The war maker

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.