THE MAROONING OF A TRAITOR
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.”