The war maker

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