interesting, however, as a temporary diversion, and I was satisfied to
regard it as a _quid pro quo_ for favors Fisk and I had received from
the Administration, and which we might expect to continue to receive,
and let it go at that. I have no doubt that Mr. Johnson looked at the
matter in the same light.
While the “Stuart” was laid up for repairs at one time, during the
Cuban expeditions, Capt. Williams and I took the famous “Virginius”
out on her first trip, with a cargo of arms from the Junta. The Junta
wanted me to keep her but I refused, on account of her size. She
was larger than the “Stuart” but no faster, and had quarters for a
considerable number of men outside of her crew, which the “Stuart” had
not. I foresaw that they would want to use her in transporting men,
and to put her into that service would greatly increase the risk of
her capture. The ideal vessel for filibustering purposes is a small,
stout ship of light draft and high speed, without room, to say nothing
of accommodations, for passengers. A large hold is not required, for a
mighty valuable cargo of arms can be stowed away in a comparatively
small space. The man in command of a filibustering expedition must be
prepared for any emergency and needs to have his wits about him every
minute. If he is to succeed he cannot think about anything except his
cargo and its delivery; he cannot afford to have any men hanging onto
his coat and dividing and diverting his attention. Transporting troops
is a very different business from carrying arms, and my experience has
convinced me that the two cannot well be combined on one ship.
Carrying contraband is dangerous business under the most favorable
conditions. The hand of every nation is raised against you; though
you be an American the flag of your own country, even, can give you
no protection, for you are engaged in an illegal act, however much it
may stand for the advancement of humanity and the spread of liberty.
Save for those with whom you are allied, and who necessarily are few
in number, else they would be recognized as belligerents and given the
rights of war, any one who happens along the sea’s highway is liable
to take a shot at you or try to capture you, on general principles.
Therefore the commander of a filibustering expedition must regard
desperate chances as a part of the daily routine, but he is unwise
to add to his risks by complicating his mission. He must, too, be in
the business chiefly for the love of the adventure it provides as
royal payment, for the financial returns, except in cases out of the
ordinary, are as nothing compared with the dangers that are encountered.
Just as I had expected, the “Virginius” after many narrow escapes was
finally captured by the Spaniards on October 31, 1873, as she was
about to land a mixed cargo of men and arms near Santiago. General
Cespedes, the life of the revolution, and three of his best fighting
chiefs, Generals Ryan, Varona, and Del Sal, who happened to be on
board, were summarily executed. This was done, it was claimed, under
prior sentences, but as a matter of fact there was not so much as
a mockery of a trial, either at the time they were put to death or
previously. All of the others who were on board were tried for piracy
and promptly convicted, of course. Within a week after the seizure
of the ship, Capt. Joseph Fry, her American commander, thirty-six of
his crew, and sixteen “passengers,” were lined up and shot to death,
with an excess of brutality. The rest of the prisoners, who were to
have been similarly disposed of, were saved, not through intervention
from Washington whence it should have come, but by the timely arrival
of a British warship, whose commander refused to permit any further
butchery. England peremptorily compelled the Spanish Government to pay
a substantial indemnity for the British subjects who had been thus
lawlessly executed, while the United States Government, as an evidence
of the protection it gave American citizens in those days, waited
twenty-five years before taking vengeance on Spain for the murder of
Captain Fry and his companions. But for the “Virginius” Massacre and
the bad blood it engendered between America and Spain, Cuba might still
be taking orders from Madrid instead of from Washington; had it not
been for that never forgotten butchery the blowing up of the “Maine”
might have been regarded as an accident.
Along about 1868, after it had run half its length, the Ten Years’
War began to bog down. The Cubans were out of funds and appeared to
have lost heart, and it looked as though the revolt would be another
failure. There was nothing else doing in this part of the world in
which I was interested so I decided to go to Europe, being attracted
by the prospect of war between France and Germany and the adventurous
possibilities which it suggested.
CHAPTER III
IN LEAGUE WITH THE SPANISH PRETENDER
During the Cuban filibustering days I gained more notoriety than I
desired, even though it really was not a great deal, and as I did
not wish to be known as a trouble-maker on the other side, where the
laws against the carrying of contraband were being rigidly enforced
on account of the recent “Alabama” affair, I lost my identity while
crossing the Atlantic. When I reached London in the latter part of
1868 I was “George MacFarlane,” and in order that I might have an
address and ostensible occupation I established the commercial house of
George MacFarlane & Co., at 10 Corn Hill. My partner, who really was
only a clerk, was a young Englishman named Cunningham, for whom I had
been able to do a good turn while I was living in Chicago. I opened
an account in the London & Westminster Bank with an initial deposit
of close to seventy-five thousand pounds, which gave me a financial
standing.
In order to establish my respectability with the British Board of
Trade, which exercised a watchful eye and general supervision over
the enforcement of the maritime laws, and to build up a reputation
for eminent business respectability which would serve as a cover for
the illicit but much more exciting operations in which I expected to
engage as soon as opportunity offered, and at the same time to throw me
naturally in contact with shipping concerns under the most favorable
conditions, I bought several small vessels and began shipping general
cargoes to and from the Continent, either on my own account or for
others. Fate was kind to me in throwing in my way the little steamer
“Leckwith,” which I bought at a bargain. She had been built as a yacht
for a nobleman but did not suit him. She was not large enough to be
used as a passenger boat and her depth of hold was not sufficient to
make her profitable as a freighter, but she was exactly the ship I
wanted as a carrier of contraband. She registered five hundred and
twenty tons and could do seventeen knots when she was pushed. She was
small enough to go anywhere, fast enough to beat anything that was
likely to chase her, and big enough for my purposes. Until the day I
buried her, years afterward, as the only means of destroying damning
evidence, she served me faithfully and well, and I doubt if any ship,
before or since, has made so much money for her owner.
One of the first shipping firms with which I became acquainted was
that of H. Nickell & Son, of Leadenhall Street. They were speculators
as well as merchants and I cultivated them, without having to wait long
for results. Encouraged by the insurrection against the Bourbons, which
had resulted in the abdication and flight to France of Queen Isabella,
Don Carlos, the Spanish Pretender, was just then, in 1869, preparing
to make his last fight for the long coveted crown of Spain. His chief
agent had bought all of the arms and ammunition he could pay for from
Kynoch & Co., of Birmingham, which establishment is now, I believe,
owned by Joseph Chamberlain and his son and brother, though conducted
under the old name, and had contracted with Nickell & Son for their
delivery on the northern coast of Spain. They had lost one cargo,
through the watchfulness of a Spanish warship, and had nearly come to
grief with another, just before I became acquainted with them.
The Pretender’s agent then proposed that Don Carlos pay for the arms
when they were delivered, instead of at the factory, as before, and
suggested to Nickell & Son that they enter into a contract on that
basis, to cover all future purchases.
Old man Nickell was considering this proposition when I met him and,
suspecting that I had ideas regarding the sailing of ships that went
beyond the uninteresting routine of strictly legitimate commerce, he
told me about it, after we had come to know and understand each other a
bit. Naturally, it appealed to me and it did not take us long to reach
an agreement which, if it would not have blocked our plans and we had
wanted to follow the foolish English fashion, would have enabled us to
advertise ourselves as “Purveyors Extraordinary of Munitions of War to
His Royal Majesty, Don Carlos.” It was agreed that Nickell should buy
the arms while I should furnish the ship and deliver them. We were to
charge a price commensurate with the risk we assumed, with something
added,--for we had reason to believe the Pretender had plenty of
money,--and divide the proceeds.
It was stipulated that the first consignment should be delivered to Don
Carlos himself at his headquarters near Bilbao, and before accepting
the cargo I went there on an iron-ore steamer to reconnoitre. I found
that the Pretender’s retreat in the mountains back from Bilbao was in
the very heart of that section of Spain which was most loyal to him.
Carlist sentiment was almost unanimous in the Provinces of Vizcaya,
Alava, and Guipuzcoa, and strong in the adjoining Provinces of Navarre,
Catalonia, and Aragon, so there was nothing to fear once we succeeded
in getting up the river. Even the city of Bilbao was largely composed
of Carlist supporters, but the forts which commanded the river there
and at Portugalete, the deep-water port of Bilbao on the coast at
the mouth of the river, were manned by unfriendly troops. The two
Generals, Prim and Serrano, who were the real rulers of Spain and who
placed Prince Amadeo, son of the King of Italy, on the throne a year
or so later, were as much opposed to the Carlists as they had been to
the Bourbons. They did not propose that the Pretender should gain any
ground during the troubled period which they had brought about by the
expulsion of Queen Isabella. They knew he was trying to import arms
from England and they had so many warships patrolling the northern
coast that it practically amounted to a blockade; but, after my
experience at Charleston, I did not regard that as a serious matter.
Only a small and light-draft ship could get up the river to the point
at which the arms were to be delivered, which was a few miles above
Bilbao. I did not care to try it with the “Leckwith” so I chartered a
smaller steamer which greatly resembled the “Santa Marta,” a Spanish
coastwise ship. To avoid suspicion as to their real destination the
rifles and cartridges, in boxes which gave no indication of their
contents, were shipped to Antwerp, and I picked them up there. As soon
as we were out of sight of land I repainted my ship and made some
slight changes in her upper works, until she looked almost exactly
like the “Santa Marta.” That name was then painted on her bows and the
Spanish flag was hoisted over her. With this precaution I figured that
we would avoid any trouble with the forts or any warships we might
encounter, and we did; in fact we did not see a single warship. Of
course, if we had happened to meet the real “Santa Marta,” we would
have had to run for it at least, and it might have been more serious
than that, but I simply took a chance that we would not run into her.
We saluted the forts as we passed them and they responded without
taking two looks at us.
We got over the bar at Bilbao with very little to spare under our
keel and went on up the river to the appointed place, where we tied
up so close to the steep bank that we threw a plank ashore. A band of
gypsies--Gitanos--were camped close by, and in ten minutes they were
all over the ship. Among them was a singularly beautiful girl to whom I
was drawn. She followed me around the ship, which did not annoy me at
all, and insisted on telling my fortune. When I consented she told me,
among a lot of other things, that I would be paid a large sum of money
in the mountains, and assassinated. Her dire prediction did not cause
me a moment’s anxiety, as I have no faith in human ability to discern
what the inhuman Fates have prescribed for us, but she was greatly
worried by what the cards had told her and begged me, almost with tears
in her eyes, to stay away from the mountains. As I then had no thought
of going into the hills I assured her that I would do as she advised,
whereat she was much relieved.
No messenger from Don Carlos came down to meet us, as had been agreed
upon, and after waiting three or four days I sent one of the gypsies
to his camp to advise him that the cargo awaited his orders, and the
payment for it. He replied that he would send for it and that I should
come to his headquarters for the money, as he wished to consult with me
about further shipments. He sent along one of his aides to escort me to
his camp. The Gitano girl’s warning had made so little impression on
me that I did not recall it. It seemed natural enough that Don Carlos
should want more arms, as we had expected he would, and that he should
want to give personal directions as to where and when they were to
be delivered, and without any thought of danger I set forth at once.
George Brown, my sailing master, a gigantic Nova Scotian, and Bill
Heather, the second officer, accompanied me, as they wished to see the
country and, perhaps, the famous Pretender.
The Carlist camp was located well up in the mountains, nearly twelve
miles from where we were tied up. Following the aide, we walked
diagonally away from the river for about six miles, which brought us
to the foothills. Then we switched off to the left for a mile and
turned sharply to the right into a canyon, which we followed for three
miles or more when it turned to the right again, and a two-mile tramp
landed us at the headquarters of the claimant to the Spanish crown.
The camp stretched away through the woods that covered the plateau to
which we had climbed but we had no opportunity to inspect it, nor to
form any intelligent idea as to the number of troops, for right at the
head of the canyon was a large square tent, surmounted with a flag
bearing the Carlist arms, which we rightly guessed was occupied by the
Commander-in-Chief.
We were halted there and after a short wait I was ceremoniously
ushered into the august presence of the Pretender. He was standing
as I entered, for impressive effect rather than from courtesy, and
I am compelled to admit that in personal appearance he had a great
advantage over any real King I have ever seen. Perhaps forty years
old, he was in the full glory of physical manhood; six feet tall,
powerfully built, and unmistakably a Spaniard. He had a full beard and
moustache as black as his hair, large dark eyes, a Grecian nose, and a
broad high forehead which suggested a higher degree of intellectuality
than he possessed. But his cold face was cruel and unscrupulous and I
felt--what I afterward found was fact--that his adherents followed him
chiefly from principle and were dominated much more by fear than by
personal loyalty. Yet, despite a face forbidding to any keen student of
human nature, he was an imposing figure, with evidences of royalty that
were exaggerated by his manner. He greeted me with frigid formality in
contradiction of the warm welcome I had expected, as due a saviour of
the Carlist cause, and his first words, spoken in fair English, were a
curt statement that he had no money but would pay for my cargo through
his London agent within two months.
Chagrined at the manner of my reception and surprised at his attitude,
I inquired, with some heat: “How is it possible, Your Majesty, that you
are not prepared to carry out the agreement made with your agent who
was acting, as he convinced us, with your full authority? Our contract
stipulates that my cargo is to be paid for in cash and unless this is
complied with I cannot deliver it and we will be compelled to accept no
further orders from you.”
“If my agent made such a contract as that,” he retorted with assumed
indignation, “he did it on his own responsibility alone and I refuse to
be bound by it. I have stated my terms. If you do not care to accede to
them you can go to the devil.”
It was plain that I would make no headway in that direction so I went
about on the other tack, using honeyed words in place of harsh ones.
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” I said with much deference, “for
momentarily losing my temper. It was due to the heat and the long
tramp. I am not accustomed to such enervating exercise. I see now that
Your Majesty is joking. It could not be otherwise, for the word of a
King of Spain is sacred.”
The flattery went home, as I supposed, and while he repeated that he
had stated the exact situation, his manner was more friendly.
“You carry the joke admirably, Your Majesty,” I continued. “Had you
not been born to rule you would have won fame as an actor. Your mock
seriousness would, I fear, cause real seriousness at Madrid if General
Prim knew of the extent to which you indulge your capacity for humor.”
When he persisted in his assertion that he was in earnest and did
not propose to live up to the contract, I pointed out to him, as
discreetly as possible, what the result of such a course would be. “I
can only again congratulate you on your art,” I said, “for it would be
ridiculous for me to believe you speak seriously. Failure to keep the
agreement made by your agent even though, as I now believe, he acted
without explicit instructions from you [which I did not believe at
all] would destroy your excellent credit, not only with my firm but
with all other dealers in revolutionary supplies, and that, of course,
is not to be thought of. On the other hand, by paying for this cargo,
in compliance with the contract, you will establish your credit more
firmly than ever, and I have no doubt you will be able to make your own
terms for further shipments. I know that Your Majesty is not only very
honest but very wise.”
This argument appeared to convince him and, with a smile as though he
really had been only joking, he summoned a venerable Jew, evidently his
treasurer, who looked like the original of all pictures of Shylock,
and, speaking so rapidly in Spanish that I could hardly understand
him, ordered him to pay me twenty-eight thousand pounds, the amount
called for by the manifest. The Jew returned in a few minutes with the
exact amount, chiefly in Spanish notes of large denomination but with
enough gold to make quite a load. While I was waiting for the money
he told me he would want thirteen thousand more stands of arms and a
million cartridges, which were to be shipped in two cargoes at times
and places to be indicated by his agent in London, who would arrange
the terms of payment, under specific instructions, to avoid any further
misunderstandings. I assured him that they would be sent when and where
he wanted them. With the transaction completed Don Carlos dramatically
waved me out.
The officer who had piloted us to the camp suggested that we could
find our way back to the ship without any trouble, as the trail was
clearly defined, and we started back alone. Before we had gone twenty
steps Brown asked if I had been paid in cash. I pointed to my bulging
pockets and told him I undoubtedly had. He then confessed that he
thought we were “in for it.” Six cavalrymen, he said, had started down
the trail not long before I left Don Carlos’ tent, and from the action
attending their movement he believed that they had been sent out to
waylay and rob and probably murder us in the deep canyon into which
the ravine from the camp turned. In a flash I recalled the prediction
of the gypsy girl and the promise I had given her. I laughed at
myself for the spasm of something like fear that came into my mind,
yet I was undeniably nervous, for Brown was not a man to form foolish
fancies or become unduly alarmed about anything. None of us was armed
and if Brown’s suspicion was correct, which I was slow to believe, the
troopers would make short work of us.
We had turned a corner that put us out of sight of the camp and were
walking slowly along discussing, with deep gravity on the part of
Brown and Heather and a partly assumed mock seriousness on my part,
the possibilities of the situation and the general cussedness of
Spanish character, when I saw a dark face peering at us through the
underbrush that matted the trail on both sides. I am not sure, but I
think I jumped; anyway, I know I was startled. At the first glance the
face looked like nothing but one of the troopers we had been talking
about but in an instant I recognized the Gitano girl who had told my
fortune and begged me not to go into the mountains. She beckoned to
us and we answered her summons, without any unseemly haste, perhaps,
but certainly without any delay. Uttering not a word she plunged off
at right angles to the trail into deep woods, in which we would have
been hopelessly lost in ten minutes, with the three of us following
her in Indian file. She led us over a hill and across a wide depression
and then over another much higher mountain. There was not so much as a
suggestion of a path and it was hard going, yet none of us complained.
She brought us out to the trail at the point where we had made our
first turn into the foothills. From there it was a straight road to
the ship, with open country all around, so there could be no fear of
ambuscade or attack.
The tension was relieved and the girl, with tears in her eyes that
betrayed her real emotions, threw her arms around my neck and
reproached me passionately for violating my promise to her and exposing
myself to what she said would have been certain death but for her
intervention. It was with difficulty that I released myself from her
embrace, while Brown and Heather discreetly and rapidly walked on ahead
of us. She said she heard where I had gone when she went to the ship
in the morning to see me, and knowing what the plot would be, she had
taken the short-cut through the mountains, by which we had returned,
to intercept us as we were leaving the camp. The gypsies were loyal
to the Carlists through fear of them so she could get no help from
her own people, but she had prevailed on her brother to steal up the
trail through the canyon to see what happened there, not to verify her
suspicions, as she explained, but to prove to us that she was right.
An hour after we reached the ship her brother returned and reported
to her that six cavalrymen had come down the ravine from the camp and
concealed themselves alongside the trail in the canyon just below the
turn. After a long wait one of them galloped back toward the camp. He
soon returned, after discovering that we had left the trail, and the
others went back to camp with him. To Brown and Heather that seemed
convincing proof of what would have happened to us but for the gypsy
girl; my own notion about it was that what had happened had to happen,
and I had not been killed simply because my time had not arrived.
Therefore I felt nothing of gratitude; but when I came to analyze my
real feeling toward the young woman, whose wondrous black eyes seemed
to reflect all of the mystery and witchery of those glorious ages that
died with the departure of the Moors, and were silently eloquent of a
fine civilization of old centuries, I found that the deep impression
her physical charms had made on me had been intensified by her mad
affection for me. This made it no easy matter to leave her, but I had
no notion of taking her with me, and had to get bluff Bill Heather to
half carry her ashore just before the gang plank was pulled in.
Most of the arms had been removed from the ship while we were away and
turned over to the guard Don Carlos had sent down. The rest of the
cargo was jerked out with all speed and as soon as the last box was
on the bank we got under way. We had not gone a quarter of a mile,
moving slowly on account of the tortuous channel, when the gypsies came
running after us, shouting and waving at us to come back. The cause
of their excitement was soon discovered in the presence of my Gitano
girl, who had stolen on board at the last minute, while I was below
inspecting the engines, and concealed herself until we were under way.
My first impulse was to stop the ship and set her ashore but before
I could give the order she came running to me and declared, with an
imperious air of authority: “I am going with you, so pay no attention
to my foolish people.”
“But, my dear girl, you cannot do that,” I protested. “I shall be
accused of having stolen you.”
“You cannot steal what belongs to you,” was her quick reply.
“But I am going to a strange land where there are none of your people
and where your language is a strange tongue. You will be lonely and
die.”
“I never shall be lonely where you are,” she exclaimed with all the
passion of her romantic soul, “and I shall not die unless they kill me
here. If you go on I go with you; if I go ashore you go with me.”
Never before having encountered such affection I was content to let her
have her way. Her tribesmen followed us, and called down all manner
of curious curses on our heads, until they were convinced we had no
thought of stopping, when two of them galloped on ahead of us toward
Bilbao. They went to the fort, evidently, and told the officer in
command that we were aiding Don Carlos, for as soon as we got within
hailing distance we were ordered to heave to. We paid no attention to
the command, of course, and as the only effect of a warning gun which
followed was to increase our speed, they sent half a dozen shots at us,
as a matter of duty. One of them shattered the fore-topmast and brought
the fore-rigging down by the run; the others went wild. We were fired
at from a height and dropping shots seldom hit, though when they do
they are generally disastrous. With everything dragging forward, until
the gear could be cleared away, we proceeded down the widening river
at full speed. Greatly to my surprise we were not even hailed by the
fort at the mouth of the river, where I had looked for some serious
business, and we continued happily on our way to London.
Soon after our arrival there I established the Gitano girl, to whom I
had become deeply attached, in a cottage near Chalk Farm, not far from
the city. I left her amply supplied with money and there were other
gypsies near there with whom she could fraternize. It is an evidence
of the strange way in which my life has been ordered that I never saw
her again. When I returned, at the first opportunity, in about two
years, I found nothing but a pile of blackened ruins where the cottage
had stood. The Gitano girl’s beauty had made her known to the people
who lived nearby but they had not seen her for more than a year, and
the neighboring gypsies had moved away, no one knew where. I am not
much given to regrets, being content to let my destiny work itself
out free from senseless protests, yet if my wishes had been consulted
I would not have lost my glorious Gitano girl. Possibly the ruined
cottage symbolized a love that had burned itself out or it may be
that somewhere her spirit is waiting for mine. “Why?” and “When?” are
questions that I never attempt to answer.
That experience finished me with Don Carlos. Seven or eight years
later, when I was selling arms to Montenegro and Turkey, and not long
after he had finally been driven out of Spain, I met him at Claridge’s
Hotel in London, as he came in from attending church at the Greek
Chapel. He recognized me and, after pausing for a second, offered me
his hand, but I refused it.
“What do you mean?” he demanded angrily.
“I mean, Your Royal Highness,” I replied, with some sarcasm, “that if
I am here to shake hands with you it is through no good will of yours,
for you tried to have me assassinated in your mountains.” He looked at
me hard for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and walked on.
After settling up with Nickell on the Don Carlos expedition I devoted
myself, for a few months, to legitimate commerce. I had bachelor
quarters on Russell Square, in London, and divided my time between that
city and Paris, where I opened a branch of my mercantile and shipping
house at 30 Rue Vivienne. While in Paris I lived at the Grand Hotel
and loafed at Charley Wells’ American restaurant nearby on the Rue
Scribe. In both London and Paris I read and heard considerable about
a picturesque South American named Guzman Blanco. He had been driven
out of Venezuela, of which country he was Vice-President, and was said
to be then planning a revolt through which he expected to gain the
presidency. I was anxious to meet him but was unable to do so, as both
of us were moving about a great deal. I had thought of Venezuela before
I visited Europe and, attracted by the promised revolt, I decided
that I would go to that country as soon as the Franco-Prussian War,
which then was almost ready to break out, was over, or before that if
it lasted longer than I thought it would. Just before the war began
I bought three cargoes of wines at Bordeaux and sent them to London,
where I sold them later at a good profit.
During the brief war, which began on July 19, 1870, and ended in the
capitulation of the French at Sedan on September first, I had three
ships busy with honest cargoes, but I did not get a chance to do any
contraband running until just before its close. The Austrian Army was
then being rearmed with the improved Werndle rifle, and thousands of
the old guns were stored in the arsenal at Vienna.
Nickell had bought a lot of them at a bargain but on account of the war
Austria would not release them without a guarantee that they were not
to be used against Germany. I was led to believe I could sell five
thousand of these rifles to the Committee of Safety at Bordeaux; so I
bought that number from Nickell and, with an order for their delivery,
I went to Trieste in the “Leckwith.” Charles Lever, the novelist, was
then the British consul at Trieste, where he died a year or two later.
On the pretence that the arms were for Japan, and that I would be able
to establish that fact within a few days, I secured the removal of the
guns from Vienna to the Trieste arsenal, which was only a few hundred
yards from the dock at which the “Leckwith” was tied up. However, to
get them over that short distance and then to get away with them was
a problem that puzzled me. I was mulling over it one day in a _café_
when a maudlin young Englishman, who was sitting at the table with me
and had been trying to talk to me, pulled out a passport, all plastered
with red seals and wax in the old Continental fashion. It was a most
formidable and ceremonious looking document and the instant I saw it an
inspiration seized me. From the most taciturn I became the most jovial
of companions and plied the Englishman with wine until he fell sound
asleep.
Then I took the passport from his pocket and hustled off to the
arsenal. I had been assiduously cultivating the officers there and
was delighted to find the young lieutenant with whom I was best
acquainted in charge of the guard. I told him I would have the order
for the release of the rifles within an hour and proceeded to celebrate
by getting him in the same state in which I had found the convenient
Englishman. I sent word to Lorensen, sailing master of the “Leckwith,”
to get up a full head of steam, and engaged a dozen big wagons to be
at the arsenal in an hour. I arrived with the wagons, waved the gaudy
passport in front of the young officer’s face, and without trying to
read it he told me to go ahead. We made quick work of getting the boxed
arms to the ship and under her hatches, for the guard was changed
at four o’clock and my sleepy young friend would be succeeded by an
officer who was sober and in his right mind. We were not quite fast
enough, however, for just as we were pulling out the new officer of the
guard came running down the dock, shouting that he wanted to see the
order for the release of the arms. As he was well out of arm’s-reach I
made a fussy effort to hand him the passport. Then I opened it out and
showed it to him, all the while explaining that it was all right.
He went away shaking his head and I anticipated trouble at the fort at
the entrance to the harbor, at the head of the Adriatic, as the channel
through which we had to run was narrow. The fort occupied a commanding
position and had high walls from the water’s edge, with a free bastion
high up. Sure enough, a shot whizzed across our bows as we reached the
fort. Immediately I swung the ship in and before they saw I was not
going to come to anchor, as they had supposed, we were so close under
the walls that they could not bring their guns to bear on us. It was
only a very few minutes, however, until they could reach us with their
seaward guns, and they let go at us without any delay. The second shot
took a bite out of the mainmast and it looked as though they had found
our range and would smash us in a jiffy; but the brave little ship
was tearing through the water at her top speed and, as we were going
directly away from them, was hard to hit. Shells splashed uncomfortably
close to us for a few minutes, but save for one shot that carried
away some of the ginger-bread work on the stern we were not struck
again, and were soon out of reach of anything like accurate fire. The
“Leckwith” had stood her first baptism of fire in a way that augured
well for her future, and the sign was a good one.
The arms were rushed to Bordeaux and turned over to the Committee of
Safety only a few days before the battle of Sedan. I was sufficiently
enthusiastic in the cause of France to land them without a proper
guarantee of payment, and, in fact, they never were paid for.
Everything was turmoil; so after waiting a few days I placed the bill
for the arms with an attorney and hurried on to London, _en route_ for
Venezuela, where I expected to find more excitement, in which hope I
was in no way disappointed. I placed the “Leckwith” and my ships in the
hands of Nickell & Co., for charter, and took the first steamer for New
York.
CHAPTER IV
LAWLESS LATIN AMERICA
The first word that reached me on my arrival in New York near the end
of September, 1870, was that my wife was seriously ill at her old home
in Illinois. She had been on the Continent with relatives of old man
Nickell, the ship broker and contraband dealer, during most of the
time that I was messing around with Don Carlos and the French, and
started home two months ahead of me. She had a very bad trip, her ship
having been twenty-six days at sea, and as she was not a good sailor
she suffered severely and contracted an illness which proved fatal. I
went to her at once and remained at her side until the end, three weeks
later. Her death was a severe blow to me. She was an exceptional woman,
in that she had much good sense, was not given to chatter, and was a
delightful companion. Though she had never become quite reconciled to
my adventurously active life, I was devoted to her, and if she had
lived I might eventually have settled down and become a respectable and
self-respecting business man, in which class, I am bound to say, I
would have had little company.
When I returned to New York after the funeral I was greatly depressed
and was in a mood for anything that offered excitement. A few days
later I found some diversion through a chance meeting with Frank
(Francis Lay) Norton, just after he had gone broke in John Morrissey’s
uptown gambling house. He knew me, by reputation and through the old
Cuban Junta under which both of us had operated, as well as I knew him,
and we soon became friends. Later we became partners in some of the
most gloriously exciting exploits in which I have been fortunate enough
to participate. Norton was a natural-born pirate, and he looked the
part. He was then about forty years old, five feet, eight inches tall,
thin and wiry and possessed of remarkable strength. His eyes, hair,
beard, and moustache were as black as coal. You could feel his eyes
looking through you and would almost lose a realizing sense of what was
in your mind; it was not hypnotism nor mental or physical dominance
but he could almost read your most secret thoughts. He was completely
irreligious, cynical, and cold-blooded. Under the most severe tests a
slight twitching of the eyes was his only sign of excitement. He was
daring to the supreme degree but never foolishly reckless, and I don’t
believe he ever experienced the sensation of fear. He was, too, as
he needed to be, almost a dead shot in off-hand firing with rifle or
pistol, and an expert swordsman.
When I first met him he was wild about the China Sea, where he had
spent several thrilling years and made several fortunes, only to lose
them as soon as he could find a gambling house, for he was a faro fiend
of the most virulent type. He declared that was the only part of the
world for us, with regard both to excitement and money, and suggested
that we form a partnership and go out there “to do anything that came
handy.” Though I had spent money like the proverbial drunken sailor,
or worse, for I was born with all the tastes of an aristocrat, I was
then worth several hundred thousand dollars, while Norton was worth
nothing, so I could not quite see a partnership such as he had in mind.
Nor was he able to tempt me away from Venezuela. I had heard so much of
that country and of Guzman Blanco that my heart was set on going there
before I undertook to explore any other strange lands. The upshot of
our many discussions was that I sent Norton to London to take command
of the “Leckwith” until I was ready to join him, when it was agreed
we should go out in the yacht to his beloved China Sea. I had brought
Lars Lorensen, the former sailing master of the “Leckwith” and a brave
and loyal Norseman, with me from the other side, as I expected to have
need of him in South America.
After Norton’s departure I bought the fore and aft schooner yacht
“Juliette,” about eighty tons, fitted her out at New London,
Connecticut, for a six months’ cruise, and with Lorensen as sailing
master, started for Bermuda to test her seaworthiness. We reached
there in five days and proceeded to St. Thomas, where I hoped to
find Guzman Blanco. He was not there so we went on to Curacoa, which
was then, as it has been ever since, a revolutionary rendezvous. We
arrived there in the latter part of December. I found that Guzman was
there, and James Faxon, the American consul, introduced me to him at
the Willemstad Club, where he was playing billiards with Gen. Pulgar,
his chief-of-staff. Before meeting him I had familiarized myself with
recent Venezuelan history, as far as it concerned him. I learned that
Guzman Blanco’s father, Dr. Antonio Guzman, began political life as
private secretary to Simon Bolivar, the famous “Liberator,” and had
been prominent in Venezuelan politics for fifty years. He aided in the
election of Jose Tadeo Monagas to the presidency and at his request his
son, Guzman Blanco, was appointed Secretary of Legation at Washington,
where he lived during 1856 and 1857. In the latter year Dr. Guzman had
a row with Monagas and was expelled from the country. He went to St.
Thomas and was soon joined by his son. There they met Gen. Falcon,
who too had been banished by Monagas and was planning a revolt. When
Falcon invaded Venezuela in 1859, in what became known as the “Five
Years’ War,” Guzman Blanco went with him. In a succession of brilliant
victories young Guzman demonstrated his great bravery and military
genius and he soon was at the head of a division, later becoming second
in command. Falcon entered Caracas in triumph in April, 1863, after
devastating most of the country, and was elected President, with Guzman
Blanco as Vice-President. In addition to this title Guzman was made
Minister of Finance and of Foreign Relations, and in 1864, and again in
1867, he went to Europe to settle the national debt and arrange a new
loan. While he was away the second time the old Monagas faction came
back to life with enough strength to force Falcon to abandon Caracas,
and when Guzman returned from London in 1868 a mob surrounded his house
and stoned it. He fled to Europe. He had just returned and was planning
an invasion of Venezuela when I met him.
I told him of my efforts the year before to meet him in London and
Paris and their purpose; that I was running contraband, more to satisfy
my love of adventure than as a business, and I believed I could be
useful to him; that South America was prolific of revolutions and I
was ambitious to have a hand in them. After he had studied me, asked
all sorts of questions, and apparently satisfied himself that I could
be relied on, Guzman told me, in a general way, of his plans and asked
me to secure for him three thousand old Remington rifles and five
hundred thousand cartridges and deliver them as quickly as possible
at Curacoa. We sailed for New York the day after the order was given,
early in January, and made the trip in just a month. I bought the arms
from P. D. Orvis & Co., of Whitehall Street, and we were on our way
back within a week. We made the return trip in twenty-eight days and
reached Curacoa just before the sunset gun was fired. The entrance to
the harbor at Curacoa is very narrow and in those days it was, and I
believe still is, closed during the night by a great chain, which was
raised at sunset and lowered at sunrise by a powerful windlass.
I went ashore at once and to the club where, instead of Guzman Blanco,
whom I expected would be waiting for me, I found Gen. Ortega, who
was with Guzman when I first met him and seemed to be fully in his
confidence. Ortega handed me a note, bearing what purported to be the
signature of Guzman, which directed me to deliver the cargo at a place
to be indicated by Ortega, and stated that payment for it would be
made on my cabin table. As I was not familiar with Guzman’s writing I
showed the signature to Dr. Leon and to old man Jesurun, who owned the
shipyard, who knew Guzman well, and both of them pronounced it genuine.
I had no suspicion that anything was wrong and took this precaution
simply as a matter of ordinary business sense. Ortega directed me
to deliver the cargo at Tucacas Point, a little peninsula about one
hundred miles west of La Guaira, and said we must put to sea that
night, as Guzman was anxiously awaiting the arms. Through exceptional
representations of some sort to the commandante he secured the lowering
of the chain, and we left at once, arriving off the point the next
evening.
Ortega went ashore and returned with a request that I order off the
hatches and start the unloading of the cargo in my boats and then
go ashore with him and get my money. This was not in accord with my
contract with Guzman or with the note Ortega had handed me, but,
though I was reminded of my experiences with Don Carlos, I had great
confidence in Guzman and did not wish to offend him, so I readily
consented to the amended arrangement. As soon as the unloading was
well under way I went ashore with Ortega. We climbed the bluff and
walked half a mile inland to a mud-thatched hut before which a sentry
was pacing. Ortega gave the countersign and we stepped inside, to find
Gen. Pulgar, who was chief-of-staff for Guzman when I was introduced
to him at the Willemstad Club, wrapped in a _chinchora_ and smoking
in a hammock. After shaking hands with him I asked where Guzman was.
He replied evasively that he was there instead of Guzman. I told him
briefly about my trip, in response to his queries, and then asked him
for my money, which Ortega had said was waiting for me. Pulgar smiled
and straightened up.
“I told Ortega to deliver that message to you,” he said, “but there
is no use mincing words and I may as well tell you that you are my
prisoner. Your cargo is being taken care of and will be put to a very
different purpose from that which you expected. As I have said, you
are my prisoner but I have an offer to make you which, if you accept
it, will be to your advantage. Guzman is not an old friend of yours
and if you make a profit on your arms it can’t make much difference
to you whether you serve him or me. If you will join my forces, of
your own free will, I will make you a colonel and give you command of
a battalion and when the revolution is over I will pay you for your
rifles, just as Guzman agreed to do.”
“You seem to forget,” I replied, “that I have a contract with Gen.
Guzman which, as an honorable man, I can’t go back on.”
“Well, you don’t appear to be in a very good position just now to carry
it out, do you?” he asked.
I again inquired where Guzman was but a shrug of the shoulders was
the only answer I could get to questions along that line. Not knowing
as much about Venezuelan revolutions then as I did later I could not
fathom this strange situation to my entire satisfaction, but it was my
guess that in some way Pulgar had become arrayed against Guzman, and it
turned out that I was right.
I told Pulgar that I would give him an answer at gunfire, in the
morning, and spent the night with Ortega, under guard. I tried to draw
him out but, evidently according to orders, he would not even talk
about the weather.
At sunrise we went to see Pulgar. When asked for my decision I inquired
what the result would be if his revolution failed.
“Then I am sorry, my dear Captain, but you will lose your cargo, while
I will lose my life, which is of infinitely more importance to me. But
the revolution will not fail,” he vehemently declared.
As though impressed by his confidence in himself, I announced that
I would take a chance with him and accept his offer, with a mental
reservation to escape at the first opportunity, for I did not propose
to fight against Guzman, and that, I was convinced, was what it
amounted to.
“That is excellent,” he said, with the suggestion of a bow. After
coffee I went with him to inspect his troops. He had about three
thousand men, many of whom were already armed with the rifles I
had brought in, and they were strung across the narrow arm of the
peninsula in a line almost as ragged as their clothes. I was formally
given command of a battalion of three hundred men, and an Indian
servant,--I afterward found he had orders to shoot me if I attempted
to escape,--was assigned to me. I accompanied Pulgar back to his
headquarters, where I was given an old sword and the tarnished shoulder
straps of a colonel, these constituting my uniform.
“Now that you have allied yourself with my forces,” he then said, “you
will have no use for your ship, for the present at least. She is still
lying in the bay and if she remains there she is likely to be captured
or cause trouble. You will therefore write a note to the officer in
charge of her directing him to proceed to Curacoa and await orders.
She will be safe there and,” with a quizzical smile, “you will be safe
here. We have no boats but we will signal your ship from the beach that
we have word for it.”
I had been expecting this command and, as there was nothing else for
me to do, I complied with it at once. It was cutting off my only hope
of rescue, though a forlorn one as I was forced to admit, but the
adventure which the situation promised to develop was getting into my
blood and, to tell the truth, I rather liked the idea of being left to
my own resources amid such strange surroundings. Pulgar had told me
during the inspection of his camp that we would probably soon be in
action, as “some” troops were advancing on him, and if they did not
attack him before he was ready to march, he would go out to meet them.
He preferred that they should bring the fight to him for all of his men
were recruited from that section and knew every foot of the country.
When I came to know Venezuela I appreciated that Pulgar required no
great prestige to gain a considerable following in that part of the
country, for it was a veritable hotbed of revolution, ranking with
Maturin in the east and Barquisimeto in the southwest,--three kegs of
powder that could be set off by almost any man who had two legs and a
sword.
I started in to drill my troops with the idea of making them a really
effective fighting force, but it was the most difficult task I had ever
undertaken. They were lazy to a degree that passes the understanding of
an Anglo-Saxon and they had not the slightest desire to learn even the
first principles of the science of war, as it is understood outside of
South America. I had been trying to whip them, and others, into some
sort of shape for about a week when word was brought in one morning
that the enemy was approaching. We had no advance guard out, though I
had tried to induce Pulgar to post one, and a few minutes after the
scouts had been driven in the action became general, with the forces
apparently about evenly matched in numbers. Instead of allowing me to
lead my battalion, Pulgar ordered me to remain with him on a little
knoll in the rear, from which he made a pretence of directing his
forces. He could have accomplished much more in front, for what his
men needed was a leader, not a director. They were fighting in Indian
fashion, with every man shooting indiscriminately from behind a tree
or log, and they paid no attention to commands. I will say for them,
though, that they fought hard and stubbornly, but they were gradually
driven back, and Pulgar, who had a terrible temper, was furious. All
at once the opposing troops were largely reinforced and came with a
rush which quickly converted our orderly retreat into a rout. Pulgar,
cursing like a madman, dashed madly into the disorganized mass of his
liberty-loving louts, with Ortega and the rest of his staff at his
heels.
I was left alone and was hesitating as to what I should do when my
Indian servant tugged at my trousers leg. “Follow me, Colonel,” he
said, “I know where there is a boat.” He started off at the run and
covered ground so fast that I had to gallop my horse to keep up with
him. He led the way to the beach near where my cargo had been landed
and pushed a native boat from under a clump of mangrove trees. We
jumped in and shoved off in a hurry, for Ortega and several of his men
had just appeared on the bluff above us and were making for us. There
were no oars in the boat but we pulled a board loose from the bottom
and used it as a paddle. A strong current from the east swept us clear
of the peninsula and out to sea; but I was not alarmed, for I figured
that we would soon be in the path of coasting vessels. Scattered
rifle patter reached us for a long time, indicating that my former
comrades-in-arms were being ignominiously chased around in a way that
must have been most discouraging to Pulgar. Toward the middle of the
afternoon, as we were trying to work in toward the land, the Indian let
our paddle get away from him, which left us entirely at the mercy of
the elements, and I suspected that we might have fared better if we had
stayed on shore.
We drifted around for three days and nights without so much as a
glimpse of a distant sail, and without an ounce of food or a mouthful
of water, save only such as we were able to suck out of our clothes
during and after a providential rain that fell on the second night. On
the morning of the fourth day a fog lifted and close to us was a fleet
of fishermen from the island of Oruba, twenty miles to the westward
of Curacoa. They took us to their island and after we had rested and
eaten for two days a fishing boat took us to Curacoa. There I learned
from Consul Faxon what had happened in Venezuela. Guzman’s plans had
worked out more rapidly than he anticipated when he sent me to New York
for arms, and he landed in Venezuela early in February at the head of
a small force but with a large army waiting for him. The old Liberals
flocked to his standard and with only slight resistance he entered
Caracas and proclaimed himself Dictator. His victory was so easily
achieved and was so largely a personal one that he did not give to
Pulgar the reward to which that general considered himself entitled,
and the latter immediately started a new revolution.
When I told Faxon the manner in which I had been imposed on and how
I had been impressed into Pulgar’s service, he advised me to go to
Caracas at once and tell President Guzman the whole story. Though
somewhat dubious as to the result, because of the fear that Guzman
would be skeptical, and perhaps brutal, I followed his advice and went
on the next steamer. The same ship carried a letter to Guzman from
Faxon in which he told him of my experiences and of the precautions I
had taken to verify the signature to the order Ortega had given me on
my arrival with the arms. From the effect which this letter produced I
judge that Faxon also said some very complimentary things about me, but
I never had an opportunity to thank him, for he died before I was in
Curacoa again.
I called on Guzman after I knew he had received Faxon’s letter, and was
welcomed with marked cordiality. “Tell me your whole story,” he said,
“but let me assure you, it is believed before it is told.” His face
took on an ugly look when I told him how Ortega had tricked me with the
forged order and he interrupted me to say that he had sent an officer
to Curacoa to await the “Juliette” and direct me to deliver the arms at
La Guaira. This officer’s failure to get to me in advance of Ortega had
not been satisfactorily explained and had, Guzman said, been severely
punished. It was evident that he suspected collusion between his agent
and Ortega.
When I had finished Guzman told me he was surrounded by men whom
he either suspected or hesitated to trust. He wanted a man whom he
could rely on implicitly to watch for evidences of treachery among
those around him, and he was kind enough to say he thought me the man
for whom he had been looking. He asked me to remain in Caracas for
an indefinite time, to mix freely with his _entourage_ and become
intimately acquainted with them and ascertain who could be trusted and
who were doubtful. I could pose as an American who was studying the
country with the idea of making investments, which would explain my
interest in things and my desire to cultivate the members of his court.
I spoke Spanish well and could also converse easily enough in French,
though that language was little used except among the diplomats.
I accepted his invitation gladly and a part of the time that I was in
Caracas I spent at the Yellow House, the residence of the President,
as his guest. Guzman was the handsomest man I have ever known; tall
and as straight as a sword, with long black beard and dark eyes, sharp
as needles, that could flash fire or friendship. He was magnetic and
winning to the last degree and every inch a ruler of men, without the
faintest notion as to what fear meant. During the nearly twenty years
that he was absolute ruler of Venezuela his temper was the thing most
dreaded through all the land. I have seen grizzled generals, descended
from the best families of old Spain, turn almost white at the sign of
his anger.
Himself a pure Castiliano, he regarded the native Venezuelanos as a
vastly inferior race, thereby furnishing another illustration of his
good judgment, and there was much of contempt in his attitude toward
them. Many times, when they had incurred his displeasure by a display
of cowardice or some other fault, I have heard him abuse a quailing
crowd of the highest officers in the Venezuelan Army in language much
more vigorous and profane than an American policeman would use to a
gang of hoodlums. “You are not worth a damn,” he would always tell
them in conclusion, “except in proportion to the amount of foreign
blood that is in you.” Yet until the day when he was treacherously
overthrown, to the great loss of Venezuela, no criticism of his was
ever resented nor was there ever a whisper of protest. The people knew
their master.
One of the first whom Guzman asked me closely to observe was a young
Indian officer named Joachim Crespo, an aide attached to his household.
I reported that he could be implicitly trusted, and knowledge of that
fact helped me out of a scrape years later, when Crespo was President
of Venezuela.
Not more than ten days after my arrival in Caracas Guzman asked me to
be in his private _sala_ at ten o’clock the next morning, to meet an
old friend. At the appointed hour the Governor of the Casa Publica came
in, with a few officers, escorting none other than Gen. Vicento Pulgar,
who had put to his service my cargo of arms. Pulgar was in full uniform
and bore himself like a hero. His manner was almost contemptuous and
his expression was one of amused curiosity rather than fear.
Guzman made him a courtly bow and extended his hand, which Pulgar
reluctantly accepted.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Guzman said.
“I dare say it is to you, General, but here I am, at your service.”
“I hope you are here as a friend.”
“Whatever General Guzman desires must necessarily be accepted as an
accomplished fact.”
Guzman turned to the Governor and asked him the occasion for the call.
The Governor replied that they had brought General Pulgar as a prisoner
of war.
“Prisoner!” exclaimed Guzman with profound astonishment. “My friend
General Pulgar a prisoner! If that is the purpose of your visit you may
retire.”
After the officers had departed Guzman turned to Pulgar with a more
serious air. “You will be my guest in Caracas until such time as I need
you elsewhere,” he said. “I will be pleased to receive a call from you
every day.”
Pulgar bowed; no other parole was necessary.
That was Guzman’s way of doing things and it was well understood,
especially by men of intellect like Pulgar. No firmer hand than
Guzman’s ever ruled but it was ordinarily encased in a velvet glove.
His bare hand, which was displayed only when extreme conditions
demanded, was a sign of terror.
As Pulgar was leaving he stopped and congratulated me on my safe trip
to Caracas. I thanked him, with the same politeness. Neither of us
alluded to his seizure of my arms or to my enforced service with him.
Pulgar and I subsequently became good friends.
I congratulated Guzman on his diplomacy and his shrewd effort to turn
a powerful enemy into a useful friend, though I doubted if he would
succeed.
“If I and my good adviser, Captain Boynton, cannot pull the claws of
the General, we will have to take the consequences,” he said. From that
I understood that I was to keep close watch of Pulgar and report daily,
which I did. Everything that I saw and heard indicated that Guzman’s
diplomacy would fail. Pulgar told his friends openly that while Guzman
seemed very friendly he was not deceived and would kill him at the
first opportunity. “Well, he’ll have plenty of opportunity,” said
Guzman with a laugh when I reported this to him.
There was a reception at the Yellow House a few nights later. Pulgar
was invited and was present. Guzman soon found an opportunity to engage
him in conversation. “I have already found that being President of
Venezuela has its objectionable features,” sighed Guzman after they
had chatted lightly for a few minutes. “One has to listen to so many
ridiculous tales. For instance, I have heard many foolish stories about
you, one of them being an alleged threat to kill me the first time you
have a chance.”
“I don’t know about the others, but I did say that,” replied Pulgar.
Guzman shrugged his shoulders, as though wearied. “How often,” he
responded, “we say we are going to do things which we may think we will
do but which we never do do.”
“When I get an opportunity that a gentleman can take advantage of, I
intend to kill you, General Guzman,” said Pulgar, still smiling.
“Let that be the understanding then,” answered Guzman as he walked
away, without displaying the slightest concern.
The very next day Guzman sent Pulgar an invitation to come to the
palace at three o’clock and go driving with him. Contrary to his custom
he ordered that no guards accompany them. They had not gone a quarter
of a mile when one of the front wheels came off and both of them were
thrown out in a heap. As they disentangled themselves Pulgar drew a
revolver but it was not well out of his pocket before Guzman had him
covered with his pistol.
“Ah, you were prepared for me, I see, General,” said Pulgar.
“I am always prepared for friends and enemies alike,” replied Guzman.
They put up their weapons and walked back to the palace.
“I am sorry our ride was so short,” said Guzman.
“It was long enough,” was Pulgar’s reply, “to convert an enemy into a
friend.”
“In that case it has been truly delightful,” responded Guzman. They
shook hands and that was the end of the Pulgar revolution.
Peace palled on Pulgar and he died not long afterward. As was his right
he had the largest funeral ever seen in Venezuela. Without exception
he was the bravest man I have ever known. He had all of Frank Norton’s
daring and added to it what seemed to be a foolhardy recklessness that
times without number carried him right up against old Graybeard’s
scythe, yet he always knew the chances he was taking and coolly
calculated them. When he was stripped he looked as though he had been
run through a threshing machine. From head to foot he was covered with
scars left by knives, swords, and bullets of all sizes. In an assault
on the fortress at Porto Cabello, years before I knew him, he climbed
into an embrasure and over the mouth of a cannon just as it was fired.
Had he been a second later he would have been blown to pieces. The
explosion burned nearly all the flesh off his legs and reduced them
to pipe-stems. He was a tall, handsome man of pure Castilian blood; a
revolutionist by birth, breeding, education, and occupation, and his
one ambition was to be President of Venezuela. I doubt if that country
will ever produce another just like him.
It was known that Guzman favored the introduction of foreign capital
to develop the wonderful resources of Venezuela, the full extent
of which is not even yet understood, and Caracas was soon over-run
with concession hunters. Many of them sought my support and offered
me all sorts of inducements, but I told all of them that I had no
influence with Guzman and would not use it if I had, in such ways as
they desired. I always advised Guzman fully as to whom the concession
hunters were and what they wanted. One of those on whom I thus reported
was Cyrenius Fitzgerald, an American civil engineer, who sought a
concession covering the delta of the Orinoco and a considerable
distance up the river, which section then was an unknown land. Guzman
wanted a report on it and asked me to visit it, which I did, in company
with Fitzgerald and an English engineer named Tucker, who was there
making a survey for the railroad which subsequently was built between
Caracas and La Guaira. We made the trip on the old government boat
“Bolivar,” being away two months and going up the Orinoco as far as
Ciudad Bolivar. We went over much of the territory included in the
proposed concession and explored many uncharted passages in the delta
of the river which had long been safe havens for revolutionists and
smugglers. I became enchanted with the country, which was rich in
minerals and valuable woods. In reporting to Guzman and talking with
him about the project, I found that he was to receive a large block of
stock in the enterprise. This concession finally was granted by Guzman
in 1883, without any solicitation from me, and thirteen years later
it was decreed by fate that I should become manager of the property
for the Orinoco Company, Limited, which is now known as the Orinoco
Corporation.
CHAPTER V
THE MAROONING OF A TRAITOR
I had been with Guzman Blanco for about a year after he proclaimed
himself Dictator of Venezuela, on February 14, 1871, when I began to
grow restless again. This was in no sense due to any fault I had to
find with Guzman. He had treated me with every mark of friendship and
had proved, time and again, that I possessed his entire confidence.
He had paid me fifty thousand dollars for the cargo of arms which
Pulgar secured through Ortega’s forgery and had been liberal in other
financial matters, though I would not accept any direct payment for my
confidential services, as I considered myself, in a sense, his guest.
But, under the strong hand of Guzman, things were settling down to
a humdrum, and I rebelled against peace and order and fretted under
the restraint of the land. At sea I could go where I pleased, when I
pleased, and do what I pleased; on shore, except for the Yellow House
and the evening social events, all of which were alike, my time was
largely divided between Madam Santa Amand’s hotel in Caracas and the
old Posada Neptuno in La Guaira, and my movements were circumscribed
by the part I was playing. Then, too, revolutions were popping in
Central America, according to the reports that reached Caracas, and I
felt that I was missing a lot of excitement and some business. This
latter consideration entered into my thoughts not largely, and at
all only because my expenses were greatly in excess of the amounts I
received from Guzman in roundabout ways. In those days and for years
afterward, I gratified my foolishly extravagant tastes without any
regard to the cost of things; it is only within recent years that I
have come to understand that money has a value.
With my whole nature clamoring for a change to more strenuous scenes
I put the situation up to Guzman and secured his permission to go
away, on the promise that I would return within six months. I summoned
the “Juliette” from Curacoa and set sail for England, for the double
purpose of securing a cargo of arms, with which to add to the joy of
living in Central America, and looking up Frank Norton, who had so well
planted within me the germ of his China Sea insanity that it was taking
root. With the good little ship heeled over to the steady trade winds
that fanned my dusky cheek, lovingly as I fancied in my enthusiasm, and
with the waters that are nowhere else so blue murmuring a welcome back
to them, I was again a rover of the sea and my exultant soul joined in
the lyric chorus of the rigging.
We stopped at St. Thomas, that haven of thieves, blacklegs, and
revolutionists, and there I met General Baez, brother of Buenaventura
Baez, President of Santo Domingo, and his Minister of War. Buenaventura
Baez was one of the most interesting characters the romantic West
Indies have produced. He was the son of a rich mulatto and was born
early in the last century. He coöperated with General Santana in
establishing the independence of Santo Domingo and was President from
1849 to 1853, when he was supplanted by Santana, who expelled him from
the island. Santana was deposed three years later and Baez, who had
spent the interval in New York, resumed the presidency. Two years later
he was once more ousted by Santana and forced to live abroad until
1865, when he again assumed the presidency. In 1866 General Pimental
headed a successful revolt in favor of General Cabral, and Baez was
banished a third time, going to St. Thomas. His star was in eclipse
only a short while, however, for the following year he again fought his
way to the presidential chair. In the latter part of 1869 he signed
two treaties with President Grant, one for the cession of Samana Bay,
which probably is the most beautiful harbor in the West Indies and
was wanted by our Navy Department for years before these treaties were
signed and for many years afterward, and the other for the annexation
of the whole island of Santo Domingo to the United States. The people
of Santo Domingo approved both of these conventions at an election
decreed by Baez in February, 1870, and held under the guns of an
American warship, but the United States Senate refused to ratify either
treaty. President Grant believed strongly in this annexation, wherein
he showed his farsightedness, and a commission which he sent to the
island reported, in the Spring of 1871, in favor of the treaty; but
sentiment in the Senate was decidedly against it and the measure was
not pressed.
If Grant could have lived until to-day he would find considerable
satisfaction in the protectorate the United States has assumed over
Santo Domingo, which really amounts to American control. The same
course must be taken with helpless Hayti, and it may well be that
before these lines are read the administration of the finances of
the “Black Republic” will have been taken over by American officers;
and the American minister, acting under orders from Washington, will
be the real ruler of the land, as he is in Santo Domingo. Let me
digress here to express the conviction that within ten years every
European possession in the West Indies, with the possible exception
of Barbadoes, will come under the Stars and Stripes. Even if economic
conditions do not compel this change, as they would do sooner or later,
it will be made necessary by the completion of the Panama Canal. The
United States, though seldom given to any riotous display of good
sense, is still too wise a nation to permit a foreign power to have a
naval base almost within gunshot of Colon, from which it could strike a
quick and destructive blow at the inter-oceanic waterway.
Conditions are ripe for the change. England has made a failure of
governing her islands and, in advance of formal retirement, has
abandoned her great naval station at Saint Lucia, on which millions
of pounds were spent, and withdrawn her warships from the Caribbean.
The Danish Islands are a heavy and continuous drain on the Copenhagen
treasury that cannot be maintained for many years longer, and
Washington years ago, through clear-visioned John Hay, served formal
notice on Denmark that the sale of these islands to any nation except
the United States would be regarded as an unfriendly act. It was the
determination then to keep these islands away from the outstretched
hands of Germany, because of their proximity to South America, and
there are many more reasons now to prevent their transfer to any
foreign power. They are so largely owned by Americans that they are
practically American colonies to-day. The French Islands are the most
prosperous of all, but only because of a bounty on sugar which the
national government is anxious to drop. Holland has no reason for
retaining her islands, which are an expense to which no glory attaches.
Under American ownership these beauty spots would be restored to their
old-time prosperity and no one knows this so well as the islanders
themselves. In my judgment it is a matter of only a comparatively
few years until England, France, Denmark, and the Netherlands will
enter into some arrangement, the details of which I do not attempt
to predict, by which all of their Caribbean islands will be turned
over to the United States. The only possible exception is Barbadoes,
which England may wish to retain as a midway station on her commercial
highway to South America, but as that poverty-stricken islet, which
has twice disappeared under the sea and then bobbed up again, has no
port that could be defended, there might be no objection to such a
plan. Cuba is certain to become an American possession, for the Cubans
are as incapable of self-government as are the Filipinos, and if
Santo Domingo and Hayti are not recognized as children of the United
States, they will be its wards. The United States, too, must take a
larger hand in the affairs of Central America and Venezuela. The Monroe
Doctrine cannot run on one wheel. At the same time that it protects the
Latin-American countries from European aggression, it must compel them
to pay their debts and maintain order. I am glad, however, that this
theory did not obtain in the old days, for it would have robbed me of
many exciting episodes.
The defeat of Grant’s annexation project gave Pimental and Cabral
an excuse for starting a new revolution, and they were beginning to
show their hand when I ran into General Baez at St. Thomas. He knew
of my association with Guzman Blanco and at once approached me with a
proposition to go to Santo Domingo to aid his brother in the troubles
he foresaw. He also suggested that I might undertake a mission to
America or Europe in relation to the readjustment of the debts of the
island, which even then were becoming burdensome and a source of much
anxiety to the party in power, because of the insistent belief of the
creditors that they were entitled to their money when it was due. I
told him I knew nothing at all about finances but that, if I could get
an extension of leave from Guzman, I would consider any practical plan
that promised excitement. He said he would consult with his brother and
write me at Caracas.
We went on to London, where I learned that Norton was in the
Mediterranean with the “Leckwith,” impatiently carrying general
cargoes. I left word for him with Nickell & Son that I expected soon to
be ready to go out East with him, took on a cargo of arms and headed
for Costa Rica, where I had information that a revolution was hatching
against Gen. Tomaso Guardia, who had recently come into power. For this
trip, I remember, I took the name of “Captain John F. Kinnear.” We had
some trouble in getting away, for the British Government was still dead
set against filibustering, and in the hope of removing all suspicion
I gave our destination as Kingston, Jamaica, though I had no idea of
stopping there. I gave the ship a new set of papers, showing British
registry, and was, of course, flying the British flag.
We ran into bad weather in the Caribbean and were forced, after all,
to put in at Kingston, leaking badly. The ship was so opened up, in
fact, that she had to be recalked and have a few new planks, which
necessitated putting her in dry dock. The port regulations stipulated
that when a ship went in dry dock a general cargo could be left in
her, at the option and risk of the owner, but that all explosives
and munitions of war must be taken out and stored in the government
arsenal, or in some place selected by the commandant. There was
nothing for it but to take out our cargo, and five days were consumed
in loading and repairing the ship. I had the work hurried with all
possible speed, for the mail ship from England was due in nine days
after our arrival and I was fearful that she would bring an order for
our detention, which, as a matter of fact, she did, as I learned years
afterward. When the repairs were completed the governor of the island
refused to allow us to reload our cargo, as he had an intimation that
the ship was not what she pretended to be. This hint, it developed
later, came from Jimmy Donovan, a “sea lawyer” whom I had shipped at
the last minute in the hurry of getting away from London. He made
what is known on the sea as a “pier-head jump.” On the fourth day I
prevailed on the governor to allow us to take on our cargo, but he
insisted that the ship must be held, with both anchors down, until
further orders. I decided that we would go out that night and so
informed Lorensen, the sailing master. Knowing me even as well as he
did he laughed incredulously, thinking I was joking, for the channel
through the harbor was shaped like the letter “S” and commanded by a
fort which could, as he said, blow us out of the water without half
trying.
“Just the same,” I said, “we are going to sea or to hell to-night.”
“All right, Captain, but it will be to hell, if I am any judge,” was
the quiet reply of the game Lorensen, than whom a braver or better
seaman never walked a deck. During the evening he greased all of the
blocks so we could start on our problematical journey without any
noise. The moon went down at midnight and before it was out of sight
we had one anchor up, with a muffled capstan. We were getting up the
other when the harbor policeman came along. A few Bank of England notes
blinded him and we got under way, with two of the ship’s boats towing
us and the tide helping us along. Evidently the fort had orders to look
out for us but we caught them napping, apparently, for we were almost
past it when we were hailed and ordered to stop. In a minute, without
giving us a decent chance to heave to, even had we been so inclined,
they whanged away at us. The second shot went clear through us, just
below the waterway, and Lorensen, who was with me at the wheel,
exclaimed grimly, “Here we go, Captain.”
But he was mistaken, for in the darkness their gunnery was not up to
the standard of British marksmanship, for which I have a wholesome
respect. They kept at it hard enough but all of their shots went wild,
except for one that punched a hole in the port bulwarks forward, though
from the way the shells whistled I have no doubt our canvas would have
been punctured many times, had it been up. We were soon under cover of
the Myrtle Bank Hotel and after that two ships protected us until we
were far enough away so that only a chance shot could reach us. When
we were well enough out in the harbor so that we could manœuvre and
get the full effect of the light breeze that was blowing over the salt
flats, we set all of our sails and pulled away.
At daylight I had the carpenter at work fixing up the little damage
the fort had done us, and it was well that we were quick about it for
during the afternoon we met the old warship “Bellerephon,” which was
attached to that station, coming in from a trip around the island ten
days ahead of time. We were preparing to salute her when she stopped
and hove us to with a blank shot. I don’t think I have ever been more
surprised, for there was no wireless telegraph in those days and I
could not conceive how she had gotten word that we were suspected of
filibustering. While I was racking my brain for some solution of
the problem Lorensen ran forward, leaned out over the side, and came
back and reported that there was a blue shirt under the bobstay. That
explained it, for in those days it was an unwritten law in the British
Navy that when a sailor on a merchant ship had any pronounced complaint
to make, regarding either his own treatment or general conditions on
the vessel, he would hang a shirt in the chains, under the bowsprit,
where it would not be seen by the officers unless they were looking for
it, as a signal to any warship they met that there was something wrong
on board. Whenever and wherever a warship saw a shirt fluttering under
the bobstay the vessel was held up and carefully investigated.
I suspected at once that it was Jimmy Donovan who had hung out the
shirt, and I had him bucked and gagged and stowed away in the hold
before he could have said “Jack Robinson.” Then, quickly, I made an
entry on the log which showed that he had been left in the hospital at
Kingston, with pernicious fever. By that time the lieutenant from the
“Bellerephon” was alongside. When he came aboard I assumed a look of
injured innocence and profound surprise. He ordered me to muster the
crew aft and called for my papers. To my great satisfaction he merely
glanced at the certificate of registry, which was forged, and centred
his attention on the crew list. The men answered to their names as he
called them off. When he came to Donovan I explained that he had been
taken sick at Kingston and left there, and produced the log, which
satisfied him.
“Who among you has any complaint to make?” he asked of the men. There
was no response, and he repeated the question.
“Don’t be afraid,” he encouraged them. “The ‘Bellerephon’ will protect
you. If you have any complaint to make, step out and make it. We will
see that you get fair play and, if necessary, take you on board.”
No one moved, and after waiting some time the lieutenant turned to me
with the remark that everything seemed to be all right. I told him I
had heard of no complaints from any of the men and asked why they had
“stood us up.”
“Why, there is a shirt out forward,” he explained. I suggested that
perhaps some of the crew had been washing. Hearing my remark a
quick-witted fellow named Bill Johnson, who had shipped on my first
trip with the “Juliette,” stepped out and said he had washed his shirt
that morning and hung it in the chains to dry, without knowing that it
meant anything. “I’ve been a sailor for a good many years but that is
one signal I never heard of before,” he said.
“Is that true, Bill?” asked the lieutenant with what seemed like just a
shade of suspicion.
“It is, sir,” replied Bill with the steady gaze of an honest man.
“He is a ‘True Bill’ all right,” I told the young officer as I shot a
grateful look at the grizzled sailor that meant a raise in wages. “He
is the oldest man on the ship and one of the best. That shirt signal is
a new one on me, too, and I thought I knew all the signs of the sea.”
“Very good, sir,” he replied. “It is quite evidently a mistake.”
He then returned to the “Bellerephon,” which answered our salute, and
we squared away for Costa Rica. My mind was free from any further fear
of capture, for a stiff breeze was singing over our quarter, and I
knew by the time the old warship could get to Kingston and start after
us again we would be well out of reach. As soon as she was hull down
I mustered the crew aft and complimented Bill on his ready wit and
rewarded it. He was with me for years after that and was never known by
any other name than “True Bill.”
I then reminded the men that, in accordance with my invariable rule
when running contraband, I had told all of them the exact nature of
our voyage before we were out of sight of land and had offered to set
ashore any who did not wish to undertake it, while those who stayed
with me were to receive double pay, and a bonus out of the profits in
addition, in consideration of the hazardous nature of the trip.
“Therefore,” I told them, “the treachery of Donovan has not only
endangered your extra pay and bonus but also placed your freedom in
jeopardy. As he was one of your number I will turn him over to you for
such punishment as you think his case deserves. I, of course, reserve
the right to review your verdict, but I do not believe you will be too
lenient with him.” The crew welcomed this announcement with cheers,
which could not be regarded as a good omen for the traitor, and a
court-martial was organized, with the “bos’n” at the head of it.
Donovan confessed when he was brought before the court, whereupon it
was unanimously and speedily decided that he should run the gantlet and
be marooned, which verdict I approved, for I believed it to be none
too severe. The crew prepared for the first ceremony by knotting a
lot of rope ends and tarring them until they were as hard as iron but
flexible. They then formed in a double line the full length of the
ship and as Donovan ran down the middle of it they laid on so well that
he was leaving a trail of blood before he tumbled in a heap at the end.
He was then placed in the brig and kept there until we came to a small
island off the Costa Rican coast, on which he was landed with enough
water and provisions to last him a couple of weeks or more and a flag
that he could use to signal any vessel coming his way. There was not a
great deal of travel down that way in those days and he may still be
there, doing a repetition of the Robinson Crusoe act, though the island
was not very large and the boat’s crew that landed him reported that
they saw no goats. Donovan was helpless from fear when he was lowered
into the boat to be rowed to the island, and begged for mercy, but that
was something our cargo did not contain.
The arms we carried were sold to the revolutionists in Costa Rica,
being paid for partly in cash and partly in coffee, which I sold at
Curacoa. From there I returned to Venezuela and reported to Guzman
Blanco, after having been away only about four months. Not long after
my arrival in Caracas, where I resumed my old position as confidential
agent for Guzman, I received a letter from President Baez asking me to
enter his employ, to reorganize his army and aid him in suppressing
the revolutionary feeling which was being developed by agents for
Pimental and Cabral. He offered to give me a commission as General in
the Santo Domingan Army, which he did do later, and to pay me liberally
for my services, which he didn’t do. I replied that I had again
associated myself with Guzman and that while no length of service had
been specified, I wished to remain with him at least a short while,
after which I would try to get leave to join the Santo Domingans.
Guzman was paving the way for his election as Constitutional President,
which was accomplished the next year, 1873, and all of his friends
were working to that end. He was supported by a public sentiment that
became practically unanimous, but there were a few who were unalterably
opposed to any established order of things and who could not get over
the habit of “revoluting,” with or without provocation. During the
Fall and Winter these discontented ones gradually drew together under
the leadership of General Pulido. Guzman was kept advised as to what
they were doing but their following was so small that it caused him
no uneasiness and, to further strengthen himself with the people,
he determined to take no steps against them until they came out in
the open, when he was prepared to crush them. The moment the rebels
raised their banners Guzman took the field against them, in person. At
the head of an army of four thousand veterans he marched to Valencia
where he met Pulido and routed him, following up his scattered forces
and almost annihilating them, and the revolt was stamped out with
one smashing blow. That was the last hand raised against Guzman for
seventeen years; during all of that time he was the absolute dictator
of Venezuela. The constitution prohibited the President from succeeding
himself so he occupied that office for alternate terms, with an
obedient dummy serving in the intervals, which he spent in Europe as
Minister Plenipotentiary, directing the government by mail. His rule
was wise and progressive. Railroads were built, roads improved, schools
established, and real religious liberty took the place of clericalism.
He was betrayed, in the end, by his supposed friends, men whom he had
raised to prominence and prosperity. Had he been succeeded by a man
as strong and able as himself Venezuela would to-day be the foremost
country in South America, instead of the one most uncivilized.
Not long after the campaign against Pulido, in which I served on
Guzman’s staff, I received another letter from Baez, urging me to come
to Santo Domingo. The same mail brought a letter from Baez to Guzman,
asking him to grant me leave of absence for a few months to enter his
service. Guzman was flattered by this request and with his permission I
went to Santo Domingo City in the Spring of 1873, on the “Juliette.”
CHAPTER VI
A SWIFT VENGEANCE
President Baez of Santo Domingo was short and thin and had a washed-out
look, as though his skin had been faded by chemicals instead of by a
three-quarters’ admixture of white blood. He had large full eyes that
were shifty and insincere. He was clever but superficial, cunning and
treacherous. Had I seen him before I went to his cursed country, to
reorganize his army and aid in putting down the growing revolutionary
sentiment, I would have remained in Venezuela or gone elsewhere in
search of adventure, for he looked a coward and provoked distrust.
I had heard of him only as a good fighter but that reputation, I
became convinced soon after my first visit to the “palace,” had been
earned for him by his former friends and supporters and was in no
sense the work of his own sword, at least so far as recent years were
concerned. In his earlier days he might have displayed more bravery,
and he must have shown some courage to arouse a fighting degree of
loyalty that had four times swept the country, but presuming that to
be true he had gone back greatly with advancing age. He seemed to
have convinced the superstitious mulattoes, with whom the still more
fanatical full-blooded blacks were always at war, that he was a real
man of destiny whose course could not safely be interfered with, and
his successive successes probably were due more to that belief than
to any other cause. His brother, the Minister of War, had all of the
President’s faults in accentuated form and added to them an inordinate
vanity. He was jealous of me from the start. He had expected that I
would recommend to him such changes in the “military establishment” as
I thought wise, but I insisted on doing things myself and having a free
hand, which the President was quite willing to give me, perhaps because
he was suspicious of even his own brother.
The “army” was, in reality, not much more than an unorganized body of
densely ignorant natives who, as practically the only compensation for
their supposed loyalty, were allowed to carry guns, which they did not
know how to use. I taught them how to march without getting in each
other’s way, how to handle their arms without shooting themselves, and
as much discipline as they were amenable to, but I fear my efforts
did not go much beyond that even though they did effect a decided
improvement. One of my first recommendations to the President was
that he buy and fit out two small gunboats with which to patrol the
coast and hold in check such revolutionary centres as Monte Cristi,
under threat of bombardment. They could also be used, as I pointed
out, to transport troops quickly to rebelliously inclined districts.
The President thought well of the plan and, though I advised steamers,
he directed that the “Juliette,” for which he agreed to pay a fair
price, be converted into such a craft. I ordered five small rapid-fire
guns sent from England to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and, the revolutionary
spirit seemingly having subsided with the improvement in the army,
took the “Juliette” there in the Summer of 1873, to have her decks
strengthened and mount the cannon. We returned early in the Fall to
find that the smouldering revolution had burst into a flame and a large
force was marching on Santo Domingo City, and only a few miles away.
When I reached the palace the President and his brother were vehemently
but vainly advising each other to be brave.
“What shall we do--what shall we do?” demanded the President as I
entered the door.
“It strikes me that it might be a good scheme to fight,” I replied,
with no attempt to conceal my disgust at their attitude. “In fact, I
should say it is up to us to fight, and fight until we are all bloody,
if we have to.”
“Yes, yes, but where?” queried the trembling chief executive.
“Go out and meet them,” I advised. “They probably will not be looking
for us, as I judge that would be a departure from the established
Santo Domingan method of warfare, and we may be able to take them at a
disadvantage.”
“No, no,” urged the panic-stricken Minister of War, “let us wait until
they get into the city and then bombard them with your guns.”
“Which would mean,” I said, “killing four or five of your own people to
every one of the enemy. I am not used to that way of fighting and don’t
know how to do it.”
They told me there were about three thousand men in the attacking
force. We had more than four thousand men under arms, which gave us the
advantage of numbers. The city had no defences worthy the name and I
insisted that the thing to do was to go outside and fight it out in the
open, while the doughty General, who seemed to be seeking delay more
than anything else, was in favor of making a rough-and-tumble of it in
the town. The President, who had imbibed something of American ideas
during his three years’ residence in New York, and who had apparently
regained a little of his nerve while we were canvassing the situation,
agreed with me, and, against the continued objections of his brother,
we went out to meet the attacking army.
Gen. Baez commanded our centre and right while I commanded our left
flank. His reason for wanting to postpone the action was quickly
apparent, for he was an arrant coward. He began to give way, before a
force that was inferior in both numbers and discipline, with the firing
of the first gun, and fell back so rapidly that before I realized it
my command was flanked and almost cut off, with the sea on one side of
us and the enemy on two others and rapidly closing up the fourth. My
men fought surprisingly well until they suddenly discovered that they
were almost surrounded, when they promptly went into a panic. Most of
them dropped their guns and ran for the city, with an activity of which
I had not dreamed them capable, while nearly all of the others, in
regular South American fashion, about-faced and joined the rebels on
the spot. In a few minutes I was captured, along with about a hundred
men who were so numbed by fear that they could neither run nor fight,
and had not enough discretion to join the enemy. I was furious over
the cowardice of Baez and put up the hardest fight I was capable of,
with the satisfaction of putting six or eight blacks on a permanent
peace basis, but with my revolver empty and my sword broken I was
overwhelmed by the inky cloud. Gen. Baez galloped back to the city and
he and his bewildered brother, the President, had barely time to board
a small schooner and sail for Curacoa before the capital was in the
hands of the rebels. Gen. Ganier d’Aton, a tool of Pimental and Cabral,
was at once proclaimed President, and hailed by the populace with the
customary acclaim.
Instead of being killed at once, as I had expected to be, I was taken
to a small fort on a hill near the town where, on the trumped-up and
altogether false charge that I had fomented trouble and brought on
civil war, I was tried by drum-head court-martial and sentenced to be
shot at sunrise. The verdict was, of course, dictated by revenge, and
execution of it was delayed because they wished to gloat over me for
a while. This was a little the most serious predicament I had ever
been in and, with the idea of taking every chance that was open to me
rather than with any distinct hope that it would be answered, I gave
the grand hailing sign of a powerful secret order which I had joined
while in Caracas. I thought I saw a sergeant raise his eyes but, as he
gave no further sign, I concluded that if there had been any movement
it had been one of surprise and not of recognition. I was placed in a
large sala with windows opening on the courtyard and blank walls on
the other three sides. The windows were barred and after satisfying
myself that they were secure, and that there was no way of escape, I
laid down and smoked, reflecting that if my time had come there was no
way of interfering with the programme scheduled for the break of day.
The soldiers were drinking and celebrating their victory with shouts
and songs, which lessened in volume and vehemence as the night wore
on, but two sentries who paced back and forth in front of my room and
met under one of the windows religiously kept sober. Now and then a
drunken coterie would press their dirty faces against the bars to hurl
at me denunciatory bursts of Spanish eloquence, to which I vigorously
replied, but these enlivening visits grew less and less frequent, as
the consumption of _tafia_ rum increased.
Along about three o’clock, just as I had about made up my mind that in
a couple of hours I would be due to start on an indefinite exploration
into regions about which nothing is known except that no traveller ever
returns from them, I heard a short scuffle at each end of the path the
sentries were patrolling and a gurgling noise as though a man was
choking. The next moment Lorensen’s voice came softly through the door,
“Are you in there, Captain?” I assured him that I was.
“Stand away from the door,” he said, and I obeyed the order with
pleasurable alacrity. Three blows with a log of crutch mahogany taken
from a pile in the courtyard which had been brought in from the
mountains for export, smashed in the door. Lorensen seized my arm and,
led by the sergeant who had, after all, recognized the sign I had made
and answered it, we climbed down a declivity back of the fort and made
our way to the shore, where two boats were waiting for us. The smashing
in of the door of my prison aroused the drowsy guard and we were
hardly well out of the fort before there was a beating of drums and
loud shouts from the few half sober officers, directed at the soundly
sleeping soldiers. They finally mustered a detachment which was sent in
pursuit of us, but they were not in a condition to move rapidly and did
not reach the shore until we were a considerable distance away from it.
They fired a few shots in the general direction of the sea but as we
were in no danger of being hit we did not raise a gun.
When we got out to the “Juliette” I heard the story of my deliverance.
I had been taken prisoner about the middle of the afternoon and it
was early in the evening when the death sentence was passed on me.
The sergeant, whose name was Alexandro, had understood my signal. He
went into the city as soon as he could get away from the fort and,
by persistent questioning of the natives, finally ascertained that
I was in command of the American ship lying in the harbor,--for I
had not hoisted the Santo Domingan flag on the “Juliette.” He then
rowed out to the ship and, after telling Lorensen what had happened,
through a member of the crew who could speak Spanish, offered to lead a
rescuing party to the place where I was confined. He said it would be
comparatively easy to get me away as only a small body of troops had
been left at the fort, the supply of rum in the city being much larger,
and they would be helpless from drink.
Lorensen, being a member of the same order, could well understand why
a white man should have taken the deep personal interest in my welfare
which Alexandro manifested, but he was suspicious that the negro was
seeking to lead him into a trap. He decided, however, to take no
chances, so, after warning Alexandro that he would be the first man
killed if he attempted any treachery, Lorensen went ashore with sixteen
well-armed men, six of whom were left with the boats while the others
proceeded to the old fort. They surprised the two sentries at the
opposite ends of their beat, throttled them and, as the surest means
of preventing an outcry, cut their throats, which accounted for the
gurgling noise I had heard. Then they broke in the door of the _sala_,
in which operation they were obliged to make enough noise to arouse the
guard.
Such are the obligations of a great secret order.
Men whom I sent ashore reported that President Baez and his brother
had fled and the rebels were in full control of the government, and as
soon as it was day I sailed close in and bombarded the fort where my
execution was to have taken place. There was a great helter-skeltering
of rum-soaked braves when the first shells exploded around their ears,
but there were some who did not get away, and the crumbling walls came
down and buried them. Then we headed for Venezuela again, after an
experience that paid me only in excitement. I had not drawn a dollar
from Baez and I had been obliged to pay for the changes made in the
“Juliette” and for the guns that were brought from England, for I could
not find a banker in Halifax who would advance a cent on the letter of
credit from the great Republic of Santo Domingo. Still, I figured that
the experience had furnished me enough excitement to justify its cost.
Several years later I met Gen. Baez again in Murphy’s Hotel at St.
Thomas but did not see him until he took a good-natured shot at me. The
bullet smashed a pile of dishes on the arm of a waiter ten feet away
from me, and from the start that waiter made I would not be surprised
to hear that he is running yet around the hills back of Charlotte
Amalia.
At Caracas I found that Guzman had been duly elected Constitutional
President. He was inaugurating a scheme of public improvements, the
country had settled down to business, and the prospect was all for
long continued peace, which was displeasing to me and I wanted to get
away again. However, Guzman had a plan to keep me busy. There was not
then, nor is there now for that matter, a decent map of Venezuela. It
was reported from Paris that a Frenchman had gone up the Orinoco to
its headwaters and had found that the Casiquiare River, which empties
into it, formed a natural canal connecting with the Rio Negro, which
runs into the Amazon at Manaos, Brazil. Guzman proposed that I go over
this route and seek to verify the Frenchman’s report. Exploring unknown
lands has always been as much a passion with me as aiding and abetting
revolutions, and I willingly accepted the commission, but, though I did
not tell Guzman so, I had no intention of returning to Caracas. As an
evidence of my appreciation of his friendship I gave him a Jurgensen
watch, which I had had made to order, and the “Juliette,” just as she
stood, sending Lorensen and one or two others to London to work under
the direction of my agents until I should arrive. He used the good
little ship for years as a mail boat between La Guaira and Curacoa.
Guzman gave me a Damascus sword of exquisite workmanship, which, not
long afterward, I used with good effect on the pirates of the China Sea.
He wanted the exploration made on a grand scale and suggested that he
send along a detachment of soldiers. I convinced him that his plan was
impracticable, for a small party could get through much more easily
than a large one. Late in October I went to Trinidad to outfit for the
trip. There, at the old Ice House Hotel, I met two young Britishers
who were men after my own heart: Dr. Rogers, a rich Church of England
clergyman who preferred the legitimate pleasures of this world to the
prospects of the next, and Frank Anderson, son of a wealthy Glasgow
merchant and a recent graduate of Edinburgh University. They had come
out to hunt for big game and were outfitting for a trip up the Orinoco.
When I told them where I was going they expressed a great desire
to accompany me and I readily agreed. I was glad to have such good
companions for the long and probably dangerous journey, for it was a
tradition that there were many “bad Indians” far up the river. I was
the commandant of the party, Rogers was the scientist, and Anderson the
provider. They had brought out from England two Peacock collapsible
boats and to complete our fleet I bought an Orinoco _lancha_, a large
flat-bottomed scow with a single enormous sail.
We went up as far as Ciudad Bolivar, the head of steam navigation, on
the old side-wheeler “Bolivar,” and there took to our boats, which were
provisioned for six months and carried seven natives to do the hard
work. There was only a slight current in the river, which was at low
stage as it was then “midsummer”--their winter comes with the rainy
season in our midsummer,--while the steady trade wind from the Atlantic
blew straight upstream, so we made good progress under sail. It was a
lazy trip in the early stages and a tiresome one, for there were only a
few dirty hamlets along the way and the llanos stretched away on both
sides of us in an interminable monotony. At the confluence of the Apure
and Arauca Rivers, two hundred and fifty miles above Ciudad Bolivar, we
found a great inland delta, larger and more bewildering than that at
the mouth of the Orinoco where there are thirty-six separate channels
that have been charted. This delta, like the one on the coast, was
formed by the tremendous force and volume of the “midwinter” floods,
which had built up so many islands of soft mud that it was at times
difficult for us to stick to the main stream.
One of our most interesting experiences was at the junction of the Rio
Meta and the Orinoco, one hundred and fifty miles farther on, where
we encountered the so-called “musical stones,” of which we had heard
marvellous tales from the natives. These are granite cliffs which, we
had been told, gave out at sunrise sounds closely resembling the tones
of an organ. This mythical music, as we regarded it, caused us to stay
here several days and finally, on one very cool morning, by placing our
ears to the rocks, we distinctly heard subterranean growls, groans,
and whistles, which could without great stretch of the imagination be
compared to the notes of an organ, though it must needs be a wheezy
one to make the similarity approximately honest. We all knew something
about geology and, without pretending to give a scientific conclusion,
it was our opinion that the sounds were caused by the hot air of the
day, which the rocks retained during the night, being driven out by
the cool air of the early morning through narrow fissures that were
partially obstructed by thin layers of mica, lying at an angle to the
general stratification, which served as reeds. The resultant vibrations
were musical enough to produce a weird sensation as we listened to
them, and it was easy to imagine the effect they would have on the
ignorant and superstitious natives, and the stories for which they
furnished a foundation. The Orinoco is navigable as far as the Meta
for light-draft steamers at all seasons of the year, but it may be
centuries before the “musical stones” become an advertised attraction
for tourists.
At Atures, one hundred miles above, and again at Maypures, just beyond,
were two rapids around which our boats had to be carried; but with
these exceptions it was plain sailing, or paddling, until we crossed
the line into Brazil. Another hundred miles beyond the rapids brought
us to the jumping-off place of the world--the indescribably filthy
little hamlet of San Fernando de Atabapo, built where the Guaviare
River comes down from the mountains of Colombia to join the Orinoco.
It is on the border of Venezuela and Colombia and its population is
largely made up of murderers and escaped convicts from both countries,
with a few from near-by Brazil. A number of the leading citizens
undertook to waylay us as we were leaving the place but the only
result of their misguided effort was that two or three of them received
what the law would have administered if it had been given a chance.
From the time we left Ciudad Bolivar we had been sailing through a
veritable wilderness, with human habitations few and far between, but
after we left San Fernando de Atabapo we travelled through the primeval
forest, which came down to the river’s edge on both sides. Its only
inhabitants were widely scattered Indians, who were inquisitive enough
but not at all ugly. There were miles and miles of magnificent rubber
trees, which were especially abundant along the Casiquiare, and great
stretches of vanilla and cacao growing wild. The Orinoco is indeed a
wasted waterway. The vast empire it drains, covering more than half
of Venezuela, is marvellously rich in minerals and in its forests,
and could easily be made as rich in agriculture. Yet when we made our
trip there were fewer people living along it than there had been four
hundred years before when Ordaz, the Spanish explorer, ascended it to
the mouth of the Meta, and I doubt if there has been any increase in
the population since our visit. Ten Hudson Rivers could be added to or
taken from the Orinoco without affecting it, yet it is traversed only
by the native _lanchas_ and _bongos_, or dugouts.
We turned into the Casiquiare River, two hundred miles above San
Fernando de Atabapo, with considerable regret, for we would have
greatly liked to follow the Orinoco to its unexplored source in the
mysterious Parima Mountains, where is said to dwell a race of white
Indians, who are popularly supposed to stand guard, with deadly blow
pipes shooting darts that produce instant death, over vast treasures
of virgin gold. But that would have taken many months more and we were
not prepared for so long a trip. The priceless forest which surrounded
us was filled with game of all kinds and great snakes, and alive with
birds of wondrous plumage. There were so many snakes, in fact, that
we anchored our boats at night and slept in them in the middle of the
river, where we had nothing to fear but the enormous crocodiles which
poked us with their ugly snouts to prevent us from oversleeping. We
landed every day to stretch our legs and shoot, with ridiculous ease,
enough game to keep us in fresh meat, but we never camped on shore at
night.
After following the Casiquiare for one hundred and fifty miles or
more we came to the parting of the ways--the point at which the Rio
Negro, coming down from the foothills of the Andes, five hundred miles
away, divides to feed both the Orinoco and the Amazon--and solved
the mystery of the two rivers. There was no connecting canal of slack
water, as the Frenchman was said to have reported. The Rio Negro,
a wide and deep stream, forms the boundary between Venezuela and
Colombia for nearly two hundred miles. At two degrees north latitude,
or about one hundred and twenty miles from the equator, it divides,
the smaller part, approximately one-third of the volume, forming the
Casiquiare, which runs east for a short distance and then north to
the Orinoco, while the main stream runs south and then east until it
empties into the Amazon at Manaos. Though we had no map to guide us the
situation seemed plain when we reached the larger river, which fed the
Casiquiare, and by following the downward course of that stream until
we were certain it was the Rio Negro, we settled the question.
Just below the junction of the Ucayari River with the Rio Negro, almost
directly under the equator, we came to a succession of falls and
rapids around which we made a portage. From there on, through the same
silent wilderness of natural wealth that we had traversed for weeks,
we leisurely sailed and drifted down to the Amazon, for the blistering
heat discouraged all physical effort that was not mandatory. It was
not until we reached the lower reaches of the river that we found men
gathering rubber, and they were taking only ounces where tons were at
their hands. We reached Manaos early in May, 1874. We had been six
months on the trip and had covered all of two thousand miles which,
everything considered, was fast travelling. Aside from its educational
value the exploration had been delightful, and though tired from living
so long in cramped quarters we were all in better health than when we
left Trinidad.
My companions, who rejoiced in having been thrown in the way of greater
sport and more interesting experiences than they had expected to
find, were ready to return to England and I arranged to go with them.
After resting for a week or two we went down to Para on a river boat
and thence to Rio Janiero on one of the Lloyd Brazilero steamships.
From there we sailed for England on the Royal Mail steamship “Elbe,”
commanded by Captain Moir, who was in command of the “Trent” when Mason
and Slidell were taken off. On the way across I compiled a full report
of the exploring trip which I mailed to Guzman, with a promise that I
would return to Venezuela within a few years. I left my British friends
at Southampton and went to London to join Frank Norton and start for
the China Sea, of which he had pictured so much that was good in my
sight.
CHAPTER VII
PREYING ON PIRATES
As a boy it was my ambition to fight Indians, but if I had known as
much about them then as I do now, I would have selected pirates. They
have none of the claims on life which the real, red, native Americans
enjoy, and they can be fought on the glorious sea instead of on land,
which adds to the inherent excitement. It was in the Summer of 1874
that I made my first plunge into piracy, for, with all of the trimmings
and aids to deception stripped away, that was what it really amounted
to. I did not know into just what I was being led when I embarked in
this new enterprise; but I am frank to say that it would have made no
difference, for a free translation of the word “pirate” is “adventure
of the first order,” and that was what I was looking for.
When I reached London, after my strange escape from execution in Santo
Domingo and the exploration of the headwaters of the Orinoco and the
Rio Negro, Frank Norton was coming up from the Mediterranean with the
“Leckwith,” carrying a general cargo, and I had not long to wait for
him. He was joyous when I told him I was ready to accompany him to the
China Sea, which he had pictured as an El Dorado of excitement, with
many golden Manoas that might be converted into Bank of England notes.
There was to be no filibustering there for we had no thought of playing
against the concert of Europe with our one little fiddle, even had
there been any prospective revolutions worth the hatching; but Norton
insisted that there was plenty of adventure to be found and much money
to be made in handling equally illegitimate cargoes which included no
explosives or munitions of war. As he was familiar with that part of
the world I took his word for it, without going into minute details.
He said we would need the “Leckwith” and two ships to carry on the
business to the best advantage, so I selected the “Surprise,” an
American brig, and the “Florence,” a topsail schooner, both stout,
fast ships. I put Lorensen on the “Leckwith” as sailing master, George
Brown on the “Surprise,” and old Bill Heather on the “Florence.”
The “Surprise” took on a general cargo for Japan and was ordered to
rendezvous at Hong Kong, while the “Florence” loaded for Singapore.
Norton and I followed in the “Leckwith.” Two brass cannon were mounted
in place of the yacht’s guns she carried and we took on board four
small carronades, a French _mitrailleuse_, and several hundred rifles,
cutlasses, and side arms, with an abundance of ammunition, all of which
were stored in the hold.
Before our departure I had printed on parchment, in exact imitation
of the genuine, certificates of registry in English, Dutch, German,
French, and Spanish, and seals made to correspond to them. These I
filled out, as occasion demanded, in the name the particular ship bore
at the time, and in the nationality which I thought would furnish the
best protection. I also had certificates of health, consular clearances
and bills of health, custom house clearances, and shipping certificates
printed in different languages. Forged service certificates were also
issued to old men of long service who were competent officers but who
could not pass the technical examinations provided for in the amended
maritime laws. These and the certificates of registry were aged with a
solution of iron and, if necessary, rubbed on the cabin floor to add to
their years. I had used similar forged papers while filibustering in
the West Indies but had never had such an elaborate outfit, though I
was never afterward without it. With these papers I could give a ship a
registry under any flag and make it appear that she had come from any
port that suited my purpose. They were signed with an illegible scrawl,
as are the genuine. To further complicate matters the “Leckwith”
was supplied with a telescopic smokestack which, when lowered, was
completely hidden. She was schooner-rigged and could be transformed
into a fore and aft schooner by dousing the stack and housing the yards
on the foremast, or into a brig by putting yards on the mainmast.
Similar changes of rig could be made on the “Florence” and “Surprise.”
I never used a ship on which this could not be done. The efficacy of
these precautions is proved by the fact that I have never lost a cargo
of contraband, though I have handled scores of them.
With provision made for all of the deception and trickery which
experience and foresight could suggest we headed for Singapore, to
begin a career of adventure such as my wild mind never had conceived,
even in its dearest dreams. On the long trip out I whiled away the
time in an effort to evolve a torpedo of a new type. I had been
interested in high explosives all my life and had long believed that a
non-dirigible torpedo could be devised which would be an improvement on
our own Harvey,--which was towed in a bridle and was not practicable
for a greater distance than two or three hundred yards,--and which
would have advantages over the dirigible type. To facilitate my
experiments I had on board a lot of sheet brass and before the end
of the trip I had developed a torpedo that I regarded as perfection
and which I afterward used with success, though it finally got me
into trouble in South America. It was six feet long, thirty inches in
diameter, and shaped like a fat cigar. The inside was lined with air
cylinders to give it the required buoyancy, and inside of these was
packed the explosive charge, of wet gun-cotton or dynamite. It was
towed by a wire or small rope attached to the blunt nose, from which
projected six spider-like arms two feet long, and alternating with
these were six shorter arms extending outward from the thickest part
of the torpedo. The forcing backward of any one of these arms cut off
a shear pin and released a spring which set off a fulminate of mercury
cap. This exploded a disc of dry gun-cotton which set off the main
charge. The shear pins were of copper wire of any desired thickness,
but were intended to be only thick enough to prevent the arms from
being forced backward, and the torpedo discharged, by the current of a
river or by the resistance of the water when being towed or by small
driftwood which might be encountered.
The buoyancy of the loaded torpedo could easily be calculated and by
means of the air cylinders it could be kept awash or floated just below
the surface, the latter being the preferred method when it was to be
used during the day. The towing wire or rope was kept on the surface
or just below it by small floats, distributed at such distances that
they would attract no attention even in the improbable event of their
being seen. The torpedo was intended to be towed across the course of
the vessel that was to be destroyed. The moment the ship’s bow picked
up the towing rope her fate was settled, for whether the rope was fifty
yards or five miles long it was simply a question of time until the
torpedo was dragged alongside and exploded by the pressure of one of
the arms against the side of the vessel. The torpedo could be towed
astern of a ship or a launch or even an innocent rowboat. In river work
it could be stretched across the stream with a line at each end, the
shorter one being only strong enough to withstand the current, so it
would part easily when the unfriendly ship picked up the line attached
to the nose of the torpedo. I was greatly pleased with my invention
and it was not long until I had an opportunity to prove that it was a
complete success.
We reached Singapore more than a month ahead of the “Florence” and on
our arrival there Norton unfolded his whole scheme to me. The gist of
it was that we were to prey on the pirates who infested the China Sea,
and particularly that part of it lying between Singapore, Sumatra,
and Borneo, which was dotted with islands and beautifully suited by
nature to their plundering profession. Every ship going to Europe from
China, Indo-China, Siam, and from the Philippines and the network of
islands to the south of them, as well as vessels coming up from the
Indian Ocean through the Strait of Sunda, between Sumatra and Java,
had to run the gantlet of this piratical nest, and many were the good
ships that ended their cruises there, along with their passengers and
crews. It was here the pirates held out last in their long and bloody
fight against civilization, as the present state of mankind in general
is called. The British Government had been trying for years to put an
end to their operations but there were so many of the islands, and
the opportunities for concealment and escape were so numerous, that
the undertaking was a gigantic one. It was not until years after my
tragic appearance on this stage that it was officially announced that
piracy had been suppressed. Even that long delayed declaration was
not altogether true, for in that accursed region, now well known but
yet mysterious, piracy is still being carried on, even to this day,
though in a small and desultory way. There were a few islands farther
north, off the southern coast of Indo-China, among which the pirates
sometimes rendezvoused to lay in wait for their prey, but in ordinary
weather it was easy for ships to keep clear of these danger spots. But
they could not avoid those islands lying northeast of Singapore, and it
was there that most of the merchantmen were looted.
The pirates were chiefly Chinese, with a considerable number of Malays
and some Dyaks. As to bravery and bloodthirstiness there was little
choice between them. They were all desperate villains and their thirst
for gold was exceeded only by their truly Oriental cunning. When they
fell from wounds they would watch for an opportunity to hamstring their
opponents or disembowel them with their long, crooked knives, which
were as sharp as razors. After we discovered this devilish trait no
quarter was ever shown them. When one of them fell he was shot through
the head or stabbed, to make sure that he would do no further harm.
Nothing else could be done with such an enemy. The Chinese operated
chiefly in large junks, with which they could go well out to sea. Most
of them carried guns of considerable size, while all of them were
supplied with a multitude of stink-pots,--their favorite weapon. These
were round earthenware pots, twelve or fifteen inches in diameter,
filled with a black mixture of the consistency of moist earth, which
was lighted just before the missile was thrown. They were handled in
a sling, such as every small boy has used but on a larger scale, and
could be thrown with great accuracy for one hundred feet or more. When
the pot struck the opposing ship it broke open and the contents spread
out on the deck, giving off a thick, pungent, and vile-smelling smoke
which would quickly produce complete asphyxiation if it was inhaled
at close range. If the smoking mass was left long enough undisturbed
it would set fire to the ship. The pirates themselves were largely
immune to this horrible smoke and under its cover, following a rain
of stink-pots, they would board a ship almost unseen and have her
defenders, whom they always outnumbered, at a great disadvantage from
the start. When fighting at close quarters the Chinese used long,
curved swords, something like a Turkish yataghan, while the Malays were
armed with the krese, a short, double-edged sword with serrated edges.
Both were murderous weapons and the pirates were graduated experts
in the use of them; in fact, they preferred their butcher knives to
firearms, for they were miserable marksmen. As soon as an engagement
became general they would throw away their guns and pistols and use
their swords, with both hands, striking powerful, chopping blows.
The Malays and Dyaks used _proas_ or _feluccas_, light, strong,
low-lying vessels from sixty to one hundred feet in length, from ten
to sixteen feet wide, and five or six feet deep, with less than three
feet draft. They were rigged with two large lateen sails and were very
fast. The only material difference between them was that the proas were
supplied with long sweeps with which they could be driven along at a
fair rate of speed when there was no wind. The junks were used for
outside work, while the proas and feluccas kept close inshore, seldom
going more than fifteen miles out. On account of their shallow draft
they were easily hidden in the mouths of rivers and creeks, and when so
concealed they could not be seen at a distance of half a mile.
It was this ease of escape, and the fact that unless they were
caught red-handed conviction was impossible, which combined to make
the stamping out of the pirates such a tremendous task. The junks
always carried just enough cargo to enable them to pose, technically,
as peaceful traders and, with the aid of their friends afloat and
ashore, they could easily prove an alibi, or anything else that was
needed. When closely pursued by a suspicious warship and certain to
be overhauled and inspected, they would throw overboard their surplus
of arms and, if necessary, any loot they happened to have on board,
to remove all incriminating evidence. Through an elaborate system of
spies the pirate chiefs were constantly advised as to the movements of
the warships and kept their craft as far away from them as possible.
Thus it was that unless a cruiser happened along just as a merchantman
was being looted, and her crew butchered, or immediately afterward,
the chance of capturing the scoundrels was remote. Even with the large
retributive fleet of cruisers and gunboats that finally was established
in those waters, beauteous and romantic but thickly dotted with
villainous havens, the number of piracies that were punished, including
the joyous justice which Norton and I meted out, was trifling when
compared with the total of murder and robbery.
The chief of a large section of the Chinese pirates was old Moy Sen,
a rich Chinaman who lived in a handsome home in Canton and posed as a
legitimate trader. He owned a large fleet of junks and one steamer,
and there was not a ship that left Hong Kong with a rich cargo that
he did not know all about. The evil genius of the Malays was a shrewd
scoundrel known as Leandrio, and he and Moy Sen operated under what
would be known to-day as a “gentlemen’s agreement,” by which they
divided up the territory, in a general way, and did not interfere
with each other. As a matter of fact there were practically no
honest trading ships in that section, with the exception of the big
merchantmen engaged in the export trade. All of the coasting ships were
either pirates themselves, when the conditions were favorable, or were
in league with the pirates, to whom they carried information as to the
value of cargoes being prepared for shipment and their probable date
of departure. The result was that there was not a ship, except the
easily distinguished merchantman, which we did not come to regard as
legitimate prey.
Norton argued that the pirates were bound to keep on robbing and
burning and murdering in spite of anything we could do, and that we
could derive plenty of excitement and large profits by robbing them.
Incidentally, he contended, we would put a lot of them out of business
for good and all, thus contributing to the end desired by all nations.
I fell in with his plan heartily, for, while I cared little for the
money that was to be made, it promised as lively adventures as I could
wish for. It was arranged that I should pose as Dr. Burnet, a rich
English physician who was cruising in his private yacht for his health.
To make it appear that they were engaged in legitimate commerce, the
“Florence” and “Surprise” were to carry some general cargoes from
port to port among the islands but were to so shape their cruises that
they would be at certain fixed points on or about given dates, so that
we could keep closely in touch with them. They were to be given large
crews and so heavily armed as to be safe from piratical attacks. The
“Leckwith” was to do all of the preying on the pirates and the loot we
took from them was to be turned over to the other ships at the meeting
places. This would make it unnecessary for us to put into port often
as we could use our sails a great deal and husband our coal. This
arrangement, and the changes which could quickly be made in the rig of
all the ships, would, we figured, remove us from suspicion, for a long
time at least. Agencies for our legitimate cargoes were established
in Sumatra, on the island of Banca, where there were extensive tin
mines, in Borneo and Rajah Brooke’s independent government of Sarawak
in North Borneo, and at other convenient places. It was arranged that
the bulk of our loot should be sent to a firm of Chinamen at Singapore,
who dealt largely in dishonest cargoes but were absolutely honest with
their clients.
With the schedules of the “Florence” and “Surprise” established and
with the “Leckwith’s” bunkers stuffed with coal, we headed for the
islands in search of pirates. We then had a crew of about seventy-five
men, though at different times we had as few as fifty and as many as
one hundred, independent of the “black gang” in the fire and engine
rooms. The crews of the three ships were frequently interchanged,
except for about fifteen especially brave and reckless fellows who were
always kept on the “Leckwith.” With all of our sails set and in the
guise of a trading ship we sometimes trapped the pirates into coming
alongside and grappling with us, which made it easy work for us, but
when we had reason to think they had valuable booty on board we went
at them full tilt under steam and took it away from them. All of our
guns, which were always unshipped when we went into port, were close up
against the rail and were concealed under what looked like deck cargo,
but it was the work of only a moment to cast off their covering and
lower a section of the bulwarks long enough to give them a wide radius
of action.
Our first experience was a profitable one. When near the “hunting
grounds” we lowered the smokestack, got up our canvas, and sailed along
awaiting developments. We were getting in among the islands when we met
a big junk which had just looted and scuttled a richly laden Brazilian
barkentine. She had much more than enough on board to pay her for one
trip, but cupidity got the better of her commander and he put about
and came after us, thinking we were only a trading schooner but might
have something on board worth taking. We made a pretence of trying to
get away, which we could have done, for the “Leckwith” footed fast even
under sail, but in reality we eased our sheets to hasten matters along.
When he was close astern of us, with the wind abeam, we luffed up,
got out guns ready for action in a jiffy and, as we crossed his bows,
raked him fore and aft with our carronades, which were loaded almost
to the muzzle with slugs and nails. Before he could change his course,
with his decks littered with dead and mangled, we came about and gave
him a broadside at close quarters, along with a deadly rifle fire from
the hitherto unseen members of the crew who had been concealed in
the ’tween decks. He replied to this blast with a lot of stink-pots,
only a few of which came aboard and were tossed into the sea before
any ill effects were felt from their nauseating fumes, and a weak and
poorly directed fire from his guns. Taken completely by surprise and
with more than half of their number littering the reddened deck, the
pirates were panic-stricken. Before they could regain their senses we
came about again and gave them another broadside which took all the
fight out of them, if there had been any left, and put them at our
mercy. As we ranged alongside, keeping up a rifle fire but disdaining
any further use of our guns, they managed to launch a couple of boats
and all who could get into them pulled for the nearest island. When we
threw our grappling irons and hauled in on them the few survivors who
had strength enough left to get to the rail threw themselves overboard
and swam for it. The first man aboard of the junk had one of his legs
almost severed by the wicked sword of a badly wounded Chinaman, and
after that bit of fiendishness our men lost no time in making sure that
the rest of them were really dead. We took out of the junk fully one
hundred thousand dollars’ worth of specie, silk, tea, porcelain, and
drugs and then set fire to her, leaving her to bury her own dead.
After that easily won victory we trapped and sank half a dozen proas
and feluccas in the same way, though with more spirited resistance in
some cases, for we were so anxious to get things to going that we threw
off our mask before we had them at such close quarters as we got the
junk. We had two men killed in these engagements and a dozen more or
less seriously injured. Norton sustained an ugly cut on the leg that
sent him to the hospital and I got a slash on the arm that gave me
considerable trouble for a few days. In only one instance did a ship
get away from us and that was when two proas attacked us on either side
in a dead calm that settled before we could get steam up. We could not
change our position, while they manœuvred with their long oars and one
of them escaped, though she took a lot of dead with her. We got nothing
from them to speak of but there was excitement _in extenso_ and we
gloried in it. Norton had not overdrawn the picture of the adventurous
China Sea.
We had turned our cargo over to the “Florence,” along with a number of
wounded men, and were back among the islands, though outside of the
regular course of sailing ships, when early one evening a full-rigged
ship hove in sight. She passed us but was not more than six miles
away when we saw flashes that told us she had been attacked. We had
our fires banked, for it was just at the break of the monsoon when
the weather is variable and the winds uncertain, so we lost no time
in going to her assistance. As we closed in we saw a Malay felucca on
each side of her and the pirates swarming on her decks, with the crew
putting up a brave fight. Running the “Leckwith” up on her starboard
quarter, we threw our men aboard of her and they went at the pirates
savagely from the rear. I led the boarding party for it looked as
though it would be one of the kind of fights that I never would miss.
In those days I was young, athletic, and vigorous and I had rather have
a fight with death at one end of it than anything else. No matter where
I went, or what the odds against us, I knew the men of the “Leckwith”
would be at my heels, for a braver set of dare-devils never lived.
The Malays outnumbered us more than two to one, but we went at them
with a fury that was new to them, and were slowly forcing them back
toward their one good boat--we had smashed the other one to bits when
we slammed alongside--when a beautiful white yacht came tearing up on
the port quarter and sent three boatloads of men to our assistance in
such smart style that I took her to be a gunboat, though the quick
glance I took at her showed her lines to be unusually fine for a
warship. Her party clambered over the bows under command of a stockily
built young officer wearing what looked like the uniform of a naval
captain, and we had the pirates between us. I understood later, when I
learned who and what they were, why these reinforcements, instead of
discouraging the Malays, caused them to fight with renewed desperation.
But they could not withstand our combined rush and the last of them
soon went over the side into their proa, which drifted away into the
darkness when they cut her loose. However, in the last few minutes of
fighting the young British officer, as I took him to be, sustained a
savage cut in his right shoulder, and after we had laid aside our dead
and given our wounded rough attention I was surprised to receive an
inquiry from him as to whether we had a surgeon on board. I replied
that I was a surgeon and, taking him aboard the “Leckwith,” dressed his
wound on the cabin table. I then saw that his uniform was that of a
captain, but not of a naval officer. He told me his name was Deverell
but when I asked him the name of his ship he answered evasively, and I
had learned the ways of the China Sea too well to press the question.
“Your wound is rather a bad one,” I told him, “and is likely to require
further attention. I am simply loafing and expect to be cruising in
this neighborhood for some time, even though it does seem to be pretty
thick with pirates. I will be glad to have you call on me if I can be
of any service to you.”
He mystified me still more when he replied: “We know you, Doctor, and
will know where to find you if it becomes necessary to take further
advantage of your kindness.”
I had not time just then to think much about the strange incident, for
the fight had been a bloody one and there were many men who needed
attention. We had six men killed and there were fully twenty-five more
with injuries of some sort. When I came to look myself over I found
that one bullet had grazed the top of my head and another my chest,
while the right shoulder of my jacket had been sliced off by a cut
that, had it been properly placed, would have taken my arm with it. My
only injury was a trifling flesh wound on my leg. Had I been less of
a fatalist narrow escapes of that kind, to which I grew accustomed,
might have affected my nerves, but instead they were only entertaining.
It interested me, in every fight, to see just how close I had come to
being killed, knowing full well that death could not add my name to
the list until my time came, and that then there would be no way of
avoiding it.
When we got to clearing up the decks nearly sixty dead Malays were
thrown overboard. The merchantman, which was an English bark, had
twelve of her crew killed and so many of the survivors were badly cut
up that only six men were fit for duty. We left enough of our men on
board to work the ship and convoyed her to within two hundred miles
of Singapore, where, with a fair wind and a smooth sea, she was able
to proceed without danger. That episode netted us not only a glorious
fight but a great reputation as the friend and protector of honest
shipping. In fact, it brought us too much fame, for when we put into
Labuan, a British island off the north coast of Borneo, for coal, after
seeing the merchantman safely on her way, and reported the incident, we
had to get out in a hurry to avoid a lot of innocent questions as to
who Dr. Burnet was and where he came from.
On our way back to the islands from Labuan we sighted the mysterious
yacht whose commander I had attended. Evidently she was looking for
us for she changed her course as soon as she made us out, and sent
a boat alongside with a request that I come aboard, as the captain
was very ill. I found him suffering with surgical fever, as I had
predicted, and in rather a bad way. I dressed his wound and treated
him and stood by for three or four days, visiting him twice a day and
returning immediately to the “Leckwith,” for while my services were
plainly appreciated it seemed that I was not wanted on the strange ship
any longer than was necessary. There was an air of mystery about her
that puzzled and fascinated me. As I entered Deverell’s cabin on my
first visit I thought I heard the rustle of a skirt in the passageway
behind me. Before I could make any inquiry Deverell, as though reading
my mind, requested me to ask him no questions about anything relating
to the ship. On my last visit, when I told him he needed no further
attention, he said, after thanking me, “I am master here and I am not.
No doubt things seem strange to you, and they really are stranger than
you think, but I cannot tell you more now. Fate seems to have thrown us
together, however, and I believe we shall see more of each other and
get better acquainted. I hope so. Good-bye.”
Cruising westward after parting company with the ship of mystery we ran
right into a series of profitable engagements. Four ships had left Hong
Kong together but only one got through. The booty which the pirates
took from the others we captured from them, in two small junks and
three large proas, which we destroyed. We transferred our cargo to the
“Florence,” near South Natuna Island, and stood off to the north while
she headed for Singapore. We were three or four hours away from her
when I had a strange presentiment that I should have stayed with her.
The feeling was so strong that I put the “Leckwith” about, caught up
with her, and went on board, with my traps. Expecting to have a lot of
idle time I took along my torpedo, with which I was still experimenting.
A week later we were in a particularly dangerous place, near where the
Brazilian barkentine had been scuttled. Late in the afternoon as we
entered a narrow passage, we sighted a big proa close to an island on
the port bow, and less than half a mile farther on we came on another
one partly hidden in the mouth of a creek in a larger island on the
starboard hand. There was not a sign of life on either one of them
but I knew their crews were close by and felt that we were in for it.
I was fussing with the torpedo when we came upon them and it struck
me that this would be a good chance to put it to the test, if both
of them attacked us at once, which I supposed they would do. We had
neither fulminate of mercury nor gun-cotton aboard but I had been
working to overcome that very difficulty and had arranged the firing
pin so that it would discharge a cartridge into an explosive charge
of black powder. We packed the chamber with powder, and filled enough
air cylinders to keep the torpedo afloat, bent on a towing line of new
manila rope, one hundred fathoms long, and had everything in readiness
by the time it was dark.
We kept a sharp lookout and it was not long until we heard the soft
_chug_ of oars off the starboard bow. Our whaleboat, which was manned
and waiting, at once set off in a course which, we figured, would carry
the towing line across the bow of the proa. A few minutes later we
made out the other proa coming up astern on the port side. The pair
of them got so close that it looked as though something had gone wrong
with my torpedo and I was just about to divide our crew to meet them
on both sides when there was a flash and a roar less than fifty yards
away, and the complete success of my invention was demonstrated. The
proa was thrown out of the water, turned over, and badly smashed up. We
never knew how many of her crew were killed by the explosion but not
many could have escaped. The other craft swung around to board us but
we riddled it with full charges from the fore and aft carronades and
it began to sink. The survivors took to the water and a lot of them
attacked the whaleboat, which had towed the torpedo, as it was making
its way back to the ship. The boat’s crew were prepared for them and
their heavy cutlasses chopped off every hand that grasped the gunwale
and split open every head they could reach.
At Singapore, where we discharged our cargo, our agents reported that
Moy Sen was vowing vengeance on us for the loot we had wrested from him
and the havoc we had spread among his fleet, and that he had caused the
report to be actively circulated at Hong Kong that the “Leckwith” was
not a private yacht but a pirate, preying on legitimate commerce. As
a result many robberies with which we had nothing at all to do were
being laid at our door, and we were advised to be cautious. We worked
our way back to the rendezvous and, after consulting with Norton, I
took my interpreter, Ah Fen, who was half “Chinkie” and half Malay,
from the “Leckwith” and went to Hong Kong on the “Surprise” to see just
what was going on.
CHAPTER VIII
“THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL”
“The Beautiful White Devil,” a woman pirate whom I at first regarded
as a purely fanciful being, born of the unreal atmosphere of the East,
came into my life, in which she was destined to play a most important
part, at Hong Kong in the early days of 1876. I had gone there in
search of authentic information concerning the attitude and plans of
old Moy Sen, overlord of all the Chinese pirates, who was reported
to have declared an intention to bury my harassing ships and all on
board of them, in return for our vigorous operations against him. This
threat had given a new interest to a game of which I was beginning to
tire, for I had then been waging war on the pirates for more than a
year, and it was getting monotonous. I landed quietly at night from
the “Surprise,” which remained far out in the roadstead, and went to
the old Queen’s Hotel, where I clung to my role of a rich English
physician, travelling for his health, but assumed a new name, which I
cannot recall. My “Chinkie” interpreter, Ah Fen, I sent on up to Canton
to secretly gain such information as he could pick up from a relative
in the camp of the boss buccaneer of the China Sea.
While waiting for his report I lounged around the hotel and steered
my casual conversation with the _habitués_ toward the subject in
which I was most interested. Soon I began to hear weird stories of a
woman pirate who, while never molesting honest merchantmen, preyed
mercilessly and successfully on the Chinese and Malay pirates, just as
Norton and I were doing. It was said that she was exquisitely beautiful
of face and diabolically black of heart; that she led her band of
cut-throats in person and gloried in the shedding of black and yellow
blood by the barrel. Her recreation from wholesale butchery was found
in the companionship of occasional white men whom she ran across and
who gladly accompanied her to her retreat, located no one knew where,
only to be killed when she wearied of them. According to these tales,
which I at first regarded as purely imaginative, she travelled in a
steam yacht of phenomenal speed and had never failed in her desperate
exploits. Though she had been in the business for years no one in
Hong Kong had ever seen her and she was known only as the “Beautiful
White Devil,” which name, from all accounts, was well suited to her.
It occurred to me at once that if such a woman really did exist it
might have been her ship that came to our assistance on the night of
our battle with the Malays on the deck of the British bark, and whose
captain I had attended under strange circumstances, and I saw visions
of a meeting and perhaps closer acquaintance with her; but they were
only fleeting fancies, for I could not make myself believe the tales
that were told me. Not but what I wanted to believe them, and tried
to, for next to adventure I loved a beautiful woman; if the two could
be combined, the result would be an absolutely ideal condition, even
though the feminine fancy did run to murder; but my reason told me I
was dreaming of the impossible.
However, after I had heard the report of Ah Fen, who returned in about
two weeks, bubbling over with information and gossip, I put more
confidence in what I had been told, for he repeated the same wild
story, with elaborations and variations. It was a well established fact
in the minds of Moy Sen and his followers, he said, that there actually
was a woman pirate who preyed on and destroyed the regular pirates, and
she was as much hated as we were, or more, for she had been following
that calling, with much energy, for years. It was said she had
inherited an avenging oath against the pirates from some male member
of her family, who had been a terror to them before her, and she was
carrying it out with fanatical fervor. This was the story brought in by
pirates who had escaped from junks and proas she had attacked, and who
gave thrilling accounts of her demoniacal fury in leading her men. Moy
Sen, my interpreter reported, was swearing renewed vengeance on both of
us but, inasmuch as the lady seemed to bear a charmed life, he proposed
to go after me first. He attributed to me the destruction of some
of his junks that I had never seen, while, to balance accounts, the
robbery of some of his ships which I had looted was laid at the door of
my woman contemporary. This convinced me that there was a woman pirate,
or, which I still believed to be more likely, a man masquerading as
a woman, and that the pirate chief had confused our exploits. He was
setting some sort of a trap for me, according to the inside gossip
picked up by Ah Fen, and was determined to sweep the sea clear of my
ships, at least.
I had sent the “Surprise” away as soon as she landed me, with orders to
return in a month, ostensibly in search of cargo, and pick me up. She
was about due when a man called at my hotel one evening and asked if an
English physician was stopping there. I was pointed out to him in the
billiard room and as he came toward me I recognized Captain Deverell,
but he was as formal as a stranger and I took my cue from that and did
not indicate that I knew him. He asked if he could consult with me and
I took him to my room, where he assumed a much more cordial air.
“I called,” he said, “to invite you to take a cruise with me so that we
may get better acquainted and I can show you my appreciation of your
kindness of a few weeks ago.”
“How long will you be out?” I asked.
“A week or a month; whatever time suits your pleasure.”
I did some quick thinking. If there was a woman pirate it was her ship
that Deverell commanded, I was sure. If I accepted his invitation I
might go the way of other men whom, if the reports I had heard were to
be trusted, she had picked up, and who never returned. Whether she was
a “Devil” or whether it was her ship from which the invitation came I
could not ask without showing some apprehension that would be impolite.
Besides, I had previously been requested by Deverell to ask him no
questions about himself or his ship and I inferred that this inhibition
was still in force; if he had wanted me to know more than he had
indicated he would have volunteered the information. It was an uncanny
proceeding, yet the very mystery of it attracted me as a magnet does
steel. Furthermore, here was a brand new adventure, right within my
grasp, and if it was to end my career then it was because my time had
come, and that was all there was to it.
With my thoughts running in that channel a decision was quickly reached
and I told Deverell I would be glad to go with him. I packed my bag and
turned it over to a man whom Deverell summoned from the street. Ah Fen
was instructed to watch for the “Surprise,” rejoin the “Leckwith,” and
report to Norton what he had told me, and tell him to have me picked up
at Hong Kong in a month or six weeks. Late in the evening we went to
the Bund where a boat that was waiting at an out-of-the-way landing up
near the native quarter took us out to the ship, which was lying fully
six miles offshore, well beyond the usual anchorage. It was the same
ship I had seen several times before but her rig had been so altered,
by taking the rake out of her stack and shortening her spars, and by
changing her upper works, that I could not have recognized her if I
had seen her under any other conditions. Her sides were discolored and
dirty, due to the skilful use of paint, and she looked like an old
tramp. But on board of her were all the comforts and conveniences of a
yacht, with the discipline of a warship. She was about the size of the
“Leckwith,” registering probably five hundred tons net, and with the
removal of her dummy superstructure which concealed six carronades, her
deck was clear, except for the wheelhouse and the captain’s room behind
it. The gun deck below was devoted entirely to living quarters arranged
with an eye to comfort. Those for the crew ran back to amidships, for
she carried all of a hundred men. Abaft of them were the officers’
quarters and in the stern, cut off from the rest of the ship, were the
rooms of the real commander, which were large and sumptuously furnished.
As soon as we were on board it was “Up anchor and full speed to sea.”
Appropriately enough, I was given the cabin of the surgeon, who had
died recently, to which fact I owed my presence on the ship. Deverell
took me into his room and we talked until midnight. Soon after we got
under way he satisfied my silent impatience by throwing open a panel
and exposing a life-size painting of the most beautiful woman I had
ever seen.
“Is that the Beautiful White Devil?” I asked, unable longer to restrain
the questions that were choking me.
“That is our Queen,” he replied gravely, “and it is by that name alone
that she is known to us and spoken of on this ship.”
“She certainly is entitled to the first part of the name by which she
is known ashore, whether or not she deserves the last section of it,” I
said, with open admiration.
His answer left no doubt as to whose ship I was on. “That picture may
do partial justice to her face but it is impossible that it could
portray the beauty of her heart. Instead of being cold-blooded and
bloodthirsty, as you seem to have heard, she is tender and sympathetic
and she has devoted a great part of her money to the relief of
suffering humanity. She deprecates killing even villainous Malays and
Chinks, but she will not be defeated, cost what it will. Never since I
joined the ship have I seen a wanton act of cruelty.”
“What is her life, and what is the motive of it?” I asked.
“She will have to tell you that herself, but before you see her I want
to warn you. Every man who sees the Queen falls in love with her, and
if you think you are going to be like the rest you had better go over
the side right now.”
“How is one to keep from falling in love with her?” I inquired, with
some anxiety, still lost in admiration of the lovely face on the canvas.
“If one philosophizes and keeps his love to himself it is all right,
but this lady is not to be won by any man. She has devoted her life to
a particular purpose and we have devoted our lives to her.”
“That sounds very romantic and interesting,” I observed, already half
suspicious that Deverell himself was in love with her. “What is the
special purpose to which you are all pledged?”
A shrug of the shoulders and a smile made up the only answer.
Deverell then closed the panel and made me the subject of conversation.
He asked all manner of questions about my life, and when I brought the
story down to the China Sea he showed a familiarity with my movements
which indicated a system of spies that aroused my admiration, and I
was free in expressing it. It was through their elaborate system, he
admitted, that they had learned I was in Hong Kong and where I was
stopping. He admitted, too, that they had been in touch with me from
the day I entered their waters and had come to regard me as a kindred
soul, to which fact I owed my invitation from their Queen.
It was considerably after eight bells before I retired but my sleep
was not long or heavy, for the strangeness of the situation and its
possibilities impressed me, not with fear but with exultant expectancy.
At breakfast time Deverell, wearing a smart uniform, escorted me aft
to the private quarters of the Queen, which reminded me of those
of an officer of flag rank in the American Navy. They had the same
private galley and air of exclusiveness of a flagship, but they were
much more spacious and were fitted out with a daintiness that bespoke
generations of culture. The dining-room was a reproduction in miniature
of those one finds in the best homes of England, with nothing about it
to suggest the sea. Back of it and separated from it by odd Chinese
curtains, was a luxurious lounging room, with large ports cut through
the over-hang. On one side of it was the Queen’s sitting-room and
library, and on the other her boudoir.
I was ushered into the dining-room and in a moment the Queen appeared.
As she parted the curtains and paused for just an instant in the
doorway with an air of diffidence, I was transfixed by her marvellous
beauty, to which, as Deverell had said, the painted picture had done
only partial justice. Tall, and with the figure and the manner of
a goddess, I was fascinated by her eyes, deep blue and filled with
sentiment and sympathy; eyes that could never be brutal but which must
yearn for love and tenderness; not the eyes of a woman born to command,
for there was a softness about them that was almost pleading, but of
one created with a desire to be herself commanded and dominated by a
stronger nature. Through them she looked at me as a child might look,
but with more of understanding, yet as much of curiosity. Unconfined,
her hair, when I saw it, would have swept the floor, but it was twisted
into a great black, glistening crown; a little detail that made her
appear more than ever the Queen.
Deverell started to introduce me but she interrupted him. “I already
know Dr. Burnet,” she said, as she swept toward me with superb grace
and infinite charm of manner and extended her hand, small and soft.
“And I feel that I already know you” was a blunder into which her eyes
led me.
Instantly the look of animation which had come into her wonderful eyes
gave way to one of sadness. “But I fear,” she said, “that the reports
you have heard regarding me are very different from those I have had
concerning you, and which caused me to want to meet you, that I might
thank you for your kindness to Captain Deverell.”
I stumbled into another tactless reply: “I have only one fault to find
with what I have been told. You should be known as ‘The Beautiful White
Angel.’” It was not a polite thing to say but I was hopelessly, almost
heedlessly, in love, and it always has been my way to go straight at
things.
Her answer, only through her eyes, that if I was not, in fact, a very
ordinary individual I had made a very commonplace remark, so added
to my embarrassment that we had talked about the weather and the sea
for some time before I got back to my mooring and felt reasonably
secure. Before breakfast was over we were getting along better, though
I could not have concealed the admiration I did not express. At the
end of the meal the Queen and I retired to the lounging room, Deverell
going forward to look after the ship. His attitude toward her was one
of devotion that amounted almost to homage, which she accepted as
her right, and he spoke of and to her only as “Queen.” Naturally, I
addressed her in the same way, as that was the only name Deverell had
used when he started to introduce me, and I then knew her by no other.
“We are headed for my retreat,” she explained. “I want you to see
it, and your visit there will give us an opportunity to get better
acquainted. I should like to have you stay with us as long as you can.
I will put you down in Hong Kong or Singapore on three or four days’
notice.”
I assured her the prospect was delightful. With a bow and a smile
that encouraged veritable loquacity she asked me to tell her all
about myself, and she displayed so much interest in my different
filibustering expeditions, and the adventures that grew out of them,
that I gradually told her the whole story. When my recital brought me
to the China Sea her interest became even more lively, as to details,
but she displayed the same intimate knowledge of my movements, in a
general way, that Deverell had shown.
In the course of the numerous long talks which followed, I felt that
I was regaining some of the ground I had lost by my blunders in my
first bewilderment, and though my infatuation grew stronger every time
I was in her magnetic presence, which charged my whole being with the
electrical energy of life at its best, I said not another word to her
about it, on the ship. As we came to understand each other better she
asked me to tell her all I had heard about her. I was surprised, but
I knew she meant me to be perfectly frank with her, so I repeated, in
a general way, the vague and vapory whisperings as to her wonderful
beauty, on the one hand, and her alleged bloodthirstiness and
wantonness on the other, which latter stories, I told her, could not be
tolerated for an instant by any one who had ever seen her. She smiled
bitterly.
“I never have cared what people said or thought of me,” she said
very slowly, “until recently. Far from enjoying the life I have been
compelled to lead, I have suffered from it. It has been hard, and I
have had to face and solve its problems alone. Craving friendship as
flowers do the sun, and needing it as much, I have had to cut myself
off from the world and try to make myself believe that I have neither
heart nor conscience. When we get home I will tell you the story of my
life, as you have told me yours.”
On the afternoon of the third day out from Hong Kong we ran into
a group of islands, off to the eastward of the regular course to
Singapore. Just as dinner was announced a flag was waved from the
bridge and, following Deverell’s eyes, I made out an answering signal
on the steep side of a small island just ahead of us. We were close
inshore and I scanned the bank closely but could see no sign of either
a landing or an opening. I was anxious to see what was to follow but
a messenger brought word that the Queen was waiting dinner for me.
Deverell did not dine with us but joined us as we were having coffee.
The ship slowed down while we were at dinner and finally the screw
stopped. Immediately the Queen led the way to the deck, where she had
ordered coffee served.
“This,” she said at the head of the stairway, “is my kingdom--without a
king. Isn’t it beautiful?”
I was a little in doubt as to whether her inquiry related to the
scenery or the absence of a male ruler, but, without being able to
distinguish clearly in the gathering tropic darkness, I assured her
that it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, wherein, when
day dawned, I found I had not exaggerated. We were at the head of an
oval lake, perhaps a mile and a half long, with mountains, whose ascent
began close to the shore, rising crescent-shaped around it. There was
a small village, composed of English cottages and native huts, at the
end of the lake nearest to us. On three sides of the lake was a narrow
beach, which widened at the village; the fourth side, toward the sea,
was a perpendicular bluff, sixty feet or more high. I searched it for
the passage through which we had entered the lake but nothing could I
see but a bare wall of dark rock. The Queen watched me as I studied
the situation and smiled at my perplexity. “Wait until to-morrow,” she
laughed. “It would never do to let you into all of our secrets at
once. You had best retire early, for we will go ashore at sunrise,” and
she disappeared.
While we had been talking the topmasts were lowered, which I did not
quite understand, and the fires drawn, and soon I was alone on deck,
with a solitary watchman forward. There was no moon but under the soft
light of the stars, low-hung and with a brilliancy seen only at or
near the equator, I sat in silent wonder and admiration for hours. I
was up again before it was full daylight and watched the lowering of
the Queen’s launch. She appeared with the sun, accompanied by a Dyak
woman whom I had not seen before, and we landed at a little stone dock
in front of the village. All of the inhabitants, consisting of about
fifty English and Scotch men and women, some with silvered locks and
bent backs, and some of them crippled by the pirates, and nearly as
many natives, crowded the pier to meet her, their manner one of the
greatest affection and deference. We walked through the village, which
was a model of neatness, and on up a winding path for nearly a mile,
when a sharp turn around a flank of the mountain brought us to a large
bungalow--the palace of the Queen. It was so situated that it could
not be seen from the sea, at any point, but just around the turn and
not fifty yards from the house was a deep shadowed bower from which
there was a clear view of the ocean for two-thirds of the way around
the compass. This was the outside sitting-room of the Queen and here
breakfast was served. While it was being prepared she made herself
more beautiful by changing her dress of European style for a native
costume of flowing silk so becoming that I wondered at her ever wearing
anything else.
After breakfast she looked down at the little town and far out to
sea in silence for a long time, and then told me the story of her
life. Her name, she said, was Katherine Crofton. Her father was one
of the younger branches of a family which was headed by a Baron.
The family crest was a sheaf of wheat and the motto “God grants the
increase.” Her branch of the family had lived in the south of Ireland
for several generations. Another branch had long lived at Derry Willow
in the County Leitrim. Her father was a lieutenant commander in the
British Navy and to prevent an accident he disobeyed the order of an
incompetent and arrogant superior officer. In a quarrel that followed
her father knocked his superior down and otherwise abused him, for
which he was court-martialled and dismissed.
“My father was a high-spirited man,” she continued, “and his disgrace
embittered him against England and everything English. He soon left
home, without saying where he was going, and when we next heard from
him he was in Hong Kong. He corresponded with us regularly after
that and in three or four years, when I was about fifteen, he wrote
mother and me to take a P & O ship for Singapore, where we would find
further instructions. When we got there father was waiting for us on a
handsome yacht, the ‘Queen,’ which is the ship that you have heard so
much about. I am still using her. He brought us to this island, which
he had fitted out as a retreat. He had established a small settlement
down on the lake and built a warehouse in which to store his goods, and
a machine shop to facilitate repairs to his ship. He had taken great
pains and put himself to a large expense to make his rendezvous secure
from intrusion or discovery.
“Evidently this lake is in the crater of an old volcano which, when it
subsided, left a high, narrow barrier between it and its old enemy, the
sea. Down there,” pointing to the end of the lake opposite the village,
“was a narrow opening into the lake, with a deep channel leading
straight out to sea, though on both sides of it are rocks and shoals.
Probably it was a fissure created by the volcano; anyway it served my
father’s purpose perfectly. He had the opening closed up with rocks
until it was just wide enough to admit the ‘Queen.’ The ridge there,
you can see, is not more than thirty-five or forty feet high, so the
partial closing of the gap was really not such a difficult task. Then
he fitted into the opening that was left, a great double gate, which
rolls back and forth, instead of opening outward, and though it weighs
many tons its mechanism is so arranged that four men can operate it.
The gate is strong enough to stand any storm but to avoid straining it
we keep it open in heavy weather, unless ships are hovering about. From
a watch tower on top of the mountain behind us we get a clear view of
the sea in all directions, and a man is always on duty there. The ridge
that cuts off the ocean rises toward the upper end of the lake and
the village is entirely hidden behind it, as is the ‘Queen’ when her
topmasts are housed. The island, as you can see, is very small and from
the sea there is not a sign to indicate that it is inhabited. When the
gate at the opening into the lake is closed it cannot be distinguished
at a distance of an eighth of a mile, for it exactly resembles the
rocks on both sides of it, but the channel which leads to it is known
to no one save us and no other ship would dare to venture within a mile
and a half of the shore on account of the rocks.
“I did not understand at first the meaning of all of these precautions,
or some other things. Father went out on frequent voyages and returned
with more or less cargo, which was placed in the warehouse, until it
was full. Then father would change the appearance of his ship so that
no one would know her and take cargoes out and sell them, until the
warehouse was empty again. He always took mother and me along on these
trips, though never on the others, and young as I was I learned much
about navigation, for I had his love for the sea. On these trips we
brought back books and magazines and so were able to keep a little in
touch with the outside world.
“When I was not much older than nineteen father and mother were taken
desperately ill and, believing that he would not recover, he called me
into his room and made a confession. He said that in his hatred of the
British he had turned pirate and had been for all those years preying
on ships flying the flag he despised. He had also, occasionally,
waged war on the native pirates and taken their loot from them, which
explained why he had frequently come in with wounded men on board. He
told me of how he had suffered from the act of injustice which expelled
him from the navy and in the end he made me swear that if he died I
would continue the work he had begun. He told me I could rely on Frank
Deverell, his chief officer, whom he said he hoped I would some day
marry,”--this last with just a trace of sarcasm. “My father died the
next week and my mother three months later.
“That was four years ago. I have kept the oath which my love for my
father prompted me to take, but the fulfilment of it has brought me
increasing misery. My attacks on the British flag have been few--in
fact I have given timely assistance to many more English ships than I
have robbed, and hundreds of their passengers and sailors owe their
lives to me, but I have preyed on the natural pirates of these waters
as ardently, perhaps, as did my father. Yet I have no greater moral
right to take from them what they have stolen than I have to rob a
British or an American ship, nor can I excuse myself for the loss of
life that goes with my attacks on them. I am much better armed than
they are and it is nothing but cowardice, as well as thievery, for me
to make war on them. I am, in fact, no better than they are, for I
am in the same class with them--a pirate. My conscience has troubled
me more and more until it has sickened me with the whole wretched
business. A bad promise is better broken than kept; an oath is no more
than a promise; and I am about ready to quit all of this robbery and
butchery and try to return to decency and civilization. As to the other
stories you have heard about me--they are simply lies.”
Toward the end she spoke rapidly and passionately and when she finished
she was all a-quiver, and her eyes filled with tears. After a long
pause, during which she regained control of herself, she said:
“Now, Captain, I have told you all. I am partly justified, if such a
vow as mine can be pleaded as justification, but why are you in this
business?”
Her sudden inquiry, following her bitter denunciation of pirates and
those who preyed on them, surprised and embarrassed me. I told her
that I was in it only because of the adventure of it; that I had been
attracted to the China Sea by Norton’s stories, and that once there I
had naturally fallen in with the exciting life and become a part of it;
and that all of my fighting blood was aroused and my soul glorified by
the fact that the great pirate chief had sworn to crush me.
“That is not a sufficient excuse,” she replied, promptly and
decisively. “I had some reason for my actions, but you have none.” A
moment later she added, gently: “I did not mean to pass judgment on
you, for I have no right to do that. We must all be governed by our own
consciences.”
Neither one of us cared to continue the conversation and I was glad
when she suggested that she would have a servant show me to a smaller
bungalow, a short distance away, where I was to stay, though taking
my meals at the “palace.” She advised a walk through the village and
around the lake during the forenoon, and said we would walk toward the
top of the mountain after lunch. I looked over my comfortable quarters
and then walked back to the lake and went in a boat, with Deverell and
Fennell, the “Queen’s” second officer, to the entrance, in which I was
much interested. I found it to be just as it had been described. There
were two gates, one on each side, about twenty-five feet high, above
low water, and fifteen feet wide. They ran on small wheels in grooves
cut in the solid rock and had been put in place, evidently, by building
a cofferdam around the entrance. Below the water line they were built
of heavy iron lattice work, so as to give the tides free ingress and
egress. Above the water they were constructed of thick timbers, covered
on the seaward side with iron plates. When they were open they ran
back into nests cut into granite rock. When they were closed they came
together diagonally, in the shape of a wide V, with the apex facing
outward, so that the action of the waves only locked them more firmly.
It was possible for two men to operate each gate, though six made
quicker work of it. Their construction was as fine a piece of elusive
engineering as I have ever seen. Their height was so arranged that
there was no break in the coast line and they were, as the Queen had
said, indistinguishable at a very short distance. There was just room
enough over the sill to admit the “Queen” at low tide, and a larger
ship could not have gotten through the gates or over the bar.
I told Deverell enough to make him understand, without my saying so,
that the Queen had told me her life story, and, knowing this, he talked
quite freely. From what he said I satisfied myself that not only
had the elder Crofton been an out-and-out pirate but his bewitching
daughter had done honor to his name, for two or three years at least.
We visited the machine shop, which was quite elaborately fitted up for
the repair of ship and guns, and walked through the village, where he
pointed out men who had lost arms or legs in the service of the Queen
and her father, and others who had been retired for age and were now
pensioners. Deverell was a true pirate and told me with delight of some
of their exploits. His reverence for the Queen amounted to idolatry.
If his love for her had been returned I would not have been surprised
for, though lacking some of the finer instincts of a gentleman, as
could well be imagined from his surroundings for years, he was an
unusually likable chap and of a type that ordinarily appeals strongly
to women. He was about forty years old, two inches less than six feet
tall, and had the figure of an Apollo. His steel gray eyes sparkled
with friendship or shot sparks, and his brown hair fairly bristled when
he was angry. He impressed one as being altogether a man, the soul of
loyalty, a perfect friend, and brave to the last drop of his blood.
After luncheon the Queen and I set off toward the mountain top, nearly
one thousand feet above us, but we did not reach it, for the heat was
intense.
“Well, what do you think of us now?” she asked, on our way down, after
I had told her how I had spent the forenoon.
“I think enough of you to devote my whole life to your service,” I
quickly replied.
She gave me a long, searching look, that seemed to go right through me
and lay my whole soul open before her, then took the lead and, without
a word, walked rapidly on to her bungalow, and I walked on to mine.
When I came back to dinner she was waiting for me in her bower. As
she came to meet me and extended her hand she said, earnestly and
almost sadly, “I believe you were honest and sincere in what you said
this afternoon, but I can only say ‘Thank you.’ What you suggested is
impossible.”
In the three weeks that followed I urged my love upon her with all of
my determination but she refused to change her decision and apparently
was as firm in it as at first. It was agreed that we should both
give up piracy, in any form, but all of our arguments ended there
until finally, one afternoon as we sat looking out over the sea and
talking, for once, of the ordinary affairs of life, she said, slowly
and emphatically, “Deverell was my father’s right-hand-man. I am going
to give this place to him, just as it stands, take the next ship for
England, lay my case before the Home Secretary and ask him for a full
pardon. I will confess to him that I have taken from the pirates what
they had stolen from others. To offset the offence I have hundreds
of written statements from people whose lives I have saved from the
pirates by coming up in the nick of time, for which service I never
accepted payment of any kind. I believe I can secure a pardon and if I
do, I will meet you, with a clear conscience, and become your wife.”
In a tumult of joy, which came over me with the force of an electric
shock, I sprang to her side and started to take her in my arms, but
she stretched out her hand and held me off. I had never seen such a
serious look on her exquisite face and there were tears in her eyes.
“Not yet,” she said, tenderly but firmly. “I have said I would marry
you only when my name had been cleared of its dishonor, and until that
condition has been complied with you cannot regard me as your promised
wife. After that you may do with me as you please, but not until then.”
Her accession of conscience had been so great that she considered
herself disgraced, and that nothing short of a pardon from the British
Government, so bitterly hated by her father, could restore her
respectability. With my most persuasive arguments I tried to dissuade
her from going to England, but without effect. I urged her to marry me
at once and go with me to America or some other country, where we would
not be reminded of the past and have nothing to fear from it, but she
would not listen. She feared she would be found and arrested later on
and bring dishonor on me; she seemed to have no thought of herself in
that respect, and, seeing that, I better understood the depth of her
great love.
No argument of mine could change her and there was nothing to do
but fall in with her plan. She packed up the most treasured of her
personal effects, paid a last visit to the graves of her father and
mother, and two days later we sailed away. Just before going on board
she summoned the villagers to the empty warehouse and told them she
had given all of her property to Deverell and was going away, never to
return. They wept and showed great distress, but Kate was quietly happy
and her glorious eyes were firm and undimmed as they looked for the
last time on her beauteous isle.
I knew about where to find the “Florence.” We picked her up in a few
days and I boarded her and made sail to meet the “Leckwith” at the
rendezvous. Kate went on to Singapore, where she took the next ship for
England. Six months later I received word that she had died suddenly
there, before she had applied for a pardon, and the course of my life
was changed again.
CHAPTER IX
A DEATH DUEL WITH A PIRATE KING
When I rejoined the “Leckwith,” after having started the Beautiful
White Devil, who was a devil no longer but the one woman in the world
for me, on her way to England to secure a pardon for her piracies which
would open the way to our marriage, Frank Norton was very inquisitive
as to where I had been and the reason for my sudden disappearance from
Hong Kong. He had of course heard from Ah Fen of the woman pirate, who
was mistakenly blamed by the real pirates for some of our raids on
them, while we were held responsible for some of hers, and I could see
that his keen mind had conceived the suspicion that it was her ship
whose commander I had attended, in my capacity as a surgeon, after our
joint fight with the Malays on the deck of the British bark, and that
she was at the bottom of my absence, but I declined to discuss the
matter at all or give him any information on the subject. I told him
simply that I had been away on strictly private business. With even my
most intimate friends I am naturally secretive regarding my purely
personal affairs, and the “Beautiful White Angel,” as I now knew her to
be, had become so sacred in my enraptured vision that I did not wish to
talk about her with any one, and least of all with the cynical Norton.
I knew he would base his estimate of her on her altogether undeserved
reputation among people who had never seen her, and that he would say
something which would make me want to kill him. There really was no
need for that sort of a finale to our semi-partnership, so I remained
silent. Norton was annoyed by my refusal to take him into my confidence
and went away in a huff, but he was astounded, a day or two later, when
I told him I had decided to sell the “Florence” and “Surprise,” divide
up the profits with him, and quit the business we were in.
“What is the matter?” he asked in amazement. “Have you lost your mind?”
“On the contrary,” I replied, “I have only just come into my right
mind.”
“But look at the money we are making,” he protested. “Is there any
other place where you can make as much money so easily?”
“There is nobody who gets more satisfaction out of money than I do,” I
said, “but after all it isn’t the only thing in the world. I came out
here for the adventure more than for the money.”
“Well, isn’t the supply of adventure equal to the demand?” he asked
with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Not of the kind that appeals to me. There is plenty of excitement, of
a kind, but not an awful lot of adventure, as I understand the term.
Most of the time it is nothing more than wholesale butchery of ignorant
Malays and Chinkies who have no chance against us even though they do
outnumber us. And to make it worse, we steal from them. That is not the
kind of adventure that I enjoy.”
This sort of talk from me must have sounded very strange and I was not
surprised at Norton’s dumbfounded expression.
“But we only take from them what they have stolen from somebody else,”
he argued. “They have no right to it, while we can reasonably claim
it as a reward for avenging those whom they have killed and robbed.
Besides that, we ought to get a medal from the British Government for
every one of those devils we put out of the way, for we are doing the
world a service.”
“That is no argument,” I contended, remembering Miss Crofton’s curt
reproval of my own defence to her, along just the same line, only a
month before. “The fact that they steal from others gives us no shadow
of right to steal from them. Perhaps it is a good thing to kill them,
but I hold no commission and draw no salary for that sort of thing. If
the world wants them put out of the way, let the world attend to it.
The world has never done anything for me that should make me want to
assume the whole contract. If it is a public service to slay pirates,
I have certainly killed my share, and directed the slaughter of enough
more of them to absolve all of my most distant relatives from any
further responsibility in the matter. Somebody else can now step up and
kill his share, and they can keep it going as long as they like. I am
sick of murdering and robbing, even though they are pirates, and there
will be no more of it from my ships.”
“What do you know about this ‘Beautiful White Devil’ Ah Fen has been
telling me about?” he shot at me. He evidently expected to catch me off
my guard, but I was looking for just such an inquiry and was not at all
perturbed.
“There is no such person,” I answered with perfect truthfulness. “I
satisfied myself on that point while I was in Hong Kong. That is only
one of the wild stories you hear out here where there are so many
people who smoke opium. There may be a man pirate who sometimes
masquerades in female attire, but there is no woman pirate.”
“It may be,” he suggested sneeringly, “that this sudden decision of
yours to retire is due to the fact that Moy Sen has threatened to
exterminate us. If you don’t want to fight the old scoundrel, why don’t
you say so, instead of backing out on an assumption of morality that
does not harmonize with your makeup and with which it is far beyond me
to agree.”
That dart struck a tender spot. I would be the last one to quit under
a threat or under fire, and Norton knew it. The prospect of a rattling
final fight was most alluring. Fighting pirates, I reasoned with
myself, especially when they had declared war on you, was altogether
different from preying on them, which I had given my word I would not
do. It would be at least six or eight months before my beloved Kate
could secure her pardon and meet me in Bombay, where we had planned
to be married, and that, I figured, would give me time to accept the
“defi” of the King of the Pirates, if he moved as rapidly as we might
expect.
“Far from running away from a fight of that kind,” I told Norton, “I
should much rather run into it. We will cruise around a while to see
whether the Chinkies really mean to give us battle. But it is the
sport of it that I want and nothing else, for if it comes off it will
be a great fight. There must be no more looting.”
Norton apparently considered that he had shaken my decision to quit
preying on the pirates, wherein he was mistaken, and hoped to be able
to induce me to abandon it entirely. At any rate we were of one mind
in hunting for a scrap with the Chinkies, just for the fun of it, and
harmony was restored.
We loafed around in the path of the pirates below Great Natuna Island
but nothing happened for ten days or two weeks and it began to look as
though they were not seeking us very earnestly. We saw several junks
which we could easily have stood up and robbed, but I would not permit
it. Late one evening, just as the galloping night was closing in, an
enormous junk appeared suddenly from behind an island and came sailing
down a narrow strait through which we were just crawling. Instead of
hurrying along through the dangerous passage, as she would have done
had she been an honest trader, she began to shorten sail after she
had passed us. That aroused our suspicions and we determined to look
her over. She appeared to carry only a small crew, but when we came
together it seemed to me for a moment that she had more Chinamen on
board than I had ever seen before at one time. We increased our speed
a little and drew up alongside to get a good look at her. We were
almost on an even keel with her when she swung suddenly to starboard
and would have smashed into our bow if we had not gone full speed
astern without losing a second. As she passed under our short bowsprit
she threw a grappling iron which caught on our port bow, and we let it
stay there.
We lit our battle lamps and hung them along under the rail so that they
illuminated our deck, where we preferred to fight, because we knew
every foot of it. We had about one hundred and twenty-five men on the
“Leckwith,” Norton having taken the pick of the crews of the “Florence”
and “Surprise,” while I was away, in order to be prepared for any
contingency, and I had no fear that the pirates could come aboard fast
enough to get away with us. The junk’s grappling iron held and as soon
as she was clear of us we went ahead slowly. This drew the two ships
together, which was what we wanted. As the junk swung around we let go
our carronades, but we were at such close quarters that the slugs did
not have time to scatter and simply ploughed small holes through the
mass of men that swarmed her decks. We gave them a volley of rifle fire
and met them with another as the ships came together. They rushed over
the rail at us in a sulphur cloud. Then it was revolvers and cutlasses.
The pirates resorted to their old trick of throwing themselves on
the deck, as though killed or wounded, and trying to hamstring or
disembowel us, but we were up to that game and were watching for it. We
made sure that every Chinaman was dead when he struck the deck. Every
blow was that of an executioner. In a few minutes, as it seemed then,
though it may have been much longer, the decks were slippery with blood
and I could actually hear it dripping through the scuppers into the
quiet sea.
It was such a fight as one gets into only in years, perhaps only once
in a lifetime. The butchery was dreadful but the excitement of it set
one’s blood ablaze. Our men became demons. As they shot and slashed
they shouted and sang. A disarmed Chinkie seized me around the waist
and dragged me in among his blood-stained fellows, but we were so
closely wedged together that they could not chop at me without striking
each other and they never thought of stabbing me. Norton and the mighty
Lorensen, swinging an enormous Chinese sword which he had taken from
one of his victims, came to my assistance and in a twinkling I was
free, with dead and maimed pirates piled up around me in a circle. I
could feel sword cuts now and then but they seemed like pin pricks. All
of us were so covered with blood that there was no telling whether it
came from our own wounds or those we had inflicted.
“That makes us even,” I shouted to Lorensen, as I cut down a yellow
devil who had crept up behind him, while he was busy with those in
front, and had his knife raised to put him out of commission. A Chinkie
who had lost his sword seized my empty pistol from its holster, pressed
it over my heart and pulled the trigger. I let him go that far and then
laughed at him as I backed away and cut his head half off. I saw Norton
go down and fought my way to him, to find that he had only slipped in
a red pool. He had been singing a loud requiem of profane abuse over
those who met his sword and he resumed it where he had left off, hardly
missing a note. We kept the pirates in front of us and steadily forced
our way forward. Every time one of our own men fell it made us fight
the harder. The Chinkies cut and slashed with all of their desperate
savagery but it was impossible for them to stand before the fury of our
men and, though they outnumbered us four or five to one, they finally
began to give way. We followed them onto their own deck and piled
them up on top of each other. Finally a lot of them took to the hold
and the rest, perhaps a hundred of them, jumped overboard. Those that
foolishly fled to the hold we treated to a dose of their own medicine.
We threw their stink-pots down among them until the air was thick with
the poisonous smoke, and closed the hatches. Some of them, gasping and
blinded, tried to escape through the guarded gangways; the rest of them
died in the hold. There was not a pirate left alive on the junk or on
our own deck.
We looked upon our work and pronounced it good, but before we had time
to congratulate ourselves or count noses to ascertain the extent to
which we had suffered, we discovered a big steamer almost on top of us.
It was the “Ly-ce-moon,” the flagship of Moy Sen’s fleet, and, though
we did not know it, the old pirate chief himself was in command of
her. We barely had time to refill our revolvers and get back onto the
“Leckwith,” when she banged into us and made fast with her grapplers.
She was nearly twice the size of the “Leckwith” and her rail was three
or four feet above ours. We did not know how many men she carried nor
did any of us care, for we were mad with monotonous murder; the bestial
blood lust that comes from a glut of human butchery was over all of us.
We were both exhilarated and enraged; stimulated by the quick work
we had made of the junk, and furious at the revelation of the cunning
trap that had been set for us. The junk was the bait. It was expected
that we would attack and board her; that our boarding force would be
overwhelmed by the hundreds of devils who were crammed into her hold,
and while this fight was on the “Ly-ce-moon” was to come up on the
other side and finish us off. It was shrewdly planned and if we had not
been on our guard and suspicious of everything, we would have fallen
into the trap, and delayed matters so long that when it came we would
have had a fight on our hands which it would have been hard to win. As
I reasoned it out, when we ranged alongside of the junk to size her up
more closely, as soon as she came up with us, her commander, naturally
thinking we were preparing to attack him, decided that the cunning
thing for him to do was to throw his horde aboard of us instead of
waiting for us to board him. He supposed we carried only our ordinary
crew, as all of our extra men were out of sight, and figured that it
would be an easy game for him, in which he stood to win a lot of glory
with no chance of losing; for even if we should develop unexpected
strength, the steamer would come up in time to make our defeat certain.
Nothing but this turn of affairs, which was not according to the
programme, and the fury with which our augmented crew went at the
Chinkies, made it possible for us to render the junk entirely harmless
before Moy Sen arrived.
When he threw his grappling irons we made them fast and, before he had
time to think, or to see all that had happened, we were scrambling
over his high sides, each man armed with a revolver in one hand and a
cutlass in the other. The Chinaman, even when he is a pirate, has no
rapid resourcefulness. When you “switch the cut” on him, or do anything
in a different way from that in which he expects you to do it, he has
to stop and figure it out and fix himself all over again. Moy Sen’s
crew were prepared to board us, and when we made the offensive our
defensive, and carried the fight to them with an altogether unexpected
rush, they were so taken by surprise that they offered little real
resistance to our invasion. But by the time we were all on board they
had regained their senses and the fight that followed was even more
savage than the one before it. There were no lights, except those under
the “Leckwith’s” rail, which did us little good, and the pirates fired
at us from hiding places about their well-known decks, which we could
not make out until our eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. Our
men shot and, when their revolvers were empty, slashed at every noise.
In order that we might not attack each other we kept up a contemptuous
chant of curses on the Chinese, counting time to it with our cutlasses.
The result was a repetition of what had occurred with the crew of
the junk, but it required much longer to accomplish it. The junk had
carried more men than the steamer, for it was planned that those on
the junk were to do the brunt of the fighting and get us going before
the others came at us from behind; but the first battle was fought on
a well-lighted deck with every foot of which we were familiar, while
the second struggle took place on a strange ship and in semi-darkness,
which was lightened only by the lamps on our own ship below us and a
few stars above, for the sky was overcast with clouds.
We strung our forces along the full length of the “Ly-ce-moon,”
to prevent the pirates from getting behind us, and fought our way
crosswise of the ship. One of the first things that caught my eye was
the figure of a gigantic Chinaman in the afterpart of the vessel, who
at first directed the fight and then took a large hand in it himself.
It was, as I suspected at the time from the manner in which he had been
described to me by Ah Fen, old Moy Sen himself, who had paid us the
high honor of taking personal charge of the campaign against us. He was
the biggest Chinaman I had ever seen and must have been a full-blooded
Tartar. He was raw-boned and his face, of which I now and then caught a
glimpse, was that of a fiend. He had tremendously long arms and every
time he swung his sword he cleared a space. Lorensen and I, who were
close together while Norton was farther forward, tried to fight our way
to him, but we were held back by important business directly in front
of us that demanded immediate attention. By the time we succeeded in
working our way aft, the chief of all the pirates had disappeared.
Made more desperate by the annihilation of their comrades on the junk
and inspired by the presence of their great leader, and his commanding
and defiant shouts, the Chinkies fought with a grim stubbornness which
I had never before seen them display. They made no noise about it but
kept chopping away, sometimes aimlessly, but always chopping. The scent
of veritable rivers of blood would have sickened us, and our tired
arms, like those of our enemies, would have settled into a methodical
swing, had we not been spurred on by one victory and the prospect of
a still greater one. My sword was broken off at the hilt in warding
off a vicious blow, but before another one could be struck I seized
a fortunately falling Chinkie and held him in front of me, while his
blood gushed all over me, until I had secured his sword, which I used
as effectively as my own. In trying to hamstring me a half-dead pirate
gashed the calf of my leg to the bone, yet I scarcely noticed it. I
felt something trickling down my face and knew a glancing blow had
laid open my scalp, but there was no twinge of pain. It was the same
with all of the others. No one thought of his wounds unless he was
disabled, when, if he had strength enough, he dragged himself to the
rear to be out of the way. Nothing was in our minds but to fight and
win. Had there been twice as many of the pirates the result, in the
end, would have been the same, for it was not in us to be defeated
that night. Gradually, but slowly at first, we got the upper hand of
them. When the inspiring voice of their chief was silenced they gave
way more rapidly and our men chased them over the side and rushed into
cabins, deckhouses, for’c’sle, engine room, and stokehole, hunting out
those who had sought hiding places, and putting an end to the continued
danger of pot shots.
It was broad daylight by the time we had thrown overboard the last of
the dead Chinamen and washed down the decks, after giving our own
badly wounded men such attention as was possible under the conditions.
We thought for a time that Moy Sen had escaped, but we found him,
almost chopped to pieces, close to the after wheelhouse, with three of
our men dead beside him. Except for his great size we would not have
known him, but he was identified by Ah Fen, who was the only one on
board who had ever seen him. We had twenty-one men killed and twice
as many so seriously injured that a number of them subsequently died,
and there was hardly a man of us who did not have one or more wounds
of some kind. In addition to the cut on my leg, which was a nasty one
and barely missed the tendons, and the scalp wound, which was not a
severe one, I had a dozen cuts and gashes of assorted sizes and widely
distributed. The point of a sword had ripped open my already scarred
cheek and another one had taken away a souvenir from my arm. Norton had
a long cut along his abdomen, which almost accomplished the intended
disembowelment, and half of one ear was hanging by the skin. He also
had many minor injuries, but neither of us was damaged beyond speedy
repair. Lorensen, a mighty man in any position, who had sent as many
Chinamen to join Confucius as had any of us, was one of the very few
who escaped with only trifling scratches.
On the “Ly-ce-moon” were two teak chests, filled with gold and silver
coin and ingots, silverware, jewelry, and precious and semi-precious
stones, of the Oriental variety, apparently representing the most
valuable portions of several stolen cargoes, and these I allowed to
be transferred to the “Leckwith,” in preference to throwing them
overboard. It then became a question as to what we should do with Moy
Sen’s ships. There was some apprehension that if we took them with us
we might run into a cruiser and be unable satisfactorily to explain
exactly how we came into possession of them and what we were doing with
such a large crew on a private yacht. We compromised the difficulty by
scuttling the junk and putting a crew aboard the steamer. We went to
Singapore, arriving there in the early Summer of 1876, as I remember
it, to close up our business, and sold the pirate ship to our Chinese
agents for a third of what she was worth. We also sold to them, for a
small part of its value, the loot we had taken from her, but all of
that money was divided up between Norton and the crew. I held to my
promise and touched none of it. We retained about twenty-five of our
best men, paid the others off, after dividing up a large share of our
profits with all of them, placed the injured in a hospital, and headed
for Hong Kong, where the “Florence” and “Surprise” had been ordered to
report. On the way we stopped at a small, out-of-the-way island, landed
all of our guns and most of our small arms, and, after covering them
well with red lead and tallow, buried them in a deep hole, over which
we planted a lot of young cocoanut trees. The “Leckwith” then became,
in fact, a private yacht. We had no anxiety regarding our old friends,
the pirates, for there was nothing we could not run away from.
It was fortunate that we removed all traces of piracy and restored the
“Leckwith” to an honest vessel for as soon as we reached Hong Kong we
were boarded and inspected with great care. It transpired that while
I was away with Miss Crofton, Norton had landed at a little village
a hundred and fifty miles down the coast and played hob with it. I
knew nothing about it until after we were examined, when Lorensen told
me about it. Norton’s excuse was that he believed the village was
inhabited only by pirates and he wanted to teach them a lesson, but
there was no doubt in my mind that he had hoped to find a lot of loot
there. The “Leckwith,” naturally, answered the descriptions of the
ship that made the raid, and if we had not been nicely cleaned up when
the officers came aboard, we undoubtedly would have been arrested for
piracy, instead of which we were absolved from all suspicion.
The “Florence” was waiting for us and I at once disposed of her,
through our agents, to an English trading company. In a few weeks the
“Surprise” came in from Yokohama, where she had delivered a cargo, and
was sold to a Japanese house with a branch in Hong Kong. I remember
that she brought seven thousand pounds, which I gave to Norton. We
paid off their crews, with a bonus and their share of the profits, and
saw that they were scattered and shipped on long voyages in different
directions, as we had done with the surplus crew of the “Leckwith.”
We had no fear that they would carelessly tell what they knew about
our operations, for they were pleased with their treatment and, beyond
that, self-protection would have stood in the way of any complaint
against us, but we considered it wise to distribute them to the four
corners of the earth before they had an opportunity to fill up with rum
and become braggarts, wherein would be danger to all of us. The two
captains, Brown and Heather, had fallen under the spell of the China
Sea, with its dangers and its delights, and were in no hurry to leave
it for prosaic England, but we knew they could be relied on; if they
had not been discreet and close-mouthed I never would have engaged
them. I had been out East about two years and considered that the
adventures I had encountered there amply repaid me for the time, to
say nothing of the joy I had found in establishing the identity of the
Beautiful White Devil as a real, live being, and falling in love with
her. Therefore I insisted on treating all of our men with a liberality
that amounted to prodigality, but even after that Norton and I divided
up something over three hundred thousand dollars, as the remaining
share of what we had cleaned up from the pirates.
We loafed around Hong Kong for weeks, for it had been arranged that
Miss Crofton should communicate with me there as to the probable result
of her effort to secure a pardon after the confession she intended to
make to the Home Secretary. Finally the word came, and it was a great
shock to me, for it was a report of her death, which occurred suddenly
at her old home in Ireland, soon after she arrived there on her way to
London. I had been in love before, more times than once, but never so
much as with her. For her I was ready to give up my adventurous life,
but the knowledge that she was gone from me made me more desperate
than ever. I was tempted to resume the old piratical life, yet I could
not bear to remain amid scenes that would constantly remind me of her.
So I left the China Sea behind me and never have returned to it.
On receipt of the heart-breaking news I told Norton the whole story
of how I became acquainted with the beautiful Miss Crofton and fell
in love with her, and how my romance had been shattered. I told him
he could stay there if he wanted to, and return to the old life if
he wished, but that I intended to leave at once and for all time. He
declared he would go with me, and suggested that we take a trip to
Australia; but I was moody and wanted to cruise around a bit, in the
solitude of the open sea, with no definite object in view. We headed
up along the coast and Norton, who was looking after the navigation
of the ship, in which I had lost all interest for the time being, put
in at Amoy, for want of something better to do. He thought a visit
to a strange port might do me good. While we were lying there Norton
became acquainted with a Chinese or Corean merchant. He was anxious
to get up to the Shantung Peninsula, where the Germans were beginning
to establish themselves firmly with the idea of taking possession of
that rich section of China when the Empire was divided up among the
“friendly” powers, so called because they were altogether unfriendly,
and Norton proposed that we continue our indefinite journey that
far and take him along. I agreed, thinking we might find something
interesting in new scenes. When we got nearly up to the Peninsula
Norton unfolded a new scheme. Our merchant passenger, he said, had told
him of a lot of treasure buried in a cemetery in Corea, close to a
river and not a great way from the coast, which was guarded only by the
superstitious native fear of the dead. It would be an easy matter to
secure the treasure, according to his story, and he offered to lead us
to it if we would give him a share of it. By that time I was in a frame
of mind to welcome any excitement and I told Norton to close with him
and go ahead.
Accordingly we altered our course and sailed for the west coast of
Corea. I do not know how far we followed it but we stopped at the
mouth of a small river, which ran close to the cemetery, about twelve
miles up. We went up to it at night in a steam launch we had bought at
Hong Kong; Norton, the merchant, and I, and eight men. The cemetery,
which was five hundred yards back from the river, was an open space
of perhaps ten acres, filled with funny-looking graves, covered with
signs and charms. In the centre of it was an unroofed structure about
fifty feet square, with stone walls twelve or fifteen feet high. It was
there, said our guide, that the money was concealed.
Just as we came to the edge of the burying ground a procession of
twenty or twenty-five white-robed men, marching in Indian file and
carrying a number of ladders, appeared on the opposite side. They
marched to the square structure, raised their ladders against the wall
and went over. In half an hour they climbed out again, with several
large and heavy sacks which were lowered with some difficulty, took
down their ladders and marched away in silence. Our guide explained,
with many Chinese curses, that they doubtless were a delegation sent
from Seoul after the treasure. Certainly they had taken something away
with them and it probably was money. There was no telling whether it
was gold, silver, or copper, for all our guide professed to know was
that a “large amount” was hidden there. From the size and weight of the
numerous sacks in which it was carried away I got the idea that the
“treasure” consisted of the cheap “cash” used in that country and China
and that the total value of it probably did not exceed a few hundred
dollars at the most. Had it been made up of gold coin it would have
represented the national wealth of Corea.
Some of the store might have been left behind, but I did not care
to investigate. The outlook was not promising and the situation was
uncanny to a degree that got on my already depressed nervous system;
so, with some random remarks about Corean methods of burying their dead
and hiding their money, we walked back to the launch and returned to
the ship, without having derived even a reasonable amount of excitement
from the trip. That fiasco finally fixed in me a resolution, that had
been forming for some time, to get entirely away from that part of
the world. We turned about and landed our disappointed passenger at
Shanghai and from there took a course almost due south, which carried
us east of the Philippine Islands, down through Molucca Pass, past the
Island of Celebes, into the Florida Sea, and out through the Floris
Strait into the Indian Ocean. Our final objective port was London,
but I had no wish to make another trip through the China Sea and its
islands at the south, which held so many painful memories, and took
this roundabout course to avoid them.
CHAPTER X
THE BURIAL OF THE “LECKWITH”
On my way back to England on the “Leckwith,” along toward the end of
the still sadly remembered year of 1876, after having said farewell
to the China Sea, with its beauty, booty, and blood, we decided to
go around by the Cape of Good Hope to look South Africa over a bit.
By that time I was eager for anything that offered excitement and
diversion, without regard to either the principles which were involved
or the lack of them. I had brooded over the death of the Beautiful
White Devil, for love of whom I was willing to give up my old ways
and become a quiet and orderly person, until I had interpreted it to
mean that the unseen and unknown directing force of my career had no
sympathy with my reformatory resolutions and had taken that brutal way
of making plain the command that I was to remain a homeless adventurer.
The result was that my nature, for the time being, was as embittered as
it had been exalted only a short time before, and my hand was raised
against every one. Norton, my partner in this expedition, was delighted
with the change that had come over me, and hailed with unconcealed joy
what he regarded as my return to a normal frame of mind.
We put in at the Mauritius for coal and there we heard stories
regarding the still flourishing slave trade which led us to believe we
might find some spirited and profitable sport with them, in the same
way that we had preyed on the Chinese and Malay pirates out East. We
sailed around Cape St. Mary into the Mozambique Canal, between the East
African coast and the island of Madagascar, and began bartering for
ivory, gold dust, palm nuts, and animal skins, as a mask for our real
purpose and to give us a favorable opportunity to study the situation.
Investigation proved that we had been correctly advised regarding it.
The Sultan of Zanzibar had practically suppressed the sale of slaves
in his domain, but the only effect had been to drive the trade down
the coast, and large numbers of negroes from the interior were being
handled by the Arabs, who were born to the business. For the pick of
the slaves there was a regular course down the White Nile and the
Blue Nile and on across into Arabia, hitting the back trail on the
path of Moses. The rest of the unfortunate victims of a civilization
which makes might right were driven in long strings down to the coast,
chiefly to Mozambique and to the delta of the Zambesi River, which
was a favorite spot for barterings in blacks. The bulk of these slaves
were intended for shipment across the channel to Madagascar, where
there always was a demand for them among the old Hovas, or aristocrats,
who owned the large plantations. The balance of them were sent to the
Arabian coast for distribution. They were shipped to both markets in
_dhows_, low-lying vessels that, with a fair wind and comparatively
smooth sea, could make almost steamship time. They need to be fast, for
a British cruiser, on the lookout for just such ships, was continually
patrolling the channel in the general course of a figure 8, and
sometimes there were two or three of them on the watch. The Arabs kept
close tab on the warships and knew about where they were at all times,
except when they doubled on their course, which they sometimes did,
with occasional disastrous results.
When the chocolate caravans reached the mouths of the Zambesi sales
were held, both public and private, at which the slave-dealers
bought from the slave-catchers as many negroes as they thought they
could handle. The blacks were placed in pens or stockades and kept
there until the coast was clear and a dhow ready to sail, when,
chained together by the neck in batches of six, they were driven on
board and stowed away under the hatches, from two hundred to four
hundred constituting a shipload. The average price of these slaves
in Madagascar was one hundred dollars, but when, on account of the
watchfulness of the warships, they had been kept long in the pens and
were fat and strong, they brought considerably more,--sometimes twice
as much.
In the guise of a peaceful trader, with nothing about us to arouse
suspicion, we loafed along the slave coast until we had a good line
on the manner in which the Arabs conducted their operations and knew
the general routine of the movements of the watching warships. With
a satisfactory understanding of the general situation we signed on,
at Mozambique, seventy-five additional men, who were ready for any
service, equipped ourselves with such paraphernalia as we required,
and launched out into the business of snatching slaves. Our ordinary
method was to cruise along the Madagascar coast until we sighted a
dhow sailing along in a light breeze, or, better still, becalmed. We
would just keep her in sight until nightfall. If she was becalmed we
would close in on her, with our lights doused, until we were two or
three miles away; if she was under slow way we would get the same
distance in advance of her. Then we would lower five or six boats,
each carrying ten or twelve well-armed men, and attack her from as
many different directions. Norton or I always went along in command of
the expedition. We tried to surprise the Arabs, and on some very dark
nights we succeeded, but most frequently they surprised us by being
prepared for our visit. There was always a fight and sometimes, with
the larger dhows, a full-fledged battle. We could not use large guns
without danger of killing the cargo, so it was altogether revolver and
cutlass work on our side. The Arabs used long rifles with beautifully
inlaid handles, which really were deadly weapons in spite of their
fanciful appearance, and curved swords, in the use of which they were
artists. They fought hard enough, viciously, in fact, but we generally
had as many men as they carried, or more, and when we did not catch
them napping we confused them by attacking them simultaneously at five
or six points. We had a man killed now and then and had a number put
out of commission with more or less serious wounds, but we suffered
little in comparison with the damages we inflicted.
With the fight over we would transfer the Arabs to the “Leckwith,”
where we put them in irons or somewhere else, and place a crew on the
dhow to navigate her to the coast and sell the slaves. Our attacks were
always made close inshore to minimize the danger of being ourselves
surprised and overhauled by a warship. We would follow the captured
dhow in with the “Leckwith” and stand off and on two or three miles
offshore, watching for interference and waiting for the transaction
to be closed, when we would send boats in and pick up our crew, which
invariably was in charge of Norton or I or Lorensen. The dhow was sold
or presented to the purchaser of the slaves.
The activity was continuous, for we were always scurrying around in
search of slaves, yet the excitement of it was not so thrilling as
I had anticipated. We had been following this new, and I must admit
somewhat revolting occupation only a few weeks when the crew of a small
dhow set their ship on fire as we were closing in on it one night and
took to the boats before a shot had been fired. By the time we got on
board the whole afterpart of the vessel was in flames and we had all
we could do to keep it from spreading forward far enough to reach the
slaves, who were in a panic and were making the night melodious with
the wildest yells I had ever heard. As soon as the blaze was made out
from the “Leckwith,” Norton brought her alongside and we succeeded
in transferring all of the negroes to her, but with great difficulty,
for they were almost helpless from fear and, chained together as they
were, it was hard to handle them quickly. However, it was a small
shipment, and all of our men who could be spared from fighting the fire
eventually got them below decks on the “Leckwith,” after which we let
the dhow burn, and made fast time away from her for fear the flames
would attract some passing ship. It was several days before we got rid
of the slaves, for the first port we visited was overstocked, and in
that time they filled the ship with an indescribable stench that it was
impossible to eradicate, and in the end it proved her undoing.
One evening not long after that, just at dusk, as we came around Cape
St. Andrew, we ran right into a British gunboat--I think it was the old
“Penelope.” She at once changed her course, came alongside and hailed
us:
“What ship is that?”
“The ‘Jane Meredith,’ from Delagoa Bay to Suez,” I shouted back, and I
had the papers to prove it.
We were ordered to heave to and a lieutenant came aboard us. His
manner, as he came over the rail, indicated that he was suspicious of
us. He first examined our papers and passed them.
“You’re damned light to be going north,” he said, as he looked over the
manifest, which showed only the small cargo of skins and palm nuts that
we always carried.
“That’s so,” I admitted, “but we’ve been out East for three years and
I’m anxious to get back to England. I came around this way thinking we
might pick up a cargo, but there’s not much doing.”
“It looks as though there had been something doing,” he exclaimed a few
minutes later, when he saw the number of men we had on board. “What in
thunder are you doing with so many men?”
“We had three ships out East,” I explained. “I sold the others to the
Japs. The crews did not want to stay with them. When they signed I
agreed to return them to England, and I am taking them back myself,
rather than pay their passage; that’s all.”
He looked skeptical, but asked no further questions along that line,
except to inquire the names of the ships I had sold and their rig.
The moment he poked his nose in the hold and sniffed the air he turned
on me and declared, with an air of finality, “You’ve been running
slaves.”
“Nothing like it,” I replied, just as positively. “There were a lot
of niggers at the Mauritius who wanted to get to Delagoa Bay and as
we were going there I took them along, at two shillings a head. They
grubbed themselves and most of them lived down here, as we were crowded
above. If I had known they would stink the ship up so I wouldn’t have
carried them at any price.”
“That’s the regular slave smell,” he insisted, apparently by no means
convinced by my calm statement. “Your craft isn’t fitted up as though
you had to transport niggers to keep you in coal.”
“I don’t make a business of it,” I told him, “but I’ve got to carry
something besides two extra crews, or lose money.”
Without continuing the argument, his silence adding to my apprehension,
he went on over the ship and examined every foot of it. He found
nothing to strengthen the suspicions I was convinced he had formed, but
he had already seen, and smelled, enough to make me uncomfortable.
The moment the young officer’s launch was clear of us we got under way
at full speed. He had to row only a couple of hundred yards to the
gunboat and we had not gone a mile before a shot was fired after us as
a signal to heave to again. Evidently the commander of the warship, as
soon as he heard the lieutenant’s report, had decided to hold us on
suspicion, but we had no idea of being held. It was dark by that time
and, as we showed no lights, the gunboat could not pursue us, nor could
she tell which way to shoot. We saw her lights trailing us for a while,
but she soon gave up the chase.
I knew it would not do for us to run afoul of that gunboat, after that,
or any other, for the word would be passed quickly along, and they
would be on the lookout to pick us up. We became much more careful than
we had been before, but in spite of our precautions, or perhaps because
of them, things began to go against us. Not long afterward, while we
were waiting on the outer edge of a bay a short distance south of
Kitombo to pick up Norton and a party who had landed a cargo of slaves
from a captured dhow, we had to run for it from a cruiser that happened
along. Though she never got within range she gave us a long chase and
it was a week before we considered it safe to go back after Norton and
his men. The Arabs were increasing their crews and we had a succession
of hard fights with them, in which we lost a number of men. Norton was
half knocked out and, in addition to several minor injuries which I
had accumulated, I had a bullet hole through the fleshy part of the
arm that was giving me considerable trouble. And with it all we were
constantly offended by the stench which those slaves had left in the
hold, as though to haunt us.
I never have believed in overplaying my luck, and it required only a
few setbacks to convince me that fortune had turned against us, so I
decided to make another change. Preying on slavers was nasty business,
anyway, though rich in profits, and I had had enough of it. I had
become superstitious, too, about the sickening, odoriferous heritage
which the slaves had left with us. We were likely to be recognized
wherever we went, and that smell would convict us. Running slaves
ranked with piracy and conviction meant a two-step on air at the end of
a yardarm, which was not a pleasing prospect. Therefore I determined to
quit the business and bury all traces of it, including the “Leckwith.”
She had paid for herself many times over and I could afford to lose
her. Besides, if I kept her she would continually remind me of my
experiences in the China Sea, and those I was equally anxious to forget.
I paid off all of the extra men, giving them double wages and a
share of the profits, and told them of my plans, so far as they were
concerned. We had plenty of coal to take us as far as I intended to go
and I did not care to put into any port for fear of being recognized.
Therefore I told them we would take them to within twelve or fifteen
miles of Zanzibar, where they would take to the boats and sail ashore.
They could land quietly, and probably unnoticed, but if any questions
were asked them they were to report that the ship had foundered. This
plan was carried out and they were started landward with provisions and
water.
We continued on our solemn journey until we came to a point about
twenty miles off Aden, near the lower end of the Red Sea, and there
we proceeded to bury the “Leckwith” and her ghost, the smell of the
slaves. The funeral was conducted, early in the morning, with becoming
ceremony and with sincere sorrow on the part of all of us. It is a
terrifying thing to have a ship go down under you, even in a smooth sea
and with the shore in sight, but it is a human tragedy to deliberately
sink your own ship, and a long and intimate association, filled with
dangers, such as mine had been with the “Leckwith,” manifolds the
melancholy of it. I had thought I could send her down without great
concern, inasmuch as it was necessary to protect her from capture and
ourselves from arrest, but when the time came to do it I understood
something of the feelings of the Western frontiersmen when they killed
their wives to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Indians.
In the nearly ten years that I had been with her she had carried me
safely through more dangers than fall to the life of the ordinary man,
even though he be as ardent a lover of the sea and of adventure as I
myself. No storm that blew had ever driven her to shelter or made her
question the security she felt in my hands. In all sorts of weather,
under sail or steam, she had carried me clear of every pursuing ship
that challenged her speed. However rough the usage she never rebelled
or complained; wherever I directed her she went as true and straight as
an arrow, with never a misstep or a falter. If she had been disgraced
it was because I had elected to dishonor her; no part of the blame was
hers. She was not an inanimate, unfeeling thing conceived by man out
of iron and steel, but a living, breathing, human creation, with all
the passion and sympathy and devotion of a woman, and, as is the way of
most mortals, I did not know my own love for her until I was about to
lose her. I am not much given to weeping, but there were tears in my
eyes as I gave the signal that stilled forever the steady pulsations
of her great, true heart, and I could feel the death tremor running
through her as she came to a stop.
While a royal salute boomed from her yacht’s gun forward I read over
her the burial service at sea prescribed by the Church of England.
Her own flag was sent to the maintop and the rest of her bunting was
astream from stern to bowsprit, over the mastheads. Then, with the
small boats forming a cortege alongside, we opened her seacocks, pulled
a short distance away, and watched her slowly sink to her grave,
tenderly lowered by her own mother, the sea. We had taken our revolvers
along for that particular purpose, our protection being a secondary
consideration, and as the waves that her broken heart had warmed
caressed the topmost flag we fired another salute in her honor, as the
final tribute of a love that, long smouldering and not understood, had
been fanned into full flame by her burial, and she was gone. I owned
many ships after that but never one among them was I so sure of, under
all conditions, as I was of her.
The ocean whispered to itself of her brave deeds as it closed in over
her and we hoisted rags of sails on our three boats and headed for
Aden, where we landed late in the afternoon with a carefully prepared
story of the sinking of an imaginary ship. Aden was a port of call
for ships running out East and we took the next one that came in for
England.
We reached London early in 1877 where I learned with delight that war
between Russia and Turkey was imminent. The first thing I did was to
dissolve my partnership with Norton. While I had greatly enjoyed the
adventures that were a part of it, I did not relish the business to
which he had introduced me. I do not seek to avoid any responsibility
for my own acts; I went into the business with my eyes open but it was
not exactly the sort of thing I was cut out for, and it left a bad
taste in my mouth. Moreover, I preferred to operate alone.
Norton joined his wife, who was living in Devonshire, and I went to
the Langham Hotel, where I put myself in touch with my old agents
and other dealers in contraband, for I hoped the coming war would
produce some legitimate business. I was not disappointed, for very
soon I was asked to meet the diplomatic agent of Montenegro, a little
principality lying on the Adriatic between Turkey and Austria-Hungary,
which was at that time subject to the Sublime Porte. It was cut off
from the sea by a narrow military strip which was occupied by Austria.
Cattaro, the natural seaport of Montenegro, was within this strip
and was guarded by Austrian soldiers. The Montenegrin border was not
more than a mile away, right at the top of the precipitous mountains
that surround the little town, but the passage of arms across it
was forbidden, and so strictly was this law enforced that people
crossing from or into Montenegro were compelled to leave their rifles
and even their revolvers with the guard at the frontier, until they
returned. Everything that passed into Montenegro was subjected to close
inspection by the Austrian troops, and it seemed to me, as I first
studied the situation, that the delivery of a cargo of contraband to
the little principality would present many unusual and interesting
difficulties.
I met the diplomatic agent, by appointment, at the old Jerusalem
Coffee House, near Corn Hill, and he showed me a commission from
Prince Nicholas himself to establish his responsibility. He wanted
me to deliver a cargo of arms at Cattaro for Montenegro and said he
was willing to pay liberally but not extravagantly for the service,
as the danger, to one skilled in the handling of contraband, would be
slight. I inquired what he proposed to do with the arms after they
reached Cattaro, as their importation into his country was forbidden,
but he politely replied that that was something with which I need
not concern myself, inasmuch as he could positively assure me that I
need have no fear of having my ship seized at Cattaro or getting into
trouble there. He told me the Montenegrins proposed to take advantage
of the Russo-Turkish war, which was then certain, though it was not
formally declared until April 27, to make a determined effort to throw
off the Turkish yoke, and that the arms were urgently needed for that
purpose. He said that if the Porte heard so much as a hint that they
were buying arms I might be stopped by a Turkish ship; therefore the
greatest secrecy must be maintained and I should be prepared with a
full set of forged papers which would be so convincing that any Turk
who might board my ship would be afraid to inspect the cargo for fear
of offending England.
We came to terms without any difficulty, as I was anxious to get back
into my own business, and, as I had no ship of my own, I chartered a
small steamship for the voyage. The arms were shipped to Amsterdam,
to conceal their real destination, and I picked them up there, after
they had been repacked into cases weighing from one hundred and fifty
to two hundred pounds. This was done so that they could be taken up
the mountain-side from Cattaro on muleback without unpacking. There
were about ten thousand rifles and a great quantity of ammunition.
We encountered no inquisitive Turks and the trip was made without
incident. Cattaro is buried at the head of the Bocche di Cattaro
(mouths of Cattaro), a great S-shaped bay, and rare scenic views
of impressive grandeur were opened up to us with every turn of the
tortuous channel, as we wound our way through it. Bold, bluff mountains
ran right down to the water’s edge and off to the north were the high
peaks of Herzegovina.
According to programme, we got up to Cattaro just at dusk and after
the custom house had closed. As soon as we had made fast a Montenegrin
official, who had been waiting for us, came aboard, paid me my charges
in gold, and asked me to get the cargo out as quickly as possible. With
the appearance of the first boxes a long string of pack ponies came
trotting down the dock, and as fast as they were brought up from the
hold the boxes were placed on their waiting backs and hustled off up
the mountain-side. By daylight the whole cargo was across the frontier,
or close to it. I could not but feel that I was taking some chance
in letting it go so unceremoniously, but I had been so convincingly
assured, both by the diplomatic agent in London and by the official
who took charge of the unloading, that there would be no trouble for
me, that I decided to run the risk. When the custom house opened I
presented my papers, which called for a cargo of general merchandise.
No questions were asked as to the disposition of the goods and I
was given a clearance, or permit to leave the port. This clinched my
suspicion, which had been growing stronger with each of the preceding
incidents, that the arms were imported with the secret approval of
the Austrian Government. Austria had previously proved her friendship
for Montenegro by refusing to allow the Turks to occupy Cettinje, the
capital, after they had suppressed the last revolt. The Montenegrins
rose again during the Russo-Turkish war, which began soon after our
arrival at Cattaro, and, with the aid of the arms I had carried to
them, finally achieved their long-prayed-for independence, which was
acknowledged by Turkey in the Treaty of Berlin.
I devoted a few days to a visit in Cettinje, which, far from what my
imagination had pictured it, was nothing but a collection of hovels,
but the people were in marked contrast to their surroundings and made
up for the shortcomings of their homes. The men were tall, very few
of them being under six feet, and handsome; the girls were beautiful,
with the grace and features of nobility, but, as most of the hard
work fell to them while the men protected them, they aged quickly. In
their picturesque native costume, resplendent with crimson and gold,
they were the handsomest race I had seen in Europe. War enthusiasm was
rampant and nothing else was talked of. I was tempted to stay and
fight with them; if I had known their language I think I would have
done so, for they are born warriors and the love of it will never fail
them. Their dream, as with all of their race in the Balkans, is the
restoration of the great Servian Empire of six hundred years ago, which
included practically all of the peninsula, and so long as they exist
they will be trying to drive the Turk out of Europe.
I loafed along through the Mediterranean on my way back to London
and spent the next year or more in enjoying myself and squandering
money, which, in those days, was my favorite pastime after a series of
adventures. I knew I had only to go to sea to coin more money, so the
spending of it produced nothing but pleasure. In the Spring of 1879,
with the breaking out of the boundary war in which always aggressive
Chile was matched against Peru and Bolivia, which two neighbors had
long been in secret alliance to guarantee the independence of each
other, the call to South America came to me again. I itched to have a
hand in the affair and my desire was soon gratified when I responded
to a summons from the manager for Sir William Armstrong & Co., the gun
makers. He said he had a shipment of heavy guns for Peru, which were
to be delivered at San Lorenzo, a fort on an island, which guards the
city, at the entrance to the Bay of Callao. Callao is the port of Lima,
the capital, and I was advised that the Chilanos were maintaining an
effective blockade there. Peru had only six serviceable ships when the
war started. Chile had a much stronger fleet though her ships were of
inferior speed. She had so many of them, however, that Peru had been
unable to raise the blockade. After stating the situation, Armstrong’s
manager sent me to Great Portland Place to interview the Peruvian naval
_attaché_, who had charge of the shipment. “It is a ticklish job,” was
the manager’s parting advice. “You will find spies all along the line
and it will require all of your skill to deliver the cargo. Don’t be
mealy-mouthed about the price you ask for it.”
I agreed with the naval _attaché_ to deliver the guns at Callao for
fifty thousand dollars. He was inclined to haggle over the price, but
came to my terms in the end. It was stipulated that I was to receive
that amount if the cargo was delivered or if my ship was sunk by the
Chilanos while defending herself, whereas if I was captured or if I
sank the ship to avoid capture, I was to get nothing. I knew I would
need a ship that could do sixteen knots an hour or better for this
undertaking and as I preferred to own her, so that I could do what I
pleased with her, I bought the “Britannia” outright, for seventy-five
thousand dollars, from the London and Hull Steamship Company. She had
done seventeen knots, and probably could do it again, and was strongly
built, though she was not intended for a dead weight cargo in deep-sea
sailing.
In the eyes of international law carrying arms, or other contraband,
for warring nations is very different from furnishing munitions of war
to rebels, though the moral principle, as I see it, is the same. In the
first instance, friendly powers, so called, are glad to furnish the
warring nations with guns, with which they may kill each other off, at
a profit to their own citizens. In this case it is a survival of the
fittest, with the peaceful nations extending their sympathy to both of
the fighters and their aid to the one with the deepest war chest. On
the other hand, the sale of arms to rebels is forbidden, regardless of
the fact that there can be no revolution without a rebellion, and that
it is only through revolution, which is simply evolution, that mankind
has advanced out of the so-called dark ages, even though they may have
been, after all, the best. With the rebels, no matter how lofty the
principles they are fighting for, it is not at all a question of the
survival of the fittest, but the perpetuation of the government that
is, no matter how bad. The “comity of nations” is such a fearsome
bugaboo that those who revolt against the established order of things,
however galling it may be, are frowned upon by all nations and given no
rights at all. To furnish them with arms is a crime; a violation of a
law which, I am glad to say, I never have respected.
In the case of Peru and Bolivia and Chile it was a war of nations, with
all of the other powers smiling approval; therefore no trans-shipment
of the cargo, at Amsterdam, or some other convenient clearing house,
was necessary. Secrecy was required only to keep from the Chilean
Government knowledge of the fact that arms had been shipped to Peru
and, if that could not be done, to prevent it from discovering the
vessel on which they had been despatched. We got the cargo aboard
without, so far as could be seen, arousing the suspicion of the Chilean
agents, though there was no doubt in my mind that they knew of the
purchase of the guns. We then took on as much coal as the ship would
carry, including a lot of smokeless, and got out, ostensibly headed
for Japan. I promptly rechristened the ship the “Salome” and prepared
a set of papers which indicated that we were bound for Guayaquil,
Ecuador, with a general cargo. We put in at St. Vincent, in the Cape
Verde Islands, for coal, and, for the same purpose, at Pernambuco and
Montevideo. At the latter port I took on every pound of coal the ship
would hold, including a deckload, for it was a long run from there to
Callao.
I did not take a chance on going through the narrow Straits of
Magellan, and right past the Chilean port of Punta Arenas, but went
clear around the Horn. On the way down to the Horn from Montevideo I
stood far out, for I suspected that the Chilanos might have a ship
doing sentry duty at the lower end of the east coast and, while I had
no fear that she could run me down, I wished to avoid all suspicion.
When we rounded the Horn I headed straight west for three days, until
we were well clear of the coast and outside of the regular course, and
then steamed due north until we reached the latitude of Callao. Then we
began burning our smokeless coal and headed in, slowly and cautiously.
When we were twelve or fifteen miles offshore I sighted the smoke of
a vessel coming down from the north, and, soon afterward, another one
approaching from the south. Experience and that sixth sense which every
successful blockade runner must possess, told me that they were two of
the blockading fleet. I stayed so far down on the horizon that I could
make out nothing but their smoke and watched them as they approached
each other, met, and drew apart. I waited until each of them was, as
nearly as I could calculate it, as far from what my course would be
as I was from the harbor, and then made a dash for it, taking chances
on finding one or two guard ships on post right in front of the city,
and prepared to show them my heels the moment I sighted them. Luckily,
there were no ships off the harbor nor did either of the patrol ships
sight me, and I sailed up to the government dock with no more trouble
than if I had been going into Liverpool. The guns were taken out and I
received my money, which was the easiest I had ever honestly earned,
but it was because I understood the game and had been careful.
While the cargo was being unshipped the blockaders learned that I
had run past them and, to get even with me, I suppose, they laid in
wait for us to come out. That did not worry me, however. I was in no
particular hurry to leave and waited until they were weary of watching.
Then, on a dark night, I stole out, hugged the shore to the south and
slipped away from them, without having as much as a hail thrown at
me. I restored the ship to her proper name and self but took the same
course back again around the Horn to keep clear of any entangling
alliances with the Chilean warships. I put in at Buenos Ayres for coal,
picked up a cargo for Liverpool, and on my arrival there resold the
ship for a few thousand dollars less than I had paid for her.
CHAPTER XI
STEALING A BRITISH SHIP
In the old days, when I was cavorting with contraband throughout the
West Indies and South America, I ran into one unpleasant incident which
left me with a large moral,--or immoral, according to the point of
view,--obligation on my hands. During a quiet spell I had bought, at
a bargain, a little schooner at St. Thomas, loaded her with mahogany
at Santo Domingo, and started for Liverpool, to see what was going on
in that part of the world. We were caught in a heavy gale and were
forced to run into Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, where we arrived in a sinking
condition. On the false charge that my papers were forged the agent
for Lloyds’, with whom the ship was insured, seized the vessel as I
was having her repaired, and had me arrested for barratry. I was taken
to Halifax, where I was put to considerable inconvenience in securing
bail. I pleaded my own case and, as soon as I could get a hearing,
was released, but in the meantime the agent for the underwriters had
libelled my ship and sold her at auction, and her new owners had sent
her away to South America. It was a downright steal but I did not
consider it worth my while to stay there and fight the case, so I
simply swore to some day make Lloyds’ pay dearly for the loss of my
ship, and let it go at that for the time being.
My last real adventure had ended with the burial of the “Leckwith,”
for there had been nothing thrilling in the delivery of the arms I
had carried to Montenegro and Peru, and I was hungry for some new
excitement, the very essence and sole enjoyment of my life. While
casting about for something to satisfy my appetite the recollection of
the Yarmouth outrage came over me and I decided to steal a ship and let
the underwriters pay for her, as partial compensation for the one they
had stolen from me. After a survey of the available supply, following
my return to London from Peru, late in the Summer of 1879, I hit on the
“Ferret,” a handsome and fairly fast little passenger steamer belonging
to the Highland Railway Company, which was lying at Gourock Bay on the
Clyde. They would not let her out on a general charter, which was what
I wanted, so I concluded to charter her for a year for a cruise in
the Mediterranean, with the option of purchase for fourteen thousand
pounds at the end of that time. All of the negotiations were conducted
and the deal closed by Joe Wilson, my trusted aide, and I was careful
to impress him with the necessity for the insertion of the option of
purchase clause. I had so much confidence in him that I did not closely
examine the charter papers and not until it was too late did I discover
that he had neglected to cover the one vital point. My plan was to go
back out East and dig up the guns which Frank Norton and I had buried
on a little island when we left the China Sea, and perhaps, if I
found that I could stand it to revisit the scenes of the supreme joy
and sadness which had come to me with the discovery of the Beautiful
White Devil, resume the unholy occupation of preying on the pirates
between Singapore and Hong Kong. I wanted the option of purchase clause
inserted in the charter partly as a sop to my conscience and partly
with the idea that if we were, by any remote chance, apprehended before
we reached the China Sea, I could announce that I had exercised my
option and was prepared to pay for the ship. I was not sure that my
conscience, for I still had one, would let me carry the deal through,
and I figured that I could comfort it, if it troubled me too much, with
the assurance that I might really buy the ship after all, though I am
frank to say I had no such intention.
With the delivery of the charter, in proper form as I supposed, I made
a great show of fitting the ship out for a yachting cruise, at the
same time smuggling on board two small cannon and a lot of rifles and
ammunition. Lorensen, my old captain, was seriously ill, so I took on
as sailing master a man named Watkins. He was well recommended but it
later developed that he had a strain of negro blood and a well-defined
streak of yellow. Tom Leigh, one of my old men, was first officer, and
next to him was George Ross, another new one. We coaled at Cardiff and
cleared for Malaga. We passed Gibraltar late in the afternoon, as was
intended, and signalled “All well” to the observer for Lloyds’. As soon
as it was dark we headed over toward the other shore for twelve or
fifteen miles and then stood straight out to sea again. As we made the
second change in our course we stove in a couple of our boats and threw
them overboard, along with a lot of life preservers. I wanted to make
it appear that the “Ferret” had foundered, and we ran into a heavy blow
which dovetailed beautifully into my scheme. At daylight we were well
clear of Gibraltar but within sight of the Morrocan coast. I called the
crew aft and addressed them to this effect:
“Taking advantage of the option of purchase clause in the charter,
I now declare myself the owner of this ship and will pay for her, as
stipulated, at the end of the period for which she is chartered. We are
going on a very different trip from that for which you signed. It will
be attended by some danger but, probably, by profits which will more
than compensate you for the risk you run. Those of you who wish to go
with me will receive double pay, a bonus of fifty dollars for signing
new papers, and a share of the profits from the trip. Those who do not
care to go may take a boat and go ashore.”
Every man agreed to stay with me. I thereupon rechristened the ship the
“India,” a name legitimately held by a vessel on the other side of the
world, as was indicated by Lloyds’ register, fired a gun and dipped the
flag and declared her in commission. At the same time I rechristened
myself, a ceremony to which I was equally accustomed, and took the
name of James Stuart Henderson. I presented the ship with a new log
and certificate of registry and other necessary papers, from the
counterfeit blanks I always carried, and all of the men signed the new
articles. We then headed for Santos, Brazil, with the idea of keeping
clear of British waters until the loss of the “Ferret” had become an
established fact. On the way the brass plate on the main beam, showing
that the engines were built for the “Ferret,” was removed, and the
new name took the place of the old one everywhere about the ship. The
chart room and wheelhouse were taken off the bridge and rebuilt over
the wheel amidships. Some of the upper works were stripped away and the
whole appearance of the vessel was changed to such an extent that even
her builders would hardly have recognized her.
At Santos I bought outright a cargo of coffee and headed for Cape Town,
South Africa, where I consigned it to Wm. G. Anderson & Son, with
instructions to sell it for cash, and quickly. On the trip across the
Atlantic, Ross, the second officer, who had been one of the boldest
at first, all at once became very anxious regarding the outcome of
the trip and his future welfare. Watkins, the sailing master, who had
shown a domineering nature that I did not like, also hoisted the white
feather. Griffin, too, the chief engineer, displayed some symptoms of
cold feet, but he was a brave man at heart and his trouble was easily
cured. I allowed Ross to return to England from Cape Town, and Watkins
caught the gold fever and started for Pretoria. I had no fear that
either of them would engage in any unwise talk, for both had signed
forged articles with their eyes wide open. I made Leigh sailing master
and we cleared light for Australia, with a short stop at the Mauritius
for coal. We coaled again at Albany, West Australia. From there we went
to Port Adelaide, South Australia, and then on to Melbourne, where we
came to grief. Off Port Philip Head we signalled for a pilot and a
canny Scot came aboard. He seemed suspicious of us from the first and
I noticed that he was studying the ship closely as we steamed up to an
anchorage off Williamstown. Two young royal princes had just arrived
on a British fleet and there were gala goings-on when we entered the
harbor.
I landed at once and went to the Civil Service Club Hotel to recuperate
from a bad case of malaria which I had contracted at the Mauritius.
While not alarmed by the apparent suspicion of the pilot, I was
impressed by it, and gave strict orders to Leigh to allow no one to
come aboard. Leigh’s one weakness was drink and to guard against his
becoming helplessly intoxicated I instructed Wilson to either remain
on board or visit the ship every day. My fever grew worse after I went
ashore and in two or three days the doctor decided that I should have
a nurse, as I was all alone. The doctor was with me when the nurse
arrived and as he entered the door the doctor made a quick movement
as though something had startled him, and looked from one of us to
the other in amazement. I could not imagine what had happened until he
said: “That man looks enough like you to be your twin brother. I never
have seen such a resemblance between two men.”
I surveyed the nurse more critically and saw that we did look strangely
alike, even to the scarred face. He had a scar on his left cheek,
whereas mine is on my right, and it was shorter than mine, but it
served to heighten our resemblance. We could not have been more alike
in build if we had been cast from the same mould, and any one who
did not know us intimately could easily have been excused for taking
one of us for the other. The nurse said his name was William Nourse
and that he had arrived in Melbourne only two or three days before
from Tasmania, where he had worked in the Hobartstown hospital. As
we got better acquainted he told me he had had a run of hard luck in
Hobartstown; that his wife had deserted him and he had taken to drink
and lost his position, and that he had come to Australia to make a
fresh start.
While I was recovering at the hotel events were transpiring in
connection with the ship which tended to dissuade my spirit from
becoming overproud. Wilson, it developed, soon relaxed his vigilance
and gave himself up to pleasures ashore but without coming near me,
whereupon old Leigh blithely betook himself to his beloved bottle.
After a few days the shrewd Scotch pilot paid the ship a friendly
visit, found Leigh full three sheets in the wind, encouraged him to
proceed with his potations until he fell asleep, and then went over
the ship at his leisure, taking measurements and making observations.
Naturally, her measurements corresponded exactly with those of the
“Ferret,” which had been reported as missing with a probability that
she had gone down in the Mediterranean, and he reported his suspicions
and the result of his investigation to the authorities. Being a
Scotchman he was not actuated so much by honesty and a desire that
right should prevail as by the expectation of a substantial reward.
The ship was promptly seized for some technical violation of the port
regulations, which gave the officials an opportunity to make a detailed
inspection and take all of her measurements, and Leigh and the few
members of the crew who were on board when the seizure was made were
detained there. Leigh refused to say a word but one or two of the crew,
believing the fat was in the fire and wishing to save their own bacon,
told enough to confirm all of the suspicions that were entertained
regarding us. Leigh was then formally placed under arrest and search
was instituted for Wilson and me.
I was greatly surprised when, late one afternoon about ten days after
our arrival at Melbourne, I received word from Joe that the ship had
been recognized as the “Ferret” and seized, that he had taken to the
bush and that I had better disappear as quickly and quietly as possible
if I wished to escape arrest, for the officers were looking for both
of us. Fearful, for the first time, that Joe had made a mistake, and
cursing my carelessness, I dug into my papers and discovered that the
charter contained no option of purchase clause. That made it serious
business and I understood why Joe had taken such precipitate flight.
I knew if I stayed at the hotel my arrest was only a matter of a few
hours and that if I sought to escape, the chances were that I would be
caught, but I determined to make a try for it. By that time I was able
to be up and walk around my room, though I had not left it, but I had
Nourse pass the word around the hotel that I had had a serious relapse
and was in such a precarious condition that I must not be disturbed by
visitors nor by any noise near my rooms.
I told Nourse that a warrant was out for my arrest on some technical
violation of the port regulations and that, while I had no fear of the
result of a trial, I did not feel strong enough to go through it, and
therefore I intended to leave at once and secretly and stay away until
the trouble blew over. He agreed to go with me and soon after dark we
left the hotel quietly by a rear entrance which opened onto an alley.
I left behind all of my luggage except a bag in which I carried about
five thousand, five hundred pounds in gold and Bank of England notes,
and a few articles of clothing. We engaged a carriage and drove to a
suburb on the railroad running to Sydney, where we stayed all night,
as all of the evening trains had left. My idea was to get to Sydney
or Newcastle, where I hoped to bribe the captain of some outgoing
ship to take me on board as a stowaway. We took the morning train
and rode as far as Seymour, about seventy-five miles from Melbourne.
There we hired a rig and drove across country to Longwood, where we
picked up the railroad after it had passed an important junction point
which I wished to avoid as I feared the officers would be watching
for us there. On the long drive to Longwood I became convinced that
my capture was certain, for the country was so thinly settled that we
were sure to attract attention and be easily followed, if we undertook
to drive through it, while if I stuck to the railroad I was sure to
be apprehended. In seeking some new way out of the dilemma I conceived
the idea of having Nourse take my place. There was no reason that money
could not remove to prevent him from doing so, for neither of us was
known, and a physical description, such as the police would have, would
fit either of us. I was becoming more and more apprehensive of danger
and as we neared Longwood I put the proposition up to him.
“What do you say, Nourse, to changing places with me and letting
yourself be arrested, if it comes to that? I will engage a good lawyer
to defend you and even if you should be convicted, which I doubt, you
would not have to spend more than a few months in jail, at the most.
You are strong and could stand the confinement, while it would about
put me under the turf. According to your own story there is no one
who cares what trouble you get into, and even if you went to jail you
probably would be as happy there as anywhere. How much will you take to
do it?”
“I had been thinking of that very thing,” he replied. “I don’t care
much what happens to me, but I am not exactly hungry for a long term in
Pentridge. If this thing is no worse than you say it is, though, I’ll
swap places with you and see it through for two hundred pounds.”
I accepted his terms without argument. He already knew enough about me
so that he could adopt my identity, without fear of detection except
under a searching inquiry, but I quickly framed up a life history for
him and told him the full and true story of the “Ferret.” I cautioned
him, however, if he was arrested, to make no statement of any kind
until he had talked with the lawyer I would send to him. As soon as we
reached Longwood we exchanged clothing, even down to our underwear,
socks, and shoes. Nourse was transformed into James Stuart Henderson,
dressed by Pool of London, and I became a rather shabbily attired
nurse. I paid Nourse his money, which relieved me of most of my load of
gold, and concealed the rest of my money in my rough and roomy shoes
and under my more or less dirty garments.
We had just finished dinner and were sitting alone in the hotel office,
rehearsing the part Nourse was to play, when a sergeant and two
officers, who had got track of us at Seymour, rode up on horseback.
We saw them through the window and I moved back into the shadow for,
though I did not look greatly unlike Nourse in our changed garb, I did
not wish the officers to notice our facial resemblance. With only
a glance at me they walked right up to Nourse and placed him under
arrest. He professed amazement but readily admitted that he was James
Stuart Henderson. He said he was driving through the country, with a
nurse, for his health, having just recovered from the fever.
The orders of the officers called for the arrest of only one man so
I was not interfered with. They were after big game and, much to my
satisfaction, considered me hardly worthy of their notice. Still
anxious to avoid close range comparison with Nourse, I did not return
to Melbourne on the same train with them the next morning, but went
down by the one that followed it. I kept well clear of the jail to
which the bogus Henderson had been hustled and went to a little hotel
on Swanston Street, kept by a German named Hellwig. The first thing
I heard was that Joe, who had taken the train ahead of me, had been
captured at Albury, where the railroad crosses the Murray River, which
divides Victoria from New South Wales, and was on his way back, in
charge of an officer, to join Leigh and my counterfeit presentment
behind the bars.
I at once engaged Jarvis, the best barrister in Australia, to defend
them, and later employed Gillette & Stanton, another high-class
firm, to assist him. I told them, of course, the real facts, and had
them instruct Leigh and Joe to coach Nourse in the part he was to
play and to maintain the proper attitude toward him. The moment Leigh
saw “Henderson” he knew there was something wrong somewhere but he
was too shrewd to indicate it and greeted the newcomer cordially. I
had described Leigh to Nourse so that he could not mistake him and
he walked right up to him and shook hands. When Joe joined them in
jail Leigh got to him first and posted him. They were charged with
conspiracy and barratry and were indicted, altogether, on seven counts.
Nourse was as game as a hornet and played his part well, yet he was
not born a gentleman and he was altogether lacking in that _savoir
faire_ which is regarded as a necessary makeup of the typical soldier
of fortune, which Henderson was supposed to be. George Smyth, the
prosecuting attorney, was a shrewd chap, as well as a gilt-edged sea
lawyer, and it was not long until he began to suspect that he had a
bogus Henderson in limbo and that the real ravisher of maritime law
was still at liberty. Some of the other officials came to doubt that
they had the right man and this suspicion became so strong by the time
the trial came on that they had detectives out quietly searching for
the real Henderson. This information reached the lawyers whom I had
employed, but whom I saw infrequently as I remained discreetly in the
background, and they insisted, as they had previously suggested, that I
go away until the case was concluded.
“This case is much more serious than you realize,” said Gillette, as
he again urged me to leave Melbourne for my own protection, or go into
close hiding and stay there. “Unfortunately, Nourse is not nearly so
clever as you. You are damned clever, but you are not clever enough to
avoid being nabbed if you stay around here while the trial is on.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I told him, “but I’m paying you for your advice
and if it is good enough to buy it ought to be good enough to take.
I’ll go out and bury myself.”
“Right,” he said. “See that you make a good job of it.”
“I will,” I replied. “I am going to bury myself in a real tomb.”
The lawyer looked up a bit startled. “You don’t mean that you intend to
kill yourself?” he asked with some anxiety.
I laughed at him. “Not much,” I told him. “I like to explore strange
lands but I always want to come back. If there really are any
detectives on my trail, the last place they will look for me is the
cemetery, and I will go out there and cache myself away in Sir William
Clark’s tomb. It is an ideal hiding place, so far as security is
concerned, and you can devote all of your thought to the trial, without
any fear that I will be discovered and disarrange things.”
“But people are buried in there,” exclaimed the man of law with a show
of horror which evidenced great reverence for the dead.
“So much the better for my purpose,” I said, as I walked out of his
office. “I’m off for my tomb.”
The idea of using the Clark tomb, which I had previously noticed
while walking through the cemetery, as a hiding place, had come to me
while the lawyer was urgently renewing his advice to me to get under
cover until the conclusion of the trial. The mausoleum was in an
out-of-the-way corner of the dead city and I knew that if I could get
inside of it I would be safe from intrusion. It was about twelve by
sixteen feet in size and was closed with a solid iron door, but above
it was a grating which would furnish plenty of ventilation.
The landlord of the hotel where I was stopping had a delightful Dutch
daughter, with whom I had become very friendly, and when I returned
there after my talk with the lawyer, she informed me that two men
had been around making guarded inquiries regarding a man answering
my description. She took them for detectives, she said, and without
knowing or suspecting why they were looking for me she had thrown them
off the scent. This convinced me that there was a chase on, after all,
and that it was getting so hot that I had no time to lose.
With a blanket wrapped about the upper part of my body, and with the
pockets of Nourse’s dirty old white overcoat stuffed with pilot bread,
canned meats, candles, a dark lantern, and books, I went out to the
cemetery that evening. I had some doubt about being able to get into
the tomb but I succeeded in picking the lock with a piece of heavy
wire and proceeded to take up my abode with the departed Clarks. There
were three of them and from the sizes of the caskets I took them to be
father, mother, and child. There was one unoccupied niche and in that I
arranged my bed, with my blanket and Nourse’s overcoat.
I lived in the tomb for three weeks without arousing the slightest
suspicion that it was occupied. My surroundings did not worry me at
all--in fact I never had such quiet and orderly companions--and after
I had adapted myself to them I was fairly comfortable. My meals were
simple to a degree that would have delighted a social settlement
worker. I was accustomed to softer beds, but the change did me no
harm. I did most of my sleeping during the day, when I could not smoke
without fear of being discovered, and every night, between midnight and
dawn, I took a walk through the cemetery. Twice a week, at an appointed
rendezvous, I met the landlord’s daughter, who brought me a fresh
supply of canned stuff, bread, and reading matter, and the latest news
of the trial. Twice, toward the last of it, when I was very hungry I
ventured into the outskirts of the city and filled up at a cheap eating
house. During the early morning and evening I read by the light of the
dark lantern, which was so placed, with the blanket as a screen, that
its rays could not be seen through the grating over the door. By the
time the trial was well over and I was free to come out I had fallen
into the routine of my new hotel and was so well situated that, if I
could have been assured of about three square meals a week, I would not
have complained greatly if I had been forced to stay there six months.
The trial was held before Judge Williams and resulted in a conviction.
I had expected no other verdict, for with the option of purchase clause
missing from the charter it was a clear case. The lawyers for the
defence contended, of course, that Henderson had announced that he had
purchased the ship and that only his illness had prevented him from so
advising her owners, but they could not satisfactorily explain why he
and Wilson had taken to the bush when the vessel was seized. Nourse was
subjected to a most severe examination by the prosecuting attorney in
an effort to prove that he was not the real Henderson, but he had been
thoroughly coached by Joe and Leigh and acquitted himself so well that
much of the suspicion which had been entertained that he was playing a
part was removed, but not all of it.
The crucial moment came when the clerk of the court called out, “James
Stuart Henderson, stand up,” and Judge Williams asked him if he knew
of any reason why sentence should not be passed upon him. According
to the lawyers, the situation was intensely dramatic. The judge, the
prosecuting attorney, and all of the more or less skeptical officials,
were boring holes through poor Nourse’s head with their eyes. He had
but to open his mouth to clear himself and start every officer in
Australia on a hunt for me from which I would have found it hard to
escape, but he was true blue. He looked back at the judge bravely and
simply said, “No, sir.”
Nourse and Wilson were sentenced to seven years and Leigh to three and
one-half years in Pentridge prison. With the time deducted for good
behavior, this meant five years and three months for Nourse and Joe and
less than three years for Leigh. When the case assumed a more serious
aspect than I had believed it would when I bargained with Nourse to
take my place, I sent word to him that I would pay him well if he would
“play the string out,” and as soon as I left the tomb I deposited five
thousand dollars which was to be paid to him when he was released. I
spent some time and considerable money in an effort to secure a pardon
for my companions, but when I found that was impossible I returned
to England, with a promise to be back in Australia by the time their
terms expired. On the long trip back to London I spent a lot of time
in reproaching myself for the result of the unfortunate cruise. It was
the first mistake I had ever made and, while I was not primarily to
blame, the responsibility was mine, for I was at fault in not having
seen that all of the papers were in proper form. That experience taught
me a lesson and I never again fell into a blunder of that sort. The
Highland Railway subsequently sold the “Ferret” to run between Albany
and Adelaide.
CHAPTER XII
A LAND OF MYSTERY AND MURDER
With my return to London in the early eighties, after I had been sent
to prison by proxy for seven years in Australia, the old lure of the
West Indies, with their continuous riot of revolutions, came over me
so strongly that I could not hold out against it, nor did I try. Frank
Norton, my old partner in piracy, had the “Queen of the Seas” at the
East Indian docks, where he was displaying a ship ventilating apparatus
which he had invented. He urged me to go back to the China Sea with
him and resume operations against the pirates, but I put him off.
Soon after leaving him I ran into an English engineer named Tucker,
whom I had known in Venezuela, and from him I learned that Guzman
Blanco, the Dictator, was in Paris, his foreign capital, from which he
was directing the government of Venezuela through a dummy President,
and was anxious to see me. I was not particularly desirous of seeing
him, however, for I feared I could not resist him, and I had no wish
to again be tied down in Caracas, as I had been before when I was
his confidential agent. I was much more interested in reports which
reached me, through contraband channels, that a new revolution was
shaping up in Costa Rica, and that there was a prospect of trouble in
Hayti and even in Venezuela.
I took the first ship for Halifax and went from there to St. John,
New Brunswick, where I bought the fore and aft schooner “George V.
Richards.” She was a trim-looking craft of about one hundred and eighty
tons, and stanch, but, as I discovered later, as faddish as an old
maid. We never could trim her to suit her and she never behaved twice
the same under similar conditions. In the same weather she would settle
back on her stern like a balky mule or sail like a racing yacht, just
as the spirit moved her. Yet I was fond of her, for she was a great
deal like myself; she had her wits about her all of the time and was
at her best in an emergency. I took her to Bridgeport, Connecticut,
where I loaded up with old Sharps and Remington rifles and a lot of
ammunition, and, after burying them under sixty tons of coal, sailed
for Venezuela to see what was going on in Guzman’s absence.
Instead of going direct to La Guaira, where I was well known, I headed
for Maracaibo, the city that gave Venezuela its name. Alonzo de Ojeda,
who followed Columbus, sailed westward along the coast of Terra Firme,
which the Great Discoverer had spoken of as “the most beautiful lands
in the world,” to the Gulf of Maracaibo. There he found several Indian
villages built on piles and, prompted by this suggestion, he named the
land Venezuela, or “Little Venice.” Maracaibo has a splendid harbor
for light-draft vessels, and but for the fact that it has been subject
to the whims of successive plundering presidents it would now be the
chief city of the country. Not only is it the port of a great and
rich section of Venezuela, but it is the only outlet for the coffee
and other products of a large part of Colombia. Ever since their
separation there has been ill-feeling between the two republics, and
it has suited the fancy of every Venezuelan president since Guzman’s
day, Castro being the chief offender, to spasmodically shut off all
communication with Colombia, with consequent disastrous effects to the
trade of Maracaibo. As a partial offset to these recurrent embargoes,
the city boasts of a brand of yellow fever that has actually made it
famous, at least among travellers in South America. It is so mild that
it is seldom fatal and wise folks who are ticketed for the interior of
Venezuela go to Maracaibo and stay until they have had the fever and
become immune.
The collector of customs at Maracaibo “borrowed” a fine rifle from me,
which is one of the South American varieties of graft, and put me up
at the club, where I was thrown in friendly contact with the people
I wished to meet. I found that General Alcantara was acting as dummy
President while Guzman was enjoying himself in Europe, and I soon
satisfied myself, from remarks dropped by his friends in response to
my guarded inquiries, that he was ambitious to become the ruler of
Venezuela in fact as well as in name. The movement to overthrow Guzman
was, in fact, taking definite form, and I sold a part of my arms to
Alcantara’s friends. They wanted to buy the entire cargo, but I refused
to part with it, on the ground that the bulk of it had been contracted
for elsewhere. It was apparent that serious trouble was brewing for
Guzman and, instead of proceeding to Costa Rica, I sailed for La
Guaira, intending to visit Caracas and look the situation over at close
range.
At the capital there was the same undercurrent of revolt against the
dictatorship of Guzman, which was being secretly encouraged by the
partisans of the acting President. I called at the Yellow House to pay
my respects to Alcantara, whom I had known in Guzman’s army, and in
the course of our conversation he suggested that I remain in Caracas
and become his friend, as I had been Guzman’s. He did not tell me of
his real ambition in so many words, but I needed no binoculars to see
what was in his mind. I at once wrote Guzman fully, telling him of
Alcantara’s treachery and describing the situation as I had found it,
and then sailed for Costa Rica. Guzman had also heard of what was going
on through other sources and, as I subsequently learned, he returned to
Venezuela a few months later, before the revolt that was being hatched
had broken its shell. The government was promptly turned over to him
by Alcantara, who at once started to leave the country, evidently
fearing that if he remained he would be summarily sent to San Carlos,
then as now the unhappy home of political prisoners. He started for
La Guaira by the old post road, along which were a number of public
houses. In one of these he met a party of politicians and while with
them he died suddenly. It was charged by Alcantara’s friends that he
was poisoned by order of Guzman, who suspected that he was going away
to launch a revolution, but the friends of Guzman claimed that he ate
heartily of rich salads while in a heated condition and died from
acute indigestion. The latter version of it has always been my view,
for Guzman was not the man to have an enemy, nor even a friend who
had played him false, put out of the way in such fashion. Guzman was a
dictator to his finger tips, but he was nothing of a murderer.
The Costa Ricans were, I found, making one of their periodical but
always futile efforts to depose their President, General Tomaso
Guardia, and I had no difficulty in disposing of my arms and
ammunition, which I exchanged for a cargo of coffee. I might have
joined the revolution had I not become convinced that it had no more
chance of success than those which had preceded it. Gen. Guardia, who
ruled until he died, was one of the few strong men Central America
has produced. He was the Diaz of Costa Rica and as much of a dictator
as Guzman Blanco, whom he greatly resembled in his friendship for
foreigners and his contempt for the natives. When he heard of a
political leader, so called, who was trying to stir up trouble, Gen.
Guardia would send for him and say: “Your health has not been good
for some time. I see that you are failing. You need a long trip.
Go to Europe and stay a year,” or two years or five, according to
circumstances. A couple of trusted lieutenants were assigned to stay
with the politely condemned exile, “to see that he wanted for nothing,”
and he never failed to take the next ship for foreign shores.
Another presidential method was to summon some discontented one, who
was planning an insurrection, and make him a member of the Cabinet.
Flattered by this honor the new Minister was easily tempted to come
out with exaggerated expressions of confidence in Gen. Guardia and his
government. Thereupon the President would kick him into the street.
“There,” he would say to the natives, “you see, all that man wanted was
money. He is nothing of a patriot.”
Guardia always smiled, whether he was sentencing a man to exile or
ejecting him from his shifting Cabinet; he regarded the natives as
only children. By such methods as these he made himself master of the
country, and the little rebellions which sprang up from time to time
were quickly suppressed. One of the foreigners for whom he developed
a great liking was Dr. W. R. Bross, a New York physician who was at
Port Limon with a party of engineers who were building a railroad
from the coast into the interior. While on a visit to Port Limon the
President discovered that Dr. Bross had much more skill than any of
the physicians at the capital. He wanted him to go to Europe with him
and, when this proposition was rejected, urged him to accompany him to
San Jose, the capital, and become his private physician, at a salary
he was to name himself. This offer was also turned down. Had Dr. Bross
been more worldly, and less devoted to the men who were in his care,
he could have secured concessions worth millions of dollars, for Gen.
Guardia was more than generous to his friends.
I suspected that the coffee I received had been stolen from planters
who were loyal to the government, and that the rebels had “levied”
on it as a war tax, but as they charged me three cents less a pound
than the market price, while I charged them four or five times as much
for the arms and ammunition as they cost me, I had no compunctions of
conscience about taking it. It is a waste of good time and precious
protoplasm to sympathize with Central or South Americans who are
pillaged by rebels, for in the next uprising the victims of the
previous one will, in their turn, be the plunderers. Thanks to the
meddling of American warships, things have quieted down a great deal
within recent years, but in the good old days, of which I am writing,
revolutions were as much a part of the daily life of the people in
those countries as their morning meal, and more so than their morning
bath. In fact, the most popular morning salutation was, “Who are we
revoluting for [or against] to-day?” Few went further and asked why
they were in revolt, for that was a minor consideration and there
were not many who knew. At least nine-tenths of the steady routine of
revolutions were due to nothing more than personal ambition, which
has been the curse of Latin America. Some man of influence or a
disgruntled general who had helped to elevate some other general to
the presidency, and then had not been shown the consideration to which
he thought himself entitled, would raise the standard of rebellion.
Under a plethora of promises as to what he would do when he became
president, he would attract other dissatisfied ones to his cause, and
it usually was only a question of time until he overturned the unstable
government. Then he would, in turn, be unable or unwilling to make good
on all of his promises, real or implied, and those whom he disappointed
would proceed to throw him out. Every man of importance had a following
of ignorant natives who, either because they had grown up in his
section of the country and had been taught to show him homage, or
because they expected to lead lazy lives when he became all-powerful,
would follow him blindly. A revolution which involved any question of
good government was almost unheard of. It is nothing but the inordinate
and, among the upper classes, almost unanimous thirst for power that
has retarded the development of these rich countries for generations.
Blessed by nature beyond the understanding of those who have not spent
years in them, they have been cursed by man. When they have become
civilized and their development once sets in, it will eclipse anything
America has ever seen.
But these observations are not a part of my story. With the cargo of
loyalist coffee we headed for New Orleans. We made bad weather of it
all of the way. The faddish ship wouldn’t sail or heave to and was
as cranky as an old man in his dotage. Some days we actually went
backward, and it was a long time before we raised South Pass light and
were picked up by a tug. The moment the hawser tightened the old ship
threw herself back on her haunches and refused to budge. The captain of
the towboat, after struggling strenuously to get us under way, dropped
back and screamed at me, “What in hell is the matter with that damned
old hooker?”
“You don’t know how to tow and she knows it,” I retorted.
“One would think you had all the anchors in the United States down,” he
shouted.
I assured him that we didn’t have even one down and he tried it again
and finally got us to going. We were off quarantine soon after
sundown and discovered that an embargo of forty days against Central
American ports had been raised only an hour before. The balkiness of
the “Richards” had prevented us from having to ride at anchor for days
or weeks and be subjected to casual inspection and gossip which might
have caused trouble. While the delay had been of service to us in that
respect it provoked some anxiety on another point. I had an idea that
the Costa Rican Government might try to have the ship seized, and our
trip had been such a long one that no time was to be lost in selling
our cargo and getting away. I took samples of the coffee to New Orleans
on a tug and placed them in the hands of old Peter Stevens, of the
Produce Exchange, who sold the whole cargo in an hour.
While the coffee was coming out stores were going in, and we were out
of the river again and on our way to Hayti in record time. Though I had
good cause to remember Santo Domingo I never had been in the “Black
Republic,” and as I had heard there was a probability of some lively
times there I determined to visit it before I returned to New York. But
the crankiness of the “Richards” interfered with my plans. When we were
about one hundred miles west of Key West the old ship committed suicide
by burning herself to death. The fire started in the hold amidships,
but we could not even imagine what might have caused it. It was so
unexpected that it had a good start before we discovered it. We fought
it, of course, but we might as well have tried to quench a volcano
in eruption. The strange craft had made up her mind to go under, and
there was nothing for us to do but take to the whaleboat, which was
large enough for all of us, as I had only a small crew. After we had
shoved off we returned at considerable risk to rescue a big black cat
which was on the ship when I bought her. We had christened him “John
Croix,” and every man on board undertook to teach him all he knew
about navigation, with the result that the animal had become so highly
educated that he could do everything about the ship but use the sextant.
Our humanity was well rewarded, for John saved our lives, or at least
saved us from a lot of suffering. A stiff norther came up before we
sighted land and for several days we were tossed about without any
clear idea as to the direction in which we were being blown, for not
once did we get a glimpse of sun or moon by which to take a reckoning.
Eventually we drifted among the islands to the westward of Key West,
and we headed for the largest one in sight. In the heavy sea that was
running we made a bad mess of the landing. Our boat was overturned
and stove in, the bung came out of the water cask, and all of our
supplies and most of our instruments were lost. We got ashore all
right, and John Croix with us, but we had neither food nor water, and
when a search of the little island failed to reveal so much as a sign
of a spring of fresh water, we began to give some thought to what our
chances would be in the hereafter. We bivouacked gloomily that night on
the beach. Early in the morning the cat awakened me by rubbing against
my face. At first I thought he was only depressed, like the rest of us,
and wanted company, but he pestered around until I got up and followed
him. Calling to me over his shoulder he led the way to a clump of
mangrove trees, whose roots overhung the bank three feet above high
tide. John trotted under the mass of roots and began to purr loudly. I
started to follow him and then backed out, but the cat yowled so loudly
that I got down on all fours again and followed him. I crawled along
for ten or twelve feet until I found John standing over a rivulet of
fresh water about as big as my finger. I drank my fill from it and then
awakened the others and told them of John’s discovery. They hailed him
as our saviour, and when he came trotting into camp a couple of hours
later with an oyster in his mouth they were ready to beatify him.
Until John had shown us the way to food, as he had led us to water, we
had not thought of looking for oysters, of which there were millions
around the roots of the mangrove trees. Strengthened and encouraged we
patched up our boat and, when the storm had blown itself out, put to
sea again and encountered a little schooner from St. John’s, Florida,
which took us to Key West, where we soon got a ship for New York.
On the way north we put in at Charleston, where I had enjoyed much
excitement as a blockade runner, and there I presented John Croix to a
Methodist minister who promised to give him a good home.
I was still anxious to visit Hayti, that land of mystery and murder,
and, in the guise of an English planter, I went there on a West Indian
steamer. Hayti has had more internal troubles and more presidents than
any other of the revolutionary republics and her domestic disorders
will continue until they are stopped by some powerful outside
influences, for the blacks and mulattoes are eternal enemies. In the
first three years following the separation from Santo Domingo there
were four presidents. In 1849 Soulouque, a negro, proclaimed himself
Emperor, as Faustian I. He ruled with despotic power, renewed the war
on Santo Domingo, and played hob generally with the nation’s finances
and affairs. In 1858 General Geffrard, a mulatto whom Soulouque
had condemned to death, revolted and proclaimed himself President.
He restored the constitution and held on until 1867, when he was
overthrown by General Salnave, who lasted three years before he was
deposed and shot. He had four successors in twice as many years, the
last one being General Salomon, who was at the head of affairs when I
arrived on the scene.
It did not take me long to make up my mind that Hayti was the warmest
hotbed of intrigue I had ever run across and I felt that I was among
friends and in a thoroughly congenial atmosphere. The very air seemed
to breed revolutions; perhaps because it was peopled with the spirits
of the old buccaneers who had their headquarters at the western end of
the island in the entrancing early days. There were many plotters for
the presidency, but there were two great rival camps, one headed by
General F. D. Legitime and the other by General Florville Hippolyte.
Legitime was planning to overturn the government at once, but it was
the scheme of Hippolyte, who was more cunning and willing to wait, to
continue Salomon in power until the election of 1886, when he expected
to secure his own election as Constitutional President. All of the
plots and counter-plots were laid in secret, of course, yet all men of
influence knew in a general way what the others were doing and where
they stood, with due allowance for the treachery always found in Latin
countries, which creates a delightful element of uncertainty.
Hippolyte was one of the ugliest negroes I have ever known--and my
estimate of him as here set down is in no way influenced by the fact
that some years later he arranged to have me carefully murdered. With
his bloodshot eyes and white whiskers, which latter reminded one
of dirty lace curtains, his cruel face was suggestive of some wild
animal. He was abrupt and domineering in his manner and there was not
a forgiving drop of blood in his veins. If the hippopotamus is as
savage a brute as has been pictured, Hippolyte should have taken all
of his name from that animal. He could laugh, but only like a hyena,
and it was impossible for him to smile. Brutal and bloodthirsty, he was
at the same time a forceful old villain and possessed of much native
shrewdness. Like all of the blacks he was a devout voodoo worshipper,
and with the aid of the _papalois_--the priesthood of the cannibalistic
creed--he played on the superstitions of the ignorant negroes. We
became well acquainted during the year or more that I loafed around
Port au Prince, revelling in the oddly warlike surroundings and
watching the budding plots, and at times I found him interesting.
Legitime was the opposite of Hippolyte in all of his qualities. He
was a bright, intelligent, progressive mulatto; well educated for
a Haytien and with a good address and the manners of a gentleman.
Intense loyalty was one of his strongest characteristics and he had
visions of his country’s immediate future which have not yet, after
twenty-five years, been in any degree realized. No one questioned his
bravery, and while he to some extent lacked firmness and strength of
character, I believed he would develop these vital traits with age,
for he was then a comparatively young man. He had the elements of a
first-class president, and had he ever become firmly established in
that office Hayti would to-day be a very different country and a much
more agreeable neighbor.
In the end I allied myself with Legitime, and in so doing incurred the
bitter enmity of Hippolyte, who had told me something of his plans and
had even gone so far as to suggest, without going into details, that
I coöperate with him when the time for action arrived. The result was
that when I went over to his hated rival he took it as a deadly insult,
and the chances are that we would have taken a few shots at each other
if my stay in the country had not been cut short. I was negotiating
with Legitime to supply him with arms and take a commission in his
army, and we were getting along famously toward a real revolution when
suddenly, in the latter part of 1884, President Salomon ordered that
he be expelled from the country for plotting against him. If Legitime
had been less popular he would have been unceremoniously shot, but
Salomon’s influence was already beginning to wane and he did not care
to add largely to his enemies, so he contented himself with an order of
expulsion. At the same time, through the instrumentality of Hippolyte,
the suggestion was conveyed to me that the climate of Hayti was not
suited to my health. Legitime boarded a ship for Jamaica, which was
conveniently in the harbor when his expulsion was announced, and I
accompanied him. He told me the time was not ripe for his revolt and
that he proposed to wait until the conditions were more favorable for
him. As a matter of fact he waited four years, and while he succeeded
in overthrowing Salomon in the end, his rule was short-lived. I
remained with him in Kingston for some time and then, as I saw no
prospect of quick action, returned to Australia, by way of London,
where I resumed my British name of George MacFarlane.
I reached Melbourne in 1885, after an absence of about four years, and
went to Menzies’ Hotel, which was not the one I had stopped at before,
when I was James Stuart Henderson. Of my three companions who had been
sent to prison for stealing the “Ferret,” Leigh, the sailing master,
had recently completed his term, while Nourse, who impersonated me, and
Joe Wilson, had still nearly two years to serve. I located Leigh and
put him to work for Nevins, a sail maker, and sent word to the others
that I was there and would wait around until they came out. Then,
fearing that I might be recognized by some of the officers who had
suspected, during the trial, that Nourse was playing a part, with the
probable result that I would be forced to again change places with him,
which I had no wish to do, I went on to Sydney. There I met Montfort
& Co., merchants and speculators, through whom I became financially
interested in a group of silver properties known as the Sunny Corner
Mines, in the Broken Hills district in New South Wales. We also laid
claim to Mount Morgan, deceptively described as “A Mountain of Gold,”
which was partly in Queensland. We plunged heavily on a question of
title, which was in litigation, and stood, as we thought, to make many
millions. When the decision of the highest court was finally announced
the bottom fell out of our scheme, for we were knocked out at every
point, and there was a void in my bank account which represented
considerably more than one hundred thousand dollars.
From the time of my first visit to Australia the laboring men had been
conducting an anti-Chinese agitation, to perpetuate and strengthen
their power over capital. There were not then, nor are there now,
nearly enough workers in the country to supply the demand. The native
blacks are without question the laziest people under the sun. The
notoriously indolent West Indian negro is an enterprising and ambitious
citizen by comparison with them, for there is no power on earth by
which they can be made to work. The Chinese, always on the lookout for
a labor market, soon heard of the rich field and invaded it in droves,
whereupon the white workmen of all grades set up a great hullabaloo; it
was there I first heard the cry of the “Yellow Peril.” The employers,
fearful of antagonizing their employees, either joined with them or
let them have their own way. They urged England to put a stop to
the importation of Chinese and when the mother country, which was
extending its “sphere of influence” (meaning thereby the acquisition of
territory) further and further into the Celestial Empire, declined to
act, Victoria and New South Wales took the matter into their own hands
and passed a Chinese exclusion law. It provided that any ship captain
who brought Chinese into these Provinces should be compelled to return
them, forfeit his certificate, and pay a fine of not more than three
hundred pounds for each “Chinkie,” and he might also be sent to jail.
Chinese were further prohibited from entering the restricted districts
by the overland route, and while it was impossible to entirely shut
them out, it was thought the new law would greatly reduce the number
that entered the country.
It occurred to me that I might recoup my mining losses by importing
Chinamen, without running any considerable risk of arrest, and I went
into the business. It promised to be profitable, for the natural effect
of the exclusion law was to intensify the desire of the “Chinkies” to
get into the two Provinces, where the demand for them was the greater
on account of their restricted number. I bought the old mission ship
“Southern Cross,” which took Bishop Selwyn to Australia, a fore and
aft schooner of about two hundred tons, and sent her across the bay to
Balmain to be overhauled and put in shape for her new purpose. I had
her fitted up as a private yacht, but all of her fittings below decks
were so arranged that they could be knocked down and stored away,
leaving the hold open. On the first trip to China I had tiers and rows
of berths built on the same quickly removable principle, and with this
arrangement there was enough space to enable us to carry more than two
hundred passengers without discomfort.
I brought Leigh up from Melbourne and made him sailing master and again
began preying on the Chinkies, but in a more friendly way than when
I was plundering their pirate junks in the China Sea. The Chinamen
furnished their own food, and Quong Tart, a rich Chinese merchant of
Sydney, paid me one hundred and fifty dollars for every one I landed in
Victoria or New South Wales. He arranged for their shipment, so, when
I arrived at Amoy or Shanghai, where they all came from, I had only
to wait for the requisite number to come on board, and he also took
charge of them when they were put ashore. In a spirit of dare-deviltry
I landed the first shipload less than five miles north of Newcastle,
the second largest city in New South Wales. The subsequent cargoes I
unloaded on the beach north of Newcastle or south of Sydney, without
ever feeling that I was in any serious danger of being discovered.
Each time I sent word to Quong Tart where the next load would be put
ashore and about the time I was expected he sent spies to the spot
to see if any officers were hanging around and signal to me if there
was danger of running into a trap. No two cargoes were ever landed at
the same place and only Quong Tart knew where to look for me on the
next trip. When Nourse and Wilson were released from prison the former
scurried across Bass Strait to his old Tasmanian home with the money
I had paid him for so successfully impersonating me. He considered
that he had been well compensated for his compulsory retirement from
active life and expected to invest his capital in some small business,
to which affluent position, under ordinary conditions, he never could
have aspired with any degree of confidence. Wilson’s disposition was to
go back to the sea with me, so I bought the “Nettie H,” a handy little
steamer, and put her into the Chinese smuggling trade. I took command
of the steamer, with Leigh as sailing master, and put Wilson in charge
of the schooner, as I could trust him with the least anxiety. He had
none of Leigh’s love for liquor and the result of his carelessness with
the “Ferret” had made him as careful as a Scot. While the “Nettie H”
was being fitted out, the authorities warned me that they knew what I
was up to and it would go hard with me if they secured proof of their
suspicions, but, knowing they were only shooting in the air, I laughed
at them.
If this business of carrying Chinese under cover had been as
productive of adventure as it was of profits, I would have stuck to it
indefinitely, but it was so absolutely devoid of excitement that it
palled on me. After we had made eight or nine trips, which more than
repaid my financial losses ashore, I withdrew from the trade, with the
idea of returning to the seductive West Indies, where I imagined there
were higher-class operations to be conducted, and more thrilling times
to be found. While I was disposing of my ships and finally closing up
my Australian affairs, I was in Sydney for several weeks and stopped
at the Imperial Hotel, where I met and became well acquainted with
Guy Boothby, the English novelist. Though he dreamed away his inborn
love of adventure, while I industriously practised mine and made it
my life, he was a good deal of a kindred spirit, and in the course of
our numerous long talks I told him enough about my experience with
the Beautiful White Devil, without going into any of the detailed and
intimate facts which have been told in these confessions, so that he
subsequently wove a romance about her, using her sobriquet as a title
for the story.
Accompanied by Leigh and Wilson, who were going only as far as
England, I boarded a steamship for London, on my way back to New York.
It would have been easier and quicker for me to have returned by way of
San Francisco, but I involuntarily selected the roundabout way, to soon
find that it led me into a unique and altogether unexpected experience.
CHAPTER XIII
ADVENTURES ON THE NILE
When I finally forsook Australia, near the close of 1889, accompanied
by Leigh and Wilson, who had paid a penitentiary penalty for my
revengeful ambition and their own carelessness, I was in no particular
hurry to get anywhere, but had no thought of stopping off at any
point short of London until we reached Alexandria. Immediately on
our arrival there I was suddenly seized with a freak of fancy, as we
nonchalantly speak of the immutable decrees of Fate when we wish to
show an independence of action we do not feel, to visit Cairo, and
without waste of time and energy in mental argument I sent my dunnage
ashore by one of the thousand or more small boats which viciously
assaulted the ship from all sides. My two companions, after their
trying times in Melbourne, were anxious to get back among their
own people, so they went on to London, which decision was reached
without the slightest effort to conceal their comments on my erratic
disposition, while I proceeded to the ancient capital of the Kings of
Egypt--those glorious old marauding monarchs who made despotism a fine
art and graft a religion. There I was projected into a most alluringly
adventurous undertaking. Though failing utterly of its high purpose,
it was by no means devoid of compensations, for it initiated me far
enough into the mysteries of departed days so that I considered myself
at least an entered apprentice, and, furthermore, it carried me into
close relationship with an exquisitely beautiful woman, which, next to
plotting against peace and fighting out the plan, is always the thing
most to be desired. As a matter of fact it is the rule in the Orient,
where man is less virile and more devious and discreet than in the
newer world, that a handsome woman is a part of every properly promoted
plot, and this one was no exception.
Under my British name of George MacFarlane I stopped at Shepheard’s
Hotel, then the home of all pilgrims, and gave myself up to the
enjoyment of new scenes while I waited, in no sense impatiently, for
the development of the situation through whose coming I had been
summoned. It was at the height of the tourist season, following the
Christmas holidays, and there was an abundance of company, made up of
cultured Europeans and a few Americans of gentle birth, for that was
before Cairo was over-run with the over-rich. The time was delightfully
whiled away for a month before anything happened to indicate the
reason for my being there, but within less than half of that time I
had renewed acquaintance with the man who was really the key to the
situation, though I did not suspect it at the time. He and I had been
strangely thrown together some years before, under conditions which
provoked rather an intimate knowledge of each other, and when we met on
the street one day the recognition was instant and mutual. He did not
inquire into my business but simply asked what name I was travelling
under, in order that he might not embarrass me. He stood in close and
confidential relation to Tewfik Pasha, the Khedive, and on that account
it is best that there should be no hint, even now, as to his name or
nationality.
I wished to see the titular ruler of Egypt at close range, and through
my old companion-in-arms I secured an invitation to the Khedive’s
annual ball at the Abdin Palace. This function, which naturally was the
event of the year, was rendered impressive by all the artistry of the
East, and it was a most brilliant spectacle. At the ends of every step
in the long stairway leading up to the palace stood immobile footmen,
who suggested past glories despite their costume, which was decidedly
English, save for the ever-present fez. Inside, there was an endless
succession of long mirrors set in the walls, which multiplied the
jewels of the women and the gay uniforms of the officers and diplomats
into a flashing mass of colors; countless palms scattered profusely
through the large rooms, and gorgeous chandeliers illuminated with
candles, but there was not so much as a hint of furniture. Had there
been any place where the guests could lounge or sit, beyond the floor,
the chances are that some of them would have stayed there until the
next day, at least, in the absence of physical violence as an aid to
their departure. The only ladies present were Europeans and some few
favored Americans, but from wide corridors behind the musharabiyeh, or
fretwork around the frieze of the walls, the Khedivah and her women
attendants had a good view of the proceedings without danger of being
seen. They were equally secure from any possibility of intrusion, for
every avenue that led in their direction was guarded by offensively
haughty eunuchs.
I was purposely close to the end of the long line of people who were
presented to the Khedive, for I wanted to study him. He was about five
and a half feet tall, with straight black hair, black moustache, an
olive complexion, brown eyes that were more than alert, and a rather
Roman nose, giving a Jewish cast to his face, which always wore a very
bored expression except when he was interested. His hand was small
but firm--such a hand as would commit murder if the owner were sure
it would not be found out. There was nothing of the brave man in his
looks or actions. Polite and insinuating by nature, he was never born
to lead. Rather, he suggested the favorite and tool of the Sultan, who
would take some small chance of losing his head with a sufficiently
large reward in the other side of the scale. He wore that night,
and always, a single-breasted frock coat, like that of an Episcopal
clergyman. He spoke English correctly but with an accent, and aversion
as well; French he loved and spoke like a Parisian. I had been given
advance information on this point, so when I was introduced, following
a string of Englishmen and Americans, I addressed him in French.
Instantly the weary look vanished and his face lighted up until he
became almost handsome.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, as he gripped my hand with more force than I had
previously seen him display, “you are a Frenchman. I am delighted.”
I made some polite reply and he went on, almost excitedly, “I love the
French language, but I do not like the English. I speak it only because
I have to. The Khedivah is more fortunate. She does not speak it at
all, and she never will learn it.”
We exchanged commonplaces for a moment and I passed on, wondering to
what extent England could trust this man, who hated her tongue and made
no secret of it.
Cairo has been described so often and in so many ways by people who
had nothing better to write about that I have no wish to add to the
literature on that subject, but I cannot refrain from speaking, in
passing, of one unusual scene which, so far as I have read, has for
all of these years escaped the attention of literary loiterers. With
my mind far back in centuries that are forgotten, in lands devoid
of imperishable monuments like those around me, I had stayed on the
summit of Cheops so long, one afternoon, that my dragoman declared I
would have trouble in reaching the bottom before dark. Half-way down I
paused for a glimpse at Cairo, with every minaret standing out boldly
in the strong light. Then, suddenly, almost at my feet, the sinking
sun created the shadow of the Great Pyramid, and it began to move. It
advanced almost imperceptibly, at first, but gathered headway quickly
and in a moment it was rushing across the twelve-mile plain toward the
city with the speed of an express train, as it seemed to me; I am sure
no race horse could have kept pace with it. When the shadow reached
the Mokattam Hills it paused for an instant and then began, slowly and
more slowly and with apparent difficulty, to climb the high side of the
Citadel Mosque. When it was half-way up the wall the sun dropped out of
sight like a shot and we were buried in Egyptian darkness, which, be it
said, is no simple figure of speech. In a few minutes, however, we were
able to complete our descent of the gigantic steps by the light of the
brilliant afterglow, which spread its soft radiance over the land.
As I was enjoying my after-dinner cigar one evening in a quiet corner
of the garden in front of the hotel, I was approached by three women
pedlers, apparently of the fellah class. They wore the common blue
kimono-like garment, held together seemingly by luck, and their small
black veils were thrown over their heads, leaving their faces bare and
thus placing them outside the pale of Egyptian respectability. I was
about to walk away to avoid their pestering, when my eyes met those of
the one who was in the lead, and instantly I was attracted in place
of being repelled. Great, brilliant eyes they were; not fickle and
flirtatious, like those of the thinly veiled beauties of the harem who
were seen in their coupes on the Shoobra Road every afternoon, nor
sullen or sensuous, like those of the class to which her garb gave her
claim; but steady and sincere, wide-open and frank, and in them shone
a light that converted into specks the lanterns with which the grounds
were illuminated. Such eyes do not come in one generation, not even
by chance, nor are they born of the soil. Her face was of the pure
Egyptian type, gentle in its contour and refined in every line, with
perfectly arched eyebrows and a mass of hair as black as her eyes, and
her easy carriage emphasized the grace of her tall, lithe figure, the
curves of which not even her coarse robe could entirely conceal.
Her sparkling eyes, turned full on me and ignoring all else, told me as
plainly as words could have done that she had some message for me, and,
suspecting that the moment for which I had been waiting for weeks had
arrived, I walked slowly toward her, as though in a mood to barter. As
we met, seemingly somewhat disconcerted by my steady gaze of profound
and unconcealed admiration, she drew her uncouth veil across her face
and held out her hands, like one trained to tourist trade, that I might
examine her wonderful rings. Those hands could never have known work,
they were so soft and small, and arms more perfectly rounded were never
modelled in marble by a master. Plainly this woman was not of the
servant class, to which her companions as clearly belonged. One of her
hands was half-closed and as she laid it in mine it opened and a small
piece of folded paper fell into my palm. Long accustomed to ways out
of the ordinary, I gave no sign, beyond an involuntary start which she
felt but no one else noticed, and proceeded with outward calmness, and
assuredly with much deliberation, to select a ring, which I purchased
as a souvenir of our first meeting. It was set with an uncut ruby in a
band of gold so fine that it was removed from her tiny finger, which
it encircled nearly twice, simply by pressing the ends outward. Not a
word passed between us except as to the price of the ring, over which
there was no haggling. The women who were with her made a pretence of
showing me their wares, but it was only a show for the benefit of any
inquisitive persons who might be watching, and without urging me to buy
they passed on. I strolled after them and was interested in observing
that as they approached other guests the woman who had slipped me the
note remained in the background, with her face veiled, leaving commerce
to her companions. They attempted to make only a few sales and then
disappeared.
Curious to a degree that surprised me, as to the contents of the
communication which had come to me so strangely, but fearful of being
watched, by I knew not whom, it was some time before I went to my
room to read the note by the light of a tallow candle. The mysterious
missive read: “You are Captain Boynton. Are you willing to undertake a
difficult and perhaps dangerous mission? Answer to-morrow night through
the channel by which you receive this.”
Here was a romantic promise of something new and real in the way of
excitement, for I could imagine nothing stereotyped growing out of
such an unusual beginning, and I rejoiced. The answer to the inspiring
invitation, which I promptly burned from discretion while sentiment
told me to keep it, required no thought, and as I am not much given to
the exertion of energy in seeking solutions for difficult problems that
will soon supply their own answers, I did not greatly concern myself as
to the purpose of the plot in which I was sought as a partner. Inasmuch
as the only man in Cairo who knew me as Captain Boynton, and who was
acquainted with my favorite occupation, was a confidant of the Khedive,
it naturally occurred to me that the oily Tewfik Pasha was mixed up
in it in some way, and I suspected that it involved another secret
movement against British rule in Egypt. The latter suspicion was soon
verified and there never has been any doubt in my own mind that I was
equally correct in the conjecture as to the participation, or at least
the silent approval, of Tewfik, but this could not be proved.
Knowing the mystery-loving nature of the Egyptians and feeling sure
that if left wholly to their own ways they would entertain themselves
with a long correspondence which could do no good and might arouse
suspicion, I determined to bring matters to a head as quickly as
possible. It was evident that those who sought my services knew much
about me and it was quite as important to me that I should know them.
The next evening, before going down to dinner, I wrote my answer.
“Yes,” I replied to the encouraging query, “provided it is something
a gentleman can do, and I am well paid for it. But I will conduct no
negotiations in this way. I must see the people I am doing business
with.”
After dinner I retired to the same out-of-the-way corner of the garden
in which I had been found the night before, on the side farthest away
from the hotel and the music, to await developments. It probably was
not long, but it seemed hours, before the same three women came up
the short flight of steps running down to the street. The one who was
doing duty as a letter carrier, and who bore the imaginative name of
Ialla, was the last to appear. On reaching the level of the garden
her eyes roamed quickly around until they turned toward where I was
sitting. Seeing me, she drew her veil across her face, as though she
resented being classed with the unregenerate fellahin, and wished to
show more discrimination in her love affairs than they could boast,
and accompanied her companions in their ostensible bargaining tour
among the guests. To one who paid them even casual attention they must
have appeared as timid traders, so lacking were they in the customary
insistence, and it was with small profits and no great loss of time
that they found their way around to me. As on the night before, it was
left to Ialla to barter with me. I again took both of her hands in
mine, to examine her jewelry, of which she wore a wealth that, like her
looks, belied her dress, and as I did so I slipped into one of them the
tightly folded note which I had been gripping for an hour or more. Her
jewels were much richer than those she had worn the previous evening
and as I studied their barbaric beauty I softly pressed her childish
hands, as the only means of conveying something of the impression she
had made on me, for I did not know the extent to which the other women
were in our secret or could be trusted. Her only response was one quick
glance, which I interpreted as a mixture of pleasure, surprise, and
interrogation; the one distinctly pleasant thing about it was that it
contained nothing of indignation or hostility. Save for that electric
flash her wonderful eyes looked modestly downward and her whole
attitude was one of perfect propriety, which more than ever convinced
me that she was not what she pretended to be. Finally she drew her
hands away, hurriedly but gently, and with an impatient gesture,
as though she had made up her mind that I had no idea of making a
purchase, led her companions out of the garden.
There was no sign of either Ialla or her two friends the next evening,
though I watched for them closely. On the second afternoon I received a
call from my old friend, who undoubtedly had recommended me and vouched
for me to the people who had opened up the exceedingly interesting
correspondence. It was apparently a casual visit but its purpose was
revealed when, in the course of a general conversation regarding the
country and its ways, along which he had cleverly piloted me, he said:
“These Egyptians are a remarkable people. I have lived among them
long enough to know them and to admire, particularly, their sublime
religious faith and their exalted sense of honor. With their enemies,
and with the travellers on whom they prey, they are tricky and evasive
to the last degree, but in their dealings with people whom they know
and trust they are the most honorable men in the world. I don’t know
whether you expect to have any dealings with them, but if you do, you
can trust them absolutely.”
With that opening I was on the point of speaking to him about the note
I had received and answered, but before I could say a word he had
started off on another subject, leaving me to understand that he knew
all about the matter but did not wish to talk of it, and that he had
taken that method, learned from the diplomats, of endorsing the people
with whom he had put me in communication. We gossiped on for some time,
but though each knew what was uppermost in the other’s mind neither of
us spoke of it, nor was the subject even indirectly referred to again.
This conversation indicated that the veiled proceedings were nearing
the point of a personal interview with some one who knew something
about the scheme, and when I took my seat in the garden that evening I
was impatient for further unfoldings. Not knowing what might happen,
and despite the afternoon’s guarantee of good faith from a man I had
every reason to trust, I took the precaution to arm myself with two
Tranter revolvers. I had not been waiting long when Ialla and her two
companions appeared and came straight toward me, but without any sign
of recognition. As she passed close beside me, walking slowly, Ialla
whispered, almost in my ear: “Follow me at ten o’clock.”
It was then about nine-thirty. The inharmonious trio moved on into the
throng of guests and, as the time passed, gradually worked their way
around toward the stairway leading down to the street. A few minutes
before ten I descended into the street to wait for them, so it could
not be seen from the hotel that I was following them. Promptly on the
hour Ialla and her attendants came down the steps and set off toward
Old Cairo, which, however much it may have been spoiled since, was
then just the same as when Haroun-al-Raschid used to take his midnight
rambles. At the corner of the hotel two men dressed as servants
stepped out of a shadow and fell in close behind them, apparently to
prevent me from engaging them in conversation, which, but for this
barrier, I assuredly would have done. With all amorous advances thus
discouraged I remained far enough behind so that it would not appear
that I was one of the party. They led me almost the full length of
the Mooshka, the main street of the old town and the only one wide
enough to permit the passing of two carriages; turned into one of the
narrow side streets, then into another and another until they stopped
at last in front of a door at the side of one of the little shops. When
I was within perhaps fifty feet of them Ialla entered the door, after
looking back at me, while her four companions walked rapidly on down
the street. I pushed open the door, which was immediately closed by a
servant who dropped a bar across it, and found Ialla waiting for me in
a dimly lighted hallway. She led me nearly to the end of the long hall,
opened a door and motioned to me to enter and closed the door from
the outside. I found myself in a large room, which, after my eyes had
become accustomed to the half light, I saw was magnificently furnished.
A fine-looking old Arab, with gray hair and beard, was seated on an
ottoman, smoking a bubble pipe. His bearing was majestic and for the
purpose of easy identification he will be known here as Regal, though
that was not his name.
“I am glad to see you, Pasha Boynton,” was his greeting, in a deep,
strong voice. He proved himself a man of action, and advanced himself
greatly in my esteem by giving no time to idle chatter. “We know you
well,” he said, “through trustworthy information, as a soldier and a
sailor, and we believe you are peculiarly well equipped for the work we
wish you to undertake. It is a sea-going expedition, involving danger
of disaster on one hand and the cause of liberty and a substantial
reward on the other. Are you willing to attempt it?”
“If you are open to reasonable terms and I am given full command of the
expedition, I will gladly undertake it,” I replied. “If it furnishes
real adventure I will be quite willing to accept that in part payment
for my services.”
“Then we should be able to agree without difficulty,” he answered
with a grim smile. “But,” he added, as his keen face took on a stern
expression and his eyes looked through mine into my brain, “whether or
not we do reach an agreement, we can rely on you to keep our secret and
to drop no hint or word through which it might be revealed?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, and my gaze was as steady as his. He studied
me intently for a full minute and then said decisively, in the Arabic
fashion: “It is good.”
Without further ceremony he let me into the whole plot. At the bottom
of it was the old cry of “Egypt for the Egyptians,” which is not yet
dead and probably will not die for centuries, if ever. It was Arabi
Pasha who made the last desperate fight under this slogan and it was
his release from exile that was sought by the plotters, in order that
he might renew the war for native liberty. As a military genius Arabi
ranked almost with the great Ibrahim Pasha, who died a few years after
Arabi was born, and he was fanatical in his love of country. From a
Colonel in the army he became Under Secretary of War and then Minister
of War, in which position he was practically the Dictator of Egypt.
With the aid of a secret society which he organized among the native
officers of the army, and the carefully concealed support of the
Sultan, who had protested vainly against the assumption of authority
by the British and French over this part of Turkish territory, he
planned and executed a revolt through which it was hoped to restore
native control of Egypt. The French, more sentimental than selfish,
and reluctant to take extreme measures, withdrew at the last moment,
leaving it to the British to prosecute the war, which they did with
characteristic vigor. The bombardment of Alexandria, on July 11
and 12, 1882, and the rout of his army at Tel-el-Kebir two months
later, dissipated Arabi’s dream and, so far as surface indications
were concerned, established British rule in Egypt, exclusively and
permanently. The movement which Arabi had fostered apparently collapsed
with that battle, and he was exiled to Ceylon for life.
Briefly and bitterly this bit of history was reviewed by the old Arab.
Then he became more animated. He said the loyal Egyptians had been
planning a new movement against the British, with great secrecy, for a
long time, and that the natives and a large part of the army were ready
to rise in revolt whenever the signal was given. The butchery of the
gallant “Chinese” Gordon at Khartoum--a stain on England’s fame which
never can be blotted out--had checked the British advance in the Soudan
and to some extent paralyzed the officials who, from the safe haven of
the War Office in London, were drawing up plans of conquest, and the
conspirators believed the time had come for what they were confident
would prove a successful and final blow for freedom. But, to make
this ardently desired result more certain, they needed the inspiring
leadership of Arabi Pasha, in whose talent for conflict they still had
great faith, which doubtless was intensified by his enforced absence.
Furthermore, Regal explained, the superstitious natives would hail his
unexpected return from exile as a sign that they could not be defeated
and would fight more desperately and determinedly than before. Through
spies it had been learned that Arabi was confined at a point near the
coast, only a short distance from Colombo, the capital of Ceylon. He
was allowed considerable freedom, within certain prescribed limits,
and was in the custody of only a small guard. His escape was regarded
as impossible and the idea that an attempt might be made to rescue
him seemingly had not entered the minds of those responsible for his
safe-keeping.
Yet that was precisely what I was asked to accomplish. After Regal had
stated the conditions of Arabi’s captivity he dramatically declared,
with flashing eyes: “The fires which the British foolishly thought
they had stamped out, were not, and could never be, extinguished. They
have been smouldering ever since and are now ready to burst into a
flame that will consume everything before it. We need only the presence
of the great Arabi. You can bring him to us. With a ship, whose true
mission is concealed by methods of which we know you to be a master,
you can sail to a point close to his place of confinement. As soon
as it is dark and quiet forty or fifty of our brave men, who will
accompany you, will be landed. They will steal upon his guards and
silence them and return with the General to your ship. There will be
none left to give the alarm and by the time it is discovered that he
has been snatched away from their cursed hands you will be far out of
sight, and with your knowledge of the ways of those who sail the sea
it should not be difficult for you to avoid capture. You will land
Arabi at some point to be decided on, from which he can make his way to
Cairo. With his coming our banners will be unfurled and Egypt will be
restored to the Egyptians. It is a mission in the cause of freedom and
humanity. Are you willing to undertake it?”
Long before he reached it, I saw his objective point, and ran the whole
scheme over in my mind while he was laying down its principles. It
did not strike me as being at all foolhardy. As I have said before,
it is the so-called impossibilities which, when they are not really
impossible, as few of them are, can be most easily accomplished, for
the reason that they are not guarded against. Under the conditions
described, the rescue of Arabi would be comparatively a simple matter.
The chief danger would come from the British warships which would swarm
the seas as soon as his disappearance was discovered, for it would be
a natural conclusion that he was on some vessel on his way back to
Egypt. This danger appealed to me, for it augured well for adventure.
It would be a game of hide-and-seek, such as I intensely enjoyed, with
my wits pitted against those of the British Navy, and with my varied
experiences in deep-sea deception, I did not consider that the odds
against me would be overwhelming. Therefore I promptly assured the old
patriot, whose anxiety and excitement were shown in his blazing eyes,
that I would cheerfully assume responsibility for Arabi’s rescue and
his safe delivery at almost any point that might be designated.
“It is good,” he replied, slowly and impressively. “Egypt will be free.”
Profoundly wishing that the noble little “Leckwith” was at my service
instead of at the bottom of the sea, I added that I had no ship and it
would be necessary to purchase one, as it would be impracticable to
charter a vessel for such a purpose. This meant that the expedition
would require some financing, in addition to the charge for my
services. With a gesture which indicated that everything was settled in
his mind and that it was only necessary for me to name my terms to have
them agreed to, Regal said he anticipated no difficulty on that point
and suggested that I return the next afternoon or evening to meet his
associates, who comprised the inner circle of the revolutionary party.
I told him I would be glad to come at any hour but I doubted that I
could find my way through the labyrinth of narrow streets.
“How has the person who guided you here conducted herself?” he asked.
“Irreproachably.”
“She will signal you to-morrow afternoon or evening. Follow her.”
With that he arose, terminating the interview; we solemnly shook hands
and he escorted me to the door. I was wondering how I should find the
way back to my hotel when I descried Ialla and her four shadows waiting
for me a short distance down the street. Without a word they showed me
the course until I made out the hotel, when they disappeared down a
side street.
I was lounging in the garden early the next afternoon, for there was
no telling when the summons might come and I would take no chance of
missing it. It was about four o’clock, at which hour all Cairo was on
parade and the crowd was thickest around the hotel, that Ialla and her
faithful female guards entered the lively scene. Her face was almost
entirely hidden by her veil but there was no mistaking her eyes. They
caught mine and a quick little beckoning motion, which no one else
would have noticed, told me to follow her. She soon left, walking
slowly, and I took up the trail, restraining myself with an effort
from approaching her more closely than wisdom dictated. Avoiding the
crowded Mooshka they led me, by a more circuitous route, back to the
house where I had been so agreeably entertained the night before, and
which was entered in the same way. Regal was waiting for me and with
him were five of his countrymen, to whom I was introduced _en bloc_.
They were dignified and reserved but sharp-eyed and vigorous and they
looked like fighters of the first water. They were much younger than
Regal and evidently, from the deference shown him, he was the chief
conspirator.
“These,” he said, with a courtly wave of his hand toward the others,
“are the relatives and companions-in-arms of Arabi Pasha and the
men who, with me, are directing our operations. They are perfectly
responsible, as you will see, and in every way entitled to your
confidence, as you are worthy of theirs.”
With this formal assurance we sat down to a detailed discussion of the
project. They told me of their plans, as Regal had previously explained
them in a general way, and professed confidence that with Arabi in
personal command of their forces, and with the active coöperation of
the Soudanese, which was assured, they would drive the hated British
out of Egypt, and keep them out. Their knowledge of the surroundings
at Arabi’s place of confinement and their plan for overpowering his
guards and securing his release, which was complete to the slaughter
of the last man, showed an intimate acquaintance with conditions that
surprised me. From all they told me on this point I gained the idea
that they were working in harmony with their brother Mohammedans in
India, and that the latter were planning a similar uprising when
the conditions were judged to be opportune. Developments since then
have strengthened this belief into a conviction. It is never wise to
predict, but when England some day becomes involved in a war with
a first-class power, like Germany for instance, which will tax her
fighting forces to the limit, there need be no surprise if the natives
of Egypt and India rise simultaneously and become their own masters.
It was urged by them and agreed that I should take no part in the
actual rescue of Arabi but remain on the ship, to guard against any
surprise by water and to be ready to steam westward as soon as the
party returned. I was to stand in close to the shore just after dark,
with all lights doused, and it was thought that Arabi would be safe
on board long enough before sunrise so that we could be well clear
of the land by daylight. The point at which Arabi was to be landed
caused considerable discussion. As the British were certain to promptly
patrol the Red Sea, with all of the warships that could be hurried into
it, and closely guard the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, it was tentatively
decided that the safest and wisest course would be to put him ashore
near Jibuti, on friendly French soil, from which point he could pick
a pathway through Abyssinia and down the Nile, with little danger of
detection and with the advantage of being able to arouse the enthusiasm
of the Soudanese and other tribes through which he passed. I was in
favor of running the gantlet of the Strait and landing him two or three
hundred miles south of the Gulf of Suez, which would expedite the
revolt and also make things more exciting, but the others feared this
would expose him too much to the danger of recapture. They were for the
surest way and said that more reckless methods could wait until he was
at the head of his troops. This conclusion as to the landing place,
however, was not final. It was understood that I would receive definite
instructions when I put in at Saukin, on the way out, to take on the
fifty proud and trusted warriors who were to effect the release of
their revered leader.
The fact that consideration of terms was the last question brought up
was a delicate compliment to my supposed fairness which I appreciated.
Instead of asking them for fifty thousand pounds, as I had intended to,
I stipulated only forty thousand, one-half of which was to be advanced
to me for the purchase of a suitable ship. The ship was, of course, to
be turned over to them at the conclusion of the expedition. I was to
pay all expenses and collect the remaining twenty thousand pounds after
Arabi had been landed. If they had fixed the terms themselves they
could not have agreed to them more readily, and I was asked to return
at ten o’clock the next evening for the initial payment.
Our negotiations thus rapidly concluded, I was invited to remain
to dinner, which is the crowning honor of Egyptian confidence and
hospitality. I needed no urging and never have I enjoyed a meal more.
The table-talk was general, but running all through it was the love
of freedom and the plan through which they hoped to realize their
passion. Their interest in American affairs was only that called for by
courtesy, but they made me tell many stories of our wars with England,
from which they derived much satisfaction.
“We are as much entitled to our freedom as you are,” declared one of my
hosts, whose green turban indicated that he could trace his ancestry
back to Mahomet, “and we will win ours in the end, just as your people
won theirs. We may be a strange people,” he added, reflectively, “but
we are not so bad as we have been painted. The _howadji_ [strangers]
condemn our religion without understanding it and preach to us another,
which, so far as we can observe from its practices, falls far short of
our own. Mohammedanism needs no defence from me, but I will tell you
just one thing about it. If you were now to murder my brother I could
not lay hands on you or harm you, for you have eaten of my salt, but
not even Mahomet could make me cease to hate you in my heart. Does the
Christian religion, of which the British are so proud, teach you that?”
I confessed that it didn’t, so far as I had information or belief, and
made my sincere salaams to his faith. If I am ever to become afflicted
with any religious beliefs, I hope they will be those taught by Mahomet.
When I finally started back to my hotel Ialla and her attendants were
waiting for me in the alley, for it was not wide enough to be called a
street. They started on ahead, but we had gone only a few short blocks
when her four companions walked briskly away and she waited for me, in
a shadow so deep that I at first thought she had entered one of the
queer houses and my spirits fell, to be revivified a moment later when
I almost ran into her.
“How did your business turn out?” she inquired anxiously, as I bowed
low before her. Her voice, which I had been longing to hear, was soft
and clear, as well became her, and her radiant beauty shone forth
through the darkness.
“Thanks to your cleverness,” I replied, “it has turned out well.”
“Then you are going to rescue my uncle,” she exclaimed delightedly. Her
sparkling eyes flamed with excitement and, as if to seal the compact,
she extended her hand, which I first pressed and then kissed. Then I
slipped it through my arm and started to walk out of the shadow into
the moonlight, and she accompanied me without protest.
She had exchanged her cotton robe for one of silk, which was much more
fitting, and as I looked down on her I thought her the most beautiful
woman I had ever seen. If I had held the same opinion as to others
of her sex I was not reminded of it then, and there was no manner of
doubt that I was deeply in love with her. We walked long and talked
much, and some of it was interesting. She told me, though it did not
need the telling, that she was a lady and that she had risked her
reputation and exposed herself to coarsest insult by appearing in
public unveiled and dressed as a servant, out of love for her uncle
and devotion to his cause. To prevent suspicion it had been determined
that communication should be opened with me through a woman, and she
had volunteered for the service. She said she had seen me at the
Khedive’s reception, which she had witnessed through the fretwork
from the apartments of the Khedivah--from which it appeared that I
had been under consideration by the revolutionary leaders for several
weeks before I was approached--and so she knew the man to whom the
introductory note was to be delivered. The two women servants, who
could not be trusted with such confidential correspondence, accompanied
her for the double purpose of protecting her as much as possible and
carrying out the peddling pretence. This explained why she had kept
in the background and covered her face with her scraggly veil most
of the time. On her first visit, she said, she had fully exposed her
face so that I might see she was not of the class of her companions
and be the more willing to hold commercial converse with her; in her
heart she knew her beauty would attract me, wherein she displayed an
abundantly justifiable confidence in her charms, but she expressed it
without the words or style of vanity. Except for that brief period
when she was altogether unveiled she said she really did not have great
fear of being discovered, for it was unlikely that any of her friends
would be around the hotel at the hours when she went there, and, even
if they did see her, it was improbable that they would recognize her
in fellahin attire. As a matter of fact, she confessed, as we became
better acquainted, she had entered into the plot not only through love
for her distinguished uncle, to whom she was devoted, but from a liking
for doing things that were out of the ordinary.
It was this same spirit which induced her, on the night of my first
opportunity to tell her of her beauty and my fervid love for her,
to bribe her servants to disappear for a time. By the light of the
Egyptian moon, which would inspire even a lout of a lover, I told her,
in words that burned, of the passion she had implanted within me by the
first glance of her wonderful eyes, and I was encouraged by the fact
that she seemed more sympathetic than otherwise. We walked for hours
through deserted streets that were far from lonely until at last we
came to a corner near the hotel where her attendants were waiting for
her, patiently, I presumed, from their natures, but whether patiently
or not was of no concern to me.
The next night I found my way alone to Regal’s abode and received the
first payment of twenty thousand pounds, in Paris exchange. There was a
final conference, at which all of the details were gone over again as a
precaution against any misunderstanding, and I took my departure with
many good wishes. Ialla and her two women attendants were waiting for
me, as had been arranged, and my love-making was resumed where I had
left off on the preceding night. Ialla was more responsive than before,
but when I urged her to go with me to France or marry me at once in
Cairo she would not listen. Finally she said: “After you have rescued
my uncle I will go with you anywhere, but not until then will I think
of marriage.”
Nothing could move her from that decision. I arranged to meet her
the next night and the one following, and several others, which she
accomplished by the popular method of bribing her attendants, but,
though it was a joy to her to be told of my love there was no way by
which she could be induced to yield to it until her uncle was free.
Finally she regretfully insisted that I must leave, for her relatives,
she said, were becoming seriously disturbed over the fact that I
had remained so long in Cairo, instead of going about the important
business at hand. In my infatuation I had forgotten discretion and my
promise to conduct the expedition with all possible speed. Even when
this was brought home to me it required all of my will power to say _au
revoir_ to the beauteous Ialla, though I expected to see her soon again
and hold her to her promise.
I went to Marseilles and called on a _huissier d’marine_, or ship
broker, named Oliviera, to whom I had been recommended. After looking
over several ships that were for sale I bought “L’Hirondelle” (The
Swallow), a coasting steamer of eight hundred tons that had been
running between Marseilles and Citta Vecchia, the port of Rome. She
was old but in good condition and could do seventeen knots or better.
I took command of the ship and my first and second officers were Leigh
and Wilson, who came down from London in response to a telegram,
bringing with them half a dozen men whom I knew could be trusted. The
crew was filled out with Frenchmen and we headed for Suakin, far down
on the Egyptian side of the Red Sea. There I was to receive final
instructions and pick up the Arabs who were to do the manual labor,
and whatever assassination was necessary, in connection with Arabi’s
restoration to his countrymen. As soon as we were in the Red Sea I
stripped off the ship’s French name, rechristened her the “Adventure,”
hoisted the British flag over her, and gave her a forged set of papers
in keeping with her name and nationality.
At Suakin one of the great surprises of my life awaited me. We had
scarcely tied up when the man from whom I was to receive the warriors
came aboard with a letter from Regal directing me to turn the ship
over to him and discharge the crew. The agent could not understand the
change of plan any more than I could, and I could not even guess as to
the cause, but he was there to obey orders and there was nothing else
for me to do. I could not make any kind of a formal protest without
revealing something concerning my mission, which I would not do, and,
besides that, the ship did not belong to me. Feeling sure there would
be a satisfactory explanation waiting for me at Cairo I returned there,
after paying off the crew and sending them back to Marseilles and
London in charge of Leigh and Wilson.
I was still more mystified when, on reaching Cairo, I was unable to
find Regal, Ialla, or any one else connected with the undertaking,
nor could I get the slightest trace of them. I located the house in
which I had been so charmingly admitted into the conspiracy, but the
people living there were strangers, so far as I was permitted to
observe or could ascertain, and they insisted they knew nothing at all
concerning the previous occupants. If I could have searched the house
I might have found out differently, but that was out of the question.
Here was Egyptian mystery beyond what I had bargained for. It was
as though I had been roughly awakened from a delightfully realistic
dream. The only theory on which I could explain the puzzle was that
the government had in some way learned of the plot, in consequence of
which every one identified with it had disappeared, leaving it to me to
take the hint and do likewise. In the hope of seeing Ialla again and
determined to secure some definite clue as to just what had happened in
my absence, I waited around for two weeks or more, until I encountered
the old friend who, I knew, was responsible for my connection with
the conspiracy. I did not dissemble, as I had before, but took him
to my room, told him the riddle, and asked him the answer. I did not
expect him to admit anything and was not disappointed. What he said,
in substance, was this: “Of course I know nothing about the plot of
which you have told me. If what you say is true I should say that you
have been making something of a fool of yourself over this Ialla and
that you have only yourself to blame for the abrupt ending which seems
to have been reached. You are very shrewd and far-sighted and I will
admit that ordinarily you are not much moved by sentiment, but this
black-eyed beauty seems to have carried you off your feet. These women
are the greatest flirts in the world. There is nothing they enjoy so
much as clandestine meetings at which they can listen to passionate
protestations of love, and when these come from a foreigner their cup
of happiness is full. You thought Ialla was in love with you, but
she was only having a good time with you, and she has taken a lot of
pride in telling her friends about your meetings at their afternoon
gatherings in the old cemetery for the exchange of gossip. She had no
idea of marrying you, an unbeliever, you may be sure of that. It may
be that she thought she was stimulating you to deeds of heroism in
the rescue of her uncle, but, if she considered that at all, it was
a secondary matter. The men you were dealing with have the contempt
of their race for all women. They cannot understand how any man can
become so enamoured of a woman, no matter how beautiful, as to let it
interfere with his business. When a man who, for the time being, has
the leading role in a prospective revolution, so far forgets himself as
to waste a week of valuable time in running after a flirtatious female
they are quite likely to conclude that he is too foolish and reckless
to be trusted with such an important matter. They would argue that
no man who could be relied on to carry out their plan would display
such lack of judgment. It is possible that there may be some other
reason for the situation in which you find yourself, but I doubt it.
The wisest course for you is to tell me how you can be reached, and
leave Cairo, for you can gain nothing by staying here. It is known
to many persons that I know you and if any one should want to get in
communication with you, I will be able to tell him how to do it.”
Possessing all the pride of a full-blooded man, I resented the
calm assertion that I had been ensnared by a flirt, and a somewhat
acrimonious argument followed, but, in looking back at it now, I am
willing to admit that probably my friend was right about it. Perhaps
Ialla was not, after all, the perfect woman that, under the magic spell
of her marvellous beauty, I imagined her to be, and possibly if I had
not surrendered so suddenly to her charms Arabi Pasha might have been
freed and Egypt might now be an Empire. Whether or not that is true, I
have no regrets on the subject, except that I never saw Ialla again. My
moonlight meetings with her were, at least, a diversion, and they gave
me great enjoyment while they lasted.
Though it went against the grain I was compelled to admit that my
friend’s advice was the best I could get, and I reluctantly followed
it. Feeling that for once my destiny had played it a bit low down on
me I crossed the Mediterranean and took a French liner for New York.
I had spent four months and much money in studying the Sphinx, but I
did not count them as lost. Ialla’s loveliness was in my mind for a
long time and while it remained I cherished the hope that I would be
recalled to carry out the plan for the rescue of her uncle, but the
summons never came. Eleven years later Arabi was pardoned and returned
to Egypt, but his influence among his own people was gone; the fact
that he had accepted a pardon implied, to their astute minds, a secret
agreement with their enemies and caused him to be regarded as a tool of
the British. But, as very recent events have demonstrated, the fires
of freedom are still burning, and now and again signal smoke is seen
rising over India.
CHAPTER XIV
RAPID-FIRE REVOLTS
The friendliness of Fate, in throwing me in the way of adventures which
were beyond my discernment, was never more plainly evidenced than on
my return to New York from Australia and Egypt in 1890. On the trip
across the Atlantic my mind had wandered away from the West Indies and
I experienced an increasing desire to return to South America, but
one of the first things I heard on my arrival was that my old friend
Guzman Blanco had finally been shorn of his supreme power in Venezuela
only a few months before. He had been betrayed by his friends, after
the established fashion of that captivating country, and Dr. Anduesa
Palacio, one of his enemies of years, had been made President with the
approval and assistance of Dr. Rojas Paul, the dummy whom Guzman had
left as titular head of the government while he was revelling in Paris,
his foreign capital. This discouraged me for a time in my half-formed
plan to return to my Southern stamping ground, and as I had plenty
of money and was not averse to a rest, I concluded to wait around,
Micawber like, for something to turn up. But it was not long until a
silent voice began calling me to South America; softly, at first, and
then so loudly that it came as a command. I had heard the same sort
of an order before, and only very recently, and was not disposed to
disregard it. I felt sure it would not lead me into disappointment
twice in succession.
Without knowing where or how the cruise would end, but confident it
would lead to trouble--though I did not imagine how much of it there
really would be or how unpleasant it would prove--I bought the “Alice
Ada,” a brigantine of three hundred tons, laid her on with Thos. Norton
& Sons, and got a general cargo for Rosario, Brazil, on the River
Parava. From Rosario I went one hundred miles up the river to St.
Stephens and took on a cargo of wheat for Rio Janiero. As soon as I
had looked around a little in Rio, while the cargo was being unloaded,
I understood why I had gone there, for my expectant eye distinguished
signs of a nice little revolution which was just being shaped up. These
indications, though somewhat vague to even an experienced new arrival,
were so encouraging in their promise of exciting events that I sold my
ship and took quarters at the Hotel Freitas to watch developments. I
had not long to wait before the young republic celebrated its first
revolution, but it was accomplished in such a disgracefully quiet way,
and in such marked contrast with that sort of proceeding in Venezuela,
and in Central America and the West Indies, that I was thoroughly
disgusted with the country and was tempted to move on again into new
fields. A land in which the government is changed by the force of
public sentiment alone, and without the booming of cannon and the
bursting of bombs, has no charm for me.
When the last Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II, was dragged out of bed
at night and deported without the firing of a shot, in the “Peaceful
Revolution” of November 15, 1889, Deodoro da Fonseca was made President
by the lovers of liberty and equality, which purely imaginary
conditions of life never will be found in any country. Before his
weakness had become apparent he was made Constitutional President and
Floriano Peixotto was elected Vice-President. Deodoro had neither the
firmness nor the initiative that the situation demanded. His policy was
weak and vacillating and his popularity waned rapidly. The revolution
which was in the process of formation when I arrived on the scene was,
I discovered, being quietly fomented by Floriano, the Vice-President.
He soon had the army at his back and, as the people were beginning to
clamor for him, it was an easy matter to gain the support of Admiral
Mello, the ranking officer of the Brazilian Navy, and Admiral Soldanha
da Gama, commandant of the naval academy. They brought matters to a
head on the morning of November 23, 1891. Mello took up a position at
the foot of the main street of Rio in the cruiser “Riachuelo,” the
finest ship in the navy, trained his guns on the palace of Itumary,
and sent word to Deodoro that he would open fire on him in two hours
if he did not abdicate in favor of Floriano. Deodoro abdicated in
two minutes, and dropped dead soon afterward from heart disease, and
Floriano was proclaimed President.
Before he had time to get his new chair well warmed he had a row with
Mello, and as soon as I heard of it I foresaw another revolution,
which pleasing prospect prompted me to remain in Brazil, for I did
not believe it could possibly prove as uninteresting as those that
had preceded it. Mello regarded himself as the President-maker and
considered that he was rightfully entitled to be the power behind the
throne. However, Floriano was not at all constituted for the role of
a mere figurehead and he made it plain to Mello that while he might
make courteous suggestions and even give friendly advice, he could
not go an inch beyond that. Floriano was really a remarkable man. He
was perhaps one-half Indian and the rest corrupted Portuguese; sixty
years old, with clear, brown eyes and iron gray hair and whiskers. A
strong, fine character he was; perfectly fearless, absolutely honest
and devoted to his country, whose interests he greatly advanced. He was
proud of his Indian blood, which he made a synonyme for courage and
fairness, and often referred to it. He was the best President I have
ever known, not excepting even the great Guzman.
Mello was a younger man and more of a Spaniard in his blood and his
characteristics. He had considerable bravery, of the kind that is best
displayed in the presence of a large audience, but he was impetuous and
at times foolish. He was abnormally ambitious and believed in a rule
or ruin policy. At that, he was more a man after my own heart, for he
stood for revolt and anarchy, while Floriano stood for law and order.
Soldanha da Gama, the third figure in the drama, was a strange mixture
of naval ability, cowardice, and theatrical bravery.
When Floriano refused to be dictated to or even influenced in his
views as to what was best for Brazil, Mello proceeded to plot against
him with even more earnestness than he had displayed in the plans to
overthrow Deodoro. He worked chiefly among the naval officers, the
aristocrats, the adherents of Dom Pedro, and the Catholic clergy, and
in the end they all became his allies. He was unable to shake the
army, though he tried repeatedly to create dissatisfaction among the
troops, and the influence of the priests was minimized by the fact
that the people generally were blindly in love with the new scheme of
self-government, which sounded well and appealed strongly to their
sentimental natures, and were loyal to Floriano.
As Mello’s plot shaped up I began to suspect that his real purpose was
to restore Dom Pedro to the throne and make himself the power behind
it. Mello cared nothing for titles; it was his ambition to be the
dictator of Brazil, with power as absolute as that which Guzman Blanco
had exercised for many years in Venezuela. It was natural for him to
suppose that if he reëstablished the Empire under its old ruler, Dom
Pedro would be so grateful to him, and to him alone, that he would be
thoroughly subservient to his influence. Later events confirmed me
not only in the belief that this was what was in Mello’s mind, but
that he had an understanding with Dom Pedro and, through him, with
several European rulers, who were keenly anxious to see the “divine
right of kings” perpetuated in South America. Mello considered that
the dictator to an Emperor would have more power than the dictator to
a President, and he may have even dreamed that he would some day take
the throne himself and establish a new dynasty. Dom Pedro had issued a
protest against his deposition as soon as he reached Europe, in which
all the princes of Coburg joined, and was conducting an active campaign
for his restoration. It is interesting to note, in passing, that there
is still a pretender to the throne of Brazil. When Dom Pedro died he
left his lost crown to Donna Isabella, wife of Count D’Eu, a Bourbon
prince. She passed it over to her eldest son, Peter, when he became of
age, and only recently he transferred all of his shadowy rights and
prerogatives to his younger brother, Louis, who now considers himself
the rightful ruler of Brazil. The Old World has a way of keeping up
pretenderships that is almost as ridiculous as some of the revolutions
of the New World.
It was amusing to watch the development of Mello’s rebellion, which
continued through all of 1892 and the greater part of the following
year. One would have thought that two friendly leaders were planning
rival surprise parties, in which there was to be nothing more serious
than the throwing of confetti. Floriano, surrounded by spies and
assassins but also by many loyal and devoted friends, knew perfectly
well, from his own spies, what Mello was doing, but, relying on his
own strength and the public sentiment behind him, he made no move to
check him. On the other hand, Mello was well aware that Floriano knew
all that was going on, yet neither one gave any outward sign of this
knowledge, and when they were together they appeared to be friends.
It was along in July or August, 1893, that I was delightedly dragged
into the mysterious muss, after a period of waiting that was long,
anxious, and expensive. Mello sent for me first and expressed a wish
that I go down to Santa Catharina Island, off the southern coast
of Brazil, and blow up the “Republica,” the one Brazilian warship
whose officers had remained loyal to Floriano, though finally, just
before the revolution was declared, they went over to Mello. With the
exception of Soldanha da Gama, who was neutral but whom he regarded
as more of a friend than an enemy, Mello had converted the rest of
the navy to his cause, but the “Republica” held out against him and
he wanted her put out of the way of doing him harm. He offered a cash
payment and a commission in the navy in return for her destruction, but
I could never get him down to definite terms or to a contract that
I would accept. We had several conferences, and, while we were still
negotiating, I received a call from one of Floriano’s aides, who asked
me to accompany him to the palace. He took me in the rear entrance and
up a back stairway to Floriano’s private _sala_ where, after presenting
me, he left me, as I supposed, alone with the President.
“I understand,” said Floriano, getting right down to business, “that
you were in Venezuela with President Guzman and that you have had
military training and experience.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“I am told, too, that you have made a study of high explosives and have
invented a remarkable torpedo.”
“That also is true.”
“Would you be willing to undertake a mission that would involve
considerable danger, but for which you would be well paid?”
“I am open to anything except vulgar assassination. That is my
business.”
“What do you charge for your services?”
“That depends entirely on the nature of the work.”
“Then we can leave that question open until the nature of the work has
been decided on, provided it is understood that your compensation will
be such as you are ordinarily accustomed to.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Brazil may need your services, Colonel Boynton,” with an accent on the
“Colonel.”
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted, “Captain Boynton.”
“I repeat, Colonel Boynton,” he replied, with a smile and the
suggestion of a bow. “Brazil may need your services, but I cannot tell
how soon nor in what capacity.”
“If I enter your service it will be a loyal service to the end,” I told
him.
“Consider yourself then in the service of Brazil.” As he said this he
raised his hand and from behind a curtain appeared Captain Cochrane, a
descendant of the English Admiral Cochrane who had fought for Brazil
seventy years before. He had heard all that we had said.
“As we were strangers I took this precaution,” explained Floriano. “It
will not be necessary again.”
“It was a perfectly justifiable precaution,” I replied.
Captain Cochrane then repeated in English my conversation with the
President, to be sure I understood it, after which I was escorted back
to my hotel. Immediately on my arrival there I sent word to Mello
that our negotiations were off and that I would consider no further
proposition from him.
A few days after this meeting with the President the revolution was
declared, under conditions such as one would look for on the light
opera stage but never in real life, not even in South America. On the
evening of September fifth, Floriano went to the opera, accompanied
by Mello, Soldanha and several other officers of the army and navy,
and they all sat together in the presidential box. Mello and Soldanha
excused themselves after the second act. They left their cloaks in the
box and said they would be back in a few minutes. Knowing full well the
reason for their departure and that they had no thought of returning,
Floriano bowed them out with an ironical excess of politeness.
Soldanha, who had not yet taken sides, though his sympathies were with
the “rebellion” and he subsequently allied himself with it, retired
to the naval school, on an island near the city, and Mello went on
board his flagship, the “Aquidaban.” During the night he assembled
his captains and impressively gave them their final orders, with the
dramatic announcement that the standard of revolt would be hoisted at
sunrise. His fleet, in addition to the flagship, consisted of the
“Guanabara,” “Trajano,” and “Almirante Tamandate,” protected cruisers;
the “Sete de Setembro,” a wooden barbette ship; the gunboat “Centaur,”
and two river monitors. The protected cruiser “Republica,” whose
officers had just decided to join the rest of the navy in the effort
to compel the retirement of Floriano, was coming up from down the
coast, and the “Riachuelo,” with which Mello had forced the abdication
of Deodoro, was cruising in the Mediterranean. It was not an imposing
fighting force but it was sufficient to give Mello command of the sea,
while Floriano was in control of the forts and the land forces.
At daybreak Mello seized all of the government shipping in the bay
and announced a blockade of Rio harbor. He then sent word to Floriano
that if he did not abdicate, without naming his successor, by four
o’clock that afternoon, the city would be bombarded. This threat was
also communicated to the foreign ministers, evidently in the hope that
they would try to persuade Floriano to step out, in the interests
of peace, but they promptly protested to Mello against bombardment.
Under any circumstances, they told him, unless he proposed to violate
the international rules of warfare, he could not bombard until after
formal notice of forty-eight hours, to allow the removal of neutrals
and non-combatants.
Floriano’s reply was an emphatic refusal to abdicate, and, precisely
at four o’clock, Mello answered it with one shell from a three-inch
gun, which exploded near the American consulate and killed a foreigner.
During the next week Mello fired forty or fifty shots into the city
every day but they did little damage; the fact that they apparently
were not aimed at any particular spot probably made no difference in
the execution. Frequently he would send boats ashore for supplies, to
which nobody paid any attention, and at four o’clock every afternoon
the “Aquidaban” would steam solemnly over and engage in a comic opera
duel with Fort Santa Cruz, which was located at the point of the
harbor entrance opposite Sugar Loaf Hill. Mello’s shots invariably
went clear over the fort or buried themselves in its walls, while the
gunners at the fort could not have hit him if he had stood still for
an hour, so no damage was done to either side. After about twenty
shots the “Aquidaban” would return to her anchorage, slowly and with
great dignity, and hostilities would be over until the next day at the
same hour. This daily duel, which was the star act in the serio-comic
programme, always drew a crowd to the water front. Business went on
as usual throughout the “revolution,” which was regarded with amused
interest rather than with fear.
Very soon after the firing of the first shot, Italian, English,
German, Austrian, and Portuguese warships appeared at Rio, ostensibly
to protect the rights of their citizens, but their prompt arrival,
made possible only by the fact that they were cruising close at hand,
which was in itself significant, and the attitude they assumed, made
it plain to me that they were there under secret orders to aid in the
restoration of Dom Pedro. Mello was not a rebel but a pirate, yet the
commanders of these foreign ships, all representing monarchies, gave
him their moral support, and I have always believed that only the
belated arrival of an American naval force prevented them from giving
him their active support as well. Their influence was so strong that
when Rear Admiral Oscar F. Stanton, of the United States Navy, finally
reached Rio, he made the inexcusable mistake of saluting Mello. For
this he was speedily recalled, Rear Admiral Gherardi being sent down
to succeed him. Stanton’s excuse was that he wished to maintain a
neutral position, but no question of neutrality was involved. I know
that several of the American naval officers who arrived later shared
my view that Mello was a pirate and should have been blown out of the
water by the combined fleets. It was evident, from the prompt recall
of Stanton, that the Navy Department at Washington held the same
opinion but had not sufficient courage in its convictions to order the
suppression of Mello. The ranking officer of the combined fleets was
the Italian Vice Admiral, Magnani. The senior British officer present
was Captain Lang, of the “Sirius.” Until the arrival of an officer of
flag rank Captain Henry F. Picking, of the “Charleston,” was the senior
officer present of the American Navy, and next to him was Captain (now
Rear Admiral, retired) Silas W. Terry, on the “Newark.”
About a week after the firing of the first shot I was on my way to
the water front to witness the regular afternoon duel between the
“Aquidaban” and Fort Santa Cruz, when I was overtaken by a government
carriage, and Col. Pimental, whom I knew well, asked me to get in with
him as he had orders for me from Floriano. He drove along the shore of
the bay to a new galvanized building, at a point some distance beyond
the island of the naval school and near the railway machine shops. On
the way he explained that this building had been erected for my use
and in it I was to construct, as rapidly as possible, a large torpedo
with which to destroy the “Aquidaban.” I was to have whatever I called
for, but, from the time work was begun on the torpedo until it was
finished, I was to allow no one to enter or leave the building, for
fear that word of what was being done should get to Mello’s spies. The
structure was of ample size and had comfortable living accommodations
for ten men, which was as many as I could use. I took up my quarters in
the building at once and after drawing on the master mechanic of the
railroad for a lot of copper plates and such other supplies as I would
need, got right to work.
Late that evening I heard the rumble of a carriage outside and a
moment later in walked Floriano, with an old gray shawl around his
shoulders, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Marine, and
a Senator. Floriano inquired first as to my comfort and I assured him
that I was entirely satisfied. Then he said: “I am relying on you,
Colonel Boynton, to save Brazil from further trouble by destroying the
‘Aquidaban.’ You will have to make and use your torpedo, with such help
as we can give you. Now that you know what you are to do, what is your
price?”
I told him I would expect to be paid the appraised value of the ship
if I sank her or put her out of commission. After consulting with the
others Floriano agreed to my terms; but to prevent future argument we
fixed the value of the ship at six hundred thousand dollars gold and a
contract along these lines was drawn up and signed the next day.
The torpedo which I built for this business was the largest I had ever
made. It was twelve feet long and four feet in diameter in the middle,
and carried more than five hundred pounds of dynamite, for I wanted to
be certain that the ship would be at least disabled by her contact with
it. I paid the most careful attention to the mechanism and, to prevent
the possibility of a miss-fire, arranged a double detonating apparatus
which would explode the main charge when either one of the projecting
arms was forced backward by pressing against the hull of the ship. With
the completion of the torpedo, which it took us ten days to build, I
tested it with five hundred and fifty pounds of iron and found that I
had calculated the air chamber support to precisely the proper point,
for it floated just below the surface of the water. Floriano came down
to witness the final test, after a few leaks, developed by the first
one, had been closed, and handed me a commission as Colonel in the
Brazilian Army. He approved the plan of campaign which I had mapped
out and said the necessary orders would be issued at once.
“I believe you will succeed,” were his parting words. “I hope you will
come back as General Boynton.”
To the south of Rio Bay, which is the main harbor, and within the city
itself, lies the little Bay of Botafogo, round like an apple and with
a narrow entrance. On the north side of the harbor and cut off from it
by a long, low peninsula which ends in a high promontory, is Nictheroy
Bay. This peninsula, which is so low for a considerable distance back
of its terminating eminence that it is covered by water at high tide,
when it is crossed by a bridge, lies west of the Fort of Santa Cruz.
Mello’s fleet was anchored off the peninsula, on the opposite side of
the harbor from the city. While Mello had seized all of the government
vessels in the harbor there were a few tugs left, which, to prevent his
interference, were flying the British flag, on the pretence that they
were owned by Englishmen. I was to be given one of these tugs and my
plan was to steal around into Nictheroy Bay at night and anchor close
under the hill at the end of the peninsula, where I would be hidden
from the rebel fleet. In the morning I would load the torpedo and wait
for the daily exchange of cannon courtesies between the “Aquidaban”
and the fort. An officer at Santa Cruz was to signal me when Mello left
his anchorage and then, towing the submerged torpedo by a wire rope
too small to be detected, I would steam out from behind the sheltering
promontory and head for Botafogo Bay. This would carry me directly
across the course of the “Aquidaban,” which would pick up the towing
line on her bow, drag the torpedo alongside of her, and, as I expected
and hoped, be destroyed by the explosion which would ensue when one of
its long arms came in contact with her hull.
The line by which the torpedo was to be towed was two thousand feet
long and was supported at intervals by little floats that were painted
the color of the water. This gave me room to keep well clear of the
“Aquidaban,” and I did not think Mello would see anything suspicious
in an insignificant little towboat, under the British flag, running
diagonally across his bow at a distance of a quarter of a mile. This
was the only plan which gave promise of success, for it was impossible
for an unknown craft of any kind to get close to the “Aquidaban” while
she was at anchor, and there never has been any doubt in my mind that
it would have worked perfectly but for the fact that Mello had full
knowledge of our movements and our plans. Our operations had been
conducted with such extreme secrecy that we had no suspicion that
they were known to any one but Floriano and his most trusted advisers
but, as a matter of fact, Mello’s spies in high places had kept him
constantly advised as to what we were doing and when we intended to
strike. To show his high regard for the foreign fleet of royalty he
reported us to the British naval commander and we were captured in
humiliating fashion, while the “Aquidaban” remained safely at her
anchorage. Mello expected that I would be turned over to him and that
he would have the satisfaction of ordering my execution, but in that he
was disappointed.
My tug, in charge of a French engineer and four Brazilians, was
sent down to me on the afternoon of September 25, and as soon as it
was dark, with the torpedo covered with canvas on deck and twelve
fifty-pound boxes of dynamite in the pilot house, we steamed around
in Nictheroy Bay, hugging the shore all of the way. To have loaded
the torpedo before we started on the necessarily hazardous trip would
have been extremely dangerous, for any accidental pressure on one of
its arms would have blown all of us to pieces. We anchored in the lee
of the peninsular promontory, well out of sight of the rebel fleet,
and as soon as it was daylight I unscrewed the manhole of the torpedo
and proceeded to pack it full of dynamite. All of the men were either
helping me or intently watching the novel proceeding, for we were not
expecting visitors. I was just putting in the last box of the explosive
when there was a shrill whistle and a launch from the “Sirius” swung
alongside. The lieutenant in charge of our unbidden and most unwelcome
guest jumped aboard of us and came aft before I could brush the
dynamite from my arms.
“Who commands this craft?” he demanded.
“I do,” I replied.
“What are you doing with that flag up there?” pointing to the British
ensign.
“That flag was there when I came aboard and took command,” which was
true. Then, seeing that he thought I was trying to evade the question,
I added: “I am flying it for protection from a pirate fleet, just as
others are displaying it in Rio Bay and in the city. Your commanding
officer has sanctioned that custom by his silence. I am an officer
of the established Brazilian Government, obeying the orders of my
superiors in Brazilian waters, and I claim the right to take advantage
of that custom, if I care to do so, just as others have done and are
doing.”
“I think the other cases are different from yours,” replied the
lieutenant. “What is that?” pointing to the dynamite.
“Examine it for yourself.”
“It looks like dynamite.”
“Probably.”
“Well, sir, I am ordered by Captain Lang to take you on board Her
Majesty’s ship ‘Sirius.’”
It was of no use to make a fight so I accompanied him, with excessive
and sarcastic politeness. He took all of my crew with him, leaving a
guard on the tug. Captain Lang was on deck waiting for me and was quite
agitated when I was brought before him, but he was much more heated
before we parted company, and it was a warm day to begin with.
“Captain Boynton, what does this mean?” he roared at me.
“What does what mean?” I innocently inquired.
“Your lying over there in a vessel loaded with munitions of war and
flying the British flag?”
“It means simply that I am an officer in the Brazilian Army, on duty
under the guns of a rebel fleet, and that I am flying the British flag
for whatever virtue it might have in protecting me from that pirate,
Admiral Mello. That flag has been used as a protection by many others
and you have silently acquiesced in such use of it.”
“But, sir, are you not aware that this is piracy?”
“I am not aware, sir, that it is any such thing.”
“But I tell you that it is piracy to fly the British flag over the ship
of another nation and carrying munitions of war.”
“It might be just as well, Captain Lang, for you to remember that you
are not now on the high seas. An act of the British Parliament is of
no effect within another country, and if you will consult your chart
you will find that we are in the enclosed waters of Brazil. Under such
conditions no mandate of yours which affects my rights can be enforced,
unless you have the nerve to take the chances that go with your act.”
“You may soon find to the contrary,” shouted the captain, who was
letting his temper get the best of him. “I have a mind to send you to
Admiral Mello as a prisoner. You know what he would do to you.”
“Oh, Captain Lang,” I said jeeringly, “you know you wouldn’t do that.”
“And pray why not, sir?”
“Because you dare not do it, and that’s why,” I told him, as I pointed
at the “Charleston” which, with her decks cleared for action, was
anchored only a few hundred yards off to port. “I dare you to do it. I
defy you to do it. Send me aboard the ‘Aquidaban’ if you dare.” I was
making a strong bluff and I got away with it. The outraged Britisher
swelled up with anger and turned almost purple, but he did not reply
to my taunt. Instead, he summoned the master at arms and placed me in
his charge, ordered his launch, and dashed off to the “Charleston.” He
returned in half an hour and, without another word to me, ordered a
lieutenant to take me aboard the “Charleston.”
I will not deny that I was a bit easier in my mind when I saw my own
flag flying over me, yet had I known the treatment I was to receive
under it, I would have felt quite differently.
It was easy to see, from the reception which Captain Picking gave
me, that he had been influenced by the attitude of Captain Lang,
for he took about the same view of my action. I told him that I was
an American citizen, temporarily in the employment of the Brazilian
Government, as were several other Americans who loved fighting and
excitement; that I had violated no law of the United States or of
Brazil, and I demanded that I be set ashore. He coldly informed me
that I would be confined to the ship, at least until he had consulted
with the American Minister and communicated with Washington. Not only
did Picking regard Mello as a rebel rather than a pirate but he went
even farther and recognized him as a belligerent, which meant that
he was entitled to all the rights of war. This opinion was shaped,
undoubtedly, by the royalist commanders in the harbor, whose superior
rank seemed to have a hypnotic effect on Picking, and their influence
over him was so strong that soon after I arrived on the “Charleston”
I was confined to my room, as a dangerous character and a man who
threatened the peace of nations. With this decidedly unpleasant
recollection, however, it is a pleasure to know that the other American
naval officers, who arrived later, took exactly my view of the whole
situation and became champions of my cause. They told Picking that
Mello was a pirate and should be treated as such, and that I was being
deprived of my liberty without the slightest warrant of law, but they
were powerless to accomplish my release, as Picking was in command,
as the senior officer present, and all of the correspondence with
Washington was conducted through him. Captain Terry, though he never
had met me and could not be charged with having his opinion biassed
by any personal relation, was especially vigorous in urging that I be
released and that Mello’s farcical revolution be suppressed without
further ceremony. He denounced my detention as a disgrace to the
American Navy and though he and Picking had been bosom friends up to
that time, a coolness developed between them, on account of the manner
in which I was treated, that continued until Picking’s death, years
later.
The manner in which that old fighter, Rear Admiral Benham, put an end
to the “revolution” in the following January, soon after his arrival
at Rio, should be well remembered, for it was a noble deed and an
example of the good judgment generally displayed by American naval
officers when they are not hampered by foolish orders from Washington.
In the vain hope of arousing enthusiasm in his lost cause, Mello had
gone down the coast, where he figuratively and literally took to the
woods when he saw the folly of his mission, leaving Da Gama in command
of the blockading fleet. The captains of several American merchant
ships, who had been prevented for weeks from landing their cargoes for
Rio, appealed to Admiral Benham who took prompt action. To show his
contempt for the rebels, whom he properly regarded as pirates, making
no secret of the fact, Admiral Benham assigned the smallest ship in his
squadron, the little “Detroit,” commanded by that great little man,
Commander (now Rear Admiral, retired) W. H. Brownson, to escort the
merchantmen up to the docks. At the same time he warned Da Gama not to
carry out his threat to fire on them when they crossed his line. With
his ship cleared for action, as were the “San Francisco,” “New York,”
“Charleston,” and “Newark,” which stood guard over the rebel fleet,
at a considerable distance, Brownson stood in alongside one of the
merchantmen. He steamed over close to the “Trajano,” on which Da Gama’s
flag was flying, and which, with the “Guanabara,” was guarding the
shore.
“I will recognize no accidental shots,” shouted Brownson to the rebel
admiral, “so don’t fire any. If you open fire I will respond, and if
you reply to that I will sink you.”
As the merchant ship came in line the “Trajano” fired a shot across her
bow. Brownson replied instantly with a six-pound shell which exploded
so close to the “Trajano” that it threw water on her forward deck. A
musket shot was fired from the “Guanabara,” and it was answered and
silenced with a bullet from the “Detroit.”
After seeing his charge safely tied up to the dock Brownson circled
contemptuously around the “Trajano” and ordered a marine to send a
rifle shot into her sternpost, as an evidence of his esteem for her
commander. The discomfited Da Gama, who was looking for some excuse to
end his hopeless revolt, fell over himself getting into his launch,
raced over to the “Detroit” and tendered his sword to Brownson.
Brownson told him he had not demanded his surrender, as he seemed to
think, and could not accept it, but that he must keep his hands off
American shipping if he wished to continue his mortal existence. The
“revolution” ended right there, but unfortunately I was not present to
witness its collapse. The august naval authorities were scandalized
when this display of good sense was reported to them and they carefully
prepared a message of censure to Benham for permitting such conduct,
but before it was despatched the New York morning newspapers reached
Washington--and after a perusal of their enthusiastic editorials on the
subject a message of commendation was sent to him instead.
During my confinement on the “Charleston” I was occasionally allowed
on deck for exercise, but I had no other diversion, which really was
an aggravation, than to watch the intermittent bombardment of the city
and the regularly scheduled exchange of shots between the rebel fleet
and the forts. In hope of meeting with greater success Mello would
sometimes engage the forts with several of his ships and, as time
wore on, there was some improvement in the marksmanship on both sides,
though nothing like reasonable accuracy was ever attained. The only
incident which was at all exciting was the sinking of the “Javary,” one
of Mello’s monitors. A shell from Fort Sao Joao dropped between her
turrets and as she heeled over from the explosion an accidental shot
from Fort Santa Cruz struck her below the water line. She went down
by the stern with a rush. The guns in her forward turret were pointed
toward the town and they were fired, in a spirit of sheer bravado, just
as she disappeared. Mello threw a few shells into the city every day,
as evidence that he was still in rebellion, but I was told that less
than half a dozen of them did any damage and they certainly produced
little excitement. Soldanha da Gama came out in the open and joined
forces with Mello while I was on the “Charleston.”
I was not allowed to communicate with any one on shore, and, except
from hearsay, Floriano had no means of knowing whether I was alive or
dead. Captain Picking claimed to have been told by a church dignitary,
who, of course, was a friend of Mello, that it would be unsafe to set
me ashore as I was certain to be assassinated by Mello sympathizers,
but that doubtless was a subterfuge by which he sought to justify
his position. After I had been subjected to this outrageous treatment
for two months--from September 26 to November 26--I was suddenly and
without any explanation transferred to the “Detroit,” which immediately
put to sea. Off Cape Frio we met another “Sirius,” a Lamport & Holt
liner bound for New York, and, in charge of Ensign Jas. F. Carter, I
was transferred to her. We reached New York on December 19, 1893, and I
was taken to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. An hour after my arrival a message
was received from Washington ordering my release. The Navy Department
had me on its hands, did not know what to do with me, and finally, in
line with the vacillating policy then in vogue, took that cowardly
method of getting me away from the danger zone. Adhering to my rule of
never talking about myself or my troubles I made no complaint, but I
have always considered that my treatment was a disgrace, and most of
the naval officers who were in Rio at the same time will bear me out
in that statement. It was the sort of treatment one might expect in an
absolute monarchy but not in a republic, with all of its false boasts
about the freedom of the citizen and protection of his rights.
CHAPTER XV
REVOLUTION AS A FINE ART
Notwithstanding the discouragement I had met with in Brazil, and
the manner in which I had been deprived of a fresh fortune and much
excitement by the discovery of my plan to send Admiral Mello and his
rebel flagship skyward with a beautiful torpedo of my own invention and
construction, the passion for adventure was still strong within me,
but I was unable to gratify it with the resources then at my command.
My finances, already considerably crimped by my extravagant way of
living and several unprofitable years, had been still further depleted
by my long and idle stay at Rio Janeiro, while waiting for the Mello
insurrection to become an actuality, and I felt it the part of wisdom
to assure myself of an income until something opened up that would be
more exciting than working for a living.
Therefore, soon after my prompt release from the Brooklyn Navy Yard,
just before Christmas in 1893, after my outrageous treatment at the
hands of Captain Picking and the Navy Department, I engaged with the
Maxim Powder & Torpedo Company to travel through Central and South
America and the West Indies and sell munitions of war to governments,
or to any one who had the necessary cash or could furnish reasonable
security. But before setting forth I organized, with several of my
friends, the International Export & Trading Company. Through this
concern it was proposed to arm and finance any promising revolution I
might encounter whose leaders would guarantee, in the event of success,
to pay us anywhere from three to ten times the amount of money we had
actually invested in the enterprise, and give us valuable concessions
besides. No get-rich-quick scheme that was ever devised equals the
financing of a revolution, when it succeeds and is honestly managed.
The experience tables of the turbid tropics prove that the chances
are somewhat against the success of these outbursts of predatory
patriotism, but the prospects of failure are amply discounted by the
exorbitant terms of the contract; the great trouble is that they
generally are in charge of men who have no more respect for a written
agreement than for a moral obligation. The man who bets at random
on the honesty of revolutionary leaders in Latin America, no matter
how sincere their promises nor what odds they offer, stands a much
better chance of winning from a faro game operated with a two-card
box, but as I had a personal acquaintance with or knowledge of most
of the disturbing elements in those days, and knew how far they could
ordinarily be trusted, I thought I might run across one or two with
whom it would be safe to do business. In case any such ambitious
ones were found I intended to become an active participant in the
proceedings, as a sort of guarantee of good faith and to increase my
interest in them.
Determined to tackle the hardest proposition first, I boarded an Atlas
liner for Hayti, where old Florville Hippolyte was at the zenith of his
power. I knew that while I had been smuggling Chinamen into Australia,
General Legitime, whom I had accompanied into exile at Jamaica when
President Salomon deported him for plotting against the government,
at the same time that he conveyed to me a broad hint to leave the
country without a delay of more than a few hours, had returned to the
island in 1888, after an absence of more than three years, and had led
a temporarily successful revolt through which he had himself elected
President of the provisional government, in succession to the man who
had exiled him. Gen. Seide Thelemaque promptly organized an opposing
government at Cape Haitien, with Gen. Hippolyte at the head of it.
Thelemaque was soon afterward killed in battle but Hippolyte continued
the revolution. Through its navy the United States gave him its “moral
support,” which is a powerful thing when intelligently directed, and
within a year from the time he landed in Hayti to lead his little
rebellion, Legitime was compelled to again return ingloriously to his
haven in Jamaica. Two months later, in October, 1889, Hippolyte was
formally elected President and he continued in power until he died on
horseback, at the head of his army, near Port au Prince, in the Spring
of 1896.
Because of my affiliation with Legitime, whom I had mistakenly picked
out as the coming man in Hayti, Hippolyte and I had quarrelled just
before Legitime and I were ordered from the country; but that had been
years before, and I deluded myself with the belief that, if he had
not forgotten the affair, it had been forgiven, for there is supposed
to be some sort of honor even among soldiers of fortune and the men
with whom, at different times and under varying conditions, they ally
themselves. The lovers of liberty, and lucre, who command insurrections
are out chiefly for what there is in it for themselves, while the
simple soldiers of fortune, like myself, are in the game mainly for
the excitement and amusement of conflict. It is against the ethics
of the profession of promoting trouble for the members of one faction
to cherish grudges against the other, except perhaps under conditions
involving personal honor, and that is not often at stake. However, I
soon learned that Hippolyte, who was essentially a savage with a lot
of uncultured cunning, was no believer in the unwritten revolutionary
rules.
The steamer reached Port au Prince in the morning and I went to
the Hotel Bellevue, which faced the park, directly opposite the
presidential palace. I had just finished breakfast when an American
quadroon named Belford, who boasted the proud title of Admiral of the
Haytian Navy and with whom I had become well acquainted during my
previous visit, entered the hotel. He recognized me instantly and after
an exchange of greetings and some random remarks about the old days, he
wanted to know what I was doing there. I handed him my card, showing
that I was the representative of the Maxim Powder & Torpedo Co.
“But what is your real business?” he inquired with a smile.
“The card states it correctly.”
“How long are you going to stay?”
“At least long enough to sell old Hippolyte a good bill of goods, I
hope.”
“You are not going to see the old man himself?” he incredulously
inquired.
“Surely. I hope to see him to-day.”
“You’d better be careful, Boynton. He remembers you in a way that is
likely to make trouble for you.”
“He ought to have forgotten all about our little difference by this
time, or at least he should not harbor hatred of me.”
“The old man has a long memory. He never forgets and I never have known
him to forgive.”
I laughed at his friendly anxiety but he continued in the same strain.
While we were talking we saw a young officer coming up the path to the
hotel. “Here comes one of the old man’s aides,” said Belford. “He’s
after you already.”
I told him it was impossible, for I had been in town only a few hours,
but he insisted he was right and quickly left me so we should not be
found together. I stepped into a side room where the young officer came
up to see me in a few minutes, guided by the hotel proprietor.
“This is Captain Boynton?” he said, with more of declaration than
inquiry.
“At your service, sir.”
“President Hippolyte requests you to call on him at three o’clock this
afternoon.”
“Present my compliments to the President and tell him I will be at the
palace at that hour,” I replied.
Belford rejoined me when the aide was out of sight. He said he did
not like the looks of things and advised me to go back on board the
steamer, which was still in the harbor. I told him I thought he was
unnecessarily alarmed, but that anyway I had come to Hayti as an
American citizen on legitimate business, and I proposed to stay until
it had been transacted.
In the middle of the afternoon I donned full evening dress, according
to the court requirement, and presented myself at the palace, where I
was at once ushered into Hippolyte’s private reception room.
“What brings you here, Captain Boynton?” was the sharp salutation of
the old black butcher.
“I am selling munitions of war,” I replied, and handed him my card.
“Is that all?” he asked, with a look as keen as a razor and in a voice
almost as cutting.
“That is all.”
With this assurance, which seemed to carry conviction, Hippolyte
relaxed considerably and shook hands with me.
“I want to sell you some smokeless powder,” I told him. “It is the
latest thing and is a great aid to annihilation.”
“Don’t want it,” was his brusque response.
“It is almost noiseless, as well,” I urged. “With its use an enemy
would find it difficult to locate your troops.”
“That is worse yet,” he said, with as much of a smile as his ugly face
was acquainted with. “We want powder that will make much smoke and lots
of noise.”
I told him I had that kind too, and other things which he ought to have.
“Well,” he said, with a suggestion of impatience, “go to the Minister
of War and get your order, and then get out. Where are you going from
here?”
“To Santo Domingo.”
“Good. I’ll help you. The ‘Toussaint l’Ouverture’ [a little gunboat
named for the negro Napoleon of Hayti] will take you there when you are
ready. You must be prepared to sail within a week.”
“Why all this hurry?” I inquired in great surprise. “It has been years
since I was in Port au Prince and I want to revisit old familiar places
and renew acquaintance with old friends, if there are any left.” I
might have added that I disputed his right to prescribe the length of
my stay, but I did not wish to provoke a row with the old fellow, at
that time.
He almost beamed on me as he replied, “I like you, Captain, but I don’t
want you in Hayti. You can stay just one week.”
I told him I earnestly hoped he would extend the time limit and left
him, backing out, if you please. I went direct to the Minister of War,
who made out a memorandum covering a large consignment of fighting
materials and said he would send the official order to my hotel, which
he did. Soon after my return to the hotel I was introduced to Freeman
Halstead, the correspondent of a great New York newspaper, who had been
in Hayti for some time. I had noticed him talking with the proprietor
that morning, when Hippolyte’s aide came to the hotel in search of me.
In the interval he had cabled his paper that I was in Hayti and had
received reply, he said, to “stick to Boynton until further orders.” I
told him I had no news and did not expect to make any, but he declared
that he would stand by to see what happened. He said he was on an
intimate footing with Hippolyte and suggested that he might be able to
help me.
During the evening I received a call from an old German acquaintance,
named Hefferman, and at his invitation I accompanied him to his home.
His wife necessarily was a native negress for, on account of the
stringent anti-foreign law, all of his property stood in her name.
He confided to me the fact that he was the agent for Gen. Mannigat,
another would-be revolutionary leader who was in exile at Jamaica,
and that with the aid of a French woman, known as Natalie, of whom
Hippolyte was greatly enamoured, he had just formulated a plan to
kidnap the President. His scheme was to have Natalie give Hippolyte
some drugged wine and, while he was unconscious, put him in a box
and bundle him off to a waiting sailing ship which would proceed to
Jamaica, where the deposed and dopey President would be turned over to
Mannigat, who could make such terms with him as he desired. To the mind
of my German friend this would establish a new standard in revolutions
and he wanted me to share in his glory, in return for my assistance.
I complimented him on his idea of stealing a President, which, under
such conditions as he described, might be accomplished, but pointed out
that to make his coup successful he must have Mannigat on the ground
with a force sufficiently large to seize and hold the government when
Hippolyte was removed; that unless this was done both of them would
be frozen out by some cockaded criminal who was waiting for just such
an opportunity. I told him if the conditions which I had stipulated
could be complied with I would be glad to finance and equip the revolt,
subject to satisfactory guarantees, but that as it stood I could have
nothing to do with it.
It was late when we finished our talk and I made the mistake of
spending the night with Hefferman who, as it turned out, was vaguely
suspected of being disloyal to Hippolyte, or at least out of
sympathy with him, though there was no notion that he was Mannigat’s
confidential agent. As a result of my long visit to the German, the
mistaken suspicion was created that I had come to Hayti to plot against
the President and was trying to draw Hefferman into my plans. This
suspicion soon became apparent. Halstead and Belford told me there was
no doubt, from what they had heard at the palace and elsewhere, that
Hippolyte thought I had lied to him and believed I was there to make
trouble for him. On the sixth day after my arrival Belford told me he
was to take me on the “Toussaint” the next day, ostensibly to convey
me to Santo Domingo, but that he had secret orders, from Hippolyte
himself, to see to it that I “fell overboard” well out at sea and was
not rescued. He begged me to get out of the country that day, as he
would have to obey orders or “walk the plank” himself. Halstead brought
me word that I was to be arrested the next day and he was positive that
I was to be “shot while attempting to escape” or put out of the way in
some such fashion. That made it look as though the old scoundrel meant
business and I concluded to give him the slip. Halstead declared he
was going with me and as I knew I could rely on him I let him arrange
the details of our departure. Pretending that he was going to Jacmel
he sent his trunk and mine, both marked as his own, on board a Dutch
steamship which had come into port that morning and was to leave the
next day.
Against the protests of both Halstead and Belford I paid Hippolyte a
parting call that afternoon. I thanked him for his courtesy and the
order for arms and told him I would be ready to sail the next morning
on the “Toussaint,” which I expected would be waiting for me. The old
villain was in his happiest mood and even joked with me about latter
day conditions in Hayti as compared with those which had existed when
I was there before. If I had not known what was in his mind I might
have thought he was simply glad I was going away without having stirred
up any trouble for him, but, knowing his murderous plans, I appreciated
that he was gloating over me. The strange situation amused me so that I
laughed immoderately at his jokes and, as all of his gloating was to be
in anticipation, I let him enjoy himself to his fill.
“Good-bye, my friend,” he said as I was leaving. “I wish you a quiet
and peaceful trip to-morrow.”
He chuckled over his irony and I smiled back at him, with my thanks.
That evening, after Halstead had loudly announced in the hotel office
that he expected a visitor at eleven o’clock and wished him sent
directly to his room, he and I slipped out by a back way, went to a
lonely spot on the beach where he had a boat in waiting, and rowed out
to the Dutch ship. On account of his newspaper connection Halstead had
much influence with the captain and when the ship was searched for me
the next morning, on the pretence that I was a political prisoner who
was attempting to escape, I was not found.
We went to Jamaica, where Halstead formerly had lived, and there I
got in touch with General Mannigat, and went over his plans against
Hippolyte. He impressed me as a fighter and reasonably honest and he
convinced me that he had a considerable following in Hayti. He was
positive that if he had enough arms he could capture the country, so
I arranged with him that the International Export & Trading Co., my
concern for promoting revolutions, would ship him twenty-five thousand
dollars’ worth of munitions of war on the receipt of three thousand
dollars in cash and in the further consideration on his part of a
pledge that thirty-three per cent of the customs receipts at Port au
Prince would be turned over to us, until we had been paid two hundred
and twenty thousand dollars, which was at the rate of ten dollars for
every one dollar that we risked. I drew up a contract to this effect,
which he signed, and sent the order for the arms to New York, with
instructions to fill it when Mannigat sent the three thousand dollars.
The money never was sent, but I still hold the contract, as a souvenir.
Mannigat was in doubt as to how soon the requisite amount of cash could
be raised, so it was arranged that I should be advised when it was
forwarded to New York, in order that I might return and take an active
part in his operations, and I went on to the Isthmus of Panama, then a
part of Colombia. I stopped at the International Hotel, probably so
named because it was the worst in the world, at Colon, and made no
secret of my business there, or anywhere else; in fact I rather boasted
of it, because of the novelty of being engaged in legitimate commerce,
even though I was filibustering on the side when the inducements were
attractive. Within a few days I was approached by a young Colombian who
had been educated in New Jersey and was a good deal of an American in
his ideas. Without telling me what they were for, but giving me grounds
for drawing my own conclusions, he ordered three thousand Winchester
rifles and the same number of revolvers, with a large quantity of
ammunition. He said he would give me New York exchange in part payment
of the bill the following day, and that the balance would be paid when
they were delivered, at a point to be designated later.
During the night that came on the heels of this conversation I heard a
few pistol shots but paid no attention to them, as there seemed to be
no resultant excitement. In the morning I discovered that two hundred
alleged revolutionary plotters, of whom my young customer of the day
before was one of the chiefs, had been arrested between darkness
and dawn and rounded up in a big yard, surrounded by a high fence,
directly back of the hotel. At breakfast I was looked at curiously
and I soon heard talk that I was also to be taken into custody. A fat
and officious English butcher, who was employed by the Governor of
Panama to spy on all English-speaking visitors, had reported my meeting
with the supposed rebel leader and had advised that I be arrested on
the ground that I was fomenting internal disorder. I knew, of course,
that I could establish my innocence, but the administration of the law
in Latin America is such a fearful and wonderful thing that it might
take me weeks or months to do it, and, besides that, I had no desire
for a clash with the Colombian Government and the notoriety which
would result from it. Therefore, when trouble appeared certain I took
refuge with the British consul, who was just then the acting American
consul. I explained the situation to him and, while maintaining that
my business was perfectly legitimate, denied that I had sold the young
patriot any arms, which was technically true as the deal had not been
closed, or that I knew he was involved in any proposed revolution.
The consul sympathized with me, in compliance with the most important
of the unwritten rules of the consular service, but, after satisfying
himself that the Governor had been prejudiced against me, he advised
that the easiest and quickest way out of the difficulty was the best.
The steamship “Ferdinand de Lesseps” was leaving the next day for the
Spanish Main, which was where I wanted to go, and I went on board of
her, under escort of the consul. I was running into more trouble on
this trip than I had ever before encountered in ten times the same
length of time and it began to look as though I had brought a hoodoo on
myself by forsaking the intricate paths of adventure for the broad, not
the straight and narrow, way of ordinary trade.
Not wishing to take any further chances with Colombia I did not even go
ashore at Savanilla or Cartagena but went on to Venezuela, where Gen.
Joachim Crespo was now in command. The rule of President Palacio, whose
supporters had betrayed my old friend Guzman Blanco, had lasted but two
years and was followed in rapid succession by a series of revolutions.
The betrayal of Guzman seemed to have put a curse on the country, for
there was disorder all through the Palacio regime and immediately
following it there were three dictatorships in one year. Finally, in
October, 1892, General Crespo entered Caracas and restored peace so
completely that shortly before my arrival he was elected Constitutional
President. I recalled that when Crespo was a young staff officer I had
recommended him to Guzman for his loyalty and intelligence, and, if he
knew of this incident, I thought it might now prove of advantage to me
in my new occupation.
As we were warping into the dock at La Guaira the chief of police, who
was a new man to me, came aboard and looked over the baggage of all
of the passengers who were to land there. When we had disembarked he
slipped his arm through mine and quietly told me I was under arrest
and to go with him. Three officers stepped up behind us to enforce
his orders and they all looked me over as though they suspected that
I might be full of dynamite. Instead, I was full of questions and
protests, but not a word could I get out of them as to the reason for
the surprising proceeding. They escorted me to the police station at
the end of the long wharf and after I had been carefully searched
and relieved of everything but my money I was taken to the fort on
the hill and placed in a strong room, if not a comfortable one. The
next day I was removed to the Casa Publica, or public prison, at
Caracas, where I was not surprised to find several old acquaintances.
Gen. Tosta Garcia, whom I had known intimately in the old days, was
Governor of the Federal District and had authority over the prison,
but, unfortunately, he was out of the city and the Intendiente, or
Vice-Governor, who was a stranger to me, was in charge.
Soon after my arrival I was haled to his office, apparently to be put
through an examination, but before he could ask me a question I burst
out on him with a bitter denunciation of my arrest. I told him who I
was and what I was doing and that if the search of my baggage, which
undoubtedly had been made, had failed to establish my identity there
were many prominent men in Caracas who would vouch for me, including
his own immediate superior. I urged him to explain the reason for my
detention; but he would say nothing, beyond a veiled suggestion that it
had been ordered by the President.
“Present my compliments to General Crespo,” I said, in reply to this
amazing intimation, “and remind him, if you please, that I was his
friend when my friendship was worth having. Tell him, too, that if this
is the way he treats his friends he is a contemptible snake,” or words
to that effect.
The Intendiente was plainly surprised at both my words and my manner
and without asking a question he sent me back to the prison. The next
morning he directed my release in person. “There is no reason for you
to be angry with General Crespo,” he said, by way of explanation, “for
he has ordered your unconditional release. You are free to go where
you please and stay as long as you please.”
“Which,” I replied, “is no compliment to me and in no way lessens the
outrage to which I have been subjected.”
From the Casa Publica I went to the Grand Hotel and when my traps
arrived there I found that they had been, as I supposed, thoroughly
ransacked, but nothing was missing. In the following days I encountered
many men whom I had known well or intimately fifteen years before,
when Caracas was my home for a longer period than any other city in
the world had ever been, and I was soon enjoying myself renewing
acquaintance with old friends, among whom were members of some of the
oldest families in Venezuela. To all of them who asked if I had seen
the President, I said I had not and that I did not propose to call on
him, as I had been shamefully mistreated by his order. Two or three
weeks after my arrival the Minister of War sent for me and said he
understood I was the agent of a house that sold munitions of war. I
said that was true, and when he expressed surprise that I had not
called on him I told him I had been subjected to a great injustice
through him and through General Crespo, and that while I did not expect
an apology from either one I could at least show them how I felt about
it by staying away from them, even though I punished myself and my firm
by so doing. However, if he was interested, I said I would be glad to
show him my samples and quote prices. He said he was interested, and
proved it by giving me a large order. Beyond a shrug of the shoulders,
which might have meant any one of a dozen things, he made no comment
on my complaint of ill treatment. Not long after this I went one
evening, by invitation, to the home of a doctor friend of mine and
was astonished to be ushered into the presence of President Crespo.
It developed that the doctor was one of Crespo’s intimate associates,
though I had not known it up to that time. The President greeted me
with a smile and said, as he extended his hand, “As Mahomet would not
come to the mountain, the mountain had to come to Mahomet.”
“I never expected that I would have to apologize to the man who, I
thought, owed me an apology, even though I did not look for it, but
that is the situation I find myself in now,” I said to him. “Courtesy
compels me to apologize for not having called on you to pay my
respects. But,” I added, “I am a good deal of a red Indian, which means
that I am slow to forgive an injury, and I felt that you had done me a
great injustice.”
“That was a most unfortunate incident,” he said, with evident
sincerity. “I am going to explain the reason for my action and let you
be the judge as to the justification for it.” He then told me that five
or six weeks previously a circular had been sent out by an American
agent of a Central American country, in which it was stated that a man
named Boynton, of whom a description was given, was leaving New York
ostensibly to sell munitions of war, but that his real purpose was to
assassinate President Hippolyte, of Hayti, and President Crespo, of
Venezuela. He said, of course, he had not connected me with the alleged
anarchist, for that was what the man was stated to be, or he would
never have issued the order for my arrest.
“What would you have done if you had been in my place?” asked Crespo
when he had completed his explanation.
“Precisely what you did.”
“Then, with that explanation, I apologize for the trouble I caused you.”
“That removes the last sting,” I told him, and we settled down
for a long talk. He recalled the fact that I had commended him to
General Guzman and expressed what seemed to be genuine sorrow over
the downfall of that great chieftain. Crespo was very different in
appearance from the slender young aide I had known in the old days and
was now a big, tall, and well-developed man. He had been President
before, from 1884 to 1886, as a dummy for Guzman, so he knew something
of both the responsibilities and the dangers of the office. His manner
impressed me and I took a pronounced liking to him. He said he had
directed the Minister of War to buy a bill of goods from me and to
purchase all future war supplies through me, and I told him I had
already received the first order.
“I want you to be as good a friend to me as you were to General
Guzman,” he said in parting. I told him I expected to be in Venezuela
for some time and would gladly be of service to him in any way that I
could.
A few nights later I was summoned to an adjoining house where I again
met Crespo and had a long talk with him alone. He asked me how much
I expected to make in my new business. Without going into any of the
details of my plans and giving myself the benefit of every doubt, I
told him I ought to make fifty thousand dollars a year. He said he
did not know whether he could pay me that much in salary but in one
way and another he would see that I lost nothing if I would consent
to stay with him. Through a visit to the United States shortly before
he took the field for the presidency he had learned of the work of
our Pinkertons, and had become impressed with the need of a secret
detective force of his own. It was the same idea that Guzman had when
I became his confidential agent, but Crespo wanted it worked out on
a broader scale so that he could be kept advised as to the movements
and plans of his most important enemies, and truthfully told of
the fluctuations in public sentiment. He asked me to undertake the
organization of a force of secret service agents, whom I was to employ
and pay in my own discretion and for such time as I needed them, and I
consented. A means of communication was established through an unused
rear door to his private apartments at Santa Inez Palace, to which I
was given a key, and I was to have access to him at any hour of the day
or night. I told him, however, that our intimate relationship had best
not be known, so that I could keep on friendly terms with all classes,
and that I would openly criticise him, and even denounce him, whenever
it served my purpose and his welfare.
In the two years that followed the relations between Crespo and myself
became as cordial as they were confidential. Though of humble origin,
and fully half Indian, there must have been blue blood somewhere among
his ancestors, for he was a polished gentleman in his manners and
extremely magnetic. He was tremendously powerful and while he weighed
all of two hundred and fifty pounds he was so well built and so tall
that he did not look heavy. He put me in mind of a square-rigged ship
of graceful lines, with all of her canvas set. He could hardly read and
write but he had an insatiable thirst for information, and his close
friends used to read to him at night until he fell asleep. He never
drank to excess; was a good husband and an indulgent father, and the
most continent Venezuelano I ever knew. He thought he was honest and
he certainly was loyal to his friends and stubborn in his opinions. He
was so strong in his friendship, in fact, that he was sometimes imposed
on, for with a man whom he liked and trusted he was as credulous as a
child. The advice and warnings of Donna Crespo and myself caused him
to turn a deaf ear to many of his evil-minded followers but we could
not silence all of them, and their influence prevented him from being a
really great President. In the face of a danger that could be seen, no
matter how great, he was entirely without fear, but he was in constant
dread of assassination. He was skilful in the use of revolver and rifle
and was passionately fond of firearms, perhaps because of his besetting
fear. When the first shipment of Maxim guns was received he had me
set one of them up in the yard back of Santa Inez Palace. He examined
it carefully, with all the pleasure of a child with a new toy, tested
its flexibility and radius of action, and then cut “J. Crespo” with
a stream of bullets in a brick wall sixty feet away, and gleefully
surveyed his handiwork.
Not long after entering his employ I was instrumental in saving his
life. He had gone for an outing to an _atto_, or ranch, twenty miles
from Guacara, which was near Valencia, where Gen. Ignacio Andrade was
then stationed. The night after he left Caracas I learned through
one of my agents that two hundred men were to start out at midnight
ostensibly for Saint Lucia, but when part way there they were to
proceed diagonally across the plains to the ranch at which Crespo was
stopping, where they planned to capture and shoot him. I employed a
dare-devil nephew of Guzman, whom I knew I could trust, to gallop at
top speed to Andrade with a letter in which I told him of the plot.
He immediately sent a messenger to the President to warn him of his
danger, and followed him quickly with five hundred troops. Crespo
was found two or three miles out on the ranch, and by his order the
soldiers were hidden in and around the farm buildings. When the rebels
came up they were surrounded before they knew what had happened. Their
leader was shot on the spot and his lieutenants were imprisoned.
Andrade did just what any other good soldier would have done, yet it
was this act more than anything else, I have always believed, that
caused Crespo to select him as his successor, with tragic results.
Though deeply grateful to me he considered that he owed his life to
Andrade.
Several other plots against Crespo’s life were discovered and
frustrated by the effective secret service I had created, and most
of those who were implicated in them were properly punished. One of
these murder schemes, which proved to be more serious than I at first
supposed, involved the telephone in Crespo’s private room. The plan was
to substitute for the regular receiver one which looked exactly like it
but was not insulated, and then, when the President had answered a call
and was holding the receiver against his ear, switch into the telephone
the full current from an electric light dynamo, in the hope that the
shock would be strong enough to kill him. My first inkling of this came
from an American electrical engineer and while I satisfied myself that
such a plot had been laid I never was able to get to the bottom of it,
though I had an intelligent suspicion as to who was responsible for it.
Crespo was keenly appreciative of my services and was anxious to put
me in the way of making a fortune, to take the place of the ones I had
lost in speculation and in trying to outdo the King of the Belgians
in riotous living, to which I have ever been prone. There were then
two lines of horse cars in Caracas. It seemed to me there was a good
opening for an electric system, and through Crespo’s influence I
secured a blanket franchise that was most sweeping in its terms. It
gave me the right to parallel the existing lines and build new ones
on any streets that I selected, all over the city, or, as it was
unfortunately worded “all around the city.” The only literal Spanish
equivalent for this, as far as I knew, was circumvalorate, and that
word was used to describe my rights. I was also given the right to
condemn waterfalls for thirty miles around to generate electricity.
The most desirable of these natural power plants was over toward
Macuto, and was owned by one of the Guzman family. I arranged to
sell my franchise to a Brooklyn street railway man for three hundred
thousand dollars, but when he came to investigate it he found that
_circumvalorate_ meant exactly what it said, “all around the city,” and
that outside of the lines parallel to the existing street railways,
which were specifically provided for, he could do nothing more than
build a belt line along the outside edge of the city. Crespo tried to
have the franchise amended so that it would give me, in plain terms,
just what I wanted and what I thought I had, but the amendment failed
of passage by one vote, that of the Guzman descendant, who feared that
my next move would be the condemnation of his waterfall. Naturally, the
deal fell through. That one miserable word cost me just three hundred
thousand dollars. I never have used it since then until now; it is too
expensive for ordinary conversation.
In the latter part of 1895 Crespo was asked to revive the concession
which Guzman Blanco had granted to the old Manoa Company, and which had
subsequently been annulled. This concession, which had passed through
several hands and was then held by the Orinoco Company, Limited, took
in the entire delta of the Orinoco and covered eight million acres of
land, an empire that was wonderfully rich in a variety of resources.
Crespo, believing that here was an unusual opportunity for me to
rebuild my fortunes and for him to prove his gratitude, notified the
Orinoco Co. that he would restore the concession provided I was made
manager of it. They were quite willing to employ me in this capacity
for, without any regard to what ability I might have as a manager,
they were assured of having the government with them, which is a
consideration of first importance throughout South and Central America.
I was by no means anxious to go with them but I finally yielded to
Crespo’s advice and accepted the appointment, though without binding
myself to stay more than six months. Crespo gave me, in effect, the
power of life and death over every one on the concession, and put me
above the law. He instructed the Governor of the Delta Territorio that
whatever I did was well done, and that I was not to be held to account
for it. I left for Santa Catalina, the headquarters of the concession,
on December 17, 1895, the day that President Cleveland sent to Congress
his message on the Venezuelan boundary question.
CHAPTER XVI
AT WAR WITH CASTRO
It was in vexed Venezuela that I was destined to end my days of
deviltry, but not until after a protracted warfare, none the less
bitter because it was conducted at long range, with Castro the
Contemptible, who came into power two years after I had finally settled
down at Santa Catalina as manager for the Orinoco Company. Cipriano
Castro had been in Congress as Diputado, or Member of the House, from
one of the Andean districts while I was in Caracas with President
Crespo, and though he was regarded as a good fighter and a disturbing
element he was never considered as a presidential possibility. Had that
unhappy prospect ever been suggested it could easily have been imagined
that he would, as he abundantly did, prove himself the “Vulture of
Venezuela,” the most despotic and dishonest ruler with which that
unfortunate country has ever been cursed, and the most cunning.
With all of my hatred for Castro and everything pertaining to him it
must be admitted that he was an exceedingly shrewd scoundrel; had he
been half as honest he could have made himself the greatest man in
South America. He supported Anduesa Palacio, the deposed President
who had betrayed Guzman Blanco, in his final campaign against Crespo,
before the latter was recognized as Dictator, and defeated General
Morales in the battle of Tariba on May 15, 1892. For some time after
that he was in full control of that section of the country, but with
the firm establishment of the new regime he gave up the fight. In
recognition of the military ability he had displayed, Crespo offered
to make him Collector of Customs at Puerto Cabello. He declined the
position but, egotistically exaggerating the purpose of the proffer,
he pompously promised Crespo that he would not attempt to overthrow
his government. He then came to Congress, where he would have been
almost unnoticed but for the amusement he created by solemnly removing
his shoes and putting on black kid gloves every time he sat down to
the, to him, herculean task of drafting a bill. He was as rough and
uncouth as the rest of the mountaineers; short of stature, secretive of
mind, and suspicious of every one, excepting only a few of his brother
brigands from the Andes. At the expiration of his term he returned to
the hills and bought a farm just across the Colombian border. He posed
as a cattle-raiser, but all of the reports that reached Caracas said
he was much more of a cattle-rustler, or stealer. He was a persistent
tax-dodger and his herd, which was said to show fifty different brands
that represented as many thefts, was driven back and forth across the
border to avoid the Venezuelan and Colombian collectors. He was engaged
in this profitable pastime when I left Caracas, and had disappeared
from all political and revolutionary calculations.
I first arrived at Santa Catalina, whither I had gone on the urgent
advice of Crespo, early in 1896. It was a straggling little town,
with the company’s headquarters, a large wooden building containing
forty rooms, which was used for both residential and administrative
purposes, standing close to the bank of the Piacoa River, a branch of
the Orinoco, opposite the lower end of the Island of Tortola--the Iwana
of Sir Walter Raleigh. The building contained a store, with a large
supply of goods adapted to the needs of colonists in a new and tropical
country, and around it were carpenter, blacksmith, and machine shops.
The company also owned three small steamers, which were used to bring
supplies from Trinidad and run back and forth to Barrancas, thirty
miles upstream at the head of the Macareo River, the main estuary of
the Orinoco, through which all of the commerce passes. The Atlantic
Ocean was one hundred and fifty miles below us and Ciudad Bolivar, the
principal city on the Orinoco and the head of all-the-year navigation,
was one hundred and eighty miles above.
Tradition says that Santa Catalina was named by Raleigh who, according
to the native story, camped there when he was pushing his way up the
Orinoco in search of the fabled El Dorado, with its golden city of
Manoa. Just above Barrancas are the ruins of a strong fort that he
built as a safe abiding place for a part of his force while he went
farther on up the river. It is, perhaps, the irony of an unkind fate
which pursued the great adventurer, that near this fort, from which
searching parties were sent out, is the rich mine of El Callao, whose
gold probably gave rise to the stories that started Raleigh on his
heroic hunt for the shining city that was the objective point of all
of the Argonauts who followed Columbus and Ojeda. If Raleigh had been
looking for gold by the pound instead of by the ton and had searched
more carefully he probably would have found enough to satisfy him.
Stretching away to unmeasured lengths from the pin prick which the
headquarters village made in it, was the virgin forest, with its
wealth of gold and iron, rubber and asphalt, and its square miles of
mahogany, Spanish cedar, rosewood, carapo, greenheart, and mora wood,
all within the confines of our concession. Far off to the southwest,
in a region which I never could find time to explore, was the mythical
dwelling place of the people whom Raleigh described, though only on
the word of the natives, as having no heads but with eyes in their
shoulders and mouths in their chests, with a long mane trailing out
from their spines. Down the Orinoco, half-way to the coast, was Imitaca
Mountain, a great hill of iron ore, which is said to be one of the
largest and richest deposits in the world.
The letters which Crespo had given me to the Territorial Governor
and to the “Jefe Civile,” who had immediate jurisdiction over the
headquarters of our concession, gave me a high standing and I proceeded
to conciliate the people, who had become disaffected toward the old
management, and lay plans for the development of the property. The
real boss of the people of Venezuela is the “Jefe Civile.” He has
complete jurisdiction over the people of his district, which generally
embraces a county, and is consulted on all matters of argument, whether
domestic, political, or religious. His decision is usually final,
although an appeal may be taken to the Court of First Instance in
which his district is situated. His authority closely resembles that of
a French _prefect_, and admits of an intimate knowledge of the private
life of the people. Practically, there are no secrets in Venezuela. If
two people stop in the street and talk for a moment they are surrounded
by an inquisitive crowd. If a woman complains to the Jefe Civile of her
husband’s ill treatment, it is done with the windows and doors open, in
a room more or less filled with idle spectators.
The Jefe Civile at Catalina assisted me in my effort to open up the
country and active operations were soon under way. The natives, who
were living just as when Columbus discovered them, and wearing no more
clothes than could be noticed, were attracted by the prosperity which
it was presumed would follow our development work, and little _pueblos_
sprang up along the river on both sides of us. These people, working
directly for the company or under a license on a royalty basis, were
employed chiefly in cutting timber and collecting _balata_ gum, which
has many of the qualities of rubber without its elasticity and is
caught by tapping the trees. The native labor was not very satisfactory
at the best, as judged by American standards, and we imported some
negroes from Trinidad, who were little better.
Our concession covered a territory larger than the State of
Massachusetts, nearly all of which was _terra incognita_. It was out
of the question to think of trying to go all over it, but, to gain
an intelligent idea as to the nature of the inland country and its
resources, I made one trip into the interior, toward the disputed
border of British Guiana, which was our eastern limit. But for the
boundary dispute between Venezuela and England the Orinoco Company
never would have secured its concession, for the shrewd Guzman granted
it with the idea that the Americans would colonize the territory and
effectively resist the British invasion, which he was powerless to
do. In their progressive search for gold--the continued pursuit of
Raleigh’s will-o’-the-wisp--the Englishmen in Guiana were advancing
farther and farther into Venezuela and carrying the boundary with them,
or claiming that it was always just ahead of them, which, so far as
Venezuela’s protests went, amounted to the same thing. It was, in fact,
the sweet siren song of gold that caused the establishment of the three
Guianas, so that the British, French, and Dutch might prosecute the
search under the most favorable conditions.
My expedition Guianaward was the hardest trip I have ever undertaken
and yet one of the most interesting. We had to make our own trail and
though I had a dozen men with me it was a tremendous task to cut our
way through the thick underbrush, never before disturbed, which often
barred our progress. We could carry few supplies, but it was easy to
live off the country, for there was enough game to feed an army. Not
knowing what to make of us, the jaguar, puma, tapir, and ocelot came
so close that they were easily shot, while overhead were millions of
monkeys, parrots, and macaws, to say nothing of great snakes that would
have made the fortune of a menagerie manager. At long intervals, living
on the banks of rivers, we encountered a few wild Indians, who were
terrified until they found we were not tax collectors sent out by the
government to take them into slavery on account of their inability to
pay extortionate taxes, which are levied for no other purpose than to
compel them to work for years without pay. When they became convinced
that we meant them no harm they were very friendly and generously
offered us things to eat, which I was afraid to touch. They never had
seen a white man before, and I regretted that some of my friends were
not hidden in the bushes to witness the reverence they showed me.
They were armed with bows and arrows, which they used with wonderful
accuracy, and crudely fashioned spears, and wore nothing much but
feathers in their hair. They lived on fish and game, with yams and
plantains, and sometimes corn, as side dishes, and native fruits for
dessert, and they were the healthiest looking people I have ever seen.
I pushed into this veritable paradise for all of a hundred miles, which
carried me close to the border, and discovered one outcropping of gold
which will some day be developed into a rich property. Our progress was
so slow that it was two months before we were back in Catalina.
After getting the development work well started I left it in charge
of the superintendent and returned to Caracas. I was not yet ready
to bury myself on the concession, for that, I thought, was what it
would mean to become a fixture there, and, besides, I was curious to
know how things were going at the capital. I stopped at Trinidad on
the way to attend to some business for the company and enjoy a taste
of real civilization, so it was early in 1897 before I resumed my old
confidential position with President Crespo. The restoration was to be
only temporary, he declared, for he insisted that a fortune awaited me
in the Orinoco delta and wished me to become established there. His
term expired the following February and I found that he had already
decided on General Ignacio Andrade as his successor. He had planned
to continue as Dictator of the country, _à la_ Guzman, and spend much
of his idle time, and money, abroad, and he wanted a man who could be
relied on to keep his organization intact and turn the office back to
him at the end of his term, for the Venezuelan constitution prohibits a
President from succeeding himself.
Donna Crespo, who besides being the greatest smuggler in the country
was a shrewd judge of men, had taken a pronounced dislike to Andrade
and advised strongly against his selection. Without knowing how truly
she spoke she predicted that if Andrade were made President, Crespo
would be dead within six months. I added my advice to the Donna’s,
for I knew Andrade was a weak man and one who could not be trusted to
hold the country with the tight rein which his agreement required.
Powerful friends of Crespo in Trinidad also urged him to select a
stronger man, but he could not be moved. He credited Andrade with
having saved his life, on the occasion when I sent a galloping warning
of the plot to murder him, and, as a monument to him and an evidence
of his friendship, he planned that he should be made President by
the first “popular election” in the history of Venezuela. The peons
idolized Crespo because they felt that he was more nearly one of
their own class, as compared with aristocrats of the Guzman Blanco
type. He was so well liked by the common people and had such a strong
grip on the country that he was able to carry out the idea which his
loyal friendship inspired, but with disastrous results in the end, to
himself, to Andrade, and to Venezuela.
On election day the soldiers at Guatira, Guarenas, and Petare,
surrounding towns which I visited from Caracas to get a close view of
the unique proceeding, doffed their uniforms and donned blouses, with
their revolvers strapped on underneath, marched to the polls and voted
as often as was required. Other towns throughout the country witnessed
the same performance. The peons also voted for Andrade, either because
they knew Crespo wanted them to or because the soldiers so instructed
them, and they kept at it until the designated number of votes had
been deposited. For a popular election it was the weirdest thing that
could be imagined, yet it was so proclaimed. As though to disprove this
boast it was immediately followed by mutterings of discontent from the
better class of citizens, and on the night of Andrade’s inauguration
General Hernandez, the famed “El Mocho,” who was Minister of Public
Improvements in Crespo’s Cabinet but an opponent of the new President,
took to the hills at the head of three thousand troops and raised the
standard of revolt. Crespo really was responsible for the curse of
Castro, for had he selected a strong man as his successor the mountain
brigand never could have commanded a force sufficiently powerful to
overthrow him.
Within a month Andrade went through the form of appointing Crespo
Commander-in-Chief of the Army, in order that he might clinch his
dictatorship. For a while Crespo contented himself with enjoying his
new title and directing operations from the capital, but the Hernandez
revolution finally assumed such proportions that he took the field
in person to stamp it out. The two armies met in the mountains near
Victoria on June 12, 1898. Hernandez was led into a trap, given a
drubbing, and captured. After the battle Crespo walked across the
field and was leaning over a wounded man when he was shot from behind
and instantly killed. It was claimed that the shot was fired from the
bush by one of the escaped rebels, and it was so reported, but no one
who was at all on the inside accepted this explanation. The bullet
that killed Crespo was of a peculiar pattern and exactly fitted the
pistol of one of his own officers, who was not a Venezuelano. I doubt
if there was another weapon exactly like it in the whole country.
The responsibility for the murder, for such it undoubtedly was, could
easily have been fixed, but the cowardly Andrade refused to order a
real investigation and, of course, there was no prosecution. Crespo’s
body was packed in a barrel of rum and brought to Caracas for burial.
The capture of “El Mocho” checked the spirit of revolt, but not for
long. Andrade had nothing to commend him but his honesty, which quality
was so little understood in Venezuela that it counted for nothing,
and he became more and more unpopular. He was surrounded by plotters,
even within his official family, and only their inability to agree on
his successor prevented his speedy overthrow. Some few months after
Crespo’s death, Castro, who had made himself Governor of the State of
Los Andes, visited Caracas and called on Andrade with the demand that
he be appointed to an important position in the new administration
as the price of peace. Andrade, to his credit be it said, not only
refused to appoint him to any office but flouted him, and Castro left
the Yellow House in a rage. He sought the councils of Andrade’s enemies
and, after many conferences, it was arranged that there should be a
general insurrection early in the following Summer. The question of
filling the presidency was left open, with the understanding that it
should go to the leader who developed the greatest strength during the
campaign.
Castro went back to his mountain home, to discover that his cattle had
been seized and a warrant issued for his arrest, at the instance of
Andrade’s friends, for cattle stealing. He resorted to his old trick
of dodging across the border, but a similar warrant was secured from
the Colombian Government, which had no more love for the Indian upstart
than had the one at Caracas. In fact, Castro at one time seriously
had considered starting a revolt in Colombia in the hope of gaining
the presidency. With officers of both countries searching for him he
went into hiding and remained under cover until May 23, 1899, when he
invaded Venezuela with a force of sixty _peinilleros_, so called from
the fact that they were armed with the _peinilla_, a sword shaped like
a scimitar. They were of the lowest type of Indian, but brave and hard
fighters. His old cattle-rustling neighbors hailed him with joy, for
until then they never had dreamed that any man from the mountains could
become a really important factor in Venezuelan affairs, and more than a
thousand of them flocked to his standard.
Supposing that the other parties to the revolutionary agreement would
carry out their part of the programme, and that he would join forces
with them as he neared the capital, Castro set out on his march
toward Caracas. Andrade had become so unpopular by this time that he
encountered little opposition, and as he captured successive towns he
opened the prisons and the freed convicts fell in behind him. When he
reached Valencia, less than one hundred miles from Caracas, he had
an undisciplined but effective force of three thousand bloodthirsty
brigands. General Ferrer was stationed there with six thousand
well-equipped regulars, and though he was by no means enthusiastic
in his loyalty to Andrade he did his duty as a soldier, according
to the quaint standards of the country. He marched his men out and
surrounded Castro, with the exception of a conspicuous hole through
which the latter could escape, and then went into camp for the night.
This proceeding was in strict accord with the ethics of that strange
land. Except in extreme cases it is the unwritten law that when a rebel
leader is encountered by a superior government force, the regulars must
surround him with a great show, but be careful to leave a wide hole in
their line through which he can run away during the night. Invariably
he takes advantage of his opportunity and it is officially announced
that he “escaped.” Of course, after a rebel chieftain has made several
escapes of this kind and still continues in revolt he is surrounded in
earnest, but harsh measures are not resorted to until he has had ample
opportunity to escape or come into camp and be good.
Castro violated all the precedents of his plundering profession by
failing to run through the hole that had been left for him. When Ferrer
saw him the next morning, in the middle of the ring calmly waiting
for the fight to begin, he was nonplussed. He could not understand
that method of warfare and, concluding that Castro must be a real
hero and perhaps, as he even then claimed to be, a genuine “man of
destiny,” he solved the problem by joining forces with him, for which
he was subsequently rewarded by being made Minister of War. Castro
learned from Ferrer that he was alone in the revolution, his promised
partners having failed to take the field on account of bickerings
and jealousies among themselves. This discovery and the addition of
Ferrer’s forces gave him his first really serious notion that he might
become President, and he marched forward in a frenzy of bombastic
joy. He picked out a star as his own and ceremoniously worshipped it.
Clearly his star was in the ascendant, figuratively at least, for at
Victoria, only thirty-five miles outside of the capital, he made terms
with General Mendoza, who was disgruntled with Andrade, and picked up
another army. When the tottering President heard of this final evidence
of disloyalty he boarded a gunboat at La Guaira, taking with him a
well-filled treasure chest, and went to Trinidad. The alleged warship
leaked badly and Andrade, who had a sense of humor, sent word back to
Castro by her commander to have her repaired at once so that she might
be in better shape for a hurried departure when it should come his turn
to be deposed.
By this time the people of Venezuela, ripe for a change of
administration and believing that no one could be worse than Andrade,
had begun to find out, as had Castro himself, what a powerful person he
really was, and they accepted him as their master. He entered Caracas
without opposition on October 21, 1900, and, rejecting the modest title
of Provisional President, which his predecessors had used, proclaimed
himself “Jefe Supremo” or “Supreme Military Leader.” He filled all
important posts with men from the mountains, on whose loyalty he could
rely, and as they were able to secure plenty of graft, not one penny
of which was overlooked, he very soon had a tight hold on the country.
One of his first acts was to release Gen. Hernandez. He soon found
that the old warrior was too patriotic and too dangerous to be at
large, so he slapped him back into San Carlos, on the pretence that he
was planning an insurrection, and kept him there for years. On March
30, 1901, Castro was elected by Congress to fill out the unexpired
part of Andrade’s term and in the following February he was elected
Constitutional President. Then began in earnest his reign of robbery,
through the establishment of monopolies whose profits went to his
private purse, and his vicious anti-foreign policy which, through the
murders and injustices that were committed in its name, made the Boxer
uprising in China look like a soft-spoken protest.
I was not in Caracas to witness the advent of Castro, as I had returned
to Catalina more than two years before, immediately after Crespo’s
funeral. During my stay at the capital I had come into possession of
a block of stock in the Orinoco Company which made it better worth my
while to stay with it, and I had become infected with the idea that
if we were let alone the concession could be developed into a very
valuable property. It was soon apparent, however, that we were not to
remain undisturbed. So long as Crespo was alive I was all-powerful at
Catalina, but with his death my influence began to wane and the rights
of the company to be trespassed upon. The natives could not see how our
concession, an integral part of Venezuela, could ever be anything but
their own property; they could not, or would not, understand that the
government had given away territory from which they could be debarred.
It was only the influence of the Jefe Civile that had kept them in
bounds before and with the death of my friend Crespo, that official
suddenly became at least lukewarm in his loyalty to the law and to
me. It naturally followed that the natives overran the concession and
did more and more as they pleased. They refused to pay royalty on the
_balata_ gum, which they carried off in enormous quantities, and stole
everything except the headquarters building and the iron ore, which was
too heavy and not worth while. The Jefe Civile himself violated the
terms of our concession and extortions of all sorts were winked at or
openly approved. As Andrade’s unpopularity increased my troubles grew,
for the natives took sides and began to spy on each other, with the
result that false and malicious reports were sent to Caracas as to the
company’s attitude.
When the threatened revolution became a fact and Castro took the field,
Andrade assumed a much more friendly air, but it was too late to be
of any value. He sent General Marina up the Orinoco to try to arouse
enthusiasm for his cause in the east, which section furnishes the only
soldiers that can cope with the hardy mountaineers of the west. Marina
came to Catalina and asked me to do my best to hold my district in line
for Andrade, and gave me his word that if I did so the President would
grant me anything I asked for as soon as the revolt was suppressed. At
just about the moment this request was made Andrade was fleeing from La
Guaira and Castro was assuming full control at Caracas.
Almost the first thing he did was to annul our concession, on the
ground that its terms had not been complied with, along with a dozen
others, as the beginning of his war on all foreigners. I denied
his right to cancel our grant, especially as it contained a clause
which stipulated that any disagreement between the government and
the _concessionaire_ should be referred to the Alta Carte Federale,
or Supreme Court, for adjustment. As the case had not been brought
before that court I held there could be no legal annulment, even if
that power did rest in the executive, which I denied. This contention
was subsequently upheld by the International Court of Arbitration,
following the blockade and bombardment of the allied powers, which
decided that our concession was still in full force.
When Castro saw that we did not propose to submit to his arbitrary
annulment he undertook to drive me out of the country. He realized that
so long as I remained on the concession we could claim to be in full
possession of it, and he proceeded to harass me in every conceivable
way in the hope of making it too hot for me. Under our contract we
were to nominate and pay all of the officers within our territory and
the government was to appoint them. My old chief of police, Abreu, was
arrested and taken away on some false charge, and a new man, Tinoco,
in whose selection I had no voice, was sent to take his place. He was,
I learned, a spy and had orders to send in reports which would make it
appear that the company was stirring up revolts and otherwise violating
the terms of its concession. This I discovered in time to induce
Tinoco, with the aid of a pistol, to sign a statement in which he
denied all of his dishonest reports and gave the company a clean bill
of health. He died soon afterward.
Castro created a military district known as the Territorio
Delta-Amacuro, which took in all of our property, and made Catalina
the capital, so that the Governor and the other officials could keep
me under their eyes. They all had instructions to make the place so
uncomfortable for me that I would leave. Fortunately, when it received
its concession the company had bought the land on which its buildings
were erected. Only the fact that I was an American citizen and held the
deeds to the property restrained them from expelling me by main force.
However, I could see trouble coming, so I dug rifle pits under the
porches on the two sides of the house from which we could be attacked.
I had plenty of arms and ammunition and about twenty men of whose
bravery and loyalty I was sure.
I was prohibited from buying anything at the _pulperia_, or commissary,
and we were hard put to it at times for enough to eat. We caught fish
in the river and my men stole out into the woods to hunt at every
favorable opportunity, but the moment they left our property they
exposed themselves to arrest on some trumped-up charge. Sometimes we
were able to surreptitiously buy supplies from the natives, and we
managed to get along. I filed protests at Caracas, with the Governor
and with my company, but they accomplished nothing. I was told by the
officials of the company that they were doing the best they could, with
representations to the State Department at Washington, and that I would
have to do the best I could, and I did it. The troops were continually
spying on us and annoying us with fictitious charges, but it was a year
or more before the government, angered by its failure to get rid of me,
resorted to extreme measures. A new Governor was sent down with strict
orders to remove me, by force if necessary. He advanced toward the
house with about seventy-five soldiers. I ordered my men into the rifle
pits and met the General at the gate.
“What do you want?” I demanded fiercely.
“I beg your pardon,” replied the commander, with all the treacherous
suavity of his race, “but I have orders to take you under my care and
escort you to Trinidad in order that no injury may come to you. Our
country is troubled and the government is anxious as to your safety.”
“My compliments to President Castro,” I told him, “and assure him that
I feel perfectly secure here, and quite comfortable. You can also tell
him that I propose to stay here.”
“That is much to be regretted,” responded the still overly polite
general, “for in that case I have to inform you that my orders are to
arrest you and take you to Trinidad.”
“In that case,” I said, imitatively, “I have to inform you that you
will find it impossible to carry out your orders, and I advise you not
to attempt it.”
“You mean that you will resist arrest?” he exclaimed in surprise.
“Most assuredly,” I replied. “This is my property. You have no right to
invade it, for I have violated no law of Venezuela. If you enter on it
I will fire on you.”
“But,” he almost shouted, as he waved his arms excitedly toward his
enervated patriots, “my men are here to enforce my orders. You would be
insane to resist. You do not know the Venezuelan Army, sir.”
“You are mistaken,” I told him. “I do know the Venezuelan Army. It is
you who is ignorant. You do not know my army. It is because I know both
that I have no fear. You have not a shadow of right for seeking to
arrest me and your blood will be on your own head if you advance.”
With this declaration which, in keeping with the comic opera custom
of the country, was delivered with all of the dramatic effect I could
throw into it, in order that it might carry greater weight, I retired
to the house.
The General could see my rifle pits, but he did not know how many
men they held nor how well those men could shoot. After a short
consultation with his staff he gave the order to advance, while he
bravely directed operations from the rear. As his men crossed the
line we fired, and eight of them fell. They continued to advance and
we fired again, dropping nine more of them, while several others were
hit. That was too much for them and they broke and ran, leaving seven
dead and ten badly wounded. They did not fire a shot, perhaps because
our men were so well concealed that Venezuelan marksmanship would have
accomplished nothing against them. The General and his staff returned
in an hour and asked permission to remove the fallen warriors. After
burying their dead they returned to their steamer and went on up the
river. In three or four days they came back, with their force slightly
increased, and the General again called on me to surrender, under
penalty of being arrested as a disturbing factor. I gave him the same
reply as before and after thinking it over for a while he marched his
troops away again.
That little encounter produced pronounced respect for the Americans
among Castro’s soldiers and they did not give us much trouble
afterward, though they continued to annoy us for a time. With
the establishment of the blockade of Venezuelan ports by the
allies--England, Germany, and Italy--in the latter part of 1902,
and the signing of the peace protocols at Washington early in the
following year, there came a cessation of hostilities against us. So
far as driving us off the concession was concerned, Castro seemed to
have given up the fight, but on account of the disturbed condition of
the country and the fact that the government was known to be inimical
to us, it was impossible to do anything of consequence toward the
development of the property. This enforced idleness eventually became
intolerable and early in 1906, the company in the meantime having sent
one of its officers to Caracas to protect its interests, I returned to
New York, after having held the fort for ten years. I came back much
poorer in pocket, but with a fund of information regarding Venezuela
and its people.
I have been in every country in South America and have studied all of
them and there is no possibility of doubt that Venezuela is beyond
comparison the richest in its natural resources. With the setting
up of a firm and civilized government, which must come in the end,
under an American protectorate if by no other means, all of the fairy
stories that were told of it centuries ago will come true, and its
development will eclipse all of the dreams that have been realized in
our own country. It is a strange fact that Cumana in Venezuela (their
respective names then being New Toledo and New Grenada), which was the
first European settlement in South America of which there is authentic
record, was founded one hundred years, less one, before the Pilgrims
landed at Plymouth Rock. In each case there was a fervent prayer for
divine aid in establishing a Christian colony and building up a great
country. Why one prayer was answered and the other was not is a matter
I will not attempt to explain.
Like her West Indian neighbors, of which beautiful isles Americans
now know so little, but of which they will know much more when their
flag flies over all of them, as it must within the life of the present
generation, Venezuela has been treated most bountifully by nature
and most brutally by man. Cursed they all may have been by the seas
of innocent blood in which they were barbarously bathed during their
extended infancy and their prolonged childhood, from which they
have not yet emerged. It seems that all the powers of darkness have
conspired to retard their growth and hold them slaves to savagery.
Accustomed from the days of the Spanish _conquistadores_, and the
pirates who followed them, to being plundered and persecuted in every
way that the mercenary mind of man could devise, the Venezuelanos
have grown so hardened to turmoil and torture that it has become
second nature to them to live in an atmosphere which generates riot
and robbery. Their blood is an unholy mixture of Indian, Carib, and
Spanish, with other and more recent strains of all sorts. They are the
most inconsequential, emotional, ungrateful, and treacherous people
on the face of the earth--and yet I love them. The ambition of their
leaders runs only to graft, while the underlings yearn for war as a
child cries for a plaything. At the behest of some self-constituted
chieftain, who has strutted in front of a mirror until he imagines
himself a second Simon Bolivar, they rise in rebellion, because it
gives them a chance to prey on the country, and, if their revolt is
successful, to continue and extend their preying. But some day a real
man will rise up among them and lead them out of their blackness and
butchery into peace and prosperity, and Venezuela, with her wild wastes
of wealth, will become great beyond the imaginings of her discoverers.
This is not the full story of my life but it tells of some of the
incidents which I have enjoyed the most. My best fight was with old Moy
Sen, the pirate king, in the China Sea, and my closest call was when
I was sentenced to be shot at sunrise in Santo Domingo. These events
supplied the most delightful feasts of the excitement which my nature
has ever craved, yet I have lived well, in that respect, all along.
I have no disappointments and no regrets, except that this existence
is too short. If I had my life to live over again it would be lived
in the same way, though, I would hope, with a still greater share of
excitement, because it was for just such a life that I was created.
What the purpose of it was I neither know nor care, nor am I in the
least concerned as to what my destiny next holds in store for me. I
hope, however, that in some land with opportunity for wide activity,
I will be reincarnated as a filibuster and a buccaneer, and that I
will so continue until my identity is merged into a composite mass of
kindred souls.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
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Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
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