RAPID-FIRE REVOLTS
The friendliness of Fate, in throwing me in the way of adventures which
were beyond my discernment, was never more plainly evidenced than on
my return to New York from Australia and Egypt in 1890. On the trip
across the Atlantic my mind had wandered away from the West Indies and
I experienced an increasing desire to return to South America, but
one of the first things I heard on my arrival was that my old friend
Guzman Blanco had finally been shorn of his supreme power in Venezuela
only a few months before. He had been betrayed by his friends, after
the established fashion of that captivating country, and Dr. Anduesa
Palacio, one of his enemies of years, had been made President with the
approval and assistance of Dr. Rojas Paul, the dummy whom Guzman had
left as titular head of the government while he was revelling in Paris,
his foreign capital. This discouraged me for a time in my half-formed
plan to return to my Southern stamping ground, and as I had plenty
of money and was not averse to a rest, I concluded to wait around,
Micawber like, for something to turn up. But it was not long until a
silent voice began calling me to South America; softly, at first, and
then so loudly that it came as a command. I had heard the same sort
of an order before, and only very recently, and was not disposed to
disregard it. I felt sure it would not lead me into disappointment
twice in succession.
Without knowing where or how the cruise would end, but confident it
would lead to trouble--though I did not imagine how much of it there
really would be or how unpleasant it would prove--I bought the “Alice
Ada,” a brigantine of three hundred tons, laid her on with Thos. Norton
& Sons, and got a general cargo for Rosario, Brazil, on the River
Parava. From Rosario I went one hundred miles up the river to St.
Stephens and took on a cargo of wheat for Rio Janiero. As soon as I
had looked around a little in Rio, while the cargo was being unloaded,
I understood why I had gone there, for my expectant eye distinguished
signs of a nice little revolution which was just being shaped up. These
indications, though somewhat vague to even an experienced new arrival,
were so encouraging in their promise of exciting events that I sold my
ship and took quarters at the Hotel Freitas to watch developments. I
had not long to wait before the young republic celebrated its first
revolution, but it was accomplished in such a disgracefully quiet way,
and in such marked contrast with that sort of proceeding in Venezuela,
and in Central America and the West Indies, that I was thoroughly
disgusted with the country and was tempted to move on again into new
fields. A land in which the government is changed by the force of
public sentiment alone, and without the booming of cannon and the
bursting of bombs, has no charm for me.
When the last Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II, was dragged out of bed
at night and deported without the firing of a shot, in the “Peaceful
Revolution” of November 15, 1889, Deodoro da Fonseca was made President
by the lovers of liberty and equality, which purely imaginary
conditions of life never will be found in any country. Before his
weakness had become apparent he was made Constitutional President and
Floriano Peixotto was elected Vice-President. Deodoro had neither the
firmness nor the initiative that the situation demanded. His policy was
weak and vacillating and his popularity waned rapidly. The revolution
which was in the process of formation when I arrived on the scene was,
I discovered, being quietly fomented by Floriano, the Vice-President.
He soon had the army at his back and, as the people were beginning to
clamor for him, it was an easy matter to gain the support of Admiral
Mello, the ranking officer of the Brazilian Navy, and Admiral Soldanha
da Gama, commandant of the naval academy. They brought matters to a
head on the morning of November 23, 1891. Mello took up a position at
the foot of the main street of Rio in the cruiser “Riachuelo,” the
finest ship in the navy, trained his guns on the palace of Itumary,
and sent word to Deodoro that he would open fire on him in two hours
if he did not abdicate in favor of Floriano. Deodoro abdicated in
two minutes, and dropped dead soon afterward from heart disease, and
Floriano was proclaimed President.
Before he had time to get his new chair well warmed he had a row with
Mello, and as soon as I heard of it I foresaw another revolution,
which pleasing prospect prompted me to remain in Brazil, for I did
not believe it could possibly prove as uninteresting as those that
had preceded it. Mello regarded himself as the President-maker and
considered that he was rightfully entitled to be the power behind the
throne. However, Floriano was not at all constituted for the role of
a mere figurehead and he made it plain to Mello that while he might
make courteous suggestions and even give friendly advice, he could
not go an inch beyond that. Floriano was really a remarkable man. He
was perhaps one-half Indian and the rest corrupted Portuguese; sixty
years old, with clear, brown eyes and iron gray hair and whiskers. A
strong, fine character he was; perfectly fearless, absolutely honest
and devoted to his country, whose interests he greatly advanced. He was
proud of his Indian blood, which he made a synonyme for courage and
fairness, and often referred to it. He was the best President I have
ever known, not excepting even the great Guzman.
Mello was a younger man and more of a Spaniard in his blood and his
characteristics. He had considerable bravery, of the kind that is best
displayed in the presence of a large audience, but he was impetuous and
at times foolish. He was abnormally ambitious and believed in a rule
or ruin policy. At that, he was more a man after my own heart, for he
stood for revolt and anarchy, while Floriano stood for law and order.
Soldanha da Gama, the third figure in the drama, was a strange mixture
of naval ability, cowardice, and theatrical bravery.
When Floriano refused to be dictated to or even influenced in his
views as to what was best for Brazil, Mello proceeded to plot against
him with even more earnestness than he had displayed in the plans to
overthrow Deodoro. He worked chiefly among the naval officers, the
aristocrats, the adherents of Dom Pedro, and the Catholic clergy, and
in the end they all became his allies. He was unable to shake the
army, though he tried repeatedly to create dissatisfaction among the
troops, and the influence of the priests was minimized by the fact
that the people generally were blindly in love with the new scheme of
self-government, which sounded well and appealed strongly to their
sentimental natures, and were loyal to Floriano.
As Mello’s plot shaped up I began to suspect that his real purpose was
to restore Dom Pedro to the throne and make himself the power behind
it. Mello cared nothing for titles; it was his ambition to be the
dictator of Brazil, with power as absolute as that which Guzman Blanco
had exercised for many years in Venezuela. It was natural for him to
suppose that if he reëstablished the Empire under its old ruler, Dom
Pedro would be so grateful to him, and to him alone, that he would be
thoroughly subservient to his influence. Later events confirmed me
not only in the belief that this was what was in Mello’s mind, but
that he had an understanding with Dom Pedro and, through him, with
several European rulers, who were keenly anxious to see the “divine
right of kings” perpetuated in South America. Mello considered that
the dictator to an Emperor would have more power than the dictator to
a President, and he may have even dreamed that he would some day take
the throne himself and establish a new dynasty. Dom Pedro had issued a
protest against his deposition as soon as he reached Europe, in which
all the princes of Coburg joined, and was conducting an active campaign
for his restoration. It is interesting to note, in passing, that there
is still a pretender to the throne of Brazil. When Dom Pedro died he
left his lost crown to Donna Isabella, wife of Count D’Eu, a Bourbon
prince. She passed it over to her eldest son, Peter, when he became of
age, and only recently he transferred all of his shadowy rights and
prerogatives to his younger brother, Louis, who now considers himself
the rightful ruler of Brazil. The Old World has a way of keeping up
pretenderships that is almost as ridiculous as some of the revolutions
of the New World.
It was amusing to watch the development of Mello’s rebellion, which
continued through all of 1892 and the greater part of the following
year. One would have thought that two friendly leaders were planning
rival surprise parties, in which there was to be nothing more serious
than the throwing of confetti. Floriano, surrounded by spies and
assassins but also by many loyal and devoted friends, knew perfectly
well, from his own spies, what Mello was doing, but, relying on his
own strength and the public sentiment behind him, he made no move to
check him. On the other hand, Mello was well aware that Floriano knew
all that was going on, yet neither one gave any outward sign of this
knowledge, and when they were together they appeared to be friends.
It was along in July or August, 1893, that I was delightedly dragged
into the mysterious muss, after a period of waiting that was long,
anxious, and expensive. Mello sent for me first and expressed a wish
that I go down to Santa Catharina Island, off the southern coast
of Brazil, and blow up the “Republica,” the one Brazilian warship
whose officers had remained loyal to Floriano, though finally, just
before the revolution was declared, they went over to Mello. With the
exception of Soldanha da Gama, who was neutral but whom he regarded
as more of a friend than an enemy, Mello had converted the rest of
the navy to his cause, but the “Republica” held out against him and
he wanted her put out of the way of doing him harm. He offered a cash
payment and a commission in the navy in return for her destruction, but
I could never get him down to definite terms or to a contract that
I would accept. We had several conferences, and, while we were still
negotiating, I received a call from one of Floriano’s aides, who asked
me to accompany him to the palace. He took me in the rear entrance and
up a back stairway to Floriano’s private _sala_ where, after presenting
me, he left me, as I supposed, alone with the President.
“I understand,” said Floriano, getting right down to business, “that
you were in Venezuela with President Guzman and that you have had
military training and experience.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“I am told, too, that you have made a study of high explosives and have
invented a remarkable torpedo.”
“That also is true.”
“Would you be willing to undertake a mission that would involve
considerable danger, but for which you would be well paid?”
“I am open to anything except vulgar assassination. That is my
business.”
“What do you charge for your services?”
“That depends entirely on the nature of the work.”
“Then we can leave that question open until the nature of the work has
been decided on, provided it is understood that your compensation will
be such as you are ordinarily accustomed to.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Brazil may need your services, Colonel Boynton,” with an accent on the
“Colonel.”
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted, “Captain Boynton.”
“I repeat, Colonel Boynton,” he replied, with a smile and the
suggestion of a bow. “Brazil may need your services, but I cannot tell
how soon nor in what capacity.”
“If I enter your service it will be a loyal service to the end,” I told
him.
“Consider yourself then in the service of Brazil.” As he said this he
raised his hand and from behind a curtain appeared Captain Cochrane, a
descendant of the English Admiral Cochrane who had fought for Brazil
seventy years before. He had heard all that we had said.
“As we were strangers I took this precaution,” explained Floriano. “It
will not be necessary again.”
“It was a perfectly justifiable precaution,” I replied.
Captain Cochrane then repeated in English my conversation with the
President, to be sure I understood it, after which I was escorted back
to my hotel. Immediately on my arrival there I sent word to Mello
that our negotiations were off and that I would consider no further
proposition from him.
A few days after this meeting with the President the revolution was
declared, under conditions such as one would look for on the light
opera stage but never in real life, not even in South America. On the
evening of September fifth, Floriano went to the opera, accompanied
by Mello, Soldanha and several other officers of the army and navy,
and they all sat together in the presidential box. Mello and Soldanha
excused themselves after the second act. They left their cloaks in the
box and said they would be back in a few minutes. Knowing full well the
reason for their departure and that they had no thought of returning,
Floriano bowed them out with an ironical excess of politeness.
Soldanha, who had not yet taken sides, though his sympathies were with
the “rebellion” and he subsequently allied himself with it, retired
to the naval school, on an island near the city, and Mello went on
board his flagship, the “Aquidaban.” During the night he assembled
his captains and impressively gave them their final orders, with the
dramatic announcement that the standard of revolt would be hoisted at
sunrise. His fleet, in addition to the flagship, consisted of the
“Guanabara,” “Trajano,” and “Almirante Tamandate,” protected cruisers;
the “Sete de Setembro,” a wooden barbette ship; the gunboat “Centaur,”
and two river monitors. The protected cruiser “Republica,” whose
officers had just decided to join the rest of the navy in the effort
to compel the retirement of Floriano, was coming up from down the
coast, and the “Riachuelo,” with which Mello had forced the abdication
of Deodoro, was cruising in the Mediterranean. It was not an imposing
fighting force but it was sufficient to give Mello command of the sea,
while Floriano was in control of the forts and the land forces.
At daybreak Mello seized all of the government shipping in the bay
and announced a blockade of Rio harbor. He then sent word to Floriano
that if he did not abdicate, without naming his successor, by four
o’clock that afternoon, the city would be bombarded. This threat was
also communicated to the foreign ministers, evidently in the hope that
they would try to persuade Floriano to step out, in the interests
of peace, but they promptly protested to Mello against bombardment.
Under any circumstances, they told him, unless he proposed to violate
the international rules of warfare, he could not bombard until after
formal notice of forty-eight hours, to allow the removal of neutrals
and non-combatants.
Floriano’s reply was an emphatic refusal to abdicate, and, precisely
at four o’clock, Mello answered it with one shell from a three-inch
gun, which exploded near the American consulate and killed a foreigner.
During the next week Mello fired forty or fifty shots into the city
every day but they did little damage; the fact that they apparently
were not aimed at any particular spot probably made no difference in
the execution. Frequently he would send boats ashore for supplies, to
which nobody paid any attention, and at four o’clock every afternoon
the “Aquidaban” would steam solemnly over and engage in a comic opera
duel with Fort Santa Cruz, which was located at the point of the
harbor entrance opposite Sugar Loaf Hill. Mello’s shots invariably
went clear over the fort or buried themselves in its walls, while the
gunners at the fort could not have hit him if he had stood still for
an hour, so no damage was done to either side. After about twenty
shots the “Aquidaban” would return to her anchorage, slowly and with
great dignity, and hostilities would be over until the next day at the
same hour. This daily duel, which was the star act in the serio-comic
programme, always drew a crowd to the water front. Business went on
as usual throughout the “revolution,” which was regarded with amused
interest rather than with fear.
Very soon after the firing of the first shot, Italian, English,
German, Austrian, and Portuguese warships appeared at Rio, ostensibly
to protect the rights of their citizens, but their prompt arrival,
made possible only by the fact that they were cruising close at hand,
which was in itself significant, and the attitude they assumed, made
it plain to me that they were there under secret orders to aid in the
restoration of Dom Pedro. Mello was not a rebel but a pirate, yet the
commanders of these foreign ships, all representing monarchies, gave
him their moral support, and I have always believed that only the
belated arrival of an American naval force prevented them from giving
him their active support as well. Their influence was so strong that
when Rear Admiral Oscar F. Stanton, of the United States Navy, finally
reached Rio, he made the inexcusable mistake of saluting Mello. For
this he was speedily recalled, Rear Admiral Gherardi being sent down
to succeed him. Stanton’s excuse was that he wished to maintain a
neutral position, but no question of neutrality was involved. I know
that several of the American naval officers who arrived later shared
my view that Mello was a pirate and should have been blown out of the
water by the combined fleets. It was evident, from the prompt recall
of Stanton, that the Navy Department at Washington held the same
opinion but had not sufficient courage in its convictions to order the
suppression of Mello. The ranking officer of the combined fleets was
the Italian Vice Admiral, Magnani. The senior British officer present
was Captain Lang, of the “Sirius.” Until the arrival of an officer of
flag rank Captain Henry F. Picking, of the “Charleston,” was the senior
officer present of the American Navy, and next to him was Captain (now
Rear Admiral, retired) Silas W. Terry, on the “Newark.”
About a week after the firing of the first shot I was on my way to
the water front to witness the regular afternoon duel between the
“Aquidaban” and Fort Santa Cruz, when I was overtaken by a government
carriage, and Col. Pimental, whom I knew well, asked me to get in with
him as he had orders for me from Floriano. He drove along the shore of
the bay to a new galvanized building, at a point some distance beyond
the island of the naval school and near the railway machine shops. On
the way he explained that this building had been erected for my use
and in it I was to construct, as rapidly as possible, a large torpedo
with which to destroy the “Aquidaban.” I was to have whatever I called
for, but, from the time work was begun on the torpedo until it was
finished, I was to allow no one to enter or leave the building, for
fear that word of what was being done should get to Mello’s spies. The
structure was of ample size and had comfortable living accommodations
for ten men, which was as many as I could use. I took up my quarters in
the building at once and after drawing on the master mechanic of the
railroad for a lot of copper plates and such other supplies as I would
need, got right to work.
Late that evening I heard the rumble of a carriage outside and a
moment later in walked Floriano, with an old gray shawl around his
shoulders, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Marine, and
a Senator. Floriano inquired first as to my comfort and I assured him
that I was entirely satisfied. Then he said: “I am relying on you,
Colonel Boynton, to save Brazil from further trouble by destroying the
‘Aquidaban.’ You will have to make and use your torpedo, with such help
as we can give you. Now that you know what you are to do, what is your
price?”
I told him I would expect to be paid the appraised value of the ship
if I sank her or put her out of commission. After consulting with the
others Floriano agreed to my terms; but to prevent future argument we
fixed the value of the ship at six hundred thousand dollars gold and a
contract along these lines was drawn up and signed the next day.
The torpedo which I built for this business was the largest I had ever
made. It was twelve feet long and four feet in diameter in the middle,
and carried more than five hundred pounds of dynamite, for I wanted to
be certain that the ship would be at least disabled by her contact with
it. I paid the most careful attention to the mechanism and, to prevent
the possibility of a miss-fire, arranged a double detonating apparatus
which would explode the main charge when either one of the projecting
arms was forced backward by pressing against the hull of the ship. With
the completion of the torpedo, which it took us ten days to build, I
tested it with five hundred and fifty pounds of iron and found that I
had calculated the air chamber support to precisely the proper point,
for it floated just below the surface of the water. Floriano came down
to witness the final test, after a few leaks, developed by the first
one, had been closed, and handed me a commission as Colonel in the
Brazilian Army. He approved the plan of campaign which I had mapped
out and said the necessary orders would be issued at once.
“I believe you will succeed,” were his parting words. “I hope you will
come back as General Boynton.”
To the south of Rio Bay, which is the main harbor, and within the city
itself, lies the little Bay of Botafogo, round like an apple and with
a narrow entrance. On the north side of the harbor and cut off from it
by a long, low peninsula which ends in a high promontory, is Nictheroy
Bay. This peninsula, which is so low for a considerable distance back
of its terminating eminence that it is covered by water at high tide,
when it is crossed by a bridge, lies west of the Fort of Santa Cruz.
Mello’s fleet was anchored off the peninsula, on the opposite side of
the harbor from the city. While Mello had seized all of the government
vessels in the harbor there were a few tugs left, which, to prevent his
interference, were flying the British flag, on the pretence that they
were owned by Englishmen. I was to be given one of these tugs and my
plan was to steal around into Nictheroy Bay at night and anchor close
under the hill at the end of the peninsula, where I would be hidden
from the rebel fleet. In the morning I would load the torpedo and wait
for the daily exchange of cannon courtesies between the “Aquidaban”
and the fort. An officer at Santa Cruz was to signal me when Mello left
his anchorage and then, towing the submerged torpedo by a wire rope
too small to be detected, I would steam out from behind the sheltering
promontory and head for Botafogo Bay. This would carry me directly
across the course of the “Aquidaban,” which would pick up the towing
line on her bow, drag the torpedo alongside of her, and, as I expected
and hoped, be destroyed by the explosion which would ensue when one of
its long arms came in contact with her hull.
The line by which the torpedo was to be towed was two thousand feet
long and was supported at intervals by little floats that were painted
the color of the water. This gave me room to keep well clear of the
“Aquidaban,” and I did not think Mello would see anything suspicious
in an insignificant little towboat, under the British flag, running
diagonally across his bow at a distance of a quarter of a mile. This
was the only plan which gave promise of success, for it was impossible
for an unknown craft of any kind to get close to the “Aquidaban” while
she was at anchor, and there never has been any doubt in my mind that
it would have worked perfectly but for the fact that Mello had full
knowledge of our movements and our plans. Our operations had been
conducted with such extreme secrecy that we had no suspicion that
they were known to any one but Floriano and his most trusted advisers
but, as a matter of fact, Mello’s spies in high places had kept him
constantly advised as to what we were doing and when we intended to
strike. To show his high regard for the foreign fleet of royalty he
reported us to the British naval commander and we were captured in
humiliating fashion, while the “Aquidaban” remained safely at her
anchorage. Mello expected that I would be turned over to him and that
he would have the satisfaction of ordering my execution, but in that he
was disappointed.
My tug, in charge of a French engineer and four Brazilians, was
sent down to me on the afternoon of September 25, and as soon as it
was dark, with the torpedo covered with canvas on deck and twelve
fifty-pound boxes of dynamite in the pilot house, we steamed around
in Nictheroy Bay, hugging the shore all of the way. To have loaded
the torpedo before we started on the necessarily hazardous trip would
have been extremely dangerous, for any accidental pressure on one of
its arms would have blown all of us to pieces. We anchored in the lee
of the peninsular promontory, well out of sight of the rebel fleet,
and as soon as it was daylight I unscrewed the manhole of the torpedo
and proceeded to pack it full of dynamite. All of the men were either
helping me or intently watching the novel proceeding, for we were not
expecting visitors. I was just putting in the last box of the explosive
when there was a shrill whistle and a launch from the “Sirius” swung
alongside. The lieutenant in charge of our unbidden and most unwelcome
guest jumped aboard of us and came aft before I could brush the
dynamite from my arms.
“Who commands this craft?” he demanded.
“I do,” I replied.
“What are you doing with that flag up there?” pointing to the British
ensign.
“That flag was there when I came aboard and took command,” which was
true. Then, seeing that he thought I was trying to evade the question,
I added: “I am flying it for protection from a pirate fleet, just as
others are displaying it in Rio Bay and in the city. Your commanding
officer has sanctioned that custom by his silence. I am an officer
of the established Brazilian Government, obeying the orders of my
superiors in Brazilian waters, and I claim the right to take advantage
of that custom, if I care to do so, just as others have done and are
doing.”
“I think the other cases are different from yours,” replied the
lieutenant. “What is that?” pointing to the dynamite.
“Examine it for yourself.”
“It looks like dynamite.”
“Probably.”
“Well, sir, I am ordered by Captain Lang to take you on board Her
Majesty’s ship ‘Sirius.’”
It was of no use to make a fight so I accompanied him, with excessive
and sarcastic politeness. He took all of my crew with him, leaving a
guard on the tug. Captain Lang was on deck waiting for me and was quite
agitated when I was brought before him, but he was much more heated
before we parted company, and it was a warm day to begin with.
“Captain Boynton, what does this mean?” he roared at me.
“What does what mean?” I innocently inquired.
“Your lying over there in a vessel loaded with munitions of war and
flying the British flag?”
“It means simply that I am an officer in the Brazilian Army, on duty
under the guns of a rebel fleet, and that I am flying the British flag
for whatever virtue it might have in protecting me from that pirate,
Admiral Mello. That flag has been used as a protection by many others
and you have silently acquiesced in such use of it.”
“But, sir, are you not aware that this is piracy?”
“I am not aware, sir, that it is any such thing.”
“But I tell you that it is piracy to fly the British flag over the ship
of another nation and carrying munitions of war.”
“It might be just as well, Captain Lang, for you to remember that you
are not now on the high seas. An act of the British Parliament is of
no effect within another country, and if you will consult your chart
you will find that we are in the enclosed waters of Brazil. Under such
conditions no mandate of yours which affects my rights can be enforced,
unless you have the nerve to take the chances that go with your act.”
“You may soon find to the contrary,” shouted the captain, who was
letting his temper get the best of him. “I have a mind to send you to
Admiral Mello as a prisoner. You know what he would do to you.”
“Oh, Captain Lang,” I said jeeringly, “you know you wouldn’t do that.”
“And pray why not, sir?”
“Because you dare not do it, and that’s why,” I told him, as I pointed
at the “Charleston” which, with her decks cleared for action, was
anchored only a few hundred yards off to port. “I dare you to do it. I
defy you to do it. Send me aboard the ‘Aquidaban’ if you dare.” I was
making a strong bluff and I got away with it. The outraged Britisher
swelled up with anger and turned almost purple, but he did not reply
to my taunt. Instead, he summoned the master at arms and placed me in
his charge, ordered his launch, and dashed off to the “Charleston.” He
returned in half an hour and, without another word to me, ordered a
lieutenant to take me aboard the “Charleston.”
I will not deny that I was a bit easier in my mind when I saw my own
flag flying over me, yet had I known the treatment I was to receive
under it, I would have felt quite differently.
It was easy to see, from the reception which Captain Picking gave
me, that he had been influenced by the attitude of Captain Lang,
for he took about the same view of my action. I told him that I was
an American citizen, temporarily in the employment of the Brazilian
Government, as were several other Americans who loved fighting and
excitement; that I had violated no law of the United States or of
Brazil, and I demanded that I be set ashore. He coldly informed me
that I would be confined to the ship, at least until he had consulted
with the American Minister and communicated with Washington. Not only
did Picking regard Mello as a rebel rather than a pirate but he went
even farther and recognized him as a belligerent, which meant that
he was entitled to all the rights of war. This opinion was shaped,
undoubtedly, by the royalist commanders in the harbor, whose superior
rank seemed to have a hypnotic effect on Picking, and their influence
over him was so strong that soon after I arrived on the “Charleston”
I was confined to my room, as a dangerous character and a man who
threatened the peace of nations. With this decidedly unpleasant
recollection, however, it is a pleasure to know that the other American
naval officers, who arrived later, took exactly my view of the whole
situation and became champions of my cause. They told Picking that
Mello was a pirate and should be treated as such, and that I was being
deprived of my liberty without the slightest warrant of law, but they
were powerless to accomplish my release, as Picking was in command,
as the senior officer present, and all of the correspondence with
Washington was conducted through him. Captain Terry, though he never
had met me and could not be charged with having his opinion biassed
by any personal relation, was especially vigorous in urging that I be
released and that Mello’s farcical revolution be suppressed without
further ceremony. He denounced my detention as a disgrace to the
American Navy and though he and Picking had been bosom friends up to
that time, a coolness developed between them, on account of the manner
in which I was treated, that continued until Picking’s death, years
later.
The manner in which that old fighter, Rear Admiral Benham, put an end
to the “revolution” in the following January, soon after his arrival
at Rio, should be well remembered, for it was a noble deed and an
example of the good judgment generally displayed by American naval
officers when they are not hampered by foolish orders from Washington.
In the vain hope of arousing enthusiasm in his lost cause, Mello had
gone down the coast, where he figuratively and literally took to the
woods when he saw the folly of his mission, leaving Da Gama in command
of the blockading fleet. The captains of several American merchant
ships, who had been prevented for weeks from landing their cargoes for
Rio, appealed to Admiral Benham who took prompt action. To show his
contempt for the rebels, whom he properly regarded as pirates, making
no secret of the fact, Admiral Benham assigned the smallest ship in his
squadron, the little “Detroit,” commanded by that great little man,
Commander (now Rear Admiral, retired) W. H. Brownson, to escort the
merchantmen up to the docks. At the same time he warned Da Gama not to
carry out his threat to fire on them when they crossed his line. With
his ship cleared for action, as were the “San Francisco,” “New York,”
“Charleston,” and “Newark,” which stood guard over the rebel fleet,
at a considerable distance, Brownson stood in alongside one of the
merchantmen. He steamed over close to the “Trajano,” on which Da Gama’s
flag was flying, and which, with the “Guanabara,” was guarding the
shore.
“I will recognize no accidental shots,” shouted Brownson to the rebel
admiral, “so don’t fire any. If you open fire I will respond, and if
you reply to that I will sink you.”
As the merchant ship came in line the “Trajano” fired a shot across her
bow. Brownson replied instantly with a six-pound shell which exploded
so close to the “Trajano” that it threw water on her forward deck. A
musket shot was fired from the “Guanabara,” and it was answered and
silenced with a bullet from the “Detroit.”
After seeing his charge safely tied up to the dock Brownson circled
contemptuously around the “Trajano” and ordered a marine to send a
rifle shot into her sternpost, as an evidence of his esteem for her
commander. The discomfited Da Gama, who was looking for some excuse to
end his hopeless revolt, fell over himself getting into his launch,
raced over to the “Detroit” and tendered his sword to Brownson.
Brownson told him he had not demanded his surrender, as he seemed to
think, and could not accept it, but that he must keep his hands off
American shipping if he wished to continue his mortal existence. The
“revolution” ended right there, but unfortunately I was not present to
witness its collapse. The august naval authorities were scandalized
when this display of good sense was reported to them and they carefully
prepared a message of censure to Benham for permitting such conduct,
but before it was despatched the New York morning newspapers reached
Washington--and after a perusal of their enthusiastic editorials on the
subject a message of commendation was sent to him instead.
During my confinement on the “Charleston” I was occasionally allowed
on deck for exercise, but I had no other diversion, which really was
an aggravation, than to watch the intermittent bombardment of the city
and the regularly scheduled exchange of shots between the rebel fleet
and the forts. In hope of meeting with greater success Mello would
sometimes engage the forts with several of his ships and, as time
wore on, there was some improvement in the marksmanship on both sides,
though nothing like reasonable accuracy was ever attained. The only
incident which was at all exciting was the sinking of the “Javary,” one
of Mello’s monitors. A shell from Fort Sao Joao dropped between her
turrets and as she heeled over from the explosion an accidental shot
from Fort Santa Cruz struck her below the water line. She went down
by the stern with a rush. The guns in her forward turret were pointed
toward the town and they were fired, in a spirit of sheer bravado, just
as she disappeared. Mello threw a few shells into the city every day,
as evidence that he was still in rebellion, but I was told that less
than half a dozen of them did any damage and they certainly produced
little excitement. Soldanha da Gama came out in the open and joined
forces with Mello while I was on the “Charleston.”
I was not allowed to communicate with any one on shore, and, except
from hearsay, Floriano had no means of knowing whether I was alive or
dead. Captain Picking claimed to have been told by a church dignitary,
who, of course, was a friend of Mello, that it would be unsafe to set
me ashore as I was certain to be assassinated by Mello sympathizers,
but that doubtless was a subterfuge by which he sought to justify
his position. After I had been subjected to this outrageous treatment
for two months--from September 26 to November 26--I was suddenly and
without any explanation transferred to the “Detroit,” which immediately
put to sea. Off Cape Frio we met another “Sirius,” a Lamport & Holt
liner bound for New York, and, in charge of Ensign Jas. F. Carter, I
was transferred to her. We reached New York on December 19, 1893, and I
was taken to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. An hour after my arrival a message
was received from Washington ordering my release. The Navy Department
had me on its hands, did not know what to do with me, and finally, in
line with the vacillating policy then in vogue, took that cowardly
method of getting me away from the danger zone. Adhering to my rule of
never talking about myself or my troubles I made no complaint, but I
have always considered that my treatment was a disgrace, and most of
the naval officers who were in Rio at the same time will bear me out
in that statement. It was the sort of treatment one might expect in an
absolute monarchy but not in a republic, with all of its false boasts
about the freedom of the citizen and protection of his rights.