The war maker

by Horace Herbert Smith

I never have believed in overplaying my luck, and it required only a few setbacks to convince me that fortune had turned against us, so I decided to make another change. Preying on slavers was nasty business, anyway, though rich in profits, and I had had enough of it. I had become superstitious, too, about the sickening, odoriferous heritage which the slaves had left with us. We were likely to be recognized wherever we went, and that smell would convict us. Running slaves ranked with piracy and conviction meant a two-step on air at the end of a yardarm, which was not a pleasing prospect. Therefore I determined to quit the business and bury all traces of it, including the “Leckwith.” She had paid for herself many times over and I could afford to lose her. Besides, if I kept her she would continually remind me of my experiences in the China Sea, and those I was equally anxious to forget.

I paid off all of the extra men, giving them double wages and a share of the profits, and told them of my plans, so far as they were concerned. We had plenty of coal to take us as far as I intended to go and I did not care to put into any port for fear of being recognized. Therefore I told them we would take them to within twelve or fifteen miles of Zanzibar, where they would take to the boats and sail ashore. They could land quietly, and probably unnoticed, but if any questions were asked them they were to report that the ship had foundered. This plan was carried out and they were started landward with provisions and water.

We continued on our solemn journey until we came to a point about twenty miles off Aden, near the lower end of the Red Sea, and there we proceeded to bury the “Leckwith” and her ghost, the smell of the slaves. The funeral was conducted, early in the morning, with becoming ceremony and with sincere sorrow on the part of all of us. It is a terrifying thing to have a ship go down under you, even in a smooth sea and with the shore in sight, but it is a human tragedy to deliberately sink your own ship, and a long and intimate association, filled with dangers, such as mine had been with the “Leckwith,” manifolds the melancholy of it. I had thought I could send her down without great concern, inasmuch as it was necessary to protect her from capture and ourselves from arrest, but when the time came to do it I understood something of the feelings of the Western frontiersmen when they killed their wives to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Indians.

In the nearly ten years that I had been with her she had carried me safely through more dangers than fall to the life of the ordinary man, even though he be as ardent a lover of the sea and of adventure as I myself. No storm that blew had ever driven her to shelter or made her question the security she felt in my hands. In all sorts of weather, under sail or steam, she had carried me clear of every pursuing ship that challenged her speed. However rough the usage she never rebelled or complained; wherever I directed her she went as true and straight as an arrow, with never a misstep or a falter. If she had been disgraced it was because I had elected to dishonor her; no part of the blame was hers. She was not an inanimate, unfeeling thing conceived by man out of iron and steel, but a living, breathing, human creation, with all the passion and sympathy and devotion of a woman, and, as is the way of most mortals, I did not know my own love for her until I was about to lose her. I am not much given to weeping, but there were tears in my eyes as I gave the signal that stilled forever the steady pulsations of her great, true heart, and I could feel the death tremor running through her as she came to a stop.

While a royal salute boomed from her yacht’s gun forward I read over her the burial service at sea prescribed by the Church of England. Her own flag was sent to the maintop and the rest of her bunting was astream from stern to bowsprit, over the mastheads. Then, with the small boats forming a cortege alongside, we opened her seacocks, pulled a short distance away, and watched her slowly sink to her grave, tenderly lowered by her own mother, the sea. We had taken our revolvers along for that particular purpose, our protection being a secondary consideration, and as the waves that her broken heart had warmed caressed the topmost flag we fired another salute in her honor, as the final tribute of a love that, long smouldering and not understood, had been fanned into full flame by her burial, and she was gone. I owned many ships after that but never one among them was I so sure of, under all conditions, as I was of her.

The ocean whispered to itself of her brave deeds as it closed in over her and we hoisted rags of sails on our three boats and headed for Aden, where we landed late in the afternoon with a carefully prepared story of the sinking of an imaginary ship. Aden was a port of call for ships running out East and we took the next one that came in for England.

We reached London early in 1877 where I learned with delight that war between Russia and Turkey was imminent. The first thing I did was to dissolve my partnership with Norton. While I had greatly enjoyed the adventures that were a part of it, I did not relish the business to which he had introduced me. I do not seek to avoid any responsibility for my own acts; I went into the business with my eyes open but it was not exactly the sort of thing I was cut out for, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Moreover, I preferred to operate alone.

Norton joined his wife, who was living in Devonshire, and I went to the Langham Hotel, where I put myself in touch with my old agents and other dealers in contraband, for I hoped the coming war would produce some legitimate business. I was not disappointed, for very soon I was asked to meet the diplomatic agent of Montenegro, a little principality lying on the Adriatic between Turkey and Austria-Hungary, which was at that time subject to the Sublime Porte. It was cut off from the sea by a narrow military strip which was occupied by Austria. Cattaro, the natural seaport of Montenegro, was within this strip and was guarded by Austrian soldiers. The Montenegrin border was not more than a mile away, right at the top of the precipitous mountains that surround the little town, but the passage of arms across it was forbidden, and so strictly was this law enforced that people crossing from or into Montenegro were compelled to leave their rifles and even their revolvers with the guard at the frontier, until they returned. Everything that passed into Montenegro was subjected to close inspection by the Austrian troops, and it seemed to me, as I first studied the situation, that the delivery of a cargo of contraband to the little principality would present many unusual and interesting difficulties.

I met the diplomatic agent, by appointment, at the old Jerusalem Coffee House, near Corn Hill, and he showed me a commission from Prince Nicholas himself to establish his responsibility. He wanted me to deliver a cargo of arms at Cattaro for Montenegro and said he was willing to pay liberally but not extravagantly for the service, as the danger, to one skilled in the handling of contraband, would be slight. I inquired what he proposed to do with the arms after they reached Cattaro, as their importation into his country was forbidden, but he politely replied that that was something with which I need not concern myself, inasmuch as he could positively assure me that I need have no fear of having my ship seized at Cattaro or getting into trouble there. He told me the Montenegrins proposed to take advantage of the Russo-Turkish war, which was then certain, though it was not formally declared until April 27, to make a determined effort to throw off the Turkish yoke, and that the arms were urgently needed for that purpose. He said that if the Porte heard so much as a hint that they were buying arms I might be stopped by a Turkish ship; therefore the greatest secrecy must be maintained and I should be prepared with a full set of forged papers which would be so convincing that any Turk who might board my ship would be afraid to inspect the cargo for fear of offending England.

We came to terms without any difficulty, as I was anxious to get back into my own business, and, as I had no ship of my own, I chartered a small steamship for the voyage. The arms were shipped to Amsterdam, to conceal their real destination, and I picked them up there, after they had been repacked into cases weighing from one hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds. This was done so that they could be taken up the mountain-side from Cattaro on muleback without unpacking. There were about ten thousand rifles and a great quantity of ammunition. We encountered no inquisitive Turks and the trip was made without incident. Cattaro is buried at the head of the Bocche di Cattaro (mouths of Cattaro), a great S-shaped bay, and rare scenic views of impressive grandeur were opened up to us with every turn of the tortuous channel, as we wound our way through it. Bold, bluff mountains ran right down to the water’s edge and off to the north were the high peaks of Herzegovina.