CHAPTER XIVRAPID-FIRE REVOLTS
THE friendliness of Fate, in throwing me in the way of adventures which were beyond my discernment, was never more plainly evidenced than on my return to New York from Australia and Egypt in 1890. On the trip across the Atlantic my mind had wandered away from the West Indies and I experienced an increasing desire to return to South America, but one of the first things I heard on my arrival was that my old friend Guzman Blanco had finally been shorn of his supreme power in Venezuela only a few months before. He had been betrayed by his friends, after the established fashion of that captivating country, and Dr. Anduesa Palacio, one of his enemies of years, had been made President with the approval and assistance of Dr. Rojas Paul, the dummy whom Guzman had left as titular head of the government while he was revelling in Paris, his foreign capital. This discouraged me for a time in my half-formed plan to return to my Southern stamping ground, and as I had plenty of money and was not averse to a rest, I concluded to wait around, Micawberlike, for something to turn up. But it was not long until a silent voice began calling me to South America; softly, at first, and then so loudly that it came as a command. I had heard the same sort of an order before, and only very recently, and was not disposed to disregard it. I felt sure it would not lead me into disappointment twice in succession.
Without knowing where or how the cruise would end, but confident it would lead to trouble—though I did not imagine how much of it there really would be or how unpleasant it would prove—I bought the “Alice Ada,” a brigantine of three hundred tons, laid her on with Thos. Norton & Sons, and got a general cargo for Rosario, Brazil, on the River Parava. From Rosario I went one hundred miles up the river to St. Stephens and took on a cargo of wheat for Rio Janiero. As soon as I had looked around a little in Rio, while the cargo was being unloaded, I understood why I had gone there, for my expectant eye distinguished signs of a nice little revolution which was just being shaped up. These indications, though somewhat vague to even an experienced new arrival, were so encouraging in their promise of exciting events that I sold my ship and took quarters at the Hotel Freitas to watch developments. I had not long to wait before the young republic celebrated its firstrevolution, but it was accomplished in such a disgracefully quiet way, and in such marked contrast with that sort of proceeding in Venezuela, and in Central America and the West Indies, that I was thoroughly disgusted with the country and was tempted to move on again into new fields. A land in which the government is changed by the force of public sentiment alone, and without the booming of cannon and the bursting of bombs, has no charm for me.
When the last Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro II, was dragged out of bed at night and deported without the firing of a shot, in the “Peaceful Revolution” of November 15, 1889, Deodoro da Fonseca was made President by the lovers of liberty and equality, which purely imaginary conditions of life never will be found in any country. Before his weakness had become apparent he was made Constitutional President and Floriano Peixotto was elected Vice-President. Deodoro had neither the firmness nor the initiative that the situation demanded. His policy was weak and vacillating and his popularity waned rapidly. The revolution which was in the process of formation when I arrived on the scene was, I discovered, being quietly fomented by Floriano, the Vice-President. He soon had the army at his backand, as the people were beginning to clamor for him, it was an easy matter to gain the support of Admiral Mello, the ranking officer of the Brazilian Navy, and Admiral Soldanha da Gama, commandant of the naval academy. They brought matters to a head on the morning of November 23, 1891. Mello took up a position at the foot of the main street of Rio in the cruiser “Riachuelo,” the finest ship in the navy, trained his guns on the palace of Itumary, and sent word to Deodoro that he would open fire on him in two hours if he did not abdicate in favor of Floriano. Deodoro abdicated in two minutes, and dropped dead soon afterward from heart disease, and Floriano was proclaimed President.
Before he had time to get his new chair well warmed he had a row with Mello, and as soon as I heard of it I foresaw another revolution, which pleasing prospect prompted me to remain in Brazil, for I did not believe it could possibly prove as uninteresting as those that had preceded it. Mello regarded himself as the President-maker and considered that he was rightfully entitled to be the power behind the throne. However, Floriano was not at all constituted for the role of a mere figurehead and he made it plain to Mello that while he might make courteous suggestions and even give friendly advice, he couldnot go an inch beyond that. Floriano was really a remarkable man. He was perhaps one-half Indian and the rest corrupted Portuguese; sixty years old, with clear, brown eyes and iron gray hair and whiskers. A strong, fine character he was; perfectly fearless, absolutely honest and devoted to his country, whose interests he greatly advanced. He was proud of his Indian blood, which he made a synonyme for courage and fairness, and often referred to it. He was the best President I have ever known, not excepting even the great Guzman.
Mello was a younger man and more of a Spaniard in his blood and his characteristics. He had considerable bravery, of the kind that is best displayed in the presence of a large audience, but he was impetuous and at times foolish. He was abnormally ambitious and believed in a rule or ruin policy. At that, he was more a man after my own heart, for he stood for revolt and anarchy, while Floriano stood for law and order. Soldanha da Gama, the third figure in the drama, was a strange mixture of naval ability, cowardice, and theatrical bravery.
When Floriano refused to be dictated to or even influenced in his views as to what was best for Brazil, Mello proceeded to plot against him with even more earnestness than he had displayed in the plans tooverthrow Deodoro. He worked chiefly among the naval officers, the aristocrats, the adherents of Dom Pedro, and the Catholic clergy, and in the end they all became his allies. He was unable to shake the army, though he tried repeatedly to create dissatisfaction among the troops, and the influence of the priests was minimized by the fact that the people generally were blindly in love with the new scheme of self-government, which sounded well and appealed strongly to their sentimental natures, and were loyal to Floriano.
As Mello’s plot shaped up I began to suspect that his real purpose was to restore Dom Pedro to the throne and make himself the power behind it. Mello cared nothing for titles; it was his ambition to be the dictator of Brazil, with power as absolute as that which Guzman Blanco had exercised for many years in Venezuela. It was natural for him to suppose that if he reëstablished the Empire under its old ruler, Dom Pedro would be so grateful to him, and to him alone, that he would be thoroughly subservient to his influence. Later events confirmed me not only in the belief that this was what was in Mello’s mind, but that he had an understanding with Dom Pedro and, through him, with several European rulers, who were keenly anxious to see the “divine right of kings”perpetuated in South America. Mello considered that the dictator to an Emperor would have more power than the dictator to a President, and he may have even dreamed that he would some day take the throne himself and establish a new dynasty. Dom Pedro had issued a protest against his deposition as soon as he reached Europe, in which all the princes of Coburg joined, and was conducting an active campaign for his restoration. It is interesting to note, in passing, that there is still a pretender to the throne of Brazil. When Dom Pedro died he left his lost crown to Donna Isabella, wife of Count D’Eu, a Bourbon prince. She passed it over to her eldest son, Peter, when he became of age, and only recently he transferred all of his shadowy rights and prerogatives to his younger brother, Louis, who now considers himself the rightful ruler of Brazil. The Old World has a way of keeping up pretenderships that is almost as ridiculous as some of the revolutions of the New World.
It was amusing to watch the development of Mello’s rebellion, which continued through all of 1892 and the greater part of the following year. One would have thought that two friendly leaders were planning rival surprise parties, in which there was to be nothing more serious than the throwing of confetti.Floriano, surrounded by spies and assassins but also by many loyal and devoted friends, knew perfectly well, from his own spies, what Mello was doing, but, relying on his own strength and the public sentiment behind him, he made no move to check him. On the other hand, Mello was well aware that Floriano knew all that was going on, yet neither one gave any outward sign of this knowledge, and when they were together they appeared to be friends.
It was along in July or August, 1893, that I was delightedly dragged into the mysterious muss, after a period of waiting that was long, anxious, and expensive. Mello sent for me first and expressed a wish that I go down to Santa Catharina Island, off the southern coast of Brazil, and blow up the “Republica,” the one Brazilian warship whose officers had remained loyal to Floriano, though finally, just before the revolution was declared, they went over to Mello. With the exception of Soldanha da Gama, who was neutral but whom he regarded as more of a friend than an enemy, Mello had converted the rest of the navy to his cause, but the “Republica” held out against him and he wanted her put out of the way of doing him harm. He offered a cash payment and a commission in the navy in return for her destruction, but I could never get him down to definite terms orto a contract that I would accept. We had several conferences, and, while we were still negotiating, I received a call from one of Floriano’s aides, who asked me to accompany him to the palace. He took me in the rear entrance and up a back stairway to Floriano’s privatesalawhere, after presenting me, he left me, as I supposed, alone with the President.
“I understand,” said Floriano, getting right down to business, “that you were in Venezuela with President Guzman and that you have had military training and experience.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“I am told, too, that you have made a study of high explosives and have invented a remarkable torpedo.”
“That also is true.”
“Would you be willing to undertake a mission that would involve considerable danger, but for which you would be well paid?”
“I am open to anything except vulgar assassination. That is my business.”
“What do you charge for your services?”
“That depends entirely on the nature of the work.”
“Then we can leave that question open until the nature of the work has been decided on, provided itis understood that your compensation will be such as you are ordinarily accustomed to.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Brazil may need your services, Colonel Boynton,” with an accent on the “Colonel.”
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted, “Captain Boynton.”
“I repeat, Colonel Boynton,” he replied, with a smile and the suggestion of a bow. “Brazil may need your services, but I cannot tell how soon nor in what capacity.”
“If I enter your service it will be a loyal service to the end,” I told him.
“Consider yourself then in the service of Brazil.” As he said this he raised his hand and from behind a curtain appeared Captain Cochrane, a descendant of the English Admiral Cochrane who had fought for Brazil seventy years before. He had heard all that we had said.
“As we were strangers I took this precaution,” explained Floriano. “It will not be necessary again.”
“It was a perfectly justifiable precaution,” I replied.
Captain Cochrane then repeated in English my conversation with the President, to be sure I understood it, after which I was escorted back to my hotel. Immediatelyon my arrival there I sent word to Mello that our negotiations were off and that I would consider no further proposition from him.
A few days after this meeting with the President the revolution was declared, under conditions such as one would look for on the light opera stage but never in real life, not even in South America. On the evening of September fifth, Floriano went to the opera, accompanied by Mello, Soldanha and several other officers of the army and navy, and they all sat together in the presidential box. Mello and Soldanha excused themselves after the second act. They left their cloaks in the box and said they would be back in a few minutes. Knowing full well the reason for their departure and that they had no thought of returning, Floriano bowed them out with an ironical excess of politeness. Soldanha, who had not yet taken sides, though his sympathies were with the “rebellion” and he subsequently allied himself with it, retired to the naval school, on an island near the city, and Mello went on board his flagship, the “Aquidaban.” During the night he assembled his captains and impressively gave them their final orders, with the dramatic announcement that the standard of revolt would be hoisted at sunrise. His fleet, in addition to the flagship, consisted of the“Guanabara,” “Trajano,” and “Almirante Tamandate,” protected cruisers; the “Sete de Setembro,” a wooden barbette ship; the gunboat “Centaur,” and two river monitors. The protected cruiser “Republica,” whose officers had just decided to join the rest of the navy in the effort to compel the retirement of Floriano, was coming up from down the coast, and the “Riachuelo,” with which Mello had forced the abdication of Deodoro, was cruising in the Mediterranean. It was not an imposing fighting force but it was sufficient to give Mello command of the sea, while Floriano was in control of the forts and the land forces.
At daybreak Mello seized all of the government shipping in the bay and announced a blockade of Rio harbor. He then sent word to Floriano that if he did not abdicate, without naming his successor, by four o’clock that afternoon, the city would be bombarded. This threat was also communicated to the foreign ministers, evidently in the hope that they would try to persuade Floriano to step out, in the interests of peace, but they promptly protested to Mello against bombardment. Under any circumstances, they told him, unless he proposed to violate the international rules of warfare, he could not bombarduntil after formal notice of forty-eight hours, to allow the removal of neutrals and non-combatants.
Floriano’s reply was an emphatic refusal to abdicate, and, precisely at four o’clock, Mello answered it with one shell from a three-inch gun, which exploded near the American consulate and killed a foreigner. During the next week Mello fired forty or fifty shots into the city every day but they did little damage; the fact that they apparently were not aimed at any particular spot probably made no difference in the execution. Frequently he would send boats ashore for supplies, to which nobody paid any attention, and at four o’clock every afternoon the “Aquidaban” would steam solemnly over and engage in a comic opera duel with Fort Santa Cruz, which was located at the point of the harbor entrance opposite Sugar Loaf Hill. Mello’s shots invariably went clear over the fort or buried themselves in its walls, while the gunners at the fort could not have hit him if he had stood still for an hour, so no damage was done to either side. After about twenty shots the “Aquidaban” would return to her anchorage, slowly and with great dignity, and hostilities would be over until the next day at the same hour. This daily duel, which was the star act in the serio-comic programme, always drew a crowd to the water front. Businesswent on as usual throughout the “revolution,” which was regarded with amused interest rather than with fear.
Very soon after the firing of the first shot, Italian, English, German, Austrian, and Portuguese warships appeared at Rio, ostensibly to protect the rights of their citizens, but their prompt arrival, made possible only by the fact that they were cruising close at hand, which was in itself significant, and the attitude they assumed, made it plain to me that they were there under secret orders to aid in the restoration of Dom Pedro. Mello was not a rebel but a pirate, yet the commanders of these foreign ships, all representing monarchies, gave him their moral support, and I have always believed that only the belated arrival of an American naval force prevented them from giving him their active support as well. Their influence was so strong that when Rear Admiral Oscar F. Stanton, of the United States Navy, finally reached Rio, he made the inexcusable mistake of saluting Mello. For this he was speedily recalled, Rear Admiral Gherardi being sent down to succeed him. Stanton’s excuse was that he wished to maintain a neutral position, but no question of neutrality was involved. I know that several of the American naval officers who arrived later shared myview that Mello was a pirate and should have been blown out of the water by the combined fleets. It was evident, from the prompt recall of Stanton, that the Navy Department at Washington held the same opinion but had not sufficient courage in its convictions to order the suppression of Mello. The ranking officer of the combined fleets was the Italian Vice Admiral, Magnani. The senior British officer present was Captain Lang, of the “Sirius.” Until the arrival of an officer of flag rank Captain Henry F. Picking, of the “Charleston,” was the senior officer present of the American Navy, and next to him was Captain (now Rear Admiral, retired) Silas W. Terry, on the “Newark.”
About a week after the firing of the first shot I was on my way to the water front to witness the regular afternoon duel between the “Aquidaban” and Fort Santa Cruz, when I was overtaken by a government carriage, and Col. Pimental, whom I knew well, asked me to get in with him as he had orders for me from Floriano. He drove along the shore of the bay to a new galvanized building, at a point some distance beyond the island of the naval school and near the railway machine shops. On the way he explained that this building had been erected for my use and in it I was to construct, as rapidly as possible, alarge torpedo with which to destroy the “Aquidaban.” I was to have whatever I called for, but, from the time work was begun on the torpedo until it was finished, I was to allow no one to enter or leave the building, for fear that word of what was being done should get to Mello’s spies. The structure was of ample size and had comfortable living accommodations for ten men, which was as many as I could use. I took up my quarters in the building at once and after drawing on the master mechanic of the railroad for a lot of copper plates and such other supplies as I would need, got right to work.
Late that evening I heard the rumble of a carriage outside and a moment later in walked Floriano, with an old gray shawl around his shoulders, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Marine, and a Senator. Floriano inquired first as to my comfort and I assured him that I was entirely satisfied. Then he said: “I am relying on you, Colonel Boynton, to save Brazil from further trouble by destroying the ‘Aquidaban.’ You will have to make and use your torpedo, with such help as we can give you. Now that you know what you are to do, what is your price?”
I told him I would expect to be paid the appraised value of the ship if I sank her or put her out of commission.After consulting with the others Floriano agreed to my terms; but to prevent future argument we fixed the value of the ship at six hundred thousand dollars gold and a contract along these lines was drawn up and signed the next day.
The torpedo which I built for this business was the largest I had ever made. It was twelve feet long and four feet in diameter in the middle, and carried more than five hundred pounds of dynamite, for I wanted to be certain that the ship would be at least disabled by her contact with it. I paid the most careful attention to the mechanism and, to prevent the possibility of a miss-fire, arranged a double detonating apparatus which would explode the main charge when either one of the projecting arms was forced backward by pressing against the hull of the ship. With the completion of the torpedo, which it took us ten days to build, I tested it with five hundred and fifty pounds of iron and found that I had calculated the air chamber support to precisely the proper point, for it floated just below the surface of the water. Floriano came down to witness the final test, after a few leaks, developed by the first one, had been closed, and handed me a commission as Colonel in the Brazilian Army. He approved the plan of campaignwhich I had mapped out and said the necessary orders would be issued at once.
“I believe you will succeed,” were his parting words. “I hope you will come back as General Boynton.”
To the south of Rio Bay, which is the main harbor, and within the city itself, lies the little Bay of Botafogo, round like an apple and with a narrow entrance. On the north side of the harbor and cut off from it by a long, low peninsula which ends in a high promontory, is Nictheroy Bay. This peninsula, which is so low for a considerable distance back of its terminating eminence that it is covered by water at high tide, when it is crossed by a bridge, lies west of the Fort of Santa Cruz. Mello’s fleet was anchored off the peninsula, on the opposite side of the harbor from the city. While Mello had seized all of the government vessels in the harbor there were a few tugs left, which, to prevent his interference, were flying the British flag, on the pretence that they were owned by Englishmen. I was to be given one of these tugs and my plan was to steal around into Nictheroy Bay at night and anchor close under the hill at the end of the peninsula, where I would be hidden from the rebel fleet. In the morning I would load the torpedo and wait for the daily exchange of cannon courtesiesbetween the “Aquidaban” and the fort. An officer at Santa Cruz was to signal me when Mello left his anchorage and then, towing the submerged torpedo by a wire rope too small to be detected, I would steam out from behind the sheltering promontory and head for Botafogo Bay. This would carry me directly across the course of the “Aquidaban,” which would pick up the towing line on her bow, drag the torpedo alongside of her, and, as I expected and hoped, be destroyed by the explosion which would ensue when one of its long arms came in contact with her hull.
The line by which the torpedo was to be towed was two thousand feet long and was supported at intervals by little floats that were painted the color of the water. This gave me room to keep well clear of the “Aquidaban,” and I did not think Mello would see anything suspicious in an insignificant little towboat, under the British flag, running diagonally across his bow at a distance of a quarter of a mile. This was the only plan which gave promise of success, for it was impossible for an unknown craft of any kind to get close to the “Aquidaban” while she was at anchor, and there never has been any doubt in my mind that it would have worked perfectly but for the fact that Mello had full knowledgeof our movements and our plans. Our operations had been conducted with such extreme secrecy that we had no suspicion that they were known to any one but Floriano and his most trusted advisers but, as a matter of fact, Mello’s spies in high places had kept him constantly advised as to what we were doing and when we intended to strike. To show his high regard for the foreign fleet of royalty he reported us to the British naval commander and we were captured in humiliating fashion, while the “Aquidaban” remained safely at her anchorage. Mello expected that I would be turned over to him and that he would have the satisfaction of ordering my execution, but in that he was disappointed.
My tug, in charge of a French engineer and four Brazilians, was sent down to me on the afternoon of September 25, and as soon as it was dark, with the torpedo covered with canvas on deck and twelve fifty-pound boxes of dynamite in the pilot house, we steamed around in Nictheroy Bay, hugging the shore all of the way. To have loaded the torpedo before we started on the necessarily hazardous trip would have been extremely dangerous, for any accidental pressure on one of its arms would have blown all of us to pieces. We anchored in the lee of the peninsular promontory, well out of sight of the rebelfleet, and as soon as it was daylight I unscrewed the manhole of the torpedo and proceeded to pack it full of dynamite. All of the men were either helping me or intently watching the novel proceeding, for we were not expecting visitors. I was just putting in the last box of the explosive when there was a shrill whistle and a launch from the “Sirius” swung alongside. The lieutenant in charge of our unbidden and most unwelcome guest jumped aboard of us and came aft before I could brush the dynamite from my arms.
“Who commands this craft?” he demanded.
“I do,” I replied.
“What are you doing with that flag up there?” pointing to the British ensign.
“That flag was there when I came aboard and took command,” which was true. Then, seeing that he thought I was trying to evade the question, I added: “I am flying it for protection from a pirate fleet, just as others are displaying it in Rio Bay and in the city. Your commanding officer has sanctioned that custom by his silence. I am an officer of the established Brazilian Government, obeying the orders of my superiors in Brazilian waters, and I claim the right to take advantage of that custom, if I care to do so, just as others have done and are doing.”
“I think the other cases are different from yours,” replied the lieutenant. “What is that?” pointing to the dynamite.
“Examine it for yourself.”
“It looks like dynamite.”
“Probably.”
“Well, sir, I am ordered by Captain Lang to take you on board Her Majesty’s ship ‘Sirius.’”
It was of no use to make a fight so I accompanied him, with excessive and sarcastic politeness. He took all of my crew with him, leaving a guard on the tug. Captain Lang was on deck waiting for me and was quite agitated when I was brought before him, but he was much more heated before we parted company, and it was a warm day to begin with.
“Captain Boynton, what does this mean?” he roared at me.
“What does what mean?” I innocently inquired.
“Your lying over there in a vessel loaded with munitions of war and flying the British flag?”
“It means simply that I am an officer in the Brazilian Army, on duty under the guns of a rebel fleet, and that I am flying the British flag for whatever virtue it might have in protecting me from that pirate, Admiral Mello. That flag has been used as a protectionby many others and you have silently acquiesced in such use of it.”
“But, sir, are you not aware that this is piracy?”
“I am not aware, sir, that it is any such thing.”
“But I tell you that it is piracy to fly the British flag over the ship of another nation and carrying munitions of war.”
“It might be just as well, Captain Lang, for you to remember that you are not now on the high seas. An act of the British Parliament is of no effect within another country, and if you will consult your chart you will find that we are in the enclosed waters of Brazil. Under such conditions no mandate of yours which affects my rights can be enforced, unless you have the nerve to take the chances that go with your act.”
“You may soon find to the contrary,” shouted the captain, who was letting his temper get the best of him. “I have a mind to send you to Admiral Mello as a prisoner. You know what he would do to you.”
“Oh, Captain Lang,” I said jeeringly, “you know you wouldn’t do that.”
“And pray why not, sir?”
“Because you dare not do it, and that’s why,” I told him, as I pointed at the “Charleston” which, with her decks cleared for action, was anchored onlya few hundred yards off to port. “I dare you to do it. I defy you to do it. Send me aboard the ‘Aquidaban’ if you dare.” I was making a strong bluff and I got away with it. The outraged Britisher swelled up with anger and turned almost purple, but he did not reply to my taunt. Instead, he summoned the master at arms and placed me in his charge, ordered his launch, and dashed off to the “Charleston.” He returned in half an hour and, without another word to me, ordered a lieutenant to take me aboard the “Charleston.”
I will not deny that I was a bit easier in my mind when I saw my own flag flying over me, yet had I known the treatment I was to receive under it, I would have felt quite differently.
It was easy to see, from the reception which Captain Picking gave me, that he had been influenced by the attitude of Captain Lang, for he took about the same view of my action. I told him that I was an American citizen, temporarily in the employment of the Brazilian Government, as were several other Americans who loved fighting and excitement; that I had violated no law of the United States or of Brazil, and I demanded that I be set ashore. He coldly informed me that I would be confined to the ship, at least until he had consulted with the AmericanMinister and communicated with Washington. Not only did Picking regard Mello as a rebel rather than a pirate but he went even farther and recognized him as a belligerent, which meant that he was entitled to all the rights of war. This opinion was shaped, undoubtedly, by the royalist commanders in the harbor, whose superior rank seemed to have a hypnotic effect on Picking, and their influence over him was so strong that soon after I arrived on the “Charleston” I was confined to my room, as a dangerous character and a man who threatened the peace of nations. With this decidedly unpleasant recollection, however, it is a pleasure to know that the other American naval officers, who arrived later, took exactly my view of the whole situation and became champions of my cause. They told Picking that Mello was a pirate and should be treated as such, and that I was being deprived of my liberty without the slightest warrant of law, but they were powerless to accomplish my release, as Picking was in command, as the senior officer present, and all of the correspondence with Washington was conducted through him. Captain Terry, though he never had met me and could not be charged with having his opinion biassed by any personal relation, was especially vigorous in urging that I be released andthat Mello’s farcical revolution be suppressed without further ceremony. He denounced my detention as a disgrace to the American Navy and though he and Picking had been bosom friends up to that time, a coolness developed between them, on account of the manner in which I was treated, that continued until Picking’s death, years later.
The manner in which that old fighter, Rear Admiral Benham, put an end to the “revolution” in the following January, soon after his arrival at Rio, should be well remembered, for it was a noble deed and an example of the good judgment generally displayed by American naval officers when they are not hampered by foolish orders from Washington. In the vain hope of arousing enthusiasm in his lost cause, Mello had gone down the coast, where he figuratively and literally took to the woods when he saw the folly of his mission, leaving Da Gama in command of the blockading fleet. The captains of several American merchant ships, who had been prevented for weeks from landing their cargoes for Rio, appealed to Admiral Benham who took prompt action. To show his contempt for the rebels, whom he properly regarded as pirates, making no secret of the fact, Admiral Benham assigned the smallest ship in his squadron, the little “Detroit,” commanded by thatgreat little man, Commander (now Rear Admiral, retired) W. H. Brownson, to escort the merchantmen up to the docks. At the same time he warned Da Gama not to carry out his threat to fire on them when they crossed his line. With his ship cleared for action, as were the “San Francisco,” “New York,” “Charleston,” and “Newark,” which stood guard over the rebel fleet, at a considerable distance, Brownson stood in alongside one of the merchantmen. He steamed over close to the “Trajano,” on which Da Gama’s flag was flying, and which, with the “Guanabara,” was guarding the shore.
“I will recognize no accidental shots,” shouted Brownson to the rebel admiral, “so don’t fire any. If you open fire I will respond, and if you reply to that I will sink you.”
As the merchant ship came in line the “Trajano” fired a shot across her bow. Brownson replied instantly with a six-pound shell which exploded so close to the “Trajano” that it threw water on her forward deck. A musket shot was fired from the “Guanabara,” and it was answered and silenced with a bullet from the “Detroit.”
After seeing his charge safely tied up to the dock Brownson circled contemptuously around the “Trajano” and ordered a marine to send a rifle shot intoher sternpost, as an evidence of his esteem for her commander. The discomfited Da Gama, who was looking for some excuse to end his hopeless revolt, fell over himself getting into his launch, raced over to the “Detroit” and tendered his sword to Brownson. Brownson told him he had not demanded his surrender, as he seemed to think, and could not accept it, but that he must keep his hands off American shipping if he wished to continue his mortal existence. The “revolution” ended right there, but unfortunately I was not present to witness its collapse. The august naval authorities were scandalized when this display of good sense was reported to them and they carefully prepared a message of censure to Benham for permitting such conduct, but before it was despatched the New York morning newspapers reached Washington—and after a perusal of their enthusiastic editorials on the subject a message of commendation was sent to him instead.
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 sometimesengage 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 thatdoubtless 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.