AT WAR WITH CASTRO
It was in vexed Venezuela that I was destined to end my days of
deviltry, but not until after a protracted warfare, none the less
bitter because it was conducted at long range, with Castro the
Contemptible, who came into power two years after I had finally settled
down at Santa Catalina as manager for the Orinoco Company. Cipriano
Castro had been in Congress as Diputado, or Member of the House, from
one of the Andean districts while I was in Caracas with President
Crespo, and though he was regarded as a good fighter and a disturbing
element he was never considered as a presidential possibility. Had that
unhappy prospect ever been suggested it could easily have been imagined
that he would, as he abundantly did, prove himself the “Vulture of
Venezuela,” the most despotic and dishonest ruler with which that
unfortunate country has ever been cursed, and the most cunning.
With all of my hatred for Castro and everything pertaining to him it
must be admitted that he was an exceedingly shrewd scoundrel; had he
been half as honest he could have made himself the greatest man in
South America. He supported Anduesa Palacio, the deposed President
who had betrayed Guzman Blanco, in his final campaign against Crespo,
before the latter was recognized as Dictator, and defeated General
Morales in the battle of Tariba on May 15, 1892. For some time after
that he was in full control of that section of the country, but with
the firm establishment of the new regime he gave up the fight. In
recognition of the military ability he had displayed, Crespo offered
to make him Collector of Customs at Puerto Cabello. He declined the
position but, egotistically exaggerating the purpose of the proffer,
he pompously promised Crespo that he would not attempt to overthrow
his government. He then came to Congress, where he would have been
almost unnoticed but for the amusement he created by solemnly removing
his shoes and putting on black kid gloves every time he sat down to
the, to him, herculean task of drafting a bill. He was as rough and
uncouth as the rest of the mountaineers; short of stature, secretive of
mind, and suspicious of every one, excepting only a few of his brother
brigands from the Andes. At the expiration of his term he returned to
the hills and bought a farm just across the Colombian border. He posed
as a cattle-raiser, but all of the reports that reached Caracas said
he was much more of a cattle-rustler, or stealer. He was a persistent
tax-dodger and his herd, which was said to show fifty different brands
that represented as many thefts, was driven back and forth across the
border to avoid the Venezuelan and Colombian collectors. He was engaged
in this profitable pastime when I left Caracas, and had disappeared
from all political and revolutionary calculations.
I first arrived at Santa Catalina, whither I had gone on the urgent
advice of Crespo, early in 1896. It was a straggling little town,
with the company’s headquarters, a large wooden building containing
forty rooms, which was used for both residential and administrative
purposes, standing close to the bank of the Piacoa River, a branch of
the Orinoco, opposite the lower end of the Island of Tortola--the Iwana
of Sir Walter Raleigh. The building contained a store, with a large
supply of goods adapted to the needs of colonists in a new and tropical
country, and around it were carpenter, blacksmith, and machine shops.
The company also owned three small steamers, which were used to bring
supplies from Trinidad and run back and forth to Barrancas, thirty
miles upstream at the head of the Macareo River, the main estuary of
the Orinoco, through which all of the commerce passes. The Atlantic
Ocean was one hundred and fifty miles below us and Ciudad Bolivar, the
principal city on the Orinoco and the head of all-the-year navigation,
was one hundred and eighty miles above.
Tradition says that Santa Catalina was named by Raleigh who, according
to the native story, camped there when he was pushing his way up the
Orinoco in search of the fabled El Dorado, with its golden city of
Manoa. Just above Barrancas are the ruins of a strong fort that he
built as a safe abiding place for a part of his force while he went
farther on up the river. It is, perhaps, the irony of an unkind fate
which pursued the great adventurer, that near this fort, from which
searching parties were sent out, is the rich mine of El Callao, whose
gold probably gave rise to the stories that started Raleigh on his
heroic hunt for the shining city that was the objective point of all
of the Argonauts who followed Columbus and Ojeda. If Raleigh had been
looking for gold by the pound instead of by the ton and had searched
more carefully he probably would have found enough to satisfy him.
Stretching away to unmeasured lengths from the pin prick which the
headquarters village made in it, was the virgin forest, with its
wealth of gold and iron, rubber and asphalt, and its square miles of
mahogany, Spanish cedar, rosewood, carapo, greenheart, and mora wood,
all within the confines of our concession. Far off to the southwest,
in a region which I never could find time to explore, was the mythical
dwelling place of the people whom Raleigh described, though only on
the word of the natives, as having no heads but with eyes in their
shoulders and mouths in their chests, with a long mane trailing out
from their spines. Down the Orinoco, half-way to the coast, was Imitaca
Mountain, a great hill of iron ore, which is said to be one of the
largest and richest deposits in the world.
The letters which Crespo had given me to the Territorial Governor
and to the “Jefe Civile,” who had immediate jurisdiction over the
headquarters of our concession, gave me a high standing and I proceeded
to conciliate the people, who had become disaffected toward the old
management, and lay plans for the development of the property. The
real boss of the people of Venezuela is the “Jefe Civile.” He has
complete jurisdiction over the people of his district, which generally
embraces a county, and is consulted on all matters of argument, whether
domestic, political, or religious. His decision is usually final,
although an appeal may be taken to the Court of First Instance in
which his district is situated. His authority closely resembles that of
a French _prefect_, and admits of an intimate knowledge of the private
life of the people. Practically, there are no secrets in Venezuela. If
two people stop in the street and talk for a moment they are surrounded
by an inquisitive crowd. If a woman complains to the Jefe Civile of her
husband’s ill treatment, it is done with the windows and doors open, in
a room more or less filled with idle spectators.
The Jefe Civile at Catalina assisted me in my effort to open up the
country and active operations were soon under way. The natives, who
were living just as when Columbus discovered them, and wearing no more
clothes than could be noticed, were attracted by the prosperity which
it was presumed would follow our development work, and little _pueblos_
sprang up along the river on both sides of us. These people, working
directly for the company or under a license on a royalty basis, were
employed chiefly in cutting timber and collecting _balata_ gum, which
has many of the qualities of rubber without its elasticity and is
caught by tapping the trees. The native labor was not very satisfactory
at the best, as judged by American standards, and we imported some
negroes from Trinidad, who were little better.
Our concession covered a territory larger than the State of
Massachusetts, nearly all of which was _terra incognita_. It was out
of the question to think of trying to go all over it, but, to gain
an intelligent idea as to the nature of the inland country and its
resources, I made one trip into the interior, toward the disputed
border of British Guiana, which was our eastern limit. But for the
boundary dispute between Venezuela and England the Orinoco Company
never would have secured its concession, for the shrewd Guzman granted
it with the idea that the Americans would colonize the territory and
effectively resist the British invasion, which he was powerless to
do. In their progressive search for gold--the continued pursuit of
Raleigh’s will-o’-the-wisp--the Englishmen in Guiana were advancing
farther and farther into Venezuela and carrying the boundary with them,
or claiming that it was always just ahead of them, which, so far as
Venezuela’s protests went, amounted to the same thing. It was, in fact,
the sweet siren song of gold that caused the establishment of the three
Guianas, so that the British, French, and Dutch might prosecute the
search under the most favorable conditions.
My expedition Guianaward was the hardest trip I have ever undertaken
and yet one of the most interesting. We had to make our own trail and
though I had a dozen men with me it was a tremendous task to cut our
way through the thick underbrush, never before disturbed, which often
barred our progress. We could carry few supplies, but it was easy to
live off the country, for there was enough game to feed an army. Not
knowing what to make of us, the jaguar, puma, tapir, and ocelot came
so close that they were easily shot, while overhead were millions of
monkeys, parrots, and macaws, to say nothing of great snakes that would
have made the fortune of a menagerie manager. At long intervals, living
on the banks of rivers, we encountered a few wild Indians, who were
terrified until they found we were not tax collectors sent out by the
government to take them into slavery on account of their inability to
pay extortionate taxes, which are levied for no other purpose than to
compel them to work for years without pay. When they became convinced
that we meant them no harm they were very friendly and generously
offered us things to eat, which I was afraid to touch. They never had
seen a white man before, and I regretted that some of my friends were
not hidden in the bushes to witness the reverence they showed me.
They were armed with bows and arrows, which they used with wonderful
accuracy, and crudely fashioned spears, and wore nothing much but
feathers in their hair. They lived on fish and game, with yams and
plantains, and sometimes corn, as side dishes, and native fruits for
dessert, and they were the healthiest looking people I have ever seen.
I pushed into this veritable paradise for all of a hundred miles, which
carried me close to the border, and discovered one outcropping of gold
which will some day be developed into a rich property. Our progress was
so slow that it was two months before we were back in Catalina.
After getting the development work well started I left it in charge
of the superintendent and returned to Caracas. I was not yet ready
to bury myself on the concession, for that, I thought, was what it
would mean to become a fixture there, and, besides, I was curious to
know how things were going at the capital. I stopped at Trinidad on
the way to attend to some business for the company and enjoy a taste
of real civilization, so it was early in 1897 before I resumed my old
confidential position with President Crespo. The restoration was to be
only temporary, he declared, for he insisted that a fortune awaited me
in the Orinoco delta and wished me to become established there. His
term expired the following February and I found that he had already
decided on General Ignacio Andrade as his successor. He had planned
to continue as Dictator of the country, _à la_ Guzman, and spend much
of his idle time, and money, abroad, and he wanted a man who could be
relied on to keep his organization intact and turn the office back to
him at the end of his term, for the Venezuelan constitution prohibits a
President from succeeding himself.
Donna Crespo, who besides being the greatest smuggler in the country
was a shrewd judge of men, had taken a pronounced dislike to Andrade
and advised strongly against his selection. Without knowing how truly
she spoke she predicted that if Andrade were made President, Crespo
would be dead within six months. I added my advice to the Donna’s,
for I knew Andrade was a weak man and one who could not be trusted to
hold the country with the tight rein which his agreement required.
Powerful friends of Crespo in Trinidad also urged him to select a
stronger man, but he could not be moved. He credited Andrade with
having saved his life, on the occasion when I sent a galloping warning
of the plot to murder him, and, as a monument to him and an evidence
of his friendship, he planned that he should be made President by
the first “popular election” in the history of Venezuela. The peons
idolized Crespo because they felt that he was more nearly one of
their own class, as compared with aristocrats of the Guzman Blanco
type. He was so well liked by the common people and had such a strong
grip on the country that he was able to carry out the idea which his
loyal friendship inspired, but with disastrous results in the end, to
himself, to Andrade, and to Venezuela.
On election day the soldiers at Guatira, Guarenas, and Petare,
surrounding towns which I visited from Caracas to get a close view of
the unique proceeding, doffed their uniforms and donned blouses, with
their revolvers strapped on underneath, marched to the polls and voted
as often as was required. Other towns throughout the country witnessed
the same performance. The peons also voted for Andrade, either because
they knew Crespo wanted them to or because the soldiers so instructed
them, and they kept at it until the designated number of votes had
been deposited. For a popular election it was the weirdest thing that
could be imagined, yet it was so proclaimed. As though to disprove this
boast it was immediately followed by mutterings of discontent from the
better class of citizens, and on the night of Andrade’s inauguration
General Hernandez, the famed “El Mocho,” who was Minister of Public
Improvements in Crespo’s Cabinet but an opponent of the new President,
took to the hills at the head of three thousand troops and raised the
standard of revolt. Crespo really was responsible for the curse of
Castro, for had he selected a strong man as his successor the mountain
brigand never could have commanded a force sufficiently powerful to
overthrow him.
Within a month Andrade went through the form of appointing Crespo
Commander-in-Chief of the Army, in order that he might clinch his
dictatorship. For a while Crespo contented himself with enjoying his
new title and directing operations from the capital, but the Hernandez
revolution finally assumed such proportions that he took the field
in person to stamp it out. The two armies met in the mountains near
Victoria on June 12, 1898. Hernandez was led into a trap, given a
drubbing, and captured. After the battle Crespo walked across the
field and was leaning over a wounded man when he was shot from behind
and instantly killed. It was claimed that the shot was fired from the
bush by one of the escaped rebels, and it was so reported, but no one
who was at all on the inside accepted this explanation. The bullet
that killed Crespo was of a peculiar pattern and exactly fitted the
pistol of one of his own officers, who was not a Venezuelano. I doubt
if there was another weapon exactly like it in the whole country.
The responsibility for the murder, for such it undoubtedly was, could
easily have been fixed, but the cowardly Andrade refused to order a
real investigation and, of course, there was no prosecution. Crespo’s
body was packed in a barrel of rum and brought to Caracas for burial.
The capture of “El Mocho” checked the spirit of revolt, but not for
long. Andrade had nothing to commend him but his honesty, which quality
was so little understood in Venezuela that it counted for nothing,
and he became more and more unpopular. He was surrounded by plotters,
even within his official family, and only their inability to agree on
his successor prevented his speedy overthrow. Some few months after
Crespo’s death, Castro, who had made himself Governor of the State of
Los Andes, visited Caracas and called on Andrade with the demand that
he be appointed to an important position in the new administration
as the price of peace. Andrade, to his credit be it said, not only
refused to appoint him to any office but flouted him, and Castro left
the Yellow House in a rage. He sought the councils of Andrade’s enemies
and, after many conferences, it was arranged that there should be a
general insurrection early in the following Summer. The question of
filling the presidency was left open, with the understanding that it
should go to the leader who developed the greatest strength during the
campaign.
Castro went back to his mountain home, to discover that his cattle had
been seized and a warrant issued for his arrest, at the instance of
Andrade’s friends, for cattle stealing. He resorted to his old trick
of dodging across the border, but a similar warrant was secured from
the Colombian Government, which had no more love for the Indian upstart
than had the one at Caracas. In fact, Castro at one time seriously
had considered starting a revolt in Colombia in the hope of gaining
the presidency. With officers of both countries searching for him he
went into hiding and remained under cover until May 23, 1899, when he
invaded Venezuela with a force of sixty _peinilleros_, so called from
the fact that they were armed with the _peinilla_, a sword shaped like
a scimitar. They were of the lowest type of Indian, but brave and hard
fighters. His old cattle-rustling neighbors hailed him with joy, for
until then they never had dreamed that any man from the mountains could
become a really important factor in Venezuelan affairs, and more than a
thousand of them flocked to his standard.
Supposing that the other parties to the revolutionary agreement would
carry out their part of the programme, and that he would join forces
with them as he neared the capital, Castro set out on his march
toward Caracas. Andrade had become so unpopular by this time that he
encountered little opposition, and as he captured successive towns he
opened the prisons and the freed convicts fell in behind him. When he
reached Valencia, less than one hundred miles from Caracas, he had
an undisciplined but effective force of three thousand bloodthirsty
brigands. General Ferrer was stationed there with six thousand
well-equipped regulars, and though he was by no means enthusiastic
in his loyalty to Andrade he did his duty as a soldier, according
to the quaint standards of the country. He marched his men out and
surrounded Castro, with the exception of a conspicuous hole through
which the latter could escape, and then went into camp for the night.
This proceeding was in strict accord with the ethics of that strange
land. Except in extreme cases it is the unwritten law that when a rebel
leader is encountered by a superior government force, the regulars must
surround him with a great show, but be careful to leave a wide hole in
their line through which he can run away during the night. Invariably
he takes advantage of his opportunity and it is officially announced
that he “escaped.” Of course, after a rebel chieftain has made several
escapes of this kind and still continues in revolt he is surrounded in
earnest, but harsh measures are not resorted to until he has had ample
opportunity to escape or come into camp and be good.
Castro violated all the precedents of his plundering profession by
failing to run through the hole that had been left for him. When Ferrer
saw him the next morning, in the middle of the ring calmly waiting
for the fight to begin, he was nonplussed. He could not understand
that method of warfare and, concluding that Castro must be a real
hero and perhaps, as he even then claimed to be, a genuine “man of
destiny,” he solved the problem by joining forces with him, for which
he was subsequently rewarded by being made Minister of War. Castro
learned from Ferrer that he was alone in the revolution, his promised
partners having failed to take the field on account of bickerings
and jealousies among themselves. This discovery and the addition of
Ferrer’s forces gave him his first really serious notion that he might
become President, and he marched forward in a frenzy of bombastic
joy. He picked out a star as his own and ceremoniously worshipped it.
Clearly his star was in the ascendant, figuratively at least, for at
Victoria, only thirty-five miles outside of the capital, he made terms
with General Mendoza, who was disgruntled with Andrade, and picked up
another army. When the tottering President heard of this final evidence
of disloyalty he boarded a gunboat at La Guaira, taking with him a
well-filled treasure chest, and went to Trinidad. The alleged warship
leaked badly and Andrade, who had a sense of humor, sent word back to
Castro by her commander to have her repaired at once so that she might
be in better shape for a hurried departure when it should come his turn
to be deposed.
By this time the people of Venezuela, ripe for a change of
administration and believing that no one could be worse than Andrade,
had begun to find out, as had Castro himself, what a powerful person he
really was, and they accepted him as their master. He entered Caracas
without opposition on October 21, 1900, and, rejecting the modest title
of Provisional President, which his predecessors had used, proclaimed
himself “Jefe Supremo” or “Supreme Military Leader.” He filled all
important posts with men from the mountains, on whose loyalty he could
rely, and as they were able to secure plenty of graft, not one penny
of which was overlooked, he very soon had a tight hold on the country.
One of his first acts was to release Gen. Hernandez. He soon found
that the old warrior was too patriotic and too dangerous to be at
large, so he slapped him back into San Carlos, on the pretence that he
was planning an insurrection, and kept him there for years. On March
30, 1901, Castro was elected by Congress to fill out the unexpired
part of Andrade’s term and in the following February he was elected
Constitutional President. Then began in earnest his reign of robbery,
through the establishment of monopolies whose profits went to his
private purse, and his vicious anti-foreign policy which, through the
murders and injustices that were committed in its name, made the Boxer
uprising in China look like a soft-spoken protest.
I was not in Caracas to witness the advent of Castro, as I had returned
to Catalina more than two years before, immediately after Crespo’s
funeral. During my stay at the capital I had come into possession of
a block of stock in the Orinoco Company which made it better worth my
while to stay with it, and I had become infected with the idea that
if we were let alone the concession could be developed into a very
valuable property. It was soon apparent, however, that we were not to
remain undisturbed. So long as Crespo was alive I was all-powerful at
Catalina, but with his death my influence began to wane and the rights
of the company to be trespassed upon. The natives could not see how our
concession, an integral part of Venezuela, could ever be anything but
their own property; they could not, or would not, understand that the
government had given away territory from which they could be debarred.
It was only the influence of the Jefe Civile that had kept them in
bounds before and with the death of my friend Crespo, that official
suddenly became at least lukewarm in his loyalty to the law and to
me. It naturally followed that the natives overran the concession and
did more and more as they pleased. They refused to pay royalty on the
_balata_ gum, which they carried off in enormous quantities, and stole
everything except the headquarters building and the iron ore, which was
too heavy and not worth while. The Jefe Civile himself violated the
terms of our concession and extortions of all sorts were winked at or
openly approved. As Andrade’s unpopularity increased my troubles grew,
for the natives took sides and began to spy on each other, with the
result that false and malicious reports were sent to Caracas as to the
company’s attitude.
When the threatened revolution became a fact and Castro took the field,
Andrade assumed a much more friendly air, but it was too late to be
of any value. He sent General Marina up the Orinoco to try to arouse
enthusiasm for his cause in the east, which section furnishes the only
soldiers that can cope with the hardy mountaineers of the west. Marina
came to Catalina and asked me to do my best to hold my district in line
for Andrade, and gave me his word that if I did so the President would
grant me anything I asked for as soon as the revolt was suppressed. At
just about the moment this request was made Andrade was fleeing from La
Guaira and Castro was assuming full control at Caracas.
Almost the first thing he did was to annul our concession, on the
ground that its terms had not been complied with, along with a dozen
others, as the beginning of his war on all foreigners. I denied
his right to cancel our grant, especially as it contained a clause
which stipulated that any disagreement between the government and
the _concessionaire_ should be referred to the Alta Carte Federale,
or Supreme Court, for adjustment. As the case had not been brought
before that court I held there could be no legal annulment, even if
that power did rest in the executive, which I denied. This contention
was subsequently upheld by the International Court of Arbitration,
following the blockade and bombardment of the allied powers, which
decided that our concession was still in full force.
When Castro saw that we did not propose to submit to his arbitrary
annulment he undertook to drive me out of the country. He realized that
so long as I remained on the concession we could claim to be in full
possession of it, and he proceeded to harass me in every conceivable
way in the hope of making it too hot for me. Under our contract we
were to nominate and pay all of the officers within our territory and
the government was to appoint them. My old chief of police, Abreu, was
arrested and taken away on some false charge, and a new man, Tinoco,
in whose selection I had no voice, was sent to take his place. He was,
I learned, a spy and had orders to send in reports which would make it
appear that the company was stirring up revolts and otherwise violating
the terms of its concession. This I discovered in time to induce
Tinoco, with the aid of a pistol, to sign a statement in which he
denied all of his dishonest reports and gave the company a clean bill
of health. He died soon afterward.
Castro created a military district known as the Territorio
Delta-Amacuro, which took in all of our property, and made Catalina
the capital, so that the Governor and the other officials could keep
me under their eyes. They all had instructions to make the place so
uncomfortable for me that I would leave. Fortunately, when it received
its concession the company had bought the land on which its buildings
were erected. Only the fact that I was an American citizen and held the
deeds to the property restrained them from expelling me by main force.
However, I could see trouble coming, so I dug rifle pits under the
porches on the two sides of the house from which we could be attacked.
I had plenty of arms and ammunition and about twenty men of whose
bravery and loyalty I was sure.
I was prohibited from buying anything at the _pulperia_, or commissary,
and we were hard put to it at times for enough to eat. We caught fish
in the river and my men stole out into the woods to hunt at every
favorable opportunity, but the moment they left our property they
exposed themselves to arrest on some trumped-up charge. Sometimes we
were able to surreptitiously buy supplies from the natives, and we
managed to get along. I filed protests at Caracas, with the Governor
and with my company, but they accomplished nothing. I was told by the
officials of the company that they were doing the best they could, with
representations to the State Department at Washington, and that I would
have to do the best I could, and I did it. The troops were continually
spying on us and annoying us with fictitious charges, but it was a year
or more before the government, angered by its failure to get rid of me,
resorted to extreme measures. A new Governor was sent down with strict
orders to remove me, by force if necessary. He advanced toward the
house with about seventy-five soldiers. I ordered my men into the rifle
pits and met the General at the gate.
“What do you want?” I demanded fiercely.
“I beg your pardon,” replied the commander, with all the treacherous
suavity of his race, “but I have orders to take you under my care and
escort you to Trinidad in order that no injury may come to you. Our
country is troubled and the government is anxious as to your safety.”
“My compliments to President Castro,” I told him, “and assure him that
I feel perfectly secure here, and quite comfortable. You can also tell
him that I propose to stay here.”
“That is much to be regretted,” responded the still overly polite
general, “for in that case I have to inform you that my orders are to
arrest you and take you to Trinidad.”
“In that case,” I said, imitatively, “I have to inform you that you
will find it impossible to carry out your orders, and I advise you not
to attempt it.”
“You mean that you will resist arrest?” he exclaimed in surprise.
“Most assuredly,” I replied. “This is my property. You have no right to
invade it, for I have violated no law of Venezuela. If you enter on it
I will fire on you.”
“But,” he almost shouted, as he waved his arms excitedly toward his
enervated patriots, “my men are here to enforce my orders. You would be
insane to resist. You do not know the Venezuelan Army, sir.”
“You are mistaken,” I told him. “I do know the Venezuelan Army. It is
you who is ignorant. You do not know my army. It is because I know both
that I have no fear. You have not a shadow of right for seeking to
arrest me and your blood will be on your own head if you advance.”
With this declaration which, in keeping with the comic opera custom
of the country, was delivered with all of the dramatic effect I could
throw into it, in order that it might carry greater weight, I retired
to the house.
The General could see my rifle pits, but he did not know how many
men they held nor how well those men could shoot. After a short
consultation with his staff he gave the order to advance, while he
bravely directed operations from the rear. As his men crossed the
line we fired, and eight of them fell. They continued to advance and
we fired again, dropping nine more of them, while several others were
hit. That was too much for them and they broke and ran, leaving seven
dead and ten badly wounded. They did not fire a shot, perhaps because
our men were so well concealed that Venezuelan marksmanship would have
accomplished nothing against them. The General and his staff returned
in an hour and asked permission to remove the fallen warriors. After
burying their dead they returned to their steamer and went on up the
river. In three or four days they came back, with their force slightly
increased, and the General again called on me to surrender, under
penalty of being arrested as a disturbing factor. I gave him the same
reply as before and after thinking it over for a while he marched his
troops away again.
That little encounter produced pronounced respect for the Americans
among Castro’s soldiers and they did not give us much trouble
afterward, though they continued to annoy us for a time. With
the establishment of the blockade of Venezuelan ports by the
allies--England, Germany, and Italy--in the latter part of 1902,
and the signing of the peace protocols at Washington early in the
following year, there came a cessation of hostilities against us. So
far as driving us off the concession was concerned, Castro seemed to
have given up the fight, but on account of the disturbed condition of
the country and the fact that the government was known to be inimical
to us, it was impossible to do anything of consequence toward the
development of the property. This enforced idleness eventually became
intolerable and early in 1906, the company in the meantime having sent
one of its officers to Caracas to protect its interests, I returned to
New York, after having held the fort for ten years. I came back much
poorer in pocket, but with a fund of information regarding Venezuela
and its people.
I have been in every country in South America and have studied all of
them and there is no possibility of doubt that Venezuela is beyond
comparison the richest in its natural resources. With the setting
up of a firm and civilized government, which must come in the end,
under an American protectorate if by no other means, all of the fairy
stories that were told of it centuries ago will come true, and its
development will eclipse all of the dreams that have been realized in
our own country. It is a strange fact that Cumana in Venezuela (their
respective names then being New Toledo and New Grenada), which was the
first European settlement in South America of which there is authentic
record, was founded one hundred years, less one, before the Pilgrims
landed at Plymouth Rock. In each case there was a fervent prayer for
divine aid in establishing a Christian colony and building up a great
country. Why one prayer was answered and the other was not is a matter
I will not attempt to explain.
Like her West Indian neighbors, of which beautiful isles Americans
now know so little, but of which they will know much more when their
flag flies over all of them, as it must within the life of the present
generation, Venezuela has been treated most bountifully by nature
and most brutally by man. Cursed they all may have been by the seas
of innocent blood in which they were barbarously bathed during their
extended infancy and their prolonged childhood, from which they
have not yet emerged. It seems that all the powers of darkness have
conspired to retard their growth and hold them slaves to savagery.
Accustomed from the days of the Spanish _conquistadores_, and the
pirates who followed them, to being plundered and persecuted in every
way that the mercenary mind of man could devise, the Venezuelanos
have grown so hardened to turmoil and torture that it has become
second nature to them to live in an atmosphere which generates riot
and robbery. Their blood is an unholy mixture of Indian, Carib, and
Spanish, with other and more recent strains of all sorts. They are the
most inconsequential, emotional, ungrateful, and treacherous people
on the face of the earth--and yet I love them. The ambition of their
leaders runs only to graft, while the underlings yearn for war as a
child cries for a plaything. At the behest of some self-constituted
chieftain, who has strutted in front of a mirror until he imagines
himself a second Simon Bolivar, they rise in rebellion, because it
gives them a chance to prey on the country, and, if their revolt is
successful, to continue and extend their preying. But some day a real
man will rise up among them and lead them out of their blackness and
butchery into peace and prosperity, and Venezuela, with her wild wastes
of wealth, will become great beyond the imaginings of her discoverers.
This is not the full story of my life but it tells of some of the
incidents which I have enjoyed the most. My best fight was with old Moy
Sen, the pirate king, in the China Sea, and my closest call was when
I was sentenced to be shot at sunrise in Santo Domingo. These events
supplied the most delightful feasts of the excitement which my nature
has ever craved, yet I have lived well, in that respect, all along.
I have no disappointments and no regrets, except that this existence
is too short. If I had my life to live over again it would be lived
in the same way, though, I would hope, with a still greater share of
excitement, because it was for just such a life that I was created.
What the purpose of it was I neither know nor care, nor am I in the
least concerned as to what my destiny next holds in store for me. I
hope, however, that in some land with opportunity for wide activity,
I will be reincarnated as a filibuster and a buccaneer, and that I
will so continue until my identity is merged into a composite mass of
kindred souls.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.