“Monseigneur--Your favor of August 16 has been received.
“1. I am the duly authorized agent of the Royalist party in so far as
it is possible for any one to occupy that position under existing
circumstances. With the Queen in prison and absolutely cut off from
all communication with her friends, it is out of the question for me to
carry anything like formal credentials.
“2. Alienating any part of the territory cannot give rise to any
constitutional questions, for the reason that the constitutions, like
the land tenures, are in a state of such utter confusion that only a
strong hand can unravel them, and the restoration will result in the
establishment of a strong military government. If I go down with the
expedition I have organized I shall be in full control of the situation
and in a position to carry out all my contracts.
“3. It is the island of Kauai on which I propose to establish you as an
independent sovereign.
“4. My plan is to successively occupy all the islands, leaving the
capital to the last. When the others have fallen, the capital, being cut
off from all its resources, will be easily taken, and may very likely
fall without effort. I don’t expect in any case to have to fortify
myself or to take the defensive, or to have to issue a call to arms, as
I shall have an overwhelming force to join me at once, in addition to
those who go with me, who by themselves will be sufficient to carry
everything before them without active cooperation from the people there.
“5. The Government forces consist of about 160 men and boys, with very
imperfect military training, and of whom about forty are officers. They
are organized as infantry. There are also about 600 citizens enrolled
as a reserve guard, who may be called upon in case of an emergency,
and about 150 police. We can fully rely upon the assistance of all the
police and from one-quarter to one-half of the other troops. And of the
remainder many will under no circumstances engage in a sharp fight in
defense of the present government. There are now on the island plenty
of men and arms to accomplish our purpose, and if my expedition does
not get off very soon the people there will be organized to do the work
without other assistance from here than the direction of a few leaders,
of which they stand more in need than anything else.
“6. The tonnage of the vessel is 146. She at present has berth-room for
twenty men, but bunks can be arranged in the hold for 256 more, with
provision for ample ventilation. She has one complete set of sails and
two extra spars. The remaining information in regard to her I will have
to obtain and send you to-morrow. I think it must be clear to you that
the opportunity now offered you will be of incomparably greater value
at once than Trinidad would ever be. Still hoping that I may have an
interview with you at an early date, respectfully yours,
“RALSTON J. MARKOWE.”
What Harden-Hickey thought of this is not known, but as two weeks before
he received it he had written Markowe, asking him by what authority he
represented the Royalists of Honolulu, it seems evident that when the
crown of Hawaii was first proffered him he did not at once spurn it.
He now was in the peculiar position of being a deposed king of an island
in the South Atlantic, which had been taken from him, and king-elect of
an island in the Pacific, which was his if he could take it.
This was in August of 1895. For the two years following, Harden-Hickey
was a soldier of misfortunes. Having lost his island kingdom, he could
no longer occupy himself with plans for its improvement. It had been
his toy. They had taken it from him, and the loss and the ridicule which
followed hurt him bitterly.
And for the lands he really owned in Mexico and California, and which,
if he were to live in comfort, it was necessary he should sell, he
could find no purchaser; and, moreover, having quarrelled with his
father-in-law, he had cut off his former supply of money. The need of it
pinched him cruelly.
The advertised cause of this quarrel was sufficiently characteristic
to be the real one. Moved by the attack of Great Britain upon his
principality, Harden-Hickey decided upon reprisals. It must be
remembered that always he was more Irish than French. On paper
he organized an invasion of England from Ireland, the home of his
ancestors. It was because Flagler refused to give him money for this
adventure that he broke with him. His friends say this was the real
reason of the quarrel, which was a quarrel on the side of Harden-Hickey
alone.
And there were other, more intimate troubles. While not separated from
his wife, he now was seldom in her company. When the Baroness was in
Paris, Harden-Hickey was in San Francisco; when she returned to San
Francisco, he was in Mexico. The fault seems to have been his. He was
greatly admired by pretty women. His daughter by his first wife, now a
very beautiful girl of sixteen, spent much time with her stepmother;
and when not on his father’s ranch in Mexico, his son also, for months
together, was at her side. The husband approved of this, but he himself
saw his wife infrequently. Nevertheless, early in the spring of 1898,
the Baroness leased a house in Brockton Square, in Riverside, Cal.,
where it was understood by herself and by her friends her husband would
join her. At that time in Mexico he was trying to dispose of a large
tract of land. Had he been able to sell it, the money for a time would
have kept one even of his extravagances contentedly rich. At least,
he would have been independent of his wife and of her father. Up to
February of 1898 his obtaining this money seemed probable.
Early in that month the last prospective purchaser decided not to buy.
There is no doubt that had Harden-Hickey then turned to his
father-in-law, that gentleman, as he had done before, would have opened
an account for him.
But the Prince of Trinidad felt he could no longer beg, even for the
money belonging to his wife, from the man he had insulted. He could no
longer ask his wife to intercede for him. He was without money of his
own, with out the means of obtaining it; from his wife he had ceased to
expect even sympathy, and from the world he knew, the fact that he was
a self-made king caused him always to be pointed out with ridicule as a
charlatan, as a jest.
The soldier of varying fortunes, the duellist and dreamer, the devout
Catholic and devout Buddhist, saw the forty-third year of his life only
as the meeting-place of many fiascos.
His mind was tormented with imaginary wrongs, imaginary slights,
imaginary failures.
This young man, who could paint pictures, write books, organize colonies
oversea, and with a sword pick the buttons from a waistcoat, forgot the
twenty good years still before him; forgot that men loved him for the
mistakes he had made; that in parts of the great city of Paris his name
was still spoken fondly, still was famous and familiar.
In his book on the “Ethics of Suicide,” for certain hard places in life
he had laid down an inevitable rule of conduct.
As he saw it he had come to one of those hard places, and he would not
ask of others what he himself would not perform.
From Mexico he set out for California, but not to the house his wife had
prepared for him.
Instead, on February 9, 1898, at El Paso, he left the train and
registered at a hotel.
At 7.30 in the evening he went to his room, and when, on the following
morning, they kicked in the door, they found him stretched rigidly upon
the bed, like one lying in state, with, near his hand, a half-emptied
bottle of poison.
On a chair was pinned this letter to his wife:
“My DEAREST,--No news from you, although you have had plenty of time to
write. Harvey has written me that he has no one in view at present to
buy my land. Well, I shall have tasted the cup of bitterness to the very
dregs, but I do not complain. Good-by. I forgive you your conduct toward
me and trust you will be able to forgive yourself. I prefer to be a dead
gentleman to a living blackguard like your father.”
And when they searched his open trunk for something that might identify
the body on the bed, they found the crown of Trinidad.
You can imagine it: the mean hotel bedroom, the military figure with
its white face and mustache, “_a la_ Louis Napoleon,” at rest upon the
pillow, the startled drummers and chambermaids peering in from the hall,
and the landlord, or coroner, or doctor, with a bewildered countenance,
lifting to view the royal crown of gilt and velvet.
The other actors in this, as Harold Frederic called it, “Opera Bouffe
Monarchy,” are still living.
The Baroness Harden-Hickey makes her home in this country.
The Count de la Boissiere, ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs, is still a
leader of the French colony in New York, and a prosperous commission
merchant with a suite of offices on Fifty-fourth Street. By the will of
Harden-Hickey he is executor of his estate, guardian of his children,
and what, for the purpose of this article, is of more importance, in
his hands lies the future of the kingdom of Trinidad. When Harden-Hickey
killed himself the title to the island was in dispute. Should young
Harden-Hickey wish to claim it, it still would be in dispute. Meanwhile,
by the will of the First James, De la Boissiere is appointed perpetual
regent, a sort of “receiver,” and executor of the principality.
To him has been left a royal decree signed and sealed, but blank. In the
will the power to fill in this blank with a statement showing the final
disposition of the island has been bestowed upon De la Boissiere.
So, some day, he may proclaim the accession of a new king, and give a
new lease of life to the kingdom of which Harden-Hickey dreamed.
But unless his son, or wife, or daughter should assert his or her
rights, which is not likely to happen, so ends the dynasty of James the
First of Trinidad, Baron of the Holy Roman Empire.
To the wise ones in America he was a fool, and they laughed at him; to
the wiser ones, he was a clever rascal who had evolved a new real-estate
scheme and was out to rob the people--and they respected him. To my
mind, of them all, Harden-Hickey was the wisest.
Granted one could be serious, what could be more delightful than to be
your own king on your own island?
The comic paragraphers, the business men of “hard, common sense,” the
captains of industry who laughed at him and his national resources
of buried treasure, turtles’ eggs, and guano, with his body-guard of
Zouaves and his Grand Cross of Trinidad, certainly possessed many things
that Harden-Hickey lacked. But they in turn lacked the things that made
him happy; the power to “make believe,” the love of romance, the touch
of adventure that plucked him by the sleeve.
When, as boys, we used to say: “Let’s pretend we’re pirates,” as a man,
Harden-Hickey begged: “Let’s pretend I’m a king.”
But the trouble was, the other boys had grown up and would not pretend.
For some reason his end always reminds me of the closing line of
Pinero’s play, when the adventuress, Mrs. Tanqueray, kills herself, and
her virtuous stepchild says: “If we had only been kinder!”