During my confinement on the “Charleston” I was occasionally allowed on deck for exercise, but I had no other diversion, which really was an aggravation, than to watch the intermittent bombardment of the city and the regularly scheduled exchange of shots between the rebel fleet and the forts. In hope of meeting with greater success Mello would sometimes engage the forts with several of his ships and, as time wore on, there was some improvement in the marksmanship on both sides, though nothing like reasonable accuracy was ever attained. The only incident which was at all exciting was the sinking of the “Javary,” one of Mello’s monitors. A shell from Fort Sao Joao dropped between her turrets and as she heeled over from the explosion an accidental shot from Fort Santa Cruz struck her below the water line. She went down by the stern with a rush. The guns in her forward turret were pointed toward the town and they were fired, in a spirit of sheer bravado, just as she disappeared. Mello threw a few shells into the city every day, as evidence that he was still in rebellion, but I was told that less than half a dozen of them did any damage and they certainly produced little excitement. Soldanha da Gama came out in the open and joined forces with Mello while I was on the “Charleston.”
I was not allowed to communicate with any one on shore, and, except from hearsay, Floriano had no means of knowing whether I was alive or dead. Captain Picking claimed to have been told by a church dignitary, who, of course, was a friend of Mello, that it would be unsafe to set me ashore as I was certain to be assassinated by Mello sympathizers, but that doubtless was a subterfuge by which he sought to justify his position. After I had been subjected to this outrageous treatment for two months—from September 26 to November 26—I was suddenly and without any explanation transferred to the “Detroit,” which immediately put to sea. Off Cape Frio we met another “Sirius,” a Lamport & Holt liner bound for New York, and, in charge of Ensign Jas. F. Carter, I was transferred to her. We reached New York on December 19, 1893, and I was taken to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. An hour after my arrival a message was received from Washington ordering my release. The Navy Department had me on its hands, did not know what to do with me, and finally, in line with the vacillating policy then in vogue, took that cowardly method of getting me away from the danger zone. Adhering to my rule of never talking about myself or my troubles I made no complaint, but I have always considered that my treatment was a disgrace, and most of the naval officers who were in Rio at the same time will bear me out in that statement. It was the sort of treatment one might expect in an absolute monarchy but not in a republic, with all of its false boasts about the freedom of the citizen and protection of his rights.
CHAPTER XV
REVOLUTION AS A FINE ART
NOTWITHSTANDING the discouragement I had met with in Brazil, and the manner in which I had been deprived of a fresh fortune and much excitement by the discovery of my plan to send Admiral Mello and his rebel flagship skyward with a beautiful torpedo of my own invention and construction, the passion for adventure was still strong within me, but I was unable to gratify it with the resources then at my command. My finances, already considerably crimped by my extravagant way of living and several unprofitable years, had been still further depleted by my long and idle stay at Rio Janeiro, while waiting for the Mello insurrection to become an actuality, and I felt it the part of wisdom to assure myself of an income until something opened up that would be more exciting than working for a living.
Therefore, soon after my prompt release from the Brooklyn Navy Yard, just before Christmas in 1893, after my outrageous treatment at the hands of Captain Picking and the Navy Department, I engaged with the Maxim Powder & Torpedo Company to travel through Central and South America and the West Indies and sell munitions of war to governments, or to any one who had the necessary cash or could furnish reasonable security. But before setting forth I organized, with several of my friends, the International Export & Trading Company. Through this concern it was proposed to arm and finance any promising revolution I might encounter whose leaders would guarantee, in the event of success, to pay us anywhere from three to ten times the amount of money we had actually invested in the enterprise, and give us valuable concessions besides. No get-rich-quick scheme that was ever devised equals the financing of a revolution, when it succeeds and is honestly managed. The experience tables of the turbid tropics prove that the chances are somewhat against the success of these outbursts of predatory patriotism, but the prospects of failure are amply discounted by the exorbitant terms of the contract; the great trouble is that they generally are in charge of men who have no more respect for a written agreement than for a moral obligation. The man who bets at random on the honesty of revolutionary leaders in Latin America, no matter how sincere their promises nor what odds they offer, stands a much better chance of winning from a faro game operated with a two-card box, but as I had a personal acquaintance with or knowledge of most of the disturbing elements in those days, and knew how far they could ordinarily be trusted, I thought I might run across one or two with whom it would be safe to do business. In case any such ambitious ones were found I intended to become an active participant in the proceedings, as a sort of guarantee of good faith and to increase my interest in them.
Determined to tackle the hardest proposition first, I boarded an Atlas liner for Hayti, where old Florville Hippolyte was at the zenith of his power. I knew that while I had been smuggling Chinamen into Australia, General Legitime, whom I had accompanied into exile at Jamaica when President Salomon deported him for plotting against the government, at the same time that he conveyed to me a broad hint to leave the country without a delay of more than a few hours, had returned to the island in 1888, after an absence of more than three years, and had led a temporarily successful revolt through which he had himself elected President of the provisional government, in succession to the man who had exiled him. Gen. Seide Thelemaque promptly organized an opposing government at Cape Haitien, with Gen. Hippolyte at the head of it. Thelemaque was soon afterward killed in battle but Hippolyte continued the revolution. Through its navy the United States gave him its “moral support,” which is a powerful thing when intelligently directed, and within a year from the time he landed in Hayti to lead his little rebellion, Legitime was compelled to again return ingloriously to his haven in Jamaica. Two months later, in October, 1889, Hippolyte was formally elected President and he continued in power until he died on horseback, at the head of his army, near Port au Prince, in the Spring of 1896.
Because of my affiliation with Legitime, whom I had mistakenly picked out as the coming man in Hayti, Hippolyte and I had quarrelled just before Legitime and I were ordered from the country; but that had been years before, and I deluded myself with the belief that, if he had not forgotten the affair, it had been forgiven, for there is supposed to be some sort of honor even among soldiers of fortune and the men with whom, at different times and under varying conditions, they ally themselves. The lovers of liberty, and lucre, who command insurrections are out chiefly for what there is in it for themselves, while the simple soldiers of fortune, like myself, are in the game mainly for the excitement and amusement of conflict. It is against the ethics of the profession of promoting trouble for the members of one faction to cherish grudges against the other, except perhaps under conditions involving personal honor, and that is not often at stake. However, I soon learned that Hippolyte, who was essentially a savage with a lot of uncultured cunning, was no believer in the unwritten revolutionary rules.
The steamer reached Port au Prince in the morning and I went to the Hotel Bellevue, which faced the park, directly opposite the presidential palace. I had just finished breakfast when an American quadroon named Belford, who boasted the proud title of Admiral of the Haytian Navy and with whom I had become well acquainted during my previous visit, entered the hotel. He recognized me instantly and after an exchange of greetings and some random remarks about the old days, he wanted to know what I was doing there. I handed him my card, showing that I was the representative of the Maxim Powder & Torpedo Co.
“But what is your real business?” he inquired with a smile.
“The card states it correctly.”