According to programme, we got up to Cattaro just at dusk and after the custom house had closed. As soon as we had made fast a Montenegrin official, who had been waiting for us, came aboard, paid me my charges in gold, and asked me to get the cargo out as quickly as possible. With the appearance of the first boxes a long string of pack ponies came trotting down the dock, and as fast as they were brought up from the hold the boxes were placed on their waiting backs and hustled off up the mountain-side. By daylight the whole cargo was across the frontier, or close to it. I could not but feel that I was taking some chance in letting it go so unceremoniously, but I had been so convincingly assured, both by the diplomatic agent in London and by the official who took charge of the unloading, that there would be no trouble for me, that I decided to run the risk. When the custom house opened I presented my papers, which called for a cargo of general merchandise. No questions were asked as to the disposition of the goods and I was given a clearance, or permit to leave the port. This clinched my suspicion, which had been growing stronger with each of the preceding incidents, that the arms were imported with the secret approval of the Austrian Government. Austria had previously proved her friendship for Montenegro by refusing to allow the Turks to occupy Cettinje, the capital, after they had suppressed the last revolt. The Montenegrins rose again during the Russo-Turkish war, which began soon after our arrival at Cattaro, and, with the aid of the arms I had carried to them, finally achieved their long-prayed-for independence, which was acknowledged by Turkey in the Treaty of Berlin.

I devoted a few days to a visit in Cettinje, which, far from what my imagination had pictured it, was nothing but a collection of hovels, but the people were in marked contrast to their surroundings and made up for the shortcomings of their homes. The men were tall, very few of them being under six feet, and handsome; the girls were beautiful, with the grace and features of nobility, but, as most of the hard work fell to them while the men protected them, they aged quickly. In their picturesque native costume, resplendent with crimson and gold, they were the handsomest race I had seen in Europe. War enthusiasm was rampant and nothing else was talked of. I was tempted to stay and fight with them; if I had known their language I think I would have done so, for they are born warriors and the love of it will never fail them. Their dream, as with all of their race in the Balkans, is the restoration of the great Servian Empire of six hundred years ago, which included practically all of the peninsula, and so long as they exist they will be trying to drive the Turk out of Europe.

I loafed along through the Mediterranean on my way back to London and spent the next year or more in enjoying myself and squandering money, which, in those days, was my favorite pastime after a series of adventures. I knew I had only to go to sea to coin more money, so the spending of it produced nothing but pleasure. In the Spring of 1879, with the breaking out of the boundary war in which always aggressive Chile was matched against Peru and Bolivia, which two neighbors had long been in secret alliance to guarantee the independence of each other, the call to South America came to me again. I itched to have a hand in the affair and my desire was soon gratified when I responded to a summons from the manager for Sir William Armstrong & Co., the gun makers. He said he had a shipment of heavy guns for Peru, which were to be delivered at San Lorenzo, a fort on an island, which guards the city, at the entrance to the Bay of Callao. Callao is the port of Lima, the capital, and I was advised that the Chilanos were maintaining an effective blockade there. Peru had only six serviceable ships when the war started. Chile had a much stronger fleet though her ships were of inferior speed. She had so many of them, however, that Peru had been unable to raise the blockade. After stating the situation, Armstrong’s manager sent me to Great Portland Place to interview the Peruvian naval attaché, who had charge of the shipment. “It is a ticklish job,” was the manager’s parting advice. “You will find spies all along the line and it will require all of your skill to deliver the cargo. Don’t be mealy-mouthed about the price you ask for it.”

I agreed with the naval attaché to deliver the guns at Callao for fifty thousand dollars. He was inclined to haggle over the price, but came to my terms in the end. It was stipulated that I was to receive that amount if the cargo was delivered or if my ship was sunk by the Chilanos while defending herself, whereas if I was captured or if I sank the ship to avoid capture, I was to get nothing. I knew I would need a ship that could do sixteen knots an hour or better for this undertaking and as I preferred to own her, so that I could do what I pleased with her, I bought the “Britannia” outright, for seventy-five thousand dollars, from the London and Hull Steamship Company. She had done seventeen knots, and probably could do it again, and was strongly built, though she was not intended for a dead weight cargo in deep-sea sailing.

In the eyes of international law carrying arms, or other contraband, for warring nations is very different from furnishing munitions of war to rebels, though the moral principle, as I see it, is the same. In the first instance, friendly powers, so called, are glad to furnish the warring nations with guns, with which they may kill each other off, at a profit to their own citizens. In this case it is a survival of the fittest, with the peaceful nations extending their sympathy to both of the fighters and their aid to the one with the deepest war chest. On the other hand, the sale of arms to rebels is forbidden, regardless of the fact that there can be no revolution without a rebellion, and that it is only through revolution, which is simply evolution, that mankind has advanced out of the so-called dark ages, even though they may have been, after all, the best. With the rebels, no matter how lofty the principles they are fighting for, it is not at all a question of the survival of the fittest, but the perpetuation of the government that is, no matter how bad. The “comity of nations” is such a fearsome bugaboo that those who revolt against the established order of things, however galling it may be, are frowned upon by all nations and given no rights at all. To furnish them with arms is a crime; a violation of a law which, I am glad to say, I never have respected.

In the case of Peru and Bolivia and Chile it was a war of nations, with all of the other powers smiling approval; therefore no trans-shipment of the cargo, at Amsterdam, or some other convenient clearing house, was necessary. Secrecy was required only to keep from the Chilean Government knowledge of the fact that arms had been shipped to Peru and, if that could not be done, to prevent it from discovering the vessel on which they had been despatched. We got the cargo aboard without, so far as could be seen, arousing the suspicion of the Chilean agents, though there was no doubt in my mind that they knew of the purchase of the guns. We then took on as much coal as the ship would carry, including a lot of smokeless, and got out, ostensibly headed for Japan. I promptly rechristened the ship the “Salome” and prepared a set of papers which indicated that we were bound for Guayaquil, Ecuador, with a general cargo. We put in at St. Vincent, in the Cape Verde Islands, for coal, and, for the same purpose, at Pernambuco and Montevideo. At the latter port I took on every pound of coal the ship would hold, including a deckload, for it was a long run from there to Callao.

I did not take a chance on going through the narrow Straits of Magellan, and right past the Chilean port of Punta Arenas, but went clear around the Horn. On the way down to the Horn from Montevideo I stood far out, for I suspected that the Chilanos might have a ship doing sentry duty at the lower end of the east coast and, while I had no fear that she could run me down, I wished to avoid all suspicion. When we rounded the Horn I headed straight west for three days, until we were well clear of the coast and outside of the regular course, and then steamed due north until we reached the latitude of Callao. Then we began burning our smokeless coal and headed in, slowly and cautiously. When we were twelve or fifteen miles offshore I sighted the smoke of a vessel coming down from the north, and, soon afterward, another one approaching from the south. Experience and that sixth sense which every successful blockade runner must possess, told me that they were two of the blockading fleet. I stayed so far down on the horizon that I could make out nothing but their smoke and watched them as they approached each other, met, and drew apart. I waited until each of them was, as nearly as I could calculate it, as far from what my course would be as I was from the harbor, and then made a dash for it, taking chances on finding one or two guard ships on post right in front of the city, and prepared to show them my heels the moment I sighted them. Luckily, there were no ships off the harbor nor did either of the patrol ships sight me, and I sailed up to the government dock with no more trouble than if I had been going into Liverpool. The guns were taken out and I received my money, which was the easiest I had ever honestly earned, but it was because I understood the game and had been careful.

While the cargo was being unshipped the blockaders learned that I had run past them and, to get even with me, I suppose, they laid in wait for us to come out. That did not worry me, however. I was in no particular hurry to leave and waited until they were weary of watching. Then, on a dark night, I stole out, hugged the shore to the south and slipped away from them, without having as much as a hail thrown at me. I restored the ship to her proper name and self but took the same course back again around the Horn to keep clear of any entangling alliances with the Chilean warships. I put in at Buenos Ayres for coal, picked up a cargo for Liverpool, and on my arrival there resold the ship for a few thousand dollars less than I had paid for her.

CHAPTER XI
STEALING A BRITISH SHIP

IN the old days, when I was cavorting with contraband throughout the West Indies and South America, I ran into one unpleasant incident which left me with a large moral,—or immoral, according to the point of view,—obligation on my hands. During a quiet spell I had bought, at a bargain, a little schooner at St. Thomas, loaded her with mahogany at Santo Domingo, and started for Liverpool, to see what was going on in that part of the world. We were caught in a heavy gale and were forced to run into Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, where we arrived in a sinking condition. On the false charge that my papers were forged the agent for Lloyds’, with whom the ship was insured, seized the vessel as I was having her repaired, and had me arrested for barratry. I was taken to Halifax, where I was put to considerable inconvenience in securing bail. I pleaded my own case and, as soon as I could get a hearing, was released, but in the meantime the agent for the underwriters had libelled my ship and sold her at auction, and her new owners had sent her away to South America. It was a downright steal but I did not consider it worth my while to stay there and fight the case, so I simply swore to some day make Lloyds’ pay dearly for the loss of my ship, and let it go at that for the time being.