PLAN TO CAPTURE GOLD SHIPS DEVELOPS, BUT TROUBLE FOLLOWS
ENGAGEMENT OF VILLAINOUS-LOOKING PILOT.
The three of us--Greathouse, Rubery and myself--now worked in unison.
My first intention was to outfit in British Columbia, but an agent
stationed at Vancouver was unable to find anything fit for our purpose.
We negotiated for the purchase of the steamer Otter, owned in Oregon,
but on a trial trip she failed to develop a speed much greater than
that of a rowboat--not enough either to fight or run away.
While we were fretting over the delay a small deep-water vessel came
into port, after a record-breaking voyage from New York. The ship was
called plain “Chapman.” Historians have seen fit to name it the “J. M.
Chapman,” for what reason I am not aware. Probably it was a case of
what literary folk are pleased to call “poetic license.” At any rate,
we considered it a serviceable craft, in default of a steam vessel. We
purchased the Chapman from her owners at a reasonable price, as it was
winter and an outbound cargo was not obtainable at that season of the
year.
Our plans might as well be explained fully here. We proposed to sail
the Chapman to some islands off the coast of Mexico, transform her into
a fighting craft, proceed to Manzanillo, exhibit our letters of marque
and my captain’s commission in the Confederate navy and then lie in
wait for the first Pacific Mail liner that entered the harbor, capture
her--peacefully if possible, forcibly if we must. All of this was in
line with instructions. Then we proposed to equip the captured liner
as a privateer and figured to intercept two more eastbound Pacific
Mail steamers before the world knew what was happening, in those days
of slow-traveling news. After that we proposed to let events very much
take their own course. It was a wild, desperate undertaking at the
best, but we were all of an age that takes little stock of risks.
Having our ship, other details followed rapidly enough. We purchased
two cannons throwing a 12-pound shot. This was arranged by a Mexican
friend of mine, acting through a well-known business firm, which was
entirely ignorant of the nature of the transaction. In the same way,
we bought shells and solid shot and a large quantity of ammunition.
In those days of adventure it was no uncommon matter for corporations
or even private persons to purchase armament on a considerable scale,
without comment. Often remote investments had to be protected not only
with armed men but also with a show of artillery. Our Mexican friend
merely had to say that he needed the military supplies to guard a
mining property in his own country. As a matter of fact, he never knew
what the war material was intended for--just took it for granted that
he was doing something in the line of accommodation.
Also we bought a large assortment of small arms, rifles, revolvers and
cutlasses. Everything was heavily boxed and marked “machinery.” We
laid in, also, to avoid suspicion, a small line of general goods of a
kind salable in a Mexican port, and an extra supply of provisions.
We engaged an ordinary crew of able seamen and without much
difficulty selected twenty picked men--all from the South, of proved
and desperate courage. These were to constitute our working force.
They were not known to each other, did not even know the nature
of the service--further than that it meant fighting and plenty of
it--somewhere in Mexico.
All our plans were perfected. It only remained to secure a navigator
who could be implicitly trusted. Men of the South did not have much
practical experience in seamanship. Several of our confidential friends
scoured the town for a suitable person for this all-important post.
Finally a man was brought to me by the name of Wm. Law, guaranteed to
be a competent navigator familiar with the Mexican coast and a Southern
sympathizer. He was the possessor of a sinister, villainous mug, looked
capable of any crime and all in all was the most repulsive reptile in
appearance that I ever set eyes on. From the moment I saw him, I was
filled with distrust. After a short general conversation I dismissed
him and told his vouchers that I could put no faith in such an
ill-omened looking character. But time was pressing. No one else showed
up and after further guaranties, Greathouse, Rubery and myself saw Law
again and frankly gave him a general outline of our plans. He accepted
the responsibility with a well-feigned eagerness; his tough-looking
face seemed lighted with a sort of demoniac exultation. There was still
another who shared our confidence to some extent, Libby, the sailing
master of the Chapman.
Everything was now ready to launch the enterprise. Our clearance papers
were secured from the custom-house with a readiness that might have
suggested a suspicion to more alert minds. The “Chapman” was duly
certified to sail for Manzanillo with a cargo of machinery and mixed
merchandise.
It was on the night of March 14. Greathouse and Law were to be on board
at ten o’clock. Rubery and I stationed ourselves in a dark alley behind
the old American Exchange Hotel. One by one, our fighting men assembled
silently, by prearrangement. The night was dark, the sky overcast. We
divided into three squads to avoid attention, slipped through the dimly
lighted streets, past roaring saloons and sailor boarding houses and
reached an unfrequented part of the waterfront unnoticed, where the
privateer was moored.
Everything thus far had gone so smoothly that Rubery and I were
exultant. The wind, too, was propitious. We figured to sail without
delay, pass Fort Point in the dark and be beyond the horizon before the
morning broke. We scrambled aboard the Chapman. Greathouse was pacing
the deck in agitation. Law was not there.
I experienced a shock such as a man receives when a bucket of ice water
is emptied on him in his sleep. The suggestion of treachery could not
be avoided. We cast loose from the wharf and anchored in the stream.
But we were helpless. We could not sail without our navigator. We had
nothing to do but wait.
We scanned the bay for an approaching boat, but the dark waters
answered not. At two o’clock we turned in for a much needed rest. We
left a trusty man as a lookout with orders to waken us at five o’clock
if nothing happened before. We still had a lingering hope that Law
might appear in season to carry out our plans. And soon, as the hours
glided by, the Chapman rocked us to sleep.