As we were warping into the dock at La Guaira the chief of police, who was a new man to me, came aboard and looked over the baggage of all of the passengers who were to land there. When we had disembarked he slipped his arm through mine and quietly told me I was under arrest and to go with him. Three officers stepped up behind us to enforce his orders and they all looked me over as though they suspected that I might be full of dynamite. Instead, I was full of questions and protests, but not a word could I get out of them as to the reason for the surprising proceeding. They escorted me to the police station at the end of the long wharf and after I had been carefully searched and relieved of everything but my money I was taken to the fort on the hill and placed in a strong room, if not a comfortable one. The next day I was removed to the Casa Publica, or public prison, at Caracas, where I was not surprised to find several old acquaintances. Gen. Tosta Garcia, whom I had known intimately in the old days, was Governor of the Federal District and had authority over the prison, but, unfortunately, he was out of the city and the Intendiente, or Vice-Governor, who was a stranger to me, was in charge.
Soon after my arrival I was haled to his office, apparently to be put through an examination, but before he could ask me a question I burst out on him with a bitter denunciation of my arrest. I told him who I was and what I was doing and that if the search of my baggage, which undoubtedly had been made, had failed to establish my identity there were many prominent men in Caracas who would vouch for me, including his own immediate superior. I urged him to explain the reason for my detention; but he would say nothing, beyond a veiled suggestion that it had been ordered by the President.
“Present my compliments to General Crespo,” I said, in reply to this amazing intimation, “and remind him, if you please, that I was his friend when my friendship was worth having. Tell him, too, that if this is the way he treats his friends he is a contemptible snake,” or words to that effect.
The Intendiente was plainly surprised at both my words and my manner and without asking a question he sent me back to the prison. The next morning he directed my release in person. “There is no reason for you to be angry with General Crespo,” he said, by way of explanation, “for he has ordered your unconditional release. You are free to go where you please and stay as long as you please.”
“Which,” I replied, “is no compliment to me and in no way lessens the outrage to which I have been subjected.”
From the Casa Publica I went to the Grand Hotel and when my traps arrived there I found that they had been, as I supposed, thoroughly ransacked, but nothing was missing. In the following days I encountered many men whom I had known well or intimately fifteen years before, when Caracas was my home for a longer period than any other city in the world had ever been, and I was soon enjoying myself renewing acquaintance with old friends, among whom were members of some of the oldest families in Venezuela. To all of them who asked if I had seen the President, I said I had not and that I did not propose to call on him, as I had been shamefully mistreated by his order. Two or three weeks after my arrival the Minister of War sent for me and said he understood I was the agent of a house that sold munitions of war. I said that was true, and when he expressed surprise that I had not called on him I told him I had been subjected to a great injustice through him and through General Crespo, and that while I did not expect an apology from either one I could at least show them how I felt about it by staying away from them, even though I punished myself and my firm by so doing. However, if he was interested, I said I would be glad to show him my samples and quote prices. He said he was interested, and proved it by giving me a large order. Beyond a shrug of the shoulders, which might have meant any one of a dozen things, he made no comment on my complaint of ill treatment. Not long after this I went one evening, by invitation, to the home of a doctor friend of mine and was astonished to be ushered into the presence of President Crespo. It developed that the doctor was one of Crespo’s intimate associates, though I had not known it up to that time. The President greeted me with a smile and said, as he extended his hand, “As Mahomet would not come to the mountain, the mountain had to come to Mahomet.”
“I never expected that I would have to apologize to the man who, I thought, owed me an apology, even though I did not look for it, but that is the situation I find myself in now,” I said to him. “Courtesy compels me to apologize for not having called on you to pay my respects. But,” I added, “I am a good deal of a red Indian, which means that I am slow to forgive an injury, and I felt that you had done me a great injustice.”
“That was a most unfortunate incident,” he said, with evident sincerity. “I am going to explain the reason for my action and let you be the judge as to the justification for it.” He then told me that five or six weeks previously a circular had been sent out by an American agent of a Central American country, in which it was stated that a man named Boynton, of whom a description was given, was leaving New York ostensibly to sell munitions of war, but that his real purpose was to assassinate President Hippolyte, of Hayti, and President Crespo, of Venezuela. He said, of course, he had not connected me with the alleged anarchist, for that was what the man was stated to be, or he would never have issued the order for my arrest.
“What would you have done if you had been in my place?” asked Crespo when he had completed his explanation.
“Precisely what you did.”