The war maker

by Horace Herbert Smith

One night I received a hurry call from the Junta. The “Stuart” was then partly loaded with a fresh supply of arms and was waiting for the rest of the shipment, coming from Bridgeport, Connecticut. The Cubans had been tipped off from Washington that she was to be seized the next day on suspicion of filibustering, which could have been proved easily, and they asked me to take her out that night and call at Baltimore for the rest of the cargo, which would be shipped there direct from Bridgeport. Greatly pleased by this evidence of increased Spanish activity against us and the prospect of some exciting times, I went to the ship without returning to my hotel and we got under way soon after midnight, though with a short crew. At daylight I hove to and repainted and rechristened the ship and presented her with a new set of papers, making it appear that she belonged to William Shannon of Barbadoes and was taking on supplies, including some arms of course, for West Indian planters. We loafed along and the balance of the cargo, which had been sent to Baltimore by express, was waiting for us when we got there. We hustled it on board and were just preparing to sail when the ship was seized by the United States Marshal, under orders from Washington.

“Why, Captain, your new coat of paint isn’t dry yet,” said the marshal. “That ship was the ‘Edgar Stuart’ when you left New York, all right enough.” I protested that I was sailing under the British flag but he only smiled and, naturally, I did not appeal to the British consul for protection. There were fraternal reasons why the marshal and I could talk confidentially, and, though he had no right to do it, he told me that he expected to have a warrant for my arrest in the morning. That made it serious business for me, as I had no desire to become entangled with the authorities even though I had full confidence in Fisk’s ability to get me out of trouble, and I determined to get away, and take my ship with me.

The marshal left three watchmen on the ship to guarantee her continued presence. Edward Coffee, my steward, was a man who knew every angle of his business. Soon after dark he served the watchers with a lunch and followed it with a bottle of wine which had been carefully prepared, though no one could have told it had been tampered with. In ten minutes they were asleep and in twice that time we were out in the stream and headed south. We cleared the Virginia capes at daylight, aroused the surprised guards and loaned them a boat in which they rowed ashore. There was no government ship in those waters that could catch us so we proceeded on our course without any misgivings, leaving it to Fisk to straighten matters out. We delivered the cargo about sixty miles west of Cape Maysi and then went to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I wired to Fisk to ascertain the lay of the land. He replied that he had “squared” things with the authorities and it was safe for me to return but that it would be best to leave the ship at Halifax for a while. I accordingly took the train for New York and in two or three weeks Captain Williams followed with the “Stuart,” which had been restored to her real self, though painted a different color than when she left New York.

Our expeditions with the “Stuart” had been so successful that the Spanish Government, through its minister at Washington, had arranged with the Delamater Iron Works, on the Hudson, for the purchase of several small gunboats, each carrying two guns, which were to operate against filibusters. We had not lost a single cargo, either while operating with the Junta or independently of it. In some instances the Spanish cavalry swooped down and captured part of the shipment before the rebels could get all of it back into the bush, but that was in no sense our fault. Fisk had learned the terms of the Spanish minister’s contract with the Delamater Company and the date that was specified for the delivery of the gunboats, but we did not know of a secret and verbal understanding by which they were to be delivered several weeks in advance of that time. The result was that on my next, and last, trip to Cuba I ran full tilt into one of the new boats, as I was not looking for them.

We raised Cape Maysi late in the afternoon and were close inshore and not far from the lighthouse when a little steamer came racing up on our starboard bow. I saw that she was flying the Spanish flag but that meant nothing in those waters and I paid no attention to her, as she was nothing like the ordinary Spanish type of gunboat, for which I was on the lookout. She steamed up to windward of us and I opened my eyes when she fired a blank shot across our bows, as a signal to heave to. I promptly ran up the British flag and kept on my course, whereupon she sent a solid shot just ahead of us. Then I hove to and a lieutenant and boat’s crew came aboard. It looked like a bad case. While the lieutenant was being rowed to the “Stuart” I had a lot of black powder stored under the break of the poop, just below my cabin, and laid a fuse to it. I did this primarily for the purpose of running a strong bluff on the Spaniards, but I had made up my mind that if it came to the worst I would blow up my ship and take a long chance on getting ashore in the small boats. I figured that the commander of the gunboat would stop to pick up those of his crew who were sent skyward by the explosion and that this would allow sufficient time for some of us, at least, to escape, which was much better than to sit still and have all hands captured and executed.

When the lieutenant came aboard he called for my papers and I gave him the usual forged set, which indicated British registry and concealed the nature of the cargo. He was not satisfied and ordered me to open the hatches, which I refused to do. He procured some tools and was having his men open them when I gave the signal to lower the boats quickly, and man them. The Spaniards looked on in wonder but interposed no objection to our hurried departure. Then I ostentatiously lit the fuse in my cabin and as I was getting into my boat I said to the lieutenant: “I wish you luck in going over my cargo. You’ll be in hell in just about three minutes.”

Without asking a question or saying a word the young officer bundled his men and himself into his boat and I lost as little time in hustling my men back onto the “Stuart” and pulling out the fuse, which was a long one, as I had a notion things might turn out just as they did. Had he not flown into a state of panic, which is characteristic of the Latin races, the lieutenant could have pulled out the sputtering fuse, just as I did, and removed the danger, at the same time putting the rest of us in a bad way; but it seemed that such an idea never occurred to him. It was simply a case of matching American nerve against Spanish blood, and I won. The gunboat was half a mile to windward and a choppy sea was running so the lieutenant had his hands full managing his boat and had no time to try to make any signals. I ordered full speed ahead and ran across the gunboat’s bows, dipping our ensign as we passed. The commander of the gunboat, thinking everything was all right, returned our salute and dropped down to pick up the lieutenant. When he got to the small boat and discovered the trick that had been played on him he sent a shot after us, which went a mile away, and gave chase, but it was no use. It was getting dusk by that time and in fifteen minutes it was dark, for there is no twilight in the tropics. I swung around in a wide circle, picked up a little inlet near Gonaives Bay in which the rebels were waiting, and had my cargo unloaded and was headed back for New York before daylight.

Some of the filibustering trips were made at long intervals, on account of the difficulties encountered by the Junta in raising funds, and between two of them, in 1867, I went to Washington, at the invitation of Leonard Swett, of Chicago, and Dr. Fowler, of Springfield, Illinois, and was introduced by them to President Johnson. Swett and Fowler were trying to line up Illinois for Johnson, and Fisk thought it might strengthen his hand in Washington to have me meet the President and offer to assist him in any way I could. A few days later the President sent for me and asked me to become his confidential political agent. He frankly said he doubted the accuracy of reports which had been made to him regarding the feeling in the Middle West toward his nomination for the presidency, and he wanted me to visit that section and advise him as to the real sentiment, with particular reference to Illinois. I accepted, being flattered, I presume, by the idea of being in confidential relations with a President. To give me a standing and clothe me with an air of mystery he appointed me acting chief of the Secret Service, from which he had removed General W. P. Wood. “Andy” was careful to explain, however, that my appointment was not to be announced or generally known for the time being and that he did not want me to bother about the ordinary operations of the Secret Service Bureau, which were in charge of Colonel L. C. Whitely, later appointed chief. Within two months I reported to the President that his friends had flattered him, that he did not have a chance of carrying Illinois, and that sentiment was running strongly against him throughout the West. The insight I thus gained into politics quickly convinced me that it was too dishonorable and not exciting enough for me, so I resigned and went back to filibustering.

If Johnson had ever had a chance of being nominated to succeed himself in the place of power to which he was elevated by the murder of Lincoln, it would have been destroyed by his “swing around the circle,” when he went to Chicago, in 1866, to attend a cornerstone laying in honor of Stephen A. Douglas. During the trip he quarrelled violently with every one who disagreed with his reconstruction policy and descended, in his speeches, to the level of the ward heeler. I never was paid for this secret service work, nor for the expenses I incurred, and my failure to receive vouchers for my salary made it apparent to me that my appointment had not been a formal one. The experience was interesting, however, as a temporary diversion, and I was satisfied to regard it as a quid pro quo for favors Fisk and I had received from the Administration, and which we might expect to continue to receive, and let it go at that. I have no doubt that Mr. Johnson looked at the matter in the same light.

While the “Stuart” was laid up for repairs at one time, during the Cuban expeditions, Capt. Williams and I took the famous “Virginius” out on her first trip, with a cargo of arms from the Junta. The Junta wanted me to keep her but I refused, on account of her size. She was larger than the “Stuart” but no faster, and had quarters for a considerable number of men outside of her crew, which the “Stuart” had not. I foresaw that they would want to use her in transporting men, and to put her into that service would greatly increase the risk of her capture. The ideal vessel for filibustering purposes is a small, stout ship of light draft and high speed, without room, to say nothing of accommodations, for passengers. A large hold is not required, for a mighty valuable cargo of arms can be stowed away in a comparatively small space. The man in command of a filibustering expedition must be prepared for any emergency and needs to have his wits about him every minute. If he is to succeed he cannot think about anything except his cargo and its delivery; he cannot afford to have any men hanging onto his coat and dividing and diverting his attention. Transporting troops is a very different business from carrying arms, and my experience has convinced me that the two cannot well be combined on one ship.