THE PHILISTINES ARE UPON THEE, SAMSON.
I was very fortunate in my servant Nunn, he being devoted to me, a
resolute fellow as well, and thoroughly trustworthy. He felt very badly
over my leaving him behind in Havana. Nor would I have done so under
ordinary circumstances.
The day before leaving on the trip, taking him aside, but not wishing to
actually disclose anything, I talked in a very impressive, grave way,
instructing him to leave Havana secretly after telling his mistress that
I had ordered him to go to Matanzas, a city forty miles east by rail. He
was to bring all the New York papers, meet me at Cajio and not let a
soul know his destination, but be there awaiting my arrival from the
Isle of Pines the following Sunday week. If in the mean time anything
unusual, no matter what, happened, then he was instantly to depart for
Cajio, there hire a boat and crew and come after me, not to mind expense
and not to lose a moment's time. Nunn was one of those wise men who know
how to obey orders without self-questionings as to the whys and
wherefores.
I had secured gun licenses from the authorities, and, giving them to
Nunn, ordered him to bring a breech-loader and a brace of revolvers with
him.
During my stay in the Isle of Pines I would be out of reach of the
outside world. If on meeting Nunn I found from the papers he brought
that there was any sign of danger I would not return to Havana, but
would secure a boat, provision it, set sail alone for some port in
Central America and send my servant back after my wife.
At 10 o'clock our party set out in an open-decked cargo boat from Cajio
for San Jose, seventy miles across the water and on the west coast of
the island. San Jose was one of the half-dozen plantations belonging to
our host, the chief product being coffee, and on this one there were 130
slaves.
We had a motley cargo. Twenty black fellows, dogs, turtles, fighting
cocks, two trained pigs, a good-sized snake that answered to the name of
Jacko and had the run of the ship. Ship, men, women and young darkies,
trained pigs and everything except we three guests were the absolute
property of our host.
We were passing through the gate of the Gulf of Matamano. The bottom was
so white and the water so clear that we could see distinctly all the
wondrous marine life beneath. Ashore in the thick forests all seemed to
be dead, but here in the water and beneath the surface all was teeming
with life. Flocks of sea fowl were in the air or whitened the rocks
which everywhere rose above the waters, and innumerable little islets
rested like lovely pictures in the blue setting of the sea.
At one of the loveliest, called Cayos de Tana, with a wide fringe of
white beach, we landed; that is, our boat ran toward it until the keel
stuck in the sand, when a dozen black fellows sprang over into the
water, and, taking us white trash on their shoulders, carried us ashore.
Once there we set out to find turtle eggs, and soon found heaps of sand
which, when scraped away, revealed the eggs in dozens. We took away
about a bushel, but they had a rancid flavor, so Gray and I backed out
of our promise to eat them, as did Senors Andrez and Mondago.
The man in charge of the boat was a skillful sailor, and, having a fine
breeze, we rushed through the water at a great rate. At last, after a
day of novel enjoyment, just as the short twilight of the tropics was
fading out, we ran alongside of the little pier of San Jose and were
welcomed with loud shouts and gun shots from about a hundred gaudily
attired slaves, who were excited and seemingly glad over the return of
their master, this being Sunday and a holiday.
Did any of my readers ever think what the rest of Sunday is to the
toilers of the earth? If Christ left no other legacy to the Christian
world but that happy day of rest, then must we still bless and praise
him as the Mighty Benefactor of the world, the Saviour and glorious hero
of the workingman. For nineteen years I toiled, exposed to every storm
that blew, and was sustained through all the six days' misery by the
blessed knowledge that Sunday, with its rest, was never far off. And
when the Sunday morning dawned and the happy consciousness filled my
mind that for one day at least I was free from toil, my heart filled
with gratitude to the Galilean carpenter, who, by his gracious deeds and
genius, had so impressed the hearts of men that for his sake they had
taken the seventh day of the Hebrew and bequeathed it as a day of rest
to all the toiling generations of the sons of men. The Roman Empire,
which overshadowed the world and held the nations in subjection, knew no
day of rest, and to-day the toiling millions of China never wake to say:
"This is a day of rest on which I can turn my thoughts to other things
than toil."
I must not here enter into details of that week of rare sport and keen
enjoyment in the Isle of Pines. We went shark fishing by day and tipping
turtles in the moonlight by night, when they came ashore to deposit
their eggs in the sand. One never-ending source of enjoyment to the
Cubans was the battles of the fighting cocks. I had got over some of my
repugnance to the sport, and enjoyed it almost as well as the cocks
themselves. How soon one learns to do in Rome as do the Romans!
The week had come to an end, and, although importuned by my host to
delay my departure, my anxiety as to the state of affairs in the outside
world was too great to postpone my return to the mainland. So, after a
rousing send-off from every one on the plantation, I departed. Just as
the sun was flinging its dyes over the clouds and waters, one week from
the Sunday of my arrival at San Jose, I was sailing into the little bay
of Cajio. Gray was to remain another week, and I was returning in a
small sloop manned by two of Senor Andrez's men. I found Nunn waiting
for me on the beach. He handed me a letter from my wife and said
everything was well at home. Opening the letter I found an earnest
appeal to return at once. Going to the hacienda near by I took the
bundle of New York and London papers Nunn had brought. I went to my
room, and, opening the Herald I was amazed to see the storm over the
Bank of England business and the great desire to discover the mysterious
Warren.
I felt that the time had come when it would no longer be prudent for me
to live under my right name. It was an easy matter to invent a name and
live under it, and I determined to do so, for a time at least, until
after I saw how matters developed. But I could not do this in Havana,
for in case of using an alias it would be necessary to take my wife into
my confidence. She was sure to discover the matter sooner or later, and
it was better for her to learn the miserable truth from my own lips than
to leave the discovery to come to her through the public press.
In Mexico I should really have nothing to fear, even if it was known I
was there. So, after some cogitation, I determined to return to Havana,
say good-bye to all our friends and embark as soon as possible for Vera
Cruz. I was impatient to set off at once, but it was both dangerous and
difficult work to go through the jungle by night, so telling Nunn to be
ready to start at sunrise I went to bed.
At dawn we set out and did not halt until we reached San Marcos, with
its gloomy memorial of human savagery. After an hour's halt we set out
and arrived at San Felipe in time to catch the train to Havana. On
arriving there at dusk I sent my servant to inform his mistress of my
safe arrival while I called on Don Fernando at the hotel. His frank and
hearty reception told me at once that he had heard nothing, and he knows
pretty well everything going on in the town. From the hotel I drove to
the police barracks and called on the colonel of police, with the same
result, which satisfied me beyond all doubt that however the storm blew
in London or New York there was not a single cloud on the horizon in
Havana. But it was soon to blow a hurricane. I had a very happy meeting
with my wife, and found her the picture of health and happiness.
As I looked in her face, beaming with confidence and faith, I realized
how hard it would be to tell her the terrible truth, and what a shock it
would be to her when she discovered the husband she believed the soul of
honor stood in danger of a prison. Yet I was tolerably certain she would
forgive me upon my promise never to do wrong again.
She had sent out invitations to dinner for Thursday to twenty friends.
There was then a steamer in the harbor advertised to sail in two days
for Mexico, and I had thought of going by her. Had we, this book would
never have been written.
As invitations were out for Thursday, I concluded to wait for Saturday's
steamer, but determined to sail on that day without fail.
Under our system of housekeeping a dinner party was a simple thing. We
merely had to notify our landlord how many guests we expected and the
thing was done, so far as we were concerned. Don Fernando would send his
hotel steward down to the house with reinforcements of cooks and
waiters, and my wife had simply to usher the guests into the dining room
and out again. Don Fernando's supernumeraries did the rest. On the day
of our dinner I was strongly tempted to give some hint to my wife that I
was in some way entangled in a web, but as she was so happy I could not
do it, but resolved to wait until we were settled in Mexico, and then to
tell her a little, but not all the truth.
My wife, all unconscious of the frightful calamity impending, entered
upon the last half day of happiness she was to know for many long years.
The same statement would be true of myself. As the guests were arriving
I was in a happy vein, and in the same happy frame of mind sat down to
dinner. Twenty happy mortals, but not one divined the termination of
that dinner party, least of all the proud and happy hostess. It was a
great success, and at 8 o'clock was drawing to a close. The long windows
were open, while the warm breeze from the nearby gulf was pouring
through the room. The clock had just chimed the quarter when there came
a sudden rush of feet over the veranda and through the hall. All eyes
were fixed on the open door leading to the hall, when an eager,
resolute-faced man, evidently an American, stepped with a firm pace into
the room, followed by a dozen civilians and soldiers. With a quick
glance over the company his eyes rested on me, and coming direct to my
chair, while my guests gazed in amazement, he bowed and said in a low
voice: "Mr. Bidwell, I am sorry to disturb your dinner party or to annoy
you in any way, but I am forced to tell you I have a warrant in my
pocket for your arrest upon a charge of forgery upon the Bank of
England. The warrant is signed by the Captain-General of Cuba,
everything is in due form, and you are my prisoner. I am William
Pinkerton."
[Illustration: BENEATH OLD BAILEY COURT ROOM--COURT ADJOURNED FOR
LUNCH.]
Every man who enters the arena and joins in the struggle of life has
more or fewer takedowns in his history. But my wish is that between
this hour and my last I may have no more takedowns so near the freezing
point as this was. I shall never forget the look on my wife's face.
First she gazed at the intruders with indignation, then turned to me
with a look of eager expectation, as much as to say: "Wait till my
husband raises his arm and you will all go down." But instead of seeing
me rise, indignant and angry, driving the intruders out, she saw me
talking quite calmly to Curtin. Then her face grew deadly white. None of
the guests heard Pinkerton's words, but, as will be easily imagined,
there was a painful silence, which I broke by standing up and saying
that there was some unhappy mistake, that I was arrested upon the charge
of furnishing arms to the insurrectionists in the eastern provinces. I
requested my friends to withdraw at once, and everything would be
explained on the morrow.
[Illustration: TRANSFERRED FROM DARTMOOR TO WOKING PRISON]
There were five soldiers present, Mr. Crawford, the English
Consul-General, Pinkerton and Captain John Curtin, my servant Nunn being
in custody of the latter. It was a strange and unhappy scene, and every
one felt extremely awkward and ill at ease, especially the writer. In
the rear of the dining room was a large sitting room, where I kept my
valuables in trunks and did my writing. I turned to Mr. P., and said:
"Will you come in the other room?" "Certainly," he replied, without the
slightest hesitation. The room was brilliantly lighted. Motioning him to
a seat, I said:
"Will you have a glass of wine?"
"Yes, but I never drink anything but Cliquot," replied Mr. Pinkerton,
pleasantly.
A servant brought in a bottle and glasses, and I turned the conversation
upon the subject of money. The captain, being a stranger to me, guided
by former experience with Irving & Co. I fancied he might be bribed.
Sometimes the police are susceptible to this form of temptation, and I
was at bay and desperate. I intended to offer him a fortune for a bribe.
If he refused to take it I resolved to shoot him and dash out of the
window, for at my elbow was an open drawer, with a loaded revolver ready
at my hand.
I said: "You know the power and value of money?"
"Yes, and I need and want plenty of it."
Pointing to a trunk I said: "I have a fortune there. Sit where you are
ten minutes, give no alarm, and I will give you $50,000."
Then a scene ensued that if put upon the stage would be deemed
farfetched, if not incredible. When I said this the captain never moved
a muscle, but looked at me seriously, earnestly, then dropped his eyes
to the bottle. As he did so I placed my hand on the revolver. He took
the bottle up, filled his glass, and, looking steadily at me, drank it
off, and, replacing the glass on the stand, coolly remarked:
"Why, sir, that is $5,000 a minute!"
"Yes, and good pay, too," I said.
"But I won't have it!" he interjected, and sprang to his feet as he saw
me make a movement; but I was too quick for him.
I fired point-blank, and down he went as if felled by lightning.
I rushed to the window, when the Venetians were torn violently down, and
one of Curtin's subordinates, revolver in hand, sprang from the outer
darkness through the window into the room, and the others came with the
soldiers. My wife, too, white faced, rushed in from the dining room. A
lively struggle followed, in which Curtin, having risen from the floor,
joined. The struggle was soon over, leaving me a prisoner under close
guard.
My bullet had struck the captain, breaking a rib and glancing off, but
he was game, and when we shortly after departed for the city he rode
with me in the same carriage. I tried to soothe my wife's fears, but it
was attempting the impossible, so we drove away to the city in three
carriages, Mr. P. assuring my wife that I would sleep at the hotel.
By the time we arrived the news had spread among the American colony,
and as the hotel was a sort of American club delegations of my
acquaintances speedily arrived. All were loud in the denunciation of the
outrage. Of course, they saw things on the surface only. Soon our
Consul-General Torbet arrived, and assured me he would see that I should
be treated with every consideration until such time as the unfortunate
mistake was corrected.
That night I slept at the hotel with Curtin and his two companions for
roommates. Mr. P. took his wound and close call very good naturedly, and
said he did not blame me at all, but felt taken down to think I had got
the drop on him. Early the next morning my friend, the chief of police,
Col. Moreno de Vascos, called on me, indignant and angry that I should
suffer such discourtesy. He was particularly indignant over the insult
to himself in not being consulted, so that he could have sent me a note
to call on him and explain. Then he turned to Pinkerton and told him to
liberate me, as he would be responsible for me whenever wanted. But the
captain knew what he was about, and knew his business too well and the
backing he had to pay any attention to Col. Vascos. I claimed the
protection of our Consul, but Torbet regretfully told me that on account
of the orders Pinkerton bore from the State Department at Washington he
was forced to consent to my detention, but he would not permit me to be
kept in the ordinary prison. So about 12 o'clock next day I was
transferred to the police barracks, and put into the lieutenant of
police's room and a guard of soldiers placed over me.
The New York Herald of the next day contained the following:
(Editorial, New York Herald, Feb. 26, 1873.)
"CUBAN AFFAIRS--BIDWELL'S IMPRISONMENT.
"The special telegraphic advices which we publish to-day in
reference to the arrest and imprisonment at Havana of Bidwell, one
of the parties accused of the recent forgeries on the Bank of
England, are very interesting, touching the jurisdiction of the
Island authorities in this matter. It appears that Bidwell was
arrested at the request of the British Government on the
supposition that he was a British subject; but it is represented
that he is a citizen of the United States of America, and that his
arrest in Cuba is not justified by any extradition treaty with
England, nor by any authority, except that of the Captain-General,
whose will over the Island is the supreme law. If it can be
established that Bidwell is a citizen of the United States his case
certainly calls for the intervention of the Secretary of State. The
prisoner, it seems, desires a transfer to New York, which is
perfectly natural, but we suspect that the international
difficulties suggested touching his detention in Cuba will not
materially improve his chances of escape. Such proceedings could be
carried out in no other country than Cuba, where the
Captain-General does not always act in accordance with law.
Distinguished lawyers and judges of that city, in conversation with
the Herald correspondent, denounced the act as being utterly
illegal and without precedent."
(Cable dispatch to the London Times, March 3, 1873.)
"Havana, Cuba, March 2, 1873.
"Great efforts are being made by the lawyers and prominent citizens
here to obtain the release of Bidwell, supposed to be Warren.
To-morrow the American Consul will demand his release on the ground
that he is an American citizen. The British Consul-General, E. H.
Crawford, is doing everything in his power to counteract these
efforts. There is great excitement here over Bidwell's arrest and
the popular sympathy is with him."
(By cable from Havana to New York Herald, March 31, 1873.)
"Bidwell, the alleged Bank of England forger, whose arrest caused
so much excitement here, escaped by jumping from the second story
balcony of the police barracks late last night in the presence of
his guards. He was partly dressed at the time. Bidwell and his wife
are greatly liked here, and no doubt his Havana friends, seeing the
impossibility of counteracting by legal means the efforts of the
British Consul to secure his extradition, planned the affair.
"It is the general opinion that John Bull has seen the last of
Bidwell, there being dozens of planters in the district ready and
willing to shelter him, which they can do effectually."
[Illustration: MAT-MAKING AT PENTONVILLE PRISON.]