The war maker

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.