“Now that you have allied yourself with my forces,” he then said, “you will have no use for your ship, for the present at least. She is still lying in the bay and if she remains there she is likely to be captured or cause trouble. You will therefore write a note to the officer in charge of her directing him to proceed to Curacoa and await orders. She will be safe there and,” with a quizzical smile, “you will be safe here. We have no boats but we will signal your ship from the beach that we have word for it.”
I had been expecting this command and, as there was nothing else for me to do, I complied with it at once. It was cutting off my only hope of rescue, though a forlorn one as I was forced to admit, but the adventure which the situation promised to develop was getting into my blood and, to tell the truth, I rather liked the idea of being left to my own resources amid such strange surroundings. Pulgar had told me during the inspection of his camp that we would probably soon be in action, as “some” troops were advancing on him, and if they did not attack him before he was ready to march, he would go out to meet them. He preferred that they should bring the fight to him for all of his men were recruited from that section and knew every foot of the country. When I came to know Venezuela I appreciated that Pulgar required no great prestige to gain a considerable following in that part of the country, for it was a veritable hotbed of revolution, ranking with Maturin in the east and Barquisimeto in the southwest,—three kegs of powder that could be set off by almost any man who had two legs and a sword.
I started in to drill my troops with the idea of making them a really effective fighting force, but it was the most difficult task I had ever undertaken. They were lazy to a degree that passes the understanding of an Anglo-Saxon and they had not the slightest desire to learn even the first principles of the science of war, as it is understood outside of South America. I had been trying to whip them, and others, into some sort of shape for about a week when word was brought in one morning that the enemy was approaching. We had no advance guard out, though I had tried to induce Pulgar to post one, and a few minutes after the scouts had been driven in the action became general, with the forces apparently about evenly matched in numbers. Instead of allowing me to lead my battalion, Pulgar ordered me to remain with him on a little knoll in the rear, from which he made a pretence of directing his forces. He could have accomplished much more in front, for what his men needed was a leader, not a director. They were fighting in Indian fashion, with every man shooting indiscriminately from behind a tree or log, and they paid no attention to commands. I will say for them, though, that they fought hard and stubbornly, but they were gradually driven back, and Pulgar, who had a terrible temper, was furious. All at once the opposing troops were largely reinforced and came with a rush which quickly converted our orderly retreat into a rout. Pulgar, cursing like a madman, dashed madly into the disorganized mass of his liberty-loving louts, with Ortega and the rest of his staff at his heels.
I was left alone and was hesitating as to what I should do when my Indian servant tugged at my trousers leg. “Follow me, Colonel,” he said, “I know where there is a boat.” He started off at the run and covered ground so fast that I had to gallop my horse to keep up with him. He led the way to the beach near where my cargo had been landed and pushed a native boat from under a clump of mangrove trees. We jumped in and shoved off in a hurry, for Ortega and several of his men had just appeared on the bluff above us and were making for us. There were no oars in the boat but we pulled a board loose from the bottom and used it as a paddle. A strong current from the east swept us clear of the peninsula and out to sea; but I was not alarmed, for I figured that we would soon be in the path of coasting vessels. Scattered rifle patter reached us for a long time, indicating that my former comrades-in-arms were being ignominiously chased around in a way that must have been most discouraging to Pulgar. Toward the middle of the afternoon, as we were trying to work in toward the land, the Indian let our paddle get away from him, which left us entirely at the mercy of the elements, and I suspected that we might have fared better if we had stayed on shore.
We drifted around for three days and nights without so much as a glimpse of a distant sail, and without an ounce of food or a mouthful of water, save only such as we were able to suck out of our clothes during and after a providential rain that fell on the second night. On the morning of the fourth day a fog lifted and close to us was a fleet of fishermen from the island of Oruba, twenty miles to the westward of Curacoa. They took us to their island and after we had rested and eaten for two days a fishing boat took us to Curacoa. There I learned from Consul Faxon what had happened in Venezuela. Guzman’s plans had worked out more rapidly than he anticipated when he sent me to New York for arms, and he landed in Venezuela early in February at the head of a small force but with a large army waiting for him. The old Liberals flocked to his standard and with only slight resistance he entered Caracas and proclaimed himself Dictator. His victory was so easily achieved and was so largely a personal one that he did not give to Pulgar the reward to which that general considered himself entitled, and the latter immediately started a new revolution.
When I told Faxon the manner in which I had been imposed on and how I had been impressed into Pulgar’s service, he advised me to go to Caracas at once and tell President Guzman the whole story. Though somewhat dubious as to the result, because of the fear that Guzman would be skeptical, and perhaps brutal, I followed his advice and went on the next steamer. The same ship carried a letter to Guzman from Faxon in which he told him of my experiences and of the precautions I had taken to verify the signature to the order Ortega had given me on my arrival with the arms. From the effect which this letter produced I judge that Faxon also said some very complimentary things about me, but I never had an opportunity to thank him, for he died before I was in Curacoa again.
I called on Guzman after I knew he had received Faxon’s letter, and was welcomed with marked cordiality. “Tell me your whole story,” he said, “but let me assure you, it is believed before it is told.” His face took on an ugly look when I told him how Ortega had tricked me with the forged order and he interrupted me to say that he had sent an officer to Curacoa to await the “Juliette” and direct me to deliver the arms at La Guaira. This officer’s failure to get to me in advance of Ortega had not been satisfactorily explained and had, Guzman said, been severely punished. It was evident that he suspected collusion between his agent and Ortega.
When I had finished Guzman told me he was surrounded by men whom he either suspected or hesitated to trust. He wanted a man whom he could rely on implicitly to watch for evidences of treachery among those around him, and he was kind enough to say he thought me the man for whom he had been looking. He asked me to remain in Caracas for an indefinite time, to mix freely with his entourage and become intimately acquainted with them and ascertain who could be trusted and who were doubtful. I could pose as an American who was studying the country with the idea of making investments, which would explain my interest in things and my desire to cultivate the members of his court. I spoke Spanish well and could also converse easily enough in French, though that language was little used except among the diplomats.
I accepted his invitation gladly and a part of the time that I was in Caracas I spent at the Yellow House, the residence of the President, as his guest. Guzman was the handsomest man I have ever known; tall and as straight as a sword, with long black beard and dark eyes, sharp as needles, that could flash fire or friendship. He was magnetic and winning to the last degree and every inch a ruler of men, without the faintest notion as to what fear meant. During the nearly twenty years that he was absolute ruler of Venezuela his temper was the thing most dreaded through all the land. I have seen grizzled generals, descended from the best families of old Spain, turn almost white at the sign of his anger.
Himself a pure Castiliano, he regarded the native Venezuelanos as a vastly inferior race, thereby furnishing another illustration of his good judgment, and there was much of contempt in his attitude toward them. Many times, when they had incurred his displeasure by a display of cowardice or some other fault, I have heard him abuse a quailing crowd of the highest officers in the Venezuelan Army in language much more vigorous and profane than an American policeman would use to a gang of hoodlums. “You are not worth a damn,” he would always tell them in conclusion, “except in proportion to the amount of foreign blood that is in you.” Yet until the day when he was treacherously overthrown, to the great loss of Venezuela, no criticism of his was ever resented nor was there ever a whisper of protest. The people knew their master.