Part 3

“To make our terror worse the Austrian firemen have mutinied. They heard that the captain had given up the ship. They were right, for he told us to prepare for the worst. Think of knowing that we have got to drown! Our boats are all smashed and hanging in bits at the davits. The firemen tumbled up on the deck looking like demons from the underworld. Then Captain O’Neil showed his true nature. He became the hard, steel-like soldier. He sternly ordered them below, but the men did not move. The cowboys knew instinctively that without steam to turn the engines we must surely founder. Two of the cowboys seized the ringleader, and, placing the ends of a lasso about his wrists and thumbs, started to draw the rope over a guy wire, threatening to string him up by the thumbs. Captain O’Neil had turned away when these men took the prisoner in charge. Immediately the frightened crew turned and fled down to the stokehold.

“Who can blame the poor beggars? Life is as sweet to them as to us. Two hours later they came up again, but the display of an army revolver in Captain O’Neil’s hand caused them to retreat.

“The chief engineer, an Englishman, has gone insane. Thirty-three years at sea, and now he has gone to pieces! The terror of the long vigils at the throttle unnerved him. I passed him a little while ago; he was sitting in his cabin wailing piteously, his face blanched with terror. The little Scotch second engineer has been on duty almost every hour since the night of the 30th. His whole back was scalded by steam. Dr. Calkins bound it up in cotton and oil, and he is working as if nothing had happened, brave little fellow.

“6 a.m., Tuesday morning, October 3rd.--Another chapter in my experience of Hades. No one is on duty except the ship’s officers. It is a ship of the dead. I have just taken a look down the upper stable division, and the sight sickened me. The poor brutes of horses and mules, mangled and torn, lay in heaps, the live ones trying to extricate themselves from the dead.

“At last the typhoon has spent itself, and by to-morrow morning we shall probably be able to get back on our course and make a fresh start for Manila. Nearly all the horses and about two hundred mules are wounded as far as we can ascertain. Soon the hatches will be taken off, and we can learn the horrible truth.

“October 4th.--All morning long the dead animals have been hoisted out and thrown overboard. How horrible it all is! The men working in the lower holds are overpowered and compelled to come up on deck every few minutes. We have three steam-winches going. We found only one live mule in the lower hold. Captain O’Neil has been shooting most of the live animals, for they are beyond hope in their terrible condition.

“Captain Raicich told me to-day that for four hours yesterday he did not know whether the ship would pull through. The _Siam_ got into the trough and could not be steered. He said he was prepared then for death. He said he has never before experienced such a terrible storm. We don’t know just where we are yet, as we can take no observations.

“What a terrible change in Captain Raicich’s appearance! He never left the bridge for three days and nights. He, as well as the two men at the wheel, were lashed to stanchions. He wore two oil ‘slickors,’ but they are in ribbons, and the tar from them has sunk into his hair and beard and deep into his skin. He is dirty and wretched-looking. His cheeks are sunken and there is an almost insane glare in his eyes. He looks like a wreck, but in spite of his terrible ordeal he is as decisive in manner as before. Poor fellow, he hardly ate anything during the whole of the typhoon. He saved our lives.

“We have just located our position. We are a hundred miles north of Luzon, and close by are the dreaded coral-teeth we tried to avoid.

“October 5th.--We are now nearing Manila Bay and have cleared up the vessel fairly well and thrown most of the carcasses overboard. The ship is a wreck; everything seems to have been twisted, broken, torn, or damaged in some way. Up to last night we got overboard three hundred and fifty-five carcasses. This morning four more were found dead and two others had to be shot. We now have only twelve animals left, some of which we may land at Manila alive. This is all we have left out of three hundred and seventy-three. Dozens of sharks follow in the wake of the vessel. The _Siam’s_ expedition has been the most disastrous in the transport service.”

As a matter of fact, the _Siam_ actually landed only two animals at Manila. They were little Spanish mules which had been thrown into the coal-hold and, strange to say, had not a scratch upon them. They were and are still known in and about Manila as the “Million-Dollar Beauties” of the quartermaster’s department.

I accompanied Captain O’Neil to General Otis’s head-quarters in the ancient Spanish palace in old Manila. When informed of the disaster the General was greatly grieved, and remarked that it would have a serious effect on the plans he had made. Captain O’Neil then presented him with the following report of the voyage, which, although an official document, contains much of the romance connected with the disastrous expedition:--

UNITED STATES TRANSPORT “SIAM.”

Adjutant-General Eighth Army Corps, Manila, P.I.

SIR,--I have the honour to report my arrival with the steamship _Siam_, chartered as a United States animal transport. I left San Francisco, California, on the night of the 19th of August with three hundred and seventy-three animals aboard. We experienced ordinary weather, and arrived in Honolulu, H.I., August 29th, leaving there September 6th.

After leaving Honolulu, and until the 17th of September, we had fairly good weather, and up to this date (a month away from San Francisco) all the animals were in perfect condition. The duties of horse veterinary and nurses were then sinecures. On the morning of the 17th a heavy swell from E.N.E. and N.N.E. struck the ship and made her roll considerably. This swell continued. The next day, Monday, the 18th, the wind rose from S.S.E., and continued to increase in force until it became a gale, blowing from S. and S.S.E., with a big swell from S.S.W. and S.E. This rough sea was extremely trying on the animals; as many as fifty would be thrown from their feet at the same time, and for forty-eight hours I was not able to spare a moment for sleep, and the greatest rest that any man of my detachment had was six hours. I, at this time, sent a written order to the captain of the ship to change the course of the vessel to any direction that would give her the least roll. According to this order, he changed the course to S.E. We were driven several hundred miles out of our course. Wednesday morning the wind abated; we were able to resume our course, and passed the Ladrones, north of Saipan. Wednesday morning the storm began to abate; Wednesday evening and night we were busy caring for the injured and taking stock of our animals. I found two hundred and thirty-three animals injured more or less severely; of these, six (6) died. The greatest care was given to the injured, and they all pulled through remarkably well.

Everything ran smoothly, fair winds and fair seas, until Saturday night, September 30th. We arrived at the head of the island of Luzon (Cape Engano). It was after dark--there was no light--the weather looked threatening. The captain and I discussed the matter and finally decided that it was not safe to try and go through this passage on a stormy night without being able to locate any landmarks. The captain was directed to cruise outside until daylight. About twelve o’clock that night the wind started blowing from N.N.W., gradually increasing into a gale; the vessel was headed into the wind and sea and rode very smoothly until Sunday morning, October 1st, when the wind began to shift, increasing in force, and for the next two days continued changing direction. Until the storm abated Tuesday morning, the wind was blowing from the S.E. The sea raised by this circular wind was tremendous. From Saturday night at twelve o’clock, for fifty-six hours, every man on board the vessel worked like a Trojan. Animals were continually being thrown from their feet, and the men worked getting them to their proper places. As the storm increased, so increased the labour--the men, almost exhausted, continuing their task. I cannot give them too much praise for their utter disregard of danger, and the heroism they displayed in trying to save their charges.

Monday morning, October 2nd, at five o’clock, the captain of the ship gave orders to close the hatches to save the ship, and just then a tremendous sea swept over the vessel, throwing from their feet every animal on the port side of the ship and most of the animals on the starboard side; the vessel continued to do sharp rolling, so that these animals would shoot from one side of the deck to the other. It was absolutely impossible to do anything for them; some men had been injured, and I gave up the fight. I ordered every man to a place of safety in the forecastle, cabins, and chart-room, and we were forced to let the animals stay where they were.

Three hundred and sixty odd animals shifted from side to side of the vessel, and it became too great a risk to make men face it when nothing could be accomplished. When I knew the captain had ordered the hatches closed (which I felt meant suffocation for those animals still alive in the holds), I knew he would not take this step if ingenuity or human skill could possibly avoid the danger. For a few hours I had no confidence in or hope of saving even the vessel. The wind was so strong that she was perfectly helpless; she would not mind her helm though going at forced speed, but had to drift helplessly in the direction the wind drove her.

As soon as it was possible to go upon deck, every effort was made to rescue those animals still living. A few that were fortunately thrown on top of the heap of mangled horses and mules were brought out. Many died from their injuries. Six were saved, but I doubt if they will be of any service for a long time to come.

It is my opinion, and also the opinion of everyone on board this vessel, that had the weather continued as fair as it was up to September 17th, the ship would have arrived in the port of Manila without the loss of a single animal. As it was, every animal that died on this trip did so from the effect of the storms encountered.

A detailed report and copy of the orders on which this vessel was run, and such suggestions as I have been able to make from the experience I had in these two storms, accompany this report.

I have the honour to remain,

Yours respectfully,

(Signed) J. P. O’NEIL. Capt. 25th Infty., A.Q.M., U.S.A.

(Dated) Manila Bay, P.I., October 6th, 1899.

A State Trial in Montenegro

BY MRS. HERBERT VIVIAN.

The recent State trial for high treason at Cetinje was a most sensational affair, the prisoners--many of them ex-Ministers and politicians of high rank being accused of a conspiracy to destroy the Montenegrin Royal Family root and branch. Mrs. Vivian was the only woman present, and her photographs were the only ones taken. Her description of the trial, with its picturesque environment and mediæval atmosphere, will be found extremely interesting.

I feel quite spoilt for home-made pageants or foreign processions after assisting at the sensational State trial for high treason in Montenegro--a sight which transports one at once into mediæval times again. The ordinary person may imagine that it is quite an everyday affair, and that conspirators grow like blackberries on the hedges of Montenegro, but then the ordinary person knows little about foreign lands apart from Norway, Switzerland, or Italy, and less than nothing about the Near East. When I was in Montenegro my family was besieged with inquiries after my safety and hopes that I might escape unhurt from the brigands and bandits who must infest the Black Mountains; whereas in Montenegro the remark that greeted me was that it was very brave of me to pass through so many lands on the way to the principality, but that now I was there all was well.

I think it is time, therefore, to explain that the trial, far from being an everyday affair, was something unheard-of in a land where everyone, though, of course, warring against the fiery Albanian and enjoying a certain amount of friendly sparring with neighbours, adores his beloved Prince and looks on him as chieftain, father, and general Providence all rolled into one.

Indeed, Prince Nicholas must be counted among the lucky ones of this earth. He has not only been blessed with talents and tact above those bestowed on the ordinary man, but he has also been watched over by the gods and allotted more luck than falls to the lot of most mortals. Like King Edward, he is popular wherever he goes, and he has a genius for statecraft. When he came to the throne forty years ago Montenegro was absolutely unknown; probably barely one in a hundred of educated people knew that such a place was to be found in the atlas. During those forty years the Prince has fought successful wars against the Turk, more than doubled his territory, married his daughters to some of the greatest _partis_ in Europe, and made the name Montenegro a household word for valiant men and deeds of daring.

But Prince Nicholas, unluckily for himself, married his eldest daughter to a certain Prince Peter Karageorgevitch. This lady died many years ago, and in the course of time Prince Peter was called from his haunts in Switzerland to take the Crown of Servia from the hands of the regicides. Whether he knew anything of their evil plans beforehand need not be discussed here; but, at any rate, ever since the day he entered Belgrade he has been their tool, and as wax in the hands of the ringleaders. Nevertheless, people were astonished when it was discovered last October that bombs were being smuggled over the Turkish frontier, coming from Servia. A plot was discovered to blow up the whole of the Montenegrin Royal House--not only the Prince and his two sons, but the Princess and her two daughters, her daughters-in-law, and even the poor little grandchildren, so that the entire family might be exterminated root and branch!

The affair was engineered in Belgrade, and the bombs were manufactured by a Servian officer at the State Arsenal of Kragujevats. It was also rumoured by those who might be expected to know that the dreams of the blood-stained authorities in Belgrade are to unite Montenegro, a Slav nation speaking the Servian language, with Servia, and the idea was that if there were no member of the House of Petrovitch left alive the throne might possibly fall to the share of a Prince Karageorgevitch, one of the sons of Prince Nicholas’s eldest daughter.

The Crown Prince George of Servia is not exactly one’s ideal of a model ruler. This young gentleman, whose hobby is said to be to bury cats in the ground up to their necks and then stamp them to death, is more one’s idea of a youthful Nero or Caligula, and Heaven help the nation delivered over to his tender mercies. Before the trial, however, rumours were all that one heard; so everyone was on tiptoe with expectation, wondering what sensational revelations would come to light.

By great good luck we happened to arrive in Montenegro just a week before the trial began. We steamed in one of the excellent boats of the Austrian Lloyd past the grey mountains of Istria and through the wonderful fjords of the Bocche di Cattaro till we cast anchor under the peak of Lovcen. In a victoria drawn by two tough little Dalmatian horses we climbed the mountain side in zigzags, persevering up the vast rocky wall till we found ourselves some four thousand feet above the sea below. I have neither time nor words to describe the view, a task which needs the pen of a poet like Prince Nicholas himself, but must dash on, like our game little horses, to Cetinje, down the steep sides of silver mountains, which gleam in the tropical sun without a vestige of green to relieve their Quaker-like hues.

As a town Cetinje is not thrilling, but it lies in a lovely neighbourhood and is peopled with perhaps the most picturesque race in the world. For the Montenegrins are not only the most magnificent specimens of humanity in point of size, clad in gorgeous raiment which, I feel sure, Solomon in all his glory could not have beaten, but they have behind them a past which can scarcely be beaten by any fighting race on earth.

Some five hundred years ago the Turks defeated all South-Eastern Europe in the Battle of Kossovo, and Servia and Bulgaria entirely, and Roumania to a certain extent, fell under the sway of the Ottomans. Then, the story goes, the bravest and the noblest of those lands, disdaining to live beneath the banner of the Crescent, withdrew to the eyries of the Black Mountains, where, thanks partly to their valour and partly to the favourable position of the land (which is a natural fortress), they defied the Turks. They never intermarried with the inferior races, and so have preserved the magnificent physique and extraordinary distinction of bearing which strikes every stranger who visits Tsernagora. Indeed, if it comes to a question as to who should be the dominant race in Servia and Montenegro, it seems more fit that Servia should be taken under the wing of a race which has done deeds all these centuries instead of merely talking.

We found at the hotel that half the newspapers of the Near East and Vienna were sending correspondents, and we therefore felt ourselves lucky in getting a room in the front looking down the main street, where everything in Cetinje happens, and where, towards sundown, when the siesta is over and the air becomes cool and pleasant, you may find anyone you want to see. Half-way down we saw a crowd of people in national costume (for in Cetinje, thanks to the Prince’s influence, it is universally worn) standing outside a house. “They are waiting to try and get a seat in court to-morrow,” I was told, “but only a score or so will succeed, for there are thirty-two prisoners, each one guarded by a soldier, besides all these journalists to be made room for.”

Through the good offices of the Prince’s secretary, to whom His Highness had confided us, we were provided with tickets, which was lucky for us, for when we arrived within sight of the court-house we found a cordon of soldiers guarding it. We were stopped and our passes examined before we were allowed to proceed. When we reached our destination, a long, low, grey stone building with the Montenegrin two-headed eagle over the door, an officer took us in hand and led us with ceremony to our places. I looked round me with great satisfaction from my red velvet arm-chair in the ranks of the Diplomatic Corps. Not only was I the only English person there save one, but I was the only woman in the whole place.

It was the most thrilling trial I have ever witnessed. At the top of the room, behind a long table beneath the picture of Prince Nicholas, sat the nine judges, all save one in the most gorgeous national costume: long coats of pale green cloth, heavily braided, with waistcoats of vivid carnation red, crossing over to one side and covered with beautiful gold embroidery. Baggy breeches of ultramarine blue and smart top-boots continued the gay effect, which was completed by a bulky sash of striped and gold silk wound round the waist, and containing an assortment of daggers and revolvers; for a good Montenegrin would as soon think of coming out without them as an Englishman without his collar.

In the middle sat the President, a person of extreme distinction and great dignity, who conducted the proceedings in an irreproachable manner. A small table stood before him, on which a pair of high tapers were placed, and between them was a copy of the Gospels, bound in red velvet and gold metal-work, and a crucifix. On his left hand sat a Mohammedan judge, with red Turkish fez and simpler costume than that of the Montenegrins; and on his right the bombs were all set out on a little table as evidence, guarded by an immense soldier about six-foot-six in height and of a forbidding aspect. It gave one a certain creepy sensation to see, only a few feet away, enough of these infernal machines to send the whole of the court-house into the clouds, and to know that close by were thirty-two desperate men who would stick at no kind of devilry. The bombs were little square flasks of grey metal with screw tops, almost like the fittings of a common dressing-bag or luncheon hamper, and certainly did not betray by their appearance what terrible things they really were. For these particular bombs were manufactured in a very ingenious fashion, and were enough to make an Anarchist tear his hair with envy. At the foot of the table was the black bag in which the infernal machines had been smuggled over the frontier.

A story is told of the conspirator’s journey which brings a touch of comedy into the affair. When he passed through Austria he had the bag registered as luggage, for it was so heavy that he feared it might attract attention if placed in the rack. A mistake was made by the clerk and he was overcharged. The honest official discovered his mistake directly the train started, and telegraphed off to the junction to describe the man, giving orders that the money should be refunded. At the junction the conspirator was found, and the station-master came up to him to inquire if he had not registered a black bag. Overcome with terror and dismay, and thinking he was discovered, the man seized the bag and bolted, leaving the official greatly perturbed and convinced that he had to do with a madman.