The war maker

THE first word that reached me on my arrival in New York near the end of September, 1870, was that my wife was seriously ill at her old home in Illinois. She had been on the Continent with relatives of old man Nickell, the ship broker and contraband dealer, during most of the time that I was messing around with Don Carlos and the French, and started home two months ahead of me. She had a very bad trip, her ship having been twenty-six days at sea, and as she was not a good sailor she suffered severely and contracted an illness which proved fatal. I went to her at once and remained at her side until the end, three weeks later. Her death was a severe blow to me. She was an exceptional woman, in that she had much good sense, was not given to chatter, and was a delightful companion. Though she had never become quite reconciled to my adventurously active life, I was devoted to her, and if she had lived I might eventually have settled down and become a respectable and self-respecting business man, in which class, I am bound to say, I would have had little company.

When I returned to New York after the funeral I was greatly depressed and was in a mood for anything that offered excitement. A few days later I found some diversion through a chance meeting with Frank (Francis Lay) Norton, just after he had gone broke in John Morrissey’s uptown gambling house. He knew me, by reputation and through the old Cuban Junta under which both of us had operated, as well as I knew him, and we soon became friends. Later we became partners in some of the most gloriously exciting exploits in which I have been fortunate enough to participate. Norton was a natural-born pirate, and he looked the part. He was then about forty years old, five feet, eight inches tall, thin and wiry and possessed of remarkable strength. His eyes, hair, beard, and moustache were as black as coal. You could feel his eyes looking through you and would almost lose a realizing sense of what was in your mind; it was not hypnotism nor mental or physical dominance but he could almost read your most secret thoughts. He was completely irreligious, cynical, and cold-blooded. Under the most severe tests a slight twitching of the eyes was his only sign of excitement. He was daring to the supreme degree but never foolishly reckless, and I don’t believe he ever experienced the sensation of fear. He was, too, as he needed to be, almost a dead shot in off-hand firing with rifle or pistol, and an expert swordsman.

When I first met him he was wild about the China Sea, where he had spent several thrilling years and made several fortunes, only to lose them as soon as he could find a gambling house, for he was a faro fiend of the most virulent type. He declared that was the only part of the world for us, with regard both to excitement and money, and suggested that we form a partnership and go out there “to do anything that came handy.” Though I had spent money like the proverbial drunken sailor, or worse, for I was born with all the tastes of an aristocrat, I was then worth several hundred thousand dollars, while Norton was worth nothing, so I could not quite see a partnership such as he had in mind. Nor was he able to tempt me away from Venezuela. I had heard so much of that country and of Guzman Blanco that my heart was set on going there before I undertook to explore any other strange lands. The upshot of our many discussions was that I sent Norton to London to take command of the “Leckwith” until I was ready to join him, when it was agreed we should go out in the yacht to his beloved China Sea. I had brought Lars Lorensen, the former sailing master of the “Leckwith” and a brave and loyal Norseman, with me from the other side, as I expected to have need of him in South America.

After Norton’s departure I bought the fore and aft schooner yacht “Juliette,” about eighty tons, fitted her out at New London, Connecticut, for a six months’ cruise, and with Lorensen as sailing master, started for Bermuda to test her seaworthiness. We reached there in five days and proceeded to St. Thomas, where I hoped to find Guzman Blanco. He was not there so we went on to Curacoa, which was then, as it has been ever since, a revolutionary rendezvous. We arrived there in the latter part of December. I found that Guzman was there, and James Faxon, the American consul, introduced me to him at the Willemstad Club, where he was playing billiards with Gen. Pulgar, his chief-of-staff. Before meeting him I had familiarized myself with recent Venezuelan history, as far as it concerned him. I learned that Guzman Blanco’s father, Dr. Antonio Guzman, began political life as private secretary to Simon Bolivar, the famous “Liberator,” and had been prominent in Venezuelan politics for fifty years. He aided in the election of Jose Tadeo Monagas to the presidency and at his request his son, Guzman Blanco, was appointed Secretary of Legation at Washington, where he lived during 1856 and 1857. In the latter year Dr. Guzman had a row with Monagas and was expelled from the country. He went to St. Thomas and was soon joined by his son. There they met Gen. Falcon, who too had been banished by Monagas and was planning a revolt. When Falcon invaded Venezuela in 1859, in what became known as the “Five Years’ War,” Guzman Blanco went with him. In a succession of brilliant victories young Guzman demonstrated his great bravery and military genius and he soon was at the head of a division, later becoming second in command. Falcon entered Caracas in triumph in April, 1863, after devastating most of the country, and was elected President, with Guzman Blanco as Vice-President. In addition to this title Guzman was made Minister of Finance and of Foreign Relations, and in 1864, and again in 1867, he went to Europe to settle the national debt and arrange a new loan. While he was away the second time the old Monagas faction came back to life with enough strength to force Falcon to abandon Caracas, and when Guzman returned from London in 1868 a mob surrounded his house and stoned it. He fled to Europe. He had just returned and was planning an invasion of Venezuela when I met him.

I told him of my efforts the year before to meet him in London and Paris and their purpose; that I was running contraband, more to satisfy my love of adventure than as a business, and I believed I could be useful to him; that South America was prolific of revolutions and I was ambitious to have a hand in them. After he had studied me, asked all sorts of questions, and apparently satisfied himself that I could be relied on, Guzman told me, in a general way, of his plans and asked me to secure for him three thousand old Remington rifles and five hundred thousand cartridges and deliver them as quickly as possible at Curacoa. We sailed for New York the day after the order was given, early in January, and made the trip in just a month. I bought the arms from P. D. Orvis & Co., of Whitehall Street, and we were on our way back within a week. We made the return trip in twenty-eight days and reached Curacoa just before the sunset gun was fired. The entrance to the harbor at Curacoa is very narrow and in those days it was, and I believe still is, closed during the night by a great chain, which was raised at sunset and lowered at sunrise by a powerful windlass.

I went ashore at once and to the club where, instead of Guzman Blanco, whom I expected would be waiting for me, I found Gen. Ortega, who was with Guzman when I first met him and seemed to be fully in his confidence. Ortega handed me a note, bearing what purported to be the signature of Guzman, which directed me to deliver the cargo at a place to be indicated by Ortega, and stated that payment for it would be made on my cabin table. As I was not familiar with Guzman’s writing I showed the signature to Dr. Leon and to old man Jesurun, who owned the shipyard, who knew Guzman well, and both of them pronounced it genuine. I had no suspicion that anything was wrong and took this precaution simply as a matter of ordinary business sense. Ortega directed me to deliver the cargo at Tucacas Point, a little peninsula about one hundred miles west of La Guaira, and said we must put to sea that night, as Guzman was anxiously awaiting the arms. Through exceptional representations of some sort to the commandante he secured the lowering of the chain, and we left at once, arriving off the point the next evening.

Ortega went ashore and returned with a request that I order off the hatches and start the unloading of the cargo in my boats and then go ashore with him and get my money. This was not in accord with my contract with Guzman or with the note Ortega had handed me, but, though I was reminded of my experiences with Don Carlos, I had great confidence in Guzman and did not wish to offend him, so I readily consented to the amended arrangement. As soon as the unloading was well under way I went ashore with Ortega. We climbed the bluff and walked half a mile inland to a mud-thatched hut before which a sentry was pacing. Ortega gave the countersign and we stepped inside, to find Gen. Pulgar, who was chief-of-staff for Guzman when I was introduced to him at the Willemstad Club, wrapped in a chinchora and smoking in a hammock. After shaking hands with him I asked where Guzman was. He replied evasively that he was there instead of Guzman. I told him briefly about my trip, in response to his queries, and then asked him for my money, which Ortega had said was waiting for me. Pulgar smiled and straightened up.

“I told Ortega to deliver that message to you,” he said, “but there is no use mincing words and I may as well tell you that you are my prisoner. Your cargo is being taken care of and will be put to a very different purpose from that which you expected. As I have said, you are my prisoner but I have an offer to make you which, if you accept it, will be to your advantage. Guzman is not an old friend of yours and if you make a profit on your arms it can’t make much difference to you whether you serve him or me. If you will join my forces, of your own free will, I will make you a colonel and give you command of a battalion and when the revolution is over I will pay you for your rifles, just as Guzman agreed to do.”

“You seem to forget,” I replied, “that I have a contract with Gen. Guzman which, as an honorable man, I can’t go back on.”

“Well, you don’t appear to be in a very good position just now to carry it out, do you?” he asked.

I again inquired where Guzman was but a shrug of the shoulders was the only answer I could get to questions along that line. Not knowing as much about Venezuelan revolutions then as I did later I could not fathom this strange situation to my entire satisfaction, but it was my guess that in some way Pulgar had become arrayed against Guzman, and it turned out that I was right.

I told Pulgar that I would give him an answer at gunfire, in the morning, and spent the night with Ortega, under guard. I tried to draw him out but, evidently according to orders, he would not even talk about the weather.

At sunrise we went to see Pulgar. When asked for my decision I inquired what the result would be if his revolution failed.

“Then I am sorry, my dear Captain, but you will lose your cargo, while I will lose my life, which is of infinitely more importance to me. But the revolution will not fail,” he vehemently declared.

As though impressed by his confidence in himself, I announced that I would take a chance with him and accept his offer, with a mental reservation to escape at the first opportunity, for I did not propose to fight against Guzman, and that, I was convinced, was what it amounted to.

“That is excellent,” he said, with the suggestion of a bow. After coffee I went with him to inspect his troops. He had about three thousand men, many of whom were already armed with the rifles I had brought in, and they were strung across the narrow arm of the peninsula in a line almost as ragged as their clothes. I was formally given command of a battalion of three hundred men, and an Indian servant,—I afterward found he had orders to shoot me if I attempted to escape,—was assigned to me. I accompanied Pulgar back to his headquarters, where I was given an old sword and the tarnished shoulder straps of a colonel, these constituting my uniform.

“Now that you have allied yourself with my forces,” he then said, “you will have no use for your ship, for the present at least. She is still lying in the bay and if she remains there she is likely to be captured or cause trouble. You will therefore write a note to the officer in charge of her directing him to proceed to Curacoa and await orders. She will be safe there and,” with a quizzical smile, “you will be safe here. We have no boats but we will signal your ship from the beach that we have word for it.”

I had been expecting this command and, as there was nothing else for me to do, I complied with it at once. It was cutting off my only hope of rescue, though a forlorn one as I was forced to admit, but the adventure which the situation promised to develop was getting into my blood and, to tell the truth, I rather liked the idea of being left to my own resources amid such strange surroundings. Pulgar had told me during the inspection of his camp that we would probably soon be in action, as “some” troops were advancing on him, and if they did not attack him before he was ready to march, he would go out to meet them. He preferred that they should bring the fight to him for all of his men were recruited from that section and knew every foot of the country. When I came to know Venezuela I appreciated that Pulgar required no great prestige to gain a considerable following in that part of the country, for it was a veritable hotbed of revolution, ranking with Maturin in the east and Barquisimeto in the southwest,—three kegs of powder that could be set off by almost any man who had two legs and a sword.

I started in to drill my troops with the idea of making them a really effective fighting force, but it was the most difficult task I had ever undertaken. They were lazy to a degree that passes the understanding of an Anglo-Saxon and they had not the slightest desire to learn even the first principles of the science of war, as it is understood outside of South America. I had been trying to whip them, and others, into some sort of shape for about a week when word was brought in one morning that the enemy was approaching. We had no advance guard out, though I had tried to induce Pulgar to post one, and a few minutes after the scouts had been driven in the action became general, with the forces apparently about evenly matched in numbers. Instead of allowing me to lead my battalion, Pulgar ordered me to remain with him on a little knoll in the rear, from which he made a pretence of directing his forces. He could have accomplished much more in front, for what his men needed was a leader, not a director. They were fighting in Indian fashion, with every man shooting indiscriminately from behind a tree or log, and they paid no attention to commands. I will say for them, though, that they fought hard and stubbornly, but they were gradually driven back, and Pulgar, who had a terrible temper, was furious. All at once the opposing troops were largely reinforced and came with a rush which quickly converted our orderly retreat into a rout. Pulgar, cursing like a madman, dashed madly into the disorganized mass of his liberty-loving louts, with Ortega and the rest of his staff at his heels.

I was left alone and was hesitating as to what I should do when my Indian servant tugged at my trousers leg. “Follow me, Colonel,” he said, “I know where there is a boat.” He started off at the run and covered ground so fast that I had to gallop my horse to keep up with him. He led the way to the beach near where my cargo had been landed and pushed a native boat from under a clump of mangrove trees. We jumped in and shoved off in a hurry, for Ortega and several of his men had just appeared on the bluff above us and were making for us. There were no oars in the boat but we pulled a board loose from the bottom and used it as a paddle. A strong current from the east swept us clear of the peninsula and out to sea; but I was not alarmed, for I figured that we would soon be in the path of coasting vessels. Scattered rifle patter reached us for a long time, indicating that my former comrades-in-arms were being ignominiously chased around in a way that must have been most discouraging to Pulgar. Toward the middle of the afternoon, as we were trying to work in toward the land, the Indian let our paddle get away from him, which left us entirely at the mercy of the elements, and I suspected that we might have fared better if we had stayed on shore.

We drifted around for three days and nights without so much as a glimpse of a distant sail, and without an ounce of food or a mouthful of water, save only such as we were able to suck out of our clothes during and after a providential rain that fell on the second night. On the morning of the fourth day a fog lifted and close to us was a fleet of fishermen from the island of Oruba, twenty miles to the westward of Curacoa. They took us to their island and after we had rested and eaten for two days a fishing boat took us to Curacoa. There I learned from Consul Faxon what had happened in Venezuela. Guzman’s plans had worked out more rapidly than he anticipated when he sent me to New York for arms, and he landed in Venezuela early in February at the head of a small force but with a large army waiting for him. The old Liberals flocked to his standard and with only slight resistance he entered Caracas and proclaimed himself Dictator. His victory was so easily achieved and was so largely a personal one that he did not give to Pulgar the reward to which that general considered himself entitled, and the latter immediately started a new revolution.

When I told Faxon the manner in which I had been imposed on and how I had been impressed into Pulgar’s service, he advised me to go to Caracas at once and tell President Guzman the whole story. Though somewhat dubious as to the result, because of the fear that Guzman would be skeptical, and perhaps brutal, I followed his advice and went on the next steamer. The same ship carried a letter to Guzman from Faxon in which he told him of my experiences and of the precautions I had taken to verify the signature to the order Ortega had given me on my arrival with the arms. From the effect which this letter produced I judge that Faxon also said some very complimentary things about me, but I never had an opportunity to thank him, for he died before I was in Curacoa again.

I called on Guzman after I knew he had received Faxon’s letter, and was welcomed with marked cordiality. “Tell me your whole story,” he said, “but let me assure you, it is believed before it is told.” His face took on an ugly look when I told him how Ortega had tricked me with the forged order and he interrupted me to say that he had sent an officer to Curacoa to await the “Juliette” and direct me to deliver the arms at La Guaira. This officer’s failure to get to me in advance of Ortega had not been satisfactorily explained and had, Guzman said, been severely punished. It was evident that he suspected collusion between his agent and Ortega.

When I had finished Guzman told me he was surrounded by men whom he either suspected or hesitated to trust. He wanted a man whom he could rely on implicitly to watch for evidences of treachery among those around him, and he was kind enough to say he thought me the man for whom he had been looking. He asked me to remain in Caracas for an indefinite time, to mix freely with his entourage and become intimately acquainted with them and ascertain who could be trusted and who were doubtful. I could pose as an American who was studying the country with the idea of making investments, which would explain my interest in things and my desire to cultivate the members of his court. I spoke Spanish well and could also converse easily enough in French, though that language was little used except among the diplomats.

I accepted his invitation gladly and a part of the time that I was in Caracas I spent at the Yellow House, the residence of the President, as his guest. Guzman was the handsomest man I have ever known; tall and as straight as a sword, with long black beard and dark eyes, sharp as needles, that could flash fire or friendship. He was magnetic and winning to the last degree and every inch a ruler of men, without the faintest notion as to what fear meant. During the nearly twenty years that he was absolute ruler of Venezuela his temper was the thing most dreaded through all the land. I have seen grizzled generals, descended from the best families of old Spain, turn almost white at the sign of his anger.

Himself a pure Castiliano, he regarded the native Venezuelanos as a vastly inferior race, thereby furnishing another illustration of his good judgment, and there was much of contempt in his attitude toward them. Many times, when they had incurred his displeasure by a display of cowardice or some other fault, I have heard him abuse a quailing crowd of the highest officers in the Venezuelan Army in language much more vigorous and profane than an American policeman would use to a gang of hoodlums. “You are not worth a damn,” he would always tell them in conclusion, “except in proportion to the amount of foreign blood that is in you.” Yet until the day when he was treacherously overthrown, to the great loss of Venezuela, no criticism of his was ever resented nor was there ever a whisper of protest. The people knew their master.

One of the first whom Guzman asked me closely to observe was a young Indian officer named Joachim Crespo, an aide attached to his household. I reported that he could be implicitly trusted, and knowledge of that fact helped me out of a scrape years later, when Crespo was President of Venezuela.

Not more than ten days after my arrival in Caracas Guzman asked me to be in his private sala at ten o’clock the next morning, to meet an old friend. At the appointed hour the Governor of the Casa Publica came in, with a few officers, escorting none other than Gen. Vicento Pulgar, who had put to his service my cargo of arms. Pulgar was in full uniform and bore himself like a hero. His manner was almost contemptuous and his expression was one of amused curiosity rather than fear.

Guzman made him a courtly bow and extended his hand, which Pulgar reluctantly accepted.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Guzman said.

“I dare say it is to you, General, but here I am, at your service.”

“I hope you are here as a friend.”

“Whatever General Guzman desires must necessarily be accepted as an accomplished fact.”

Guzman turned to the Governor and asked him the occasion for the call. The Governor replied that they had brought General Pulgar as a prisoner of war.

“Prisoner!” exclaimed Guzman with profound astonishment. “My friend General Pulgar a prisoner! If that is the purpose of your visit you may retire.”

After the officers had departed Guzman turned to Pulgar with a more serious air. “You will be my guest in Caracas until such time as I need you elsewhere,” he said. “I will be pleased to receive a call from you every day.”

Pulgar bowed; no other parole was necessary.

That was Guzman’s way of doing things and it was well understood, especially by men of intellect like Pulgar. No firmer hand than Guzman’s ever ruled but it was ordinarily encased in a velvet glove. His bare hand, which was displayed only when extreme conditions demanded, was a sign of terror.

As Pulgar was leaving he stopped and congratulated me on my safe trip to Caracas. I thanked him, with the same politeness. Neither of us alluded to his seizure of my arms or to my enforced service with him. Pulgar and I subsequently became good friends.

I congratulated Guzman on his diplomacy and his shrewd effort to turn a powerful enemy into a useful friend, though I doubted if he would succeed.

“If I and my good adviser, Captain Boynton, cannot pull the claws of the General, we will have to take the consequences,” he said. From that I understood that I was to keep close watch of Pulgar and report daily, which I did. Everything that I saw and heard indicated that Guzman’s diplomacy would fail. Pulgar told his friends openly that while Guzman seemed very friendly he was not deceived and would kill him at the first opportunity. “Well, he’ll have plenty of opportunity,” said Guzman with a laugh when I reported this to him.

There was a reception at the Yellow House a few nights later. Pulgar was invited and was present. Guzman soon found an opportunity to engage him in conversation. “I have already found that being President of Venezuela has its objectionable features,” sighed Guzman after they had chatted lightly for a few minutes. “One has to listen to so many ridiculous tales. For instance, I have heard many foolish stories about you, one of them being an alleged threat to kill me the first time you have a chance.”

“I don’t know about the others, but I did say that,” replied Pulgar.

Guzman shrugged his shoulders, as though wearied. “How often,” he responded, “we say we are going to do things which we may think we will do but which we never do do.”

“When I get an opportunity that a gentleman can take advantage of, I intend to kill you, General Guzman,” said Pulgar, still smiling.

“Let that be the understanding then,” answered Guzman as he walked away, without displaying the slightest concern.

The very next day Guzman sent Pulgar an invitation to come to the palace at three o’clock and go driving with him. Contrary to his custom he ordered that no guards accompany them. They had not gone a quarter of a mile when one of the front wheels came off and both of them were thrown out in a heap. As they disentangled themselves Pulgar drew a revolver but it was not well out of his pocket before Guzman had him covered with his pistol.

“Ah, you were prepared for me, I see, General,” said Pulgar.

“I am always prepared for friends and enemies alike,” replied Guzman.

They put up their weapons and walked back to the palace.

“I am sorry our ride was so short,” said Guzman.

“It was long enough,” was Pulgar’s reply, “to convert an enemy into a friend.”

“In that case it has been truly delightful,” responded Guzman. They shook hands and that was the end of the Pulgar revolution.

Peace palled on Pulgar and he died not long afterward. As was his right he had the largest funeral ever seen in Venezuela. Without exception he was the bravest man I have ever known. He had all of Frank Norton’s daring and added to it what seemed to be a foolhardy recklessness that times without number carried him right up against old Graybeard’s scythe, yet he always knew the chances he was taking and coolly calculated them. When he was stripped he looked as though he had been run through a threshing machine. From head to foot he was covered with scars left by knives, swords, and bullets of all sizes. In an assault on the fortress at Porto Cabello, years before I knew him, he climbed into an embrasure and over the mouth of a cannon just as it was fired. Had he been a second later he would have been blown to pieces. The explosion burned nearly all the flesh off his legs and reduced them to pipe-stems. He was a tall, handsome man of pure Castilian blood; a revolutionist by birth, breeding, education, and occupation, and his one ambition was to be President of Venezuela. I doubt if that country will ever produce another just like him.

It was known that Guzman favored the introduction of foreign capital to develop the wonderful resources of Venezuela, the full extent of which is not even yet understood, and Caracas was soon over-run with concession hunters. Many of them sought my support and offered me all sorts of inducements, but I told all of them that I had no influence with Guzman and would not use it if I had, in such ways as they desired. I always advised Guzman fully as to whom the concession hunters were and what they wanted. One of those on whom I thus reported was Cyrenius Fitzgerald, an American civil engineer, who sought a concession covering the delta of the Orinoco and a considerable distance up the river, which section then was an unknown land. Guzman wanted a report on it and asked me to visit it, which I did, in company with Fitzgerald and an English engineer named Tucker, who was there making a survey for the railroad which subsequently was built between Caracas and La Guaira. We made the trip on the old government boat “Bolivar,” being away two months and going up the Orinoco as far as Ciudad Bolivar. We went over much of the territory included in the proposed concession and explored many uncharted passages in the delta of the river which had long been safe havens for revolutionists and smugglers. I became enchanted with the country, which was rich in minerals and valuable woods. In reporting to Guzman and talking with him about the project, I found that he was to receive a large block of stock in the enterprise. This concession finally was granted by Guzman in 1883, without any solicitation from me, and thirteen years later it was decreed by fate that I should become manager of the property for the Orinoco Company, Limited, which is now known as the Orinoco Corporation.