REVOLUTION AS A FINE ART
Notwithstanding the discouragement I had met with in Brazil, and
the manner in which I had been deprived of a fresh fortune and much
excitement by the discovery of my plan to send Admiral Mello and his
rebel flagship skyward with a beautiful torpedo of my own invention and
construction, the passion for adventure was still strong within me,
but I was unable to gratify it with the resources then at my command.
My finances, already considerably crimped by my extravagant way of
living and several unprofitable years, had been still further depleted
by my long and idle stay at Rio Janeiro, while waiting for the Mello
insurrection to become an actuality, and I felt it the part of wisdom
to assure myself of an income until something opened up that would be
more exciting than working for a living.
Therefore, soon after my prompt release from the Brooklyn Navy Yard,
just before Christmas in 1893, after my outrageous treatment at the
hands of Captain Picking and the Navy Department, I engaged with the
Maxim Powder & Torpedo Company to travel through Central and South
America and the West Indies and sell munitions of war to governments,
or to any one who had the necessary cash or could furnish reasonable
security. But before setting forth I organized, with several of my
friends, the International Export & Trading Company. Through this
concern it was proposed to arm and finance any promising revolution I
might encounter whose leaders would guarantee, in the event of success,
to pay us anywhere from three to ten times the amount of money we had
actually invested in the enterprise, and give us valuable concessions
besides. No get-rich-quick scheme that was ever devised equals the
financing of a revolution, when it succeeds and is honestly managed.
The experience tables of the turbid tropics prove that the chances
are somewhat against the success of these outbursts of predatory
patriotism, but the prospects of failure are amply discounted by the
exorbitant terms of the contract; the great trouble is that they
generally are in charge of men who have no more respect for a written
agreement than for a moral obligation. The man who bets at random
on the honesty of revolutionary leaders in Latin America, no matter
how sincere their promises nor what odds they offer, stands a much
better chance of winning from a faro game operated with a two-card
box, but as I had a personal acquaintance with or knowledge of most
of the disturbing elements in those days, and knew how far they could
ordinarily be trusted, I thought I might run across one or two with
whom it would be safe to do business. In case any such ambitious
ones were found I intended to become an active participant in the
proceedings, as a sort of guarantee of good faith and to increase my
interest in them.
Determined to tackle the hardest proposition first, I boarded an Atlas
liner for Hayti, where old Florville Hippolyte was at the zenith of his
power. I knew that while I had been smuggling Chinamen into Australia,
General Legitime, whom I had accompanied into exile at Jamaica when
President Salomon deported him for plotting against the government,
at the same time that he conveyed to me a broad hint to leave the
country without a delay of more than a few hours, had returned to the
island in 1888, after an absence of more than three years, and had led
a temporarily successful revolt through which he had himself elected
President of the provisional government, in succession to the man who
had exiled him. Gen. Seide Thelemaque promptly organized an opposing
government at Cape Haitien, with Gen. Hippolyte at the head of it.
Thelemaque was soon afterward killed in battle but Hippolyte continued
the revolution. Through its navy the United States gave him its “moral
support,” which is a powerful thing when intelligently directed, and
within a year from the time he landed in Hayti to lead his little
rebellion, Legitime was compelled to again return ingloriously to his
haven in Jamaica. Two months later, in October, 1889, Hippolyte was
formally elected President and he continued in power until he died on
horseback, at the head of his army, near Port au Prince, in the Spring
of 1896.
Because of my affiliation with Legitime, whom I had mistakenly picked
out as the coming man in Hayti, Hippolyte and I had quarrelled just
before Legitime and I were ordered from the country; but that had been
years before, and I deluded myself with the belief that, if he had
not forgotten the affair, it had been forgiven, for there is supposed
to be some sort of honor even among soldiers of fortune and the men
with whom, at different times and under varying conditions, they ally
themselves. The lovers of liberty, and lucre, who command insurrections
are out chiefly for what there is in it for themselves, while the
simple soldiers of fortune, like myself, are in the game mainly for
the excitement and amusement of conflict. It is against the ethics
of the profession of promoting trouble for the members of one faction
to cherish grudges against the other, except perhaps under conditions
involving personal honor, and that is not often at stake. However, I
soon learned that Hippolyte, who was essentially a savage with a lot
of uncultured cunning, was no believer in the unwritten revolutionary
rules.
The steamer reached Port au Prince in the morning and I went to
the Hotel Bellevue, which faced the park, directly opposite the
presidential palace. I had just finished breakfast when an American
quadroon named Belford, who boasted the proud title of Admiral of the
Haytian Navy and with whom I had become well acquainted during my
previous visit, entered the hotel. He recognized me instantly and after
an exchange of greetings and some random remarks about the old days, he
wanted to know what I was doing there. I handed him my card, showing
that I was the representative of the Maxim Powder & Torpedo Co.
“But what is your real business?” he inquired with a smile.
“The card states it correctly.”
“How long are you going to stay?”
“At least long enough to sell old Hippolyte a good bill of goods, I
hope.”
“You are not going to see the old man himself?” he incredulously
inquired.
“Surely. I hope to see him to-day.”
“You’d better be careful, Boynton. He remembers you in a way that is
likely to make trouble for you.”
“He ought to have forgotten all about our little difference by this
time, or at least he should not harbor hatred of me.”
“The old man has a long memory. He never forgets and I never have known
him to forgive.”
I laughed at his friendly anxiety but he continued in the same strain.
While we were talking we saw a young officer coming up the path to the
hotel. “Here comes one of the old man’s aides,” said Belford. “He’s
after you already.”
I told him it was impossible, for I had been in town only a few hours,
but he insisted he was right and quickly left me so we should not be
found together. I stepped into a side room where the young officer came
up to see me in a few minutes, guided by the hotel proprietor.
“This is Captain Boynton?” he said, with more of declaration than
inquiry.
“At your service, sir.”
“President Hippolyte requests you to call on him at three o’clock this
afternoon.”
“Present my compliments to the President and tell him I will be at the
palace at that hour,” I replied.
Belford rejoined me when the aide was out of sight. He said he did
not like the looks of things and advised me to go back on board the
steamer, which was still in the harbor. I told him I thought he was
unnecessarily alarmed, but that anyway I had come to Hayti as an
American citizen on legitimate business, and I proposed to stay until
it had been transacted.
In the middle of the afternoon I donned full evening dress, according
to the court requirement, and presented myself at the palace, where I
was at once ushered into Hippolyte’s private reception room.
“What brings you here, Captain Boynton?” was the sharp salutation of
the old black butcher.
“I am selling munitions of war,” I replied, and handed him my card.
“Is that all?” he asked, with a look as keen as a razor and in a voice
almost as cutting.
“That is all.”
With this assurance, which seemed to carry conviction, Hippolyte
relaxed considerably and shook hands with me.
“I want to sell you some smokeless powder,” I told him. “It is the
latest thing and is a great aid to annihilation.”
“Don’t want it,” was his brusque response.
“It is almost noiseless, as well,” I urged. “With its use an enemy
would find it difficult to locate your troops.”
“That is worse yet,” he said, with as much of a smile as his ugly face
was acquainted with. “We want powder that will make much smoke and lots
of noise.”
I told him I had that kind too, and other things which he ought to have.
“Well,” he said, with a suggestion of impatience, “go to the Minister
of War and get your order, and then get out. Where are you going from
here?”
“To Santo Domingo.”
“Good. I’ll help you. The ‘Toussaint l’Ouverture’ [a little gunboat
named for the negro Napoleon of Hayti] will take you there when you are
ready. You must be prepared to sail within a week.”
“Why all this hurry?” I inquired in great surprise. “It has been years
since I was in Port au Prince and I want to revisit old familiar places
and renew acquaintance with old friends, if there are any left.” I
might have added that I disputed his right to prescribe the length of
my stay, but I did not wish to provoke a row with the old fellow, at
that time.
He almost beamed on me as he replied, “I like you, Captain, but I don’t
want you in Hayti. You can stay just one week.”
I told him I earnestly hoped he would extend the time limit and left
him, backing out, if you please. I went direct to the Minister of War,
who made out a memorandum covering a large consignment of fighting
materials and said he would send the official order to my hotel, which
he did. Soon after my return to the hotel I was introduced to Freeman
Halstead, the correspondent of a great New York newspaper, who had been
in Hayti for some time. I had noticed him talking with the proprietor
that morning, when Hippolyte’s aide came to the hotel in search of me.
In the interval he had cabled his paper that I was in Hayti and had
received reply, he said, to “stick to Boynton until further orders.” I
told him I had no news and did not expect to make any, but he declared
that he would stand by to see what happened. He said he was on an
intimate footing with Hippolyte and suggested that he might be able to
help me.
During the evening I received a call from an old German acquaintance,
named Hefferman, and at his invitation I accompanied him to his home.
His wife necessarily was a native negress for, on account of the
stringent anti-foreign law, all of his property stood in her name.
He confided to me the fact that he was the agent for Gen. Mannigat,
another would-be revolutionary leader who was in exile at Jamaica,
and that with the aid of a French woman, known as Natalie, of whom
Hippolyte was greatly enamoured, he had just formulated a plan to
kidnap the President. His scheme was to have Natalie give Hippolyte
some drugged wine and, while he was unconscious, put him in a box
and bundle him off to a waiting sailing ship which would proceed to
Jamaica, where the deposed and dopey President would be turned over to
Mannigat, who could make such terms with him as he desired. To the mind
of my German friend this would establish a new standard in revolutions
and he wanted me to share in his glory, in return for my assistance.
I complimented him on his idea of stealing a President, which, under
such conditions as he described, might be accomplished, but pointed out
that to make his coup successful he must have Mannigat on the ground
with a force sufficiently large to seize and hold the government when
Hippolyte was removed; that unless this was done both of them would
be frozen out by some cockaded criminal who was waiting for just such
an opportunity. I told him if the conditions which I had stipulated
could be complied with I would be glad to finance and equip the revolt,
subject to satisfactory guarantees, but that as it stood I could have
nothing to do with it.
It was late when we finished our talk and I made the mistake of
spending the night with Hefferman who, as it turned out, was vaguely
suspected of being disloyal to Hippolyte, or at least out of
sympathy with him, though there was no notion that he was Mannigat’s
confidential agent. As a result of my long visit to the German, the
mistaken suspicion was created that I had come to Hayti to plot against
the President and was trying to draw Hefferman into my plans. This
suspicion soon became apparent. Halstead and Belford told me there was
no doubt, from what they had heard at the palace and elsewhere, that
Hippolyte thought I had lied to him and believed I was there to make
trouble for him. On the sixth day after my arrival Belford told me he
was to take me on the “Toussaint” the next day, ostensibly to convey
me to Santo Domingo, but that he had secret orders, from Hippolyte
himself, to see to it that I “fell overboard” well out at sea and was
not rescued. He begged me to get out of the country that day, as he
would have to obey orders or “walk the plank” himself. Halstead brought
me word that I was to be arrested the next day and he was positive that
I was to be “shot while attempting to escape” or put out of the way in
some such fashion. That made it look as though the old scoundrel meant
business and I concluded to give him the slip. Halstead declared he
was going with me and as I knew I could rely on him I let him arrange
the details of our departure. Pretending that he was going to Jacmel
he sent his trunk and mine, both marked as his own, on board a Dutch
steamship which had come into port that morning and was to leave the
next day.
Against the protests of both Halstead and Belford I paid Hippolyte a
parting call that afternoon. I thanked him for his courtesy and the
order for arms and told him I would be ready to sail the next morning
on the “Toussaint,” which I expected would be waiting for me. The old
villain was in his happiest mood and even joked with me about latter
day conditions in Hayti as compared with those which had existed when
I was there before. If I had not known what was in his mind I might
have thought he was simply glad I was going away without having stirred
up any trouble for him, but, knowing his murderous plans, I appreciated
that he was gloating over me. The strange situation amused me so that I
laughed immoderately at his jokes and, as all of his gloating was to be
in anticipation, I let him enjoy himself to his fill.
“Good-bye, my friend,” he said as I was leaving. “I wish you a quiet
and peaceful trip to-morrow.”
He chuckled over his irony and I smiled back at him, with my thanks.
That evening, after Halstead had loudly announced in the hotel office
that he expected a visitor at eleven o’clock and wished him sent
directly to his room, he and I slipped out by a back way, went to a
lonely spot on the beach where he had a boat in waiting, and rowed out
to the Dutch ship. On account of his newspaper connection Halstead had
much influence with the captain and when the ship was searched for me
the next morning, on the pretence that I was a political prisoner who
was attempting to escape, I was not found.
We went to Jamaica, where Halstead formerly had lived, and there I
got in touch with General Mannigat, and went over his plans against
Hippolyte. He impressed me as a fighter and reasonably honest and he
convinced me that he had a considerable following in Hayti. He was
positive that if he had enough arms he could capture the country, so
I arranged with him that the International Export & Trading Co., my
concern for promoting revolutions, would ship him twenty-five thousand
dollars’ worth of munitions of war on the receipt of three thousand
dollars in cash and in the further consideration on his part of a
pledge that thirty-three per cent of the customs receipts at Port au
Prince would be turned over to us, until we had been paid two hundred
and twenty thousand dollars, which was at the rate of ten dollars for
every one dollar that we risked. I drew up a contract to this effect,
which he signed, and sent the order for the arms to New York, with
instructions to fill it when Mannigat sent the three thousand dollars.
The money never was sent, but I still hold the contract, as a souvenir.
Mannigat was in doubt as to how soon the requisite amount of cash could
be raised, so it was arranged that I should be advised when it was
forwarded to New York, in order that I might return and take an active
part in his operations, and I went on to the Isthmus of Panama, then a
part of Colombia. I stopped at the International Hotel, probably so
named because it was the worst in the world, at Colon, and made no
secret of my business there, or anywhere else; in fact I rather boasted
of it, because of the novelty of being engaged in legitimate commerce,
even though I was filibustering on the side when the inducements were
attractive. Within a few days I was approached by a young Colombian who
had been educated in New Jersey and was a good deal of an American in
his ideas. Without telling me what they were for, but giving me grounds
for drawing my own conclusions, he ordered three thousand Winchester
rifles and the same number of revolvers, with a large quantity of
ammunition. He said he would give me New York exchange in part payment
of the bill the following day, and that the balance would be paid when
they were delivered, at a point to be designated later.
During the night that came on the heels of this conversation I heard a
few pistol shots but paid no attention to them, as there seemed to be
no resultant excitement. In the morning I discovered that two hundred
alleged revolutionary plotters, of whom my young customer of the day
before was one of the chiefs, had been arrested between darkness
and dawn and rounded up in a big yard, surrounded by a high fence,
directly back of the hotel. At breakfast I was looked at curiously
and I soon heard talk that I was also to be taken into custody. A fat
and officious English butcher, who was employed by the Governor of
Panama to spy on all English-speaking visitors, had reported my meeting
with the supposed rebel leader and had advised that I be arrested on
the ground that I was fomenting internal disorder. I knew, of course,
that I could establish my innocence, but the administration of the law
in Latin America is such a fearful and wonderful thing that it might
take me weeks or months to do it, and, besides that, I had no desire
for a clash with the Colombian Government and the notoriety which
would result from it. Therefore, when trouble appeared certain I took
refuge with the British consul, who was just then the acting American
consul. I explained the situation to him and, while maintaining that
my business was perfectly legitimate, denied that I had sold the young
patriot any arms, which was technically true as the deal had not been
closed, or that I knew he was involved in any proposed revolution.
The consul sympathized with me, in compliance with the most important
of the unwritten rules of the consular service, but, after satisfying
himself that the Governor had been prejudiced against me, he advised
that the easiest and quickest way out of the difficulty was the best.
The steamship “Ferdinand de Lesseps” was leaving the next day for the
Spanish Main, which was where I wanted to go, and I went on board of
her, under escort of the consul. I was running into more trouble on
this trip than I had ever before encountered in ten times the same
length of time and it began to look as though I had brought a hoodoo on
myself by forsaking the intricate paths of adventure for the broad, not
the straight and narrow, way of ordinary trade.
Not wishing to take any further chances with Colombia I did not even go
ashore at Savanilla or Cartagena but went on to Venezuela, where Gen.
Joachim Crespo was now in command. The rule of President Palacio, whose
supporters had betrayed my old friend Guzman Blanco, had lasted but two
years and was followed in rapid succession by a series of revolutions.
The betrayal of Guzman seemed to have put a curse on the country, for
there was disorder all through the Palacio regime and immediately
following it there were three dictatorships in one year. Finally, in
October, 1892, General Crespo entered Caracas and restored peace so
completely that shortly before my arrival he was elected Constitutional
President. I recalled that when Crespo was a young staff officer I had
recommended him to Guzman for his loyalty and intelligence, and, if he
knew of this incident, I thought it might now prove of advantage to me
in my new occupation.
As we were warping into the dock at La Guaira the chief of police, who
was a new man to me, came aboard and looked over the baggage of all
of the passengers who were to land there. When we had disembarked he
slipped his arm through mine and quietly told me I was under arrest
and to go with him. Three officers stepped up behind us to enforce
his orders and they all looked me over as though they suspected that
I might be full of dynamite. Instead, I was full of questions and
protests, but not a word could I get out of them as to the reason for
the surprising proceeding. They escorted me to the police station at
the end of the long wharf and after I had been carefully searched
and relieved of everything but my money I was taken to the fort on
the hill and placed in a strong room, if not a comfortable one. The
next day I was removed to the Casa Publica, or public prison, at
Caracas, where I was not surprised to find several old acquaintances.
Gen. Tosta Garcia, whom I had known intimately in the old days, was
Governor of the Federal District and had authority over the prison,
but, unfortunately, he was out of the city and the Intendiente, or
Vice-Governor, who was a stranger to me, was in charge.
Soon after my arrival I was haled to his office, apparently to be put
through an examination, but before he could ask me a question I burst
out on him with a bitter denunciation of my arrest. I told him who I
was and what I was doing and that if the search of my baggage, which
undoubtedly had been made, had failed to establish my identity there
were many prominent men in Caracas who would vouch for me, including
his own immediate superior. I urged him to explain the reason for my
detention; but he would say nothing, beyond a veiled suggestion that it
had been ordered by the President.
“Present my compliments to General Crespo,” I said, in reply to this
amazing intimation, “and remind him, if you please, that I was his
friend when my friendship was worth having. Tell him, too, that if this
is the way he treats his friends he is a contemptible snake,” or words
to that effect.
The Intendiente was plainly surprised at both my words and my manner
and without asking a question he sent me back to the prison. The next
morning he directed my release in person. “There is no reason for you
to be angry with General Crespo,” he said, by way of explanation, “for
he has ordered your unconditional release. You are free to go where
you please and stay as long as you please.”
“Which,” I replied, “is no compliment to me and in no way lessens the
outrage to which I have been subjected.”
From the Casa Publica I went to the Grand Hotel and when my traps
arrived there I found that they had been, as I supposed, thoroughly
ransacked, but nothing was missing. In the following days I encountered
many men whom I had known well or intimately fifteen years before,
when Caracas was my home for a longer period than any other city in
the world had ever been, and I was soon enjoying myself renewing
acquaintance with old friends, among whom were members of some of the
oldest families in Venezuela. To all of them who asked if I had seen
the President, I said I had not and that I did not propose to call on
him, as I had been shamefully mistreated by his order. Two or three
weeks after my arrival the Minister of War sent for me and said he
understood I was the agent of a house that sold munitions of war. I
said that was true, and when he expressed surprise that I had not
called on him I told him I had been subjected to a great injustice
through him and through General Crespo, and that while I did not expect
an apology from either one I could at least show them how I felt about
it by staying away from them, even though I punished myself and my firm
by so doing. However, if he was interested, I said I would be glad to
show him my samples and quote prices. He said he was interested, and
proved it by giving me a large order. Beyond a shrug of the shoulders,
which might have meant any one of a dozen things, he made no comment
on my complaint of ill treatment. Not long after this I went one
evening, by invitation, to the home of a doctor friend of mine and
was astonished to be ushered into the presence of President Crespo.
It developed that the doctor was one of Crespo’s intimate associates,
though I had not known it up to that time. The President greeted me
with a smile and said, as he extended his hand, “As Mahomet would not
come to the mountain, the mountain had to come to Mahomet.”
“I never expected that I would have to apologize to the man who, I
thought, owed me an apology, even though I did not look for it, but
that is the situation I find myself in now,” I said to him. “Courtesy
compels me to apologize for not having called on you to pay my
respects. But,” I added, “I am a good deal of a red Indian, which means
that I am slow to forgive an injury, and I felt that you had done me a
great injustice.”
“That was a most unfortunate incident,” he said, with evident
sincerity. “I am going to explain the reason for my action and let you
be the judge as to the justification for it.” He then told me that five
or six weeks previously a circular had been sent out by an American
agent of a Central American country, in which it was stated that a man
named Boynton, of whom a description was given, was leaving New York
ostensibly to sell munitions of war, but that his real purpose was to
assassinate President Hippolyte, of Hayti, and President Crespo, of
Venezuela. He said, of course, he had not connected me with the alleged
anarchist, for that was what the man was stated to be, or he would
never have issued the order for my arrest.
“What would you have done if you had been in my place?” asked Crespo
when he had completed his explanation.
“Precisely what you did.”
“Then, with that explanation, I apologize for the trouble I caused you.”
“That removes the last sting,” I told him, and we settled down
for a long talk. He recalled the fact that I had commended him to
General Guzman and expressed what seemed to be genuine sorrow over
the downfall of that great chieftain. Crespo was very different in
appearance from the slender young aide I had known in the old days and
was now a big, tall, and well-developed man. He had been President
before, from 1884 to 1886, as a dummy for Guzman, so he knew something
of both the responsibilities and the dangers of the office. His manner
impressed me and I took a pronounced liking to him. He said he had
directed the Minister of War to buy a bill of goods from me and to
purchase all future war supplies through me, and I told him I had
already received the first order.
“I want you to be as good a friend to me as you were to General
Guzman,” he said in parting. I told him I expected to be in Venezuela
for some time and would gladly be of service to him in any way that I
could.
A few nights later I was summoned to an adjoining house where I again
met Crespo and had a long talk with him alone. He asked me how much
I expected to make in my new business. Without going into any of the
details of my plans and giving myself the benefit of every doubt, I
told him I ought to make fifty thousand dollars a year. He said he
did not know whether he could pay me that much in salary but in one
way and another he would see that I lost nothing if I would consent
to stay with him. Through a visit to the United States shortly before
he took the field for the presidency he had learned of the work of
our Pinkertons, and had become impressed with the need of a secret
detective force of his own. It was the same idea that Guzman had when
I became his confidential agent, but Crespo wanted it worked out on
a broader scale so that he could be kept advised as to the movements
and plans of his most important enemies, and truthfully told of
the fluctuations in public sentiment. He asked me to undertake the
organization of a force of secret service agents, whom I was to employ
and pay in my own discretion and for such time as I needed them, and I
consented. A means of communication was established through an unused
rear door to his private apartments at Santa Inez Palace, to which I
was given a key, and I was to have access to him at any hour of the day
or night. I told him, however, that our intimate relationship had best
not be known, so that I could keep on friendly terms with all classes,
and that I would openly criticise him, and even denounce him, whenever
it served my purpose and his welfare.
In the two years that followed the relations between Crespo and myself
became as cordial as they were confidential. Though of humble origin,
and fully half Indian, there must have been blue blood somewhere among
his ancestors, for he was a polished gentleman in his manners and
extremely magnetic. He was tremendously powerful and while he weighed
all of two hundred and fifty pounds he was so well built and so tall
that he did not look heavy. He put me in mind of a square-rigged ship
of graceful lines, with all of her canvas set. He could hardly read and
write but he had an insatiable thirst for information, and his close
friends used to read to him at night until he fell asleep. He never
drank to excess; was a good husband and an indulgent father, and the
most continent Venezuelano I ever knew. He thought he was honest and
he certainly was loyal to his friends and stubborn in his opinions. He
was so strong in his friendship, in fact, that he was sometimes imposed
on, for with a man whom he liked and trusted he was as credulous as a
child. The advice and warnings of Donna Crespo and myself caused him
to turn a deaf ear to many of his evil-minded followers but we could
not silence all of them, and their influence prevented him from being a
really great President. In the face of a danger that could be seen, no
matter how great, he was entirely without fear, but he was in constant
dread of assassination. He was skilful in the use of revolver and rifle
and was passionately fond of firearms, perhaps because of his besetting
fear. When the first shipment of Maxim guns was received he had me
set one of them up in the yard back of Santa Inez Palace. He examined
it carefully, with all the pleasure of a child with a new toy, tested
its flexibility and radius of action, and then cut “J. Crespo” with
a stream of bullets in a brick wall sixty feet away, and gleefully
surveyed his handiwork.
Not long after entering his employ I was instrumental in saving his
life. He had gone for an outing to an _atto_, or ranch, twenty miles
from Guacara, which was near Valencia, where Gen. Ignacio Andrade was
then stationed. The night after he left Caracas I learned through
one of my agents that two hundred men were to start out at midnight
ostensibly for Saint Lucia, but when part way there they were to
proceed diagonally across the plains to the ranch at which Crespo was
stopping, where they planned to capture and shoot him. I employed a
dare-devil nephew of Guzman, whom I knew I could trust, to gallop at
top speed to Andrade with a letter in which I told him of the plot.
He immediately sent a messenger to the President to warn him of his
danger, and followed him quickly with five hundred troops. Crespo
was found two or three miles out on the ranch, and by his order the
soldiers were hidden in and around the farm buildings. When the rebels
came up they were surrounded before they knew what had happened. Their
leader was shot on the spot and his lieutenants were imprisoned.
Andrade did just what any other good soldier would have done, yet it
was this act more than anything else, I have always believed, that
caused Crespo to select him as his successor, with tragic results.
Though deeply grateful to me he considered that he owed his life to
Andrade.
Several other plots against Crespo’s life were discovered and
frustrated by the effective secret service I had created, and most
of those who were implicated in them were properly punished. One of
these murder schemes, which proved to be more serious than I at first
supposed, involved the telephone in Crespo’s private room. The plan was
to substitute for the regular receiver one which looked exactly like it
but was not insulated, and then, when the President had answered a call
and was holding the receiver against his ear, switch into the telephone
the full current from an electric light dynamo, in the hope that the
shock would be strong enough to kill him. My first inkling of this came
from an American electrical engineer and while I satisfied myself that
such a plot had been laid I never was able to get to the bottom of it,
though I had an intelligent suspicion as to who was responsible for it.
Crespo was keenly appreciative of my services and was anxious to put
me in the way of making a fortune, to take the place of the ones I had
lost in speculation and in trying to outdo the King of the Belgians
in riotous living, to which I have ever been prone. There were then
two lines of horse cars in Caracas. It seemed to me there was a good
opening for an electric system, and through Crespo’s influence I
secured a blanket franchise that was most sweeping in its terms. It
gave me the right to parallel the existing lines and build new ones
on any streets that I selected, all over the city, or, as it was
unfortunately worded “all around the city.” The only literal Spanish
equivalent for this, as far as I knew, was circumvalorate, and that
word was used to describe my rights. I was also given the right to
condemn waterfalls for thirty miles around to generate electricity.
The most desirable of these natural power plants was over toward
Macuto, and was owned by one of the Guzman family. I arranged to
sell my franchise to a Brooklyn street railway man for three hundred
thousand dollars, but when he came to investigate it he found that
_circumvalorate_ meant exactly what it said, “all around the city,” and
that outside of the lines parallel to the existing street railways,
which were specifically provided for, he could do nothing more than
build a belt line along the outside edge of the city. Crespo tried to
have the franchise amended so that it would give me, in plain terms,
just what I wanted and what I thought I had, but the amendment failed
of passage by one vote, that of the Guzman descendant, who feared that
my next move would be the condemnation of his waterfall. Naturally, the
deal fell through. That one miserable word cost me just three hundred
thousand dollars. I never have used it since then until now; it is too
expensive for ordinary conversation.
In the latter part of 1895 Crespo was asked to revive the concession
which Guzman Blanco had granted to the old Manoa Company, and which had
subsequently been annulled. This concession, which had passed through
several hands and was then held by the Orinoco Company, Limited, took
in the entire delta of the Orinoco and covered eight million acres of
land, an empire that was wonderfully rich in a variety of resources.
Crespo, believing that here was an unusual opportunity for me to
rebuild my fortunes and for him to prove his gratitude, notified the
Orinoco Co. that he would restore the concession provided I was made
manager of it. They were quite willing to employ me in this capacity
for, without any regard to what ability I might have as a manager,
they were assured of having the government with them, which is a
consideration of first importance throughout South and Central America.
I was by no means anxious to go with them but I finally yielded to
Crespo’s advice and accepted the appointment, though without binding
myself to stay more than six months. Crespo gave me, in effect, the
power of life and death over every one on the concession, and put me
above the law. He instructed the Governor of the Delta Territorio that
whatever I did was well done, and that I was not to be held to account
for it. I left for Santa Catalina, the headquarters of the concession,
on December 17, 1895, the day that President Cleveland sent to Congress
his message on the Venezuelan boundary question.