The war maker

I  HAD been with Guzman Blanco for about a year after he proclaimed himself Dictator of Venezuela, on February 14, 1871, when I began to grow restless again. This was in no sense due to any fault I had to find with Guzman. He had treated me with every mark of friendship and had proved, time and again, that I possessed his entire confidence. He had paid me fifty thousand dollars for the cargo of arms which Pulgar secured through Ortega’s forgery and had been liberal in other financial matters, though I would not accept any direct payment for my confidential services, as I considered myself, in a sense, his guest. But, under the strong hand of Guzman, things were settling down to a humdrum, and I rebelled against peace and order and fretted under the restraint of the land. At sea I could go where I pleased, when I pleased, and do what I pleased; on shore, except for the Yellow House and the evening social events, all of which were alike, my time was largely divided between Madam Santa Amand’s hotel in Caracas and the old Posada Neptuno in La Guaira, and my movements were circumscribed by the part I was playing. Then, too, revolutions were popping in Central America, according to the reports that reached Caracas, and I felt that I was missing a lot of excitement and some business. This latter consideration entered into my thoughts not largely, and at all only because my expenses were greatly in excess of the amounts I received from Guzman in roundabout ways. In those days and for years afterward, I gratified my foolishly extravagant tastes without any regard to the cost of things; it is only within recent years that I have come to understand that money has a value.

With my whole nature clamoring for a change to more strenuous scenes I put the situation up to Guzman and secured his permission to go away, on the promise that I would return within six months. I summoned the “Juliette” from Curacoa and set sail for England, for the double purpose of securing a cargo of arms, with which to add to the joy of living in Central America, and looking up Frank Norton, who had so well planted within me the germ of his China Sea insanity that it was taking root. With the good little ship heeled over to the steady trade winds that fanned my dusky cheek, lovingly as I fancied in my enthusiasm, and with the waters that are nowhere else so blue murmuring a welcome back to them, I was again a rover of the sea and my exultant soul joined in the lyric chorus of the rigging.

We stopped at St. Thomas, that haven of thieves, blacklegs, and revolutionists, and there I met General Baez, brother of Buenaventura Baez, President of Santo Domingo, and his Minister of War. Buenaventura Baez was one of the most interesting characters the romantic West Indies have produced. He was the son of a rich mulatto and was born early in the last century. He coöperated with General Santana in establishing the independence of Santo Domingo and was President from 1849 to 1853, when he was supplanted by Santana, who expelled him from the island. Santana was deposed three years later and Baez, who had spent the interval in New York, resumed the presidency. Two years later he was once more ousted by Santana and forced to live abroad until 1865, when he again assumed the presidency. In 1866 General Pimental headed a successful revolt in favor of General Cabral, and Baez was banished a third time, going to St. Thomas. His star was in eclipse only a short while, however, for the following year he again fought his way to the presidential chair. In the latter part of 1869 he signed two treaties with President Grant, one for the cession of Samana Bay, which probably is the most beautiful harbor in the West Indies and was wanted by our Navy Department for years before these treaties were signed and for many years afterward, and the other for the annexation of the whole island of Santo Domingo to the United States. The people of Santo Domingo approved both of these conventions at an election decreed by Baez in February, 1870, and held under the guns of an American warship, but the United States Senate refused to ratify either treaty. President Grant believed strongly in this annexation, wherein he showed his farsightedness, and a commission which he sent to the island reported, in the Spring of 1871, in favor of the treaty; but sentiment in the Senate was decidedly against it and the measure was not pressed.

If Grant could have lived until to-day he would find considerable satisfaction in the protectorate the United States has assumed over Santo Domingo, which really amounts to American control. The same course must be taken with helpless Hayti, and it may well be that before these lines are read the administration of the finances of the “Black Republic” will have been taken over by American officers; and the American minister, acting under orders from Washington, will be the real ruler of the land, as he is in Santo Domingo. Let me digress here to express the conviction that within ten years every European possession in the West Indies, with the possible exception of Barbadoes, will come under the Stars and Stripes. Even if economic conditions do not compel this change, as they would do sooner or later, it will be made necessary by the completion of the Panama Canal. The United States, though seldom given to any riotous display of good sense, is still too wise a nation to permit a foreign power to have a naval base almost within gunshot of Colon, from which it could strike a quick and destructive blow at the inter-oceanic waterway.

Conditions are ripe for the change. England has made a failure of governing her islands and, in advance of formal retirement, has abandoned her great naval station at Saint Lucia, on which millions of pounds were spent, and withdrawn her warships from the Caribbean. The Danish Islands are a heavy and continuous drain on the Copenhagen treasury that cannot be maintained for many years longer, and Washington years ago, through clear-visioned John Hay, served formal notice on Denmark that the sale of these islands to any nation except the United States would be regarded as an unfriendly act. It was the determination then to keep these islands away from the outstretched hands of Germany, because of their proximity to South America, and there are many more reasons now to prevent their transfer to any foreign power. They are so largely owned by Americans that they are practically American colonies to-day. The French Islands are the most prosperous of all, but only because of a bounty on sugar which the national government is anxious to drop. Holland has no reason for retaining her islands, which are an expense to which no glory attaches. Under American ownership these beauty spots would be restored to their old-time prosperity and no one knows this so well as the islanders themselves. In my judgment it is a matter of only a comparatively few years until England, France, Denmark, and the Netherlands will enter into some arrangement, the details of which I do not attempt to predict, by which all of their Caribbean islands will be turned over to the United States. The only possible exception is Barbadoes, which England may wish to retain as a midway station on her commercial highway to South America, but as that poverty-stricken islet, which has twice disappeared under the sea and then bobbed up again, has no port that could be defended, there might be no objection to such a plan. Cuba is certain to become an American possession, for the Cubans are as incapable of self-government as are the Filipinos, and if Santo Domingo and Hayti are not recognized as children of the United States, they will be its wards. The United States, too, must take a larger hand in the affairs of Central America and Venezuela. The Monroe Doctrine cannot run on one wheel. At the same time that it protects the Latin-American countries from European aggression, it must compel them to pay their debts and maintain order. I am glad, however, that this theory did not obtain in the old days, for it would have robbed me of many exciting episodes.

The defeat of Grant’s annexation project gave Pimental and Cabral an excuse for starting a new revolution, and they were beginning to show their hand when I ran into General Baez at St. Thomas. He knew of my association with Guzman Blanco and at once approached me with a proposition to go to Santo Domingo to aid his brother in the troubles he foresaw. He also suggested that I might undertake a mission to America or Europe in relation to the readjustment of the debts of the island, which even then were becoming burdensome and a source of much anxiety to the party in power, because of the insistent belief of the creditors that they were entitled to their money when it was due. I told him I knew nothing at all about finances but that, if I could get an extension of leave from Guzman, I would consider any practical plan that promised excitement. He said he would consult with his brother and write me at Caracas.

We went on to London, where I learned that Norton was in the Mediterranean with the “Leckwith,” impatiently carrying general cargoes. I left word for him with Nickell & Son that I expected soon to be ready to go out East with him, took on a cargo of arms and headed for Costa Rica, where I had information that a revolution was hatching against Gen. Tomaso Guardia, who had recently come into power. For this trip, I remember, I took the name of “Captain John F. Kinnear.” We had some trouble in getting away, for the British Government was still dead set against filibustering, and in the hope of removing all suspicion I gave our destination as Kingston, Jamaica, though I had no idea of stopping there. I gave the ship a new set of papers, showing British registry, and was, of course, flying the British flag.

We ran into bad weather in the Caribbean and were forced, after all, to put in at Kingston, leaking badly. The ship was so opened up, in fact, that she had to be recalked and have a few new planks, which necessitated putting her in dry dock. The port regulations stipulated that when a ship went in dry dock a general cargo could be left in her, at the option and risk of the owner, but that all explosives and munitions of war must be taken out and stored in the government arsenal, or in some place selected by the commandant. There was nothing for it but to take out our cargo, and five days were consumed in loading and repairing the ship. I had the work hurried with all possible speed, for the mail ship from England was due in nine days after our arrival and I was fearful that she would bring an order for our detention, which, as a matter of fact, she did, as I learned years afterward. When the repairs were completed the governor of the island refused to allow us to reload our cargo, as he had an intimation that the ship was not what she pretended to be. This hint, it developed later, came from Jimmy Donovan, a “sea lawyer” whom I had shipped at the last minute in the hurry of getting away from London. He made what is known on the sea as a “pier-head jump.” On the fourth day I prevailed on the governor to allow us to take on our cargo, but he insisted that the ship must be held, with both anchors down, until further orders. I decided that we would go out that night and so informed Lorensen, the sailing master. Knowing me even as well as he did he laughed incredulously, thinking I was joking, for the channel through the harbor was shaped like the letter “S” and commanded by a fort which could, as he said, blow us out of the water without half trying.

“Just the same,” I said, “we are going to sea or to hell to-night.”

“All right, Captain, but it will be to hell, if I am any judge,” was the quiet reply of the game Lorensen, than whom a braver or better seaman never walked a deck. During the evening he greased all of the blocks so we could start on our problematical journey without any noise. The moon went down at midnight and before it was out of sight we had one anchor up, with a muffled capstan. We were getting up the other when the harbor policeman came along. A few Bank of England notes blinded him and we got under way, with two of the ship’s boats towing us and the tide helping us along. Evidently the fort had orders to look out for us but we caught them napping, apparently, for we were almost past it when we were hailed and ordered to stop. In a minute, without giving us a decent chance to heave to, even had we been so inclined, they whanged away at us. The second shot went clear through us, just below the waterway, and Lorensen, who was with me at the wheel, exclaimed grimly, “Here we go, Captain.”

But he was mistaken, for in the darkness their gunnery was not up to the standard of British marksmanship, for which I have a wholesome respect. They kept at it hard enough but all of their shots went wild, except for one that punched a hole in the port bulwarks forward, though from the way the shells whistled I have no doubt our canvas would have been punctured many times, had it been up. We were soon under cover of the Myrtle Bank Hotel and after that two ships protected us until we were far enough away so that only a chance shot could reach us. When we were well enough out in the harbor so that we could manœuvre and get the full effect of the light breeze that was blowing over the salt flats, we set all of our sails and pulled away.

At daylight I had the carpenter at work fixing up the little damage the fort had done us, and it was well that we were quick about it for during the afternoon we met the old warship “Bellerephon,” which was attached to that station, coming in from a trip around the island ten days ahead of time. We were preparing to salute her when she stopped and hove us to with a blank shot. I don’t think I have ever been more surprised, for there was no wireless telegraph in those days and I could not conceive how she had gotten word that we were suspected of filibustering. While I was racking my brain for some solution of the problem Lorensen ran forward, leaned out over the side, and came back and reported that there was a blue shirt under the bobstay. That explained it, for in those days it was an unwritten law in the British Navy that when a sailor on a merchant ship had any pronounced complaint to make, regarding either his own treatment or general conditions on the vessel, he would hang a shirt in the chains, under the bowsprit, where it would not be seen by the officers unless they were looking for it, as a signal to any warship they met that there was something wrong on board. Whenever and wherever a warship saw a shirt fluttering under the bobstay the vessel was held up and carefully investigated.

I suspected at once that it was Jimmy Donovan who had hung out the shirt, and I had him bucked and gagged and stowed away in the hold before he could have said “Jack Robinson.” Then, quickly, I made an entry on the log which showed that he had been left in the hospital at Kingston, with pernicious fever. By that time the lieutenant from the “Bellerephon” was alongside. When he came aboard I assumed a look of injured innocence and profound surprise. He ordered me to muster the crew aft and called for my papers. To my great satisfaction he merely glanced at the certificate of registry, which was forged, and centred his attention on the crew list. The men answered to their names as he called them off. When he came to Donovan I explained that he had been taken sick at Kingston and left there, and produced the log, which satisfied him.

“Who among you has any complaint to make?” he asked of the men. There was no response, and he repeated the question.

“Don’t be afraid,” he encouraged them. “The ‘Bellerephon’ will protect you. If you have any complaint to make, step out and make it. We will see that you get fair play and, if necessary, take you on board.”

No one moved, and after waiting some time the lieutenant turned to me with the remark that everything seemed to be all right. I told him I had heard of no complaints from any of the men and asked why they had “stood us up.”

“Why, there is a shirt out forward,” he explained. I suggested that perhaps some of the crew had been washing. Hearing my remark a quick-witted fellow named Bill Johnson, who had shipped on my first trip with the “Juliette,” stepped out and said he had washed his shirt that morning and hung it in the chains to dry, without knowing that it meant anything. “I’ve been a sailor for a good many years but that is one signal I never heard of before,” he said.

“Is that true, Bill?” asked the lieutenant with what seemed like just a shade of suspicion.

“It is, sir,” replied Bill with the steady gaze of an honest man.

“He is a ‘True Bill’ all right,” I told the young officer as I shot a grateful look at the grizzled sailor that meant a raise in wages. “He is the oldest man on the ship and one of the best. That shirt signal is a new one on me, too, and I thought I knew all the signs of the sea.”

“Very good, sir,” he replied. “It is quite evidently a mistake.”

He then returned to the “Bellerephon,” which answered our salute, and we squared away for Costa Rica. My mind was free from any further fear of capture, for a stiff breeze was singing over our quarter, and I knew by the time the old warship could get to Kingston and start after us again we would be well out of reach. As soon as she was hull down I mustered the crew aft and complimented Bill on his ready wit and rewarded it. He was with me for years after that and was never known by any other name than “True Bill.”

I then reminded the men that, in accordance with my invariable rule when running contraband, I had told all of them the exact nature of our voyage before we were out of sight of land and had offered to set ashore any who did not wish to undertake it, while those who stayed with me were to receive double pay, and a bonus out of the profits in addition, in consideration of the hazardous nature of the trip.

“Therefore,” I told them, “the treachery of Donovan has not only endangered your extra pay and bonus but also placed your freedom in jeopardy. As he was one of your number I will turn him over to you for such punishment as you think his case deserves. I, of course, reserve the right to review your verdict, but I do not believe you will be too lenient with him.” The crew welcomed this announcement with cheers, which could not be regarded as a good omen for the traitor, and a court-martial was organized, with the “bos’n” at the head of it.

Donovan confessed when he was brought before the court, whereupon it was unanimously and speedily decided that he should run the gantlet and be marooned, which verdict I approved, for I believed it to be none too severe. The crew prepared for the first ceremony by knotting a lot of rope ends and tarring them until they were as hard as iron but flexible. They then formed in a double line the full length of the ship and as Donovan ran down the middle of it they laid on so well that he was leaving a trail of blood before he tumbled in a heap at the end. He was then placed in the brig and kept there until we came to a small island off the Costa Rican coast, on which he was landed with enough water and provisions to last him a couple of weeks or more and a flag that he could use to signal any vessel coming his way. There was not a great deal of travel down that way in those days and he may still be there, doing a repetition of the Robinson Crusoe act, though the island was not very large and the boat’s crew that landed him reported that they saw no goats. Donovan was helpless from fear when he was lowered into the boat to be rowed to the island, and begged for mercy, but that was something our cargo did not contain.

The arms we carried were sold to the revolutionists in Costa Rica, being paid for partly in cash and partly in coffee, which I sold at Curacoa. From there I returned to Venezuela and reported to Guzman Blanco, after having been away only about four months. Not long after my arrival in Caracas, where I resumed my old position as confidential agent for Guzman, I received a letter from President Baez asking me to enter his employ, to reorganize his army and aid him in suppressing the revolutionary feeling which was being developed by agents for Pimental and Cabral. He offered to give me a commission as General in the Santo Domingan Army, which he did do later, and to pay me liberally for my services, which he didn’t do. I replied that I had again associated myself with Guzman and that while no length of service had been specified, I wished to remain with him at least a short while, after which I would try to get leave to join the Santo Domingans.

Guzman was paving the way for his election as Constitutional President, which was accomplished the next year, 1873, and all of his friends were working to that end. He was supported by a public sentiment that became practically unanimous, but there were a few who were unalterably opposed to any established order of things and who could not get over the habit of “revoluting,” with or without provocation. During the Fall and Winter these discontented ones gradually drew together under the leadership of General Pulido. Guzman was kept advised as to what they were doing but their following was so small that it caused him no uneasiness and, to further strengthen himself with the people, he determined to take no steps against them until they came out in the open, when he was prepared to crush them. The moment the rebels raised their banners Guzman took the field against them, in person. At the head of an army of four thousand veterans he marched to Valencia where he met Pulido and routed him, following up his scattered forces and almost annihilating them, and the revolt was stamped out with one smashing blow. That was the last hand raised against Guzman for seventeen years; during all of that time he was the absolute dictator of Venezuela. The constitution prohibited the President from succeeding himself so he occupied that office for alternate terms, with an obedient dummy serving in the intervals, which he spent in Europe as Minister Plenipotentiary, directing the government by mail. His rule was wise and progressive. Railroads were built, roads improved, schools established, and real religious liberty took the place of clericalism. He was betrayed, in the end, by his supposed friends, men whom he had raised to prominence and prosperity. Had he been succeeded by a man as strong and able as himself Venezuela would to-day be the foremost country in South America, instead of the one most uncivilized.

Not long after the campaign against Pulido, in which I served on Guzman’s staff, I received another letter from Baez, urging me to come to Santo Domingo. The same mail brought a letter from Baez to Guzman, asking him to grant me leave of absence for a few months to enter his service. Guzman was flattered by this request and with his permission I went to Santo Domingo City in the Spring of 1873, on the “Juliette.”