Plotting in Pirate Seas | Page 9

had ruled by fear, and, under
the direct eye of the U. S. Marines, Haiti is still ruled by fear. In a dim
way--for Stuart was too young to have grasped it all--the boy felt that
this was not militarism, but the discipline necessary to an undeveloped
race.
Only the year before, Stuart himself had been through an experience
which brought the innate savagery of the Haitian vividly before his
eyes. He had been in Port-au-Prince when the Cacos undertook to raid
the town, seize the island, and sweep the United States Marines into the
sea. And, as he had heard a Marine officer tell his father, but for a
chance accident, they might have succeeded.
In October, 1919, Charlemagne Peralte, the leader of the Cacos, was
killed by a small punitive party of U. S. Marines. The Cacos may be
described as Haitian patriots or revolutionists, devotees of serpent and
voodoo worship, loosely organized into a secret guerilla army. They
number at least 100,000 men, probably more. About one-half of the
force is armed with modern rifles. The headquarters of the Cacos is in
the mountain country in the center of the island, above the Plain of
Cul-de-Sac, where no white influence reaches. No one who knew
Haitian conditions doubted that revenge would be sought for
Charlemagne's death, and all through the winter of 1919-1920, the
Marines were on the alert for trouble.
The Cacos leadership had devolved upon Benoit, a highly educated

negro, who had secured the alliance of "the Black Pope" and Chu-Chu,
the two lieutenants of Charlemagne. Upon Benoit fell the duty of
"chasing the white men into the sea" and exterminating the Americans,
just as Toussaint l'Ouverture drove the English, and Dessalines,
Christophe and Pétion drove the French, a century before.
Nearly four years of American occupation had passed. That the purpose
of the United States was purely philanthropic was not--and is
not--believed by the vast majority of the Haitians. Though living
conditions have improved vastly, though brigandage on the plains has
ceased, and though terrorism has diminished, at heart only the Haitian
merchants and job-holders like the American occupation. The educated
Creoles tolerate it. The semi-savages of the hills resent it.
On January 16, some of the white men in Port-au-Prince noticed that
the Creoles were excited and nervous. At the Café Bordeaux, at the
Seaside Inn, at the Hotel Bellevue, strange groups met and mysterious
passwords were exchanged. Sullen and latent hostility was changing
from smouldering rancor to flaming hate. Port-au-Prince was ripe for
revolt.
Stuart remembered his father's return that night.
"Son," he had said, putting a revolver on the little table beside his bed,
"I hope you won't have to use this, but, at least, I've taught you to shoot
straight."
That night, Benoit, gathering up the local detachments of his forces,
moved them in scattered groups through the abandoned plantations and
off the main roads to the outskirts of the city. He had over 1,800 men
with him. Most had modern rifles. All had machetes. All over the
island other bands were in readiness, their orders being to wait until
they heard of the fall of Port-au-Prince, when the massacre of all whites
might begin.
Benoit's plan was to take the city at daybreak. At midnight, he started
three columns of 300 men each, from three directions. They wandered
into the city by twos and threes, taking up positions. Their orders were,

that, at the firing of a gun at daybreak, when the stores opened, they
were to rush through the business district, setting fires everywhere and
killing the white men and the gendarmerie. Benoit believed that, while
his men could not withstand a pitched battle with the Marines, they
could sweep the town in guerilla fashion when the Marines were
scattered here and there, putting out fires. Moreover, the Cacos general
was sure that, once a massacre of the whites was begun, race hatred
would put all the black population on his side.
Two o'clock in the morning came. Mr. Elliott, manager of a sugar
refinery at Hascoville, a suburb two miles out of the city, was sleepless,
and a vague uneasiness possessed him. Thinking that the fresh air
might be beneficial, he went to a window and looked out.
"Out of the myriad hissing, rustling and squawking noises of a tropic
night, he heard the unmistakable 'chuff-chuff-chuff' of a marching
column of barefoot men. He made out a single-file column moving
rapidly across a field, off the road. He made out the silhouetes of
shouldered rifles. Far off, under a yellow street lamp, he glimpsed a
flash of a red shirt. That was enough. He telephoned to the Marine
Brigade that the Cacos were about to raid Port-au-Prince.
"Benoit's bubble," continued the report of the Special Correspondent of
the New