# A Generous Conqueror

Extracted from Outing magazine, October 1903, pp. 19–23. Accompanying illustrations may be omitted. Apparently, based on a factual incident.
A GENEROUS CONQUEROR
By Henry C. Rowland
DRAWINGS BY F. M. FOLLET
[This story was told to me as a personal experience by a man whose name I have unfortunately forgotten, and am unable to discover. I attempt to give it in the way narrated, with a few elaborations. I have reason to believe that it is true in substance, and the points of historical interest are, so far as I can ascertain, correct.]
During the latter part of the Civil War I had served as an all-round “general utilityman” in one of the little Monitors in use on the lower Mississippi, and while I was never able to find out just what was expected of my billet, it seems to me that the most of the time I was acting chief engineer (without the rank and pay), also second and third assistant engineers, donkey-man, oiler, and both watches of stokers. What I really did know about the billet were the old hooker's engines, and I knew them outside in and inside out. They seemed to work all right both ways.
Illustration: “Up he came—feet first.”
The Monitor's engines were like a trusty old horse. You could always make them go—but sometimes it took a lot of driving. She did best on a mixed feed of soft coal and light-wood knots. I gave her a dose of turpentine one night when we were badly wanted to help out a little line of earthworks just above the First Bend, and the way she acted was simply scandalous. We'd taken the turpentine off the wharf of one of the big plantations that stood on the edge of the piney woods right near the river bank, and we were intending to take it down to the city, but when we found that we were going back, as she seemed to be a bit anemic, I fed it to her in half-barrel doses, thinking that it might act as a sort of tonic, and brace her up a bit. Instead of that, she got plumb drunk on the stuff, and went ripping and roaring up that old creek in a way that made the niggers on the levee think she was Gabriel's chariot for sure.
The engine was no place for a white man when she was in a tantrum like that, and we all cleared out on deck so as not to have the turret in the way in case she took to heaving up. The only one who tried to stick it out was a big buck Jamaica nigger, who had lived in Nicaragua, and didn't mind the heat until his heels began to melt. Finally there was a crash, and up he came—feet first. He told us an hour before we buried him that he thought perhaps she didn't like her liquor straight, so he gave her the next half barrel mixed with water!”
When the war was over, if ever any one was entitled to a pension, that old river-wagon was, and for a while they let her rest up in New Orleans. Then they sent her off somewhere, and that was the last I saw of her for about four years.
After the war was over I had a tidy little sum of money and no responsibilities, and as New Orleans was a pretty lively place just then, and I was young and full of life, I hung around there for some time. My money didn't last long, and when it was about all gone I managed to get a billet on one of the river boats.
Illustration: “I mus' reques' that you remain in uniform.”
One night, as I was sitting in Nick's place listening to a pow-wow between a couple of cotton brokers, two swarthy looking men came in and sat down at a table just behind me. I was all alone, as the fellow that I went in with had gone home, and as I drank my julep I naturally got listening to what the men behind me were jawing about—not that I cared, but just out of sociability. Although I understood nigger French pretty well, I had a good deal of trouble in following their drift, and was beginning to lose interest, when suddenly I heard one of them mention the name of my old Monitor.
That struck me as being sort of funny, and I twisted half around and took a good look at them. They were a mean-looking team—almost black, but well dressed and with more Creole than nigger in their build. When they saw that I was listening they dropped their voices, but once or twice I caught “Vapeur,” and “Poudre.” Then, suddenly, one of them mentioned my name.
“What's that about John Tucker?” I asked, swinging my chair around on its off hind leg.
One of the men looked ugly, and seemed on the point of ripping out something that might have got him in trouble, but the other cut in, all smiles.
“Ah, M'sieu, pardon, but you know this M'sieu Tucker—is it not?”
“Yes, I know him mighty well,” said I. “What do you want of him?”
“That is not for us to tell, except to Mr. Tucker. It is a business proposal to his much advantage.”
“Let's have it then,” said I. “I'm Tucker.”
Both men rose immediately, and bowed. “Mr. Tucker,” said the oily one, “I give myself the great honneur to present my friend, the gallant Captain Lin Laroque, aide-de-camp to his Excellency, Presiden' Salnave. As for me, I am Commodore Sam Robespierre, acting rear admiral, jus' now incognito.”
I stared at them hard, trying to think where I had heard the name of Salnave before. Somehow, it sounded familiar, and I connected it with the West Indies, but that was as far as I could get. As both men seemed a little disappointed, I got up and bowed. They both did the same.
“Proud to meet you,” said I, feeling my way. “How did you leave his Excellency?”
“In ver' good health, M'sieu, but surrounded by his enemies, whom he will arise and crush when the moment arrive! At presen' he has leave Cuanaminthe an' advance on Port au Prince, sweeping all befo' him.”
That gave me my cue, and I remembered that this Salnave was the man who had deposed President Geffrard of Hayti, and driven him from the island. But of what had happened since then I had not the faintest idea.
“We have stir' up the great enthusiasm for our cause,” said the Commodore, at length; “but this morning we receive the order to return at once, as there is the treachery among our army and navy, and already several of our officers are deserting.”
“But what is your business with me, gentlemen?” I asked, when they had finished.
“Ah, M'sieu, we have hear that you are a brave man, an' have serve in the War of the Rebellion, and it is our wish that you lend your sword to the cause of the widow and the orphan! The chief engineer of the Terreur, which is the ship I comman', has deserted to the Picos, an' we make you the offer to fill his place!”
“I see,” said I. “Where is the Terreur?”
“She is lying down the river, M'sieu, where she have been coaling.”
“What other ships have you in your navy?” I asked.
“The Admiral Petion, the Salnave, and the Rouillon—think, M'sieu; the opportunity is that of a lifetime. In three months Salnave will have put down his enemy and Hayti become one of the great powers of the worl'! Beside, we offer you the rank and pay of Fleet Engineer,—for I think that soon I be Admiral, and I take you with me on the flagship. Should you so desire, I am authorize' to pay you a month in advance.”
“What is the pay?” I asked. “Of course the glory of the position is enough for any man, but I have a few debts I would like to settle here before I leave.”
“Two hundred of your dollars a month,” replied the Commodore, “and when the President have destroy' his enemies, it will be doubled.” He drew himself up. “You have the word of Rear-Admiral Robespierre!”
To make a long story short, I finally took him up, and that evening went aboard the Terreur. Imagine my surprise at finding myself back on my old Monitor again!
The Commodore paid over my advance all right enough, and the next thing he gave me was a big rusty cavalry saber, a bottle of Cognac, and a coat that went around me twice, with tarnished epaulets that weighed at least five pounds a piece.
“I mus' reques' that you remain in uniform while aboard the ship, Chief,” he said, “as the personnel of the officers is ver' necessaire' for the maintenance of discipline with the crew!”
Since the officers were in the majority, as it was, it did not strike me that it would be very hard to keep the crew within bounds; but I simply bowed, and wrapped myself up in the coat, which I wore with my sword, jean breeches, and leather artisan's cap.
Five days later, we steamed triumphantly into Cape Haytien, where we found the rest of the fleet. It turned out that in our absence things had been going rather badly with our cause. Salnave's best bower, General Victorin Chevallier had captured Jacmel, after a pitched battle, in which his vast army of over two hundred men had been decimated; then seeing that material to work on was getting scanty, he had made a proclamation that the war was over, named his chief of staff, General Vil Lubin, as provisional President, and, having enlisted a horde of the Picos, marched from Camp Olgé against Salnave, who had concentrated his remaining forces at Port au Prince.
When they had heard the news, the Admiral and the Captain fell on each other's necks and wept. Then they came down in my cabin, drank up my bottle of Cognac, and swore everlasting fealty to their betrayed commander. As the flagship and one of the other vessels of the navy had broken down, and the third was out of coal, we gave them what we had left, with most of our powder and shot, and immediately got under way for Port au Prince. Shortly after our arrival, the entire navy of the insurgents, consisting of a river ironclad, a tow-boat and an obsolete sailing ship, hurled themselves upon our navy in Cape Haytien, and destroyed it!
All of this, however, was of small moment as compared to the disaster that befell the Rear Admiral's fleet, consisting of the Terreur. On the morning of December 18, 1869, we were awakened by a guard from the palace, who brought us the cheerful news that the entire insurgent navy, consisting of the three aforenamed vessels, was entering the harbor as fast as they could be towed by the flagship! It was most inopportune for us, as the Terreur was fast moored to a wharf where we were to coal that day, the tide was out, and we had but two hours coal and kindlers in our bunkers. Added to this, the enemy's fleet was close aboard before it had been discovered; but the Commodore, although excited, was not dismayed.
Illustration: “Lizards, vermin, reptiles.”
As we were casting off the warps, the enemy opened fire with all of the guns of the fleet. Nevertheless, our stern swung slowly out and the steam slowly began to rise in the pressure-gauge as my fireman threw a fresh armful of shavings on our banked fires. But the destiny of nations was underneath it, for the first time our engines turned over to start full ahead, the Monitor, true to her early instincts, slid gently upon a mud bank and drew in her head like a turtle, to avoid the deadly hail of projectiles poured upon her by the guns of the enemy's fleet. To make matters the blacker for us, in this extreme moment, the turret jammed, and our single gun remained obstinately trained on Salnave's palace!
The Commodore rushed below and hurled himself into my arms. A tall, imposing figure in bare feet and a glittering sword leaped into the shrouds of the flag-ship.
“Surrender!” he roared, brandishing his blade.
“Never!” shouted the Admiral, in reply. “Death rather than dishonor!”
“Surrender—or I will empty my broadside into your vessel, and send her to the bottom!”
“Mon Dieu!” gasped the Admiral to me. “They will send us to the bottom—and we are powerless!”
“They can't,” said I. “We're there already.”
His yellow face brightened. He thrust his head out of the port, with both hands planted against the side plating, so that he could jerk it back at a hostile movement. “Fire, cowards!” he bawled, “Fire!—Sink!—burn!—destroy!—but never while the proud flag of Hayti waves from yonder palace will Admiral Robespierre surrender his vessel. Meet me on the ——”
“Fire!” came the order from the flagship, and the Commodore pulled in his head so quickly that he barked his chin on the rim of the port.
Two or three feeble concussions came from the old hard-shell's iron sides—then a rattle of musketry that sounded like a shower of rain.
Soon the firing ceased, and the other Admiral rushed into the eyes of his ship.
“Aha, miserable ones!—cowards!—Cacos! that fly into your holes at the first sign of danger. Come forth and do us battle upon the deck of this good ship!”
“If you are so eager for the fray, why then do you not attempt to board us?” called the Commodore. “Lizards! vermin! scaly, crawling, reptiles, who turn and sting with your tongues of venom the heel of the brave man that treads——”
“Fire!” roared the Admiral, purple with rage, and again the Commodore ducked in his head, this time clearing his chin.
The old Monitor sort of settled herself down comfortably on the mud bank, and took the rain of little projectiles, not big enough to dint her sides, a good deal as a 'gator takes a summer rain. Pretty soon the firing ceased again, and then we saw that some new scheme was afoot.
The flagship drew ahead of us about fifty yards, and dropped her anchor. Then she got out a kedge astern, so as to swing broadside across our bows. One of the other vessels adopted the same tactics astern, and the third lay right alongside. At a signal from the Admiral they all began to pound away with about as much result as before, except that one of them cut away our flagstaff.
It was mighty hot and stuffy down below, and pretty soon, partly from that and partly from the rhythm of the concussions, I fell asleep. I don't know just how long I slept, but a sudden ceasing of the noise finally woke me up.
Looking out through the port, I saw that a boat had been lowered from the flagship, and was heading our way under a flag of truce. In the stern sat the Admiral. When they were almost alongside he stood up, and the men stopped pulling.
“I have come to propose conditions of surrender that will not prove offensive to men of courage,” he proclaimed. “Admiral, as a brave man, I am able to appreciate heroism in others! I am obliged to congratulate you on the noble manner in which you have stood by your ship in the face of overwhelming odds—but why sacrifice yourself, and those other brave ones with you on the altar of a misplaced patriotism? Already, as you see, the brave but mistaken Salnave is surrounded by defeat; the great Chevallier has thrown off the yoke of tyranny, and makes all native Haytians free and equal! Give him your allegiance, my brave ones—why perish with a sinking ship of a rotten state? I swear that your surrender shall be an honorable one, with all of the honors of war!'
I could see that Commodore Robespierre was powerfully affected by this impassioned address, and for a moment he wavered. Then an inspiration seemed to seize him, and he drew himself erect and threw out his chest—keeping well within the shelter of the turret, however.
“Ah, Admiral, we appreciate your magnanimity, and thank you for your praise; but for us, surrender is impossible. Consider the degradation of the officers of this vessel without a command, homeless, levelled to the ranks of the poorer Cacos. No, Admiral, it can never be. We have lived as heroes—as heroes must we die.” His voice quivered with emotion, and the tears streamed from his eyes as he spoke. The Admiral in the boat was also overcome, and repeatedly passed his handkerchief across his eyes.
Illustration: “Hardly a dry eye on the ship.”
The Commodore proceeded: “The sacrifice will soon be over.” He cautiously stuck his head out through the port. “I see that the tide is rising, and in another hour we shall be afloat. Then, my friend, we will try to show you that we can give as well as take. With our fresh supply of coal, just taken from the dock before you, and our magazines filled with the ammunition obtained from our consorts, whom we learn that you have destroyed, we will yet make a fight that shall go down in the pages of the history of the Western continent,”—at this the Admiral in the boat seemed far from reassured—“and although surrounded by overwhelming odds, at least we need not die alone——” Sobs choked his voice.
“Gallant man,” burst out the Admiral, “you overwhelm me with admiration. Come—I will propose terms that even you cannot refuse. Myself, I am a man of heart, and cannot endure the thought of so great a sacrifice. Come—you shall retain the command of your vessel—you and all of those brave ones under you shall retain your positions—only subject to the great Victorin Chevallier! Can one be more magnanimous. And these others shall be the witnesses of my words!”
“And the pay, dear friend?”
“Shall be doubled!”
“Comrade!”
“Brother!”
At a motion from the Admiral, the boat was quickly pulled alongside, and the two officers fell into each other's arms, weeping copiously. There was, in fact, hardly a dry eye aboard the ship.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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