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The Invaded
The Invaded
How Latin Americans and Their
Allies Fought and Ended
U.S. Occupations
AL AN McPHERSON
1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide.
With offices in
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Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Acknowledgments ix
1. Nicaragua, 1912 13
2. Haiti, 1915 22
4. Nicaragua, 1913–1925 53
5. Haiti, 1916–1920 59
7. Nicaragua, 1927–1929 73
vii
PART THREE THE STAKES
Notes 275
Bibliography 347
Index 369
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a decade in the making, and many are to thank for making it my
most rewarding, personally and professionally.
Funding the research was arduous and precarious, but eventually many gen-
erous sources came through. My former employer, Howard University, pro-
vided me with a New Faculty Research Grant that allowed travel to Nicaragua,
France, and England. The federal government awarded the project a Fulbright
to the Dominican Republic. The Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt Institute of the
Franklin D. Roosevelt Library, the Hoover Presidential Library Association, the
University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies, and the Duke-UNC
Consortium for Latin American Studies kept my spirits buoyant with research
grants. Harvard University’s David Rockefeller Center for Latin American Stud-
ies, where I was the Central American Fellow for a semester, finally allowed me
to write the manuscript.
Archivists and colleagues at home and especially abroad helped me find and
understand a multinational set of sources. Archivists and reference librarians at
all institutions I visited in the United States, France, and England were invariably
courteous and resourceful.
In the Dominican Republic, Roberto Cassá and Quisqueya Lora proved
that professionalism and a boost from the state could rehabilitate Caribbean
archives. The Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo was helpful with the
papers of Tulio Cestero. Vetilio Alfau opened his father’s collection to me. “Na-
tacha” González showed me how to teach Dominican students. Hamlet Her-
mann helped me understand Dominican politics. Federico “Chito” Henríquez y
Vásquez, the grandson of Federico Henríquez y Carvajal, provided family docu-
ments over a cafecito. Also helpful were Salvador Alfau, Julio del Campo, José del
Castillo, Emilio Cordero Michel, Dantes Ortíz, and Alejandro Paulino. The US
embassy’s cultural staff, especially Rex Moser, gave me the opportunity to share
my findings at public universities throughout the Dominican Republic.
ix
x acknowledgments
Shortly after the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, a Washington Post reporter tagged
along with a US Army company in Baghdad. He asked the troops if the people of
Baghdad wanted them to stay. “Oh yeah,” responded a twenty-year-old special-
ist from Louisiana. Assessing the friendliness of the neighborhood they were
about to enter, he offered, “95 percent.” The Post man asked a staff sergeant from
Minnesota the same question. “Maybe 10 percent are hostile. About 50 percent
friendly. About 40 percent are indifferent.” Around the block, an Iraqi offered his
own statistic: “We refuse the occupation—not 100 percent, but 1,000 percent.”1
In fact, polls throughout the occupation indicated that around three quarters of
Iraqis wanted the occupation to end.2
A lot can account for these wildly varying assessments. Surely nationality, but
rank, region, religion, education, past perceptions of the war, and self-images
also play a role. Such markers of identity always lie at the heart of resistance
movements to military occupations and determine both their motivations and
effectiveness. They were certainly salient during US occupations in Latin Amer-
ica in the first third of the twentieth century. Depending on how one defines
interventions, there were from 40 to 6,000 south of the Rio Grande between
the Civil War and the 1930s.3 Three of them—Nicaragua (1912–1933), Haiti
(1915–1934), and the Dominican Republic (1916–1924)—are the subjects of
this book.4 There were other occupations—Puerto Rico, Veracruz in Mexico,
Chiriquí in Panama, and several in Cuba—but these three were the longest and
most complex.5 They involved large numbers of US troops—2,000 in Haiti,
3,000 next door, and well over 5,000 in Nicaragua. Intended to be temporary,
they were neither annexations nor colonizations.6 Neither were they mere inter-
ventions. During occupations, US Marines took over many of the functions of
the state—least so in Nicaragua, where politicians invited the occupation; more
so in Haiti, where the marines ruled indirectly through a treaty; and completely
so in the Dominican Republic, where Washington ran a military government.
1
2 t h e i n va d e d
Marines also policed a large portion of these territories and interacted with
every social group.
Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Nicaragua were all small, poor, agricul-
tural nations with only incipient industrial sectors. In Haiti, French and Kreyol
were spoken; in the others, Spanish, with some indigenous languages, and Eng-
lish in Nicaragua. Haiti was the smallest in area and had the densest population,
including a capital, Port-au-Prince, of as many as 100,000 souls. Dominicans
were a third of Haiti’s population and far more dispersed, and only 21,000 to
35,000 lived in Santo Domingo during the occupation.7 Nicaragua was about
three times the size of the Dominican Republic, but with a population of only
400,000 concentrated on its coasts.
In all three countries, those who resisted invasion were motivated not pri-
marily by nationalism but by more concrete, local concerns that were material,
power-related, self-protective, or self-promoting.8 Resistance to these occupa-
tions proved effective at bringing about an official US policy of noninterven-
tion, the Good Neighbor Policy.9 This book argues that resistance was the most
important factor in ending occupations precisely because it reflected concrete
grievances and also because it spurred transnational resistance movements.
Latin Americans were at their most effective (determined, united, persistent,
persuasive) when their interests (personal security, land, culture, local auton-
omy) were most threatened.
While most studies of occupation focus on occupiers, this book views events
through the eyes of the invaded.10 To do so, it draws on a score of state and per-
sonal archives in five countries and three languages, engaging specific events
on the ground and emphasizing similarities and differences among these three
occupations.11 Some of the similarities are well known: each occupation con-
fronted a rural insurrection, motivated partly by marine brutality. Less known
is why the Haitian and Dominican insurrections failed while the Nicaraguan
one outlasted the marines, or why the Dominican occupation ended in 1924
while Haitians lived through another decade of occupation. This book also dis-
tinguishes between two waves of resistance, a first against the fact of occupation
and a second against its conduct.
Past studies have also limited a comprehensive understanding of resistance
to occupation in Latin America by emphasizing the actions of peasants and
rural guerrillas. But, with notable exceptions, peasants put up relatively less
resistance to marine rule than all other groups save merchants. Once violent
insurrections ended and occupations continued in Hispaniola, contact between
the military and peasants declined. Several other underprivileged groups—
workers, prostitutes, other urban “untouchables”—had more than their share
of encounters with occupiers, many of them unpleasant. The process of occupa-
tion also threatened the status and wealth of prominent groups. Unemployed
Introduc tion : Occupation : W hy Fight It ? 3
The battle over occupations was primarily a struggle over political culture. The
beliefs and practices of politics were what occupiers wanted to change and what
the occupied wanted to protect.14 The repertoire of political culture during US
occupations in Latin America included elections, to be sure, but also other goals
ranging from a narrow insistence on constitutional forms of rule to efforts to
broaden socioeconomic equality, depending on occupiers’ own beliefs and
prerogatives and on local conditions.15 In addition, large gaps existed between
the rhetoric and practice of political culture. Rhetorically, clear differences over
political assumptions distanced occupied Latin Americans from US occupiers.
The former spoke of violence as a legitimate tool for achieving political legiti-
macy; the latter preferred constitutional means. The occupied were personal-
ists, believing in following leaders and parties regardless of ideology; occupiers
4 t h e i n va d e d
emphasized platforms and programs. The occupied believed that the state ex-
isted mainly to enrich officeholders; occupiers saw government as a collective
service. The occupied often operated without an opposition, preferring to re-
press it; occupiers claimed that occupations should respect civil liberties.
In reality, the occupied cherished their peaceful independence, distrusted
their leaders, and knew little about their governments. US occupiers mean-
while pursued peace through war, pluralism through dictatorship, civic respon-
sibility through relieving the occupied of responsibilities, and civil liberties
through censorship and repression. This book upholds the central proposition
of occupiers—that their primary purpose was to “improve” Latin American po-
litical culture—yet takes exception to the assertion that the United States did so
for “idealistic” reasons.16 Equally important, it asserts that political culture, while
not originally the primary stake in interventions, became so as other reasons
faded to the background.
Resistance to political cultural change emerged from the fact that, in the decades
leading up to the Great War in Europe, US policymakers concluded that politi-
cal culture was the connecting tissue of geopolitical, economic, and cultural ra-
tionales for occupation. Stabilizing politics was not necessarily the most urgent
problem, but it proved the most convenient rationale. When military fears of Eu-
ropean intervention turned out to be exaggerated, US policymakers fell back on
their political altruism. When economic rapaciousness could not be admitted or
did not exist, the desire for political change did and could. And when policymak-
ers proved unable to recognize their prejudices, they explained culture through
identifiable political behaviors. Occupiers stated clearly and often their intent to
transform the politics of the occupied.17
To be sure, these other motivations may have been sufficient to prompt at
least short-term military interventions. Geostrategically, the US Navy wanted
to secure the Windward Passage—the natural shipping lane from the Atlantic to
the Caribbean that runs between Cuba and Haiti—and partly for that reason ac-
quired a naval base at Guantánamo Bay after the War of 1898. In 1891 and again
in 1913, US administrations also tried to buy Haiti’s Môle Saint-Nicolas, which
stood on the other side of the passage.18 Dominican leaders offered Samaná Bay,
the most attractive spot in the Caribbean for a naval base. By 1914, with war
brewing in Europe, the US Navy was even more eager to secure lanes to the newly
opened Panama Canal. During the war the United States purchased Mexican oil
and Chilean nitrates, crucial for its allies, so keeping enemies out of the Carib-
bean was crucial.19 Washington had long wanted a canal in Nicaragua instead
of—then in addition to—Panama, and in 1914 it signed the Bryan-Chamorro
Treaty, which gave it the right to dig in exchange for $3 million to the Nicaraguan
government.20 Part of Washington’s reason for deposing Nicaraguan President
Introduc tion : Occupation : W hy Fight It ? 5
José Santos Zelaya in 1909 was to keep him from selling the canal rights to an-
other power, perhaps Japan.21 Another common strategic argument was that the
United States landed in Haiti in July 1915 because the French cruiser Des Cartes
arrived in Port-au-Prince and the Germans plotted to do the same.22
While geostrategies may have justified interventions, they were insufficient
to explain the transformative occupations that followed. The Japanese had no
intention of taking Nicaragua or digging a canal. The French merely wanted
to protect their lives and property in Haiti and retreated as soon as they saw
the US Navy doing the job for them. “Anything likely to cause difficulties with
[the] United States should be avoided,” ordered the Quai D’Orsay.23 During
World War I, German submarines never operated in the Caribbean.24 When
Robert Lansing, Woodrow Wilson’s secretary of state, once explained the Hai-
tian occupation on the basis that he suspected a German move, the New York
Times responded that that “scarcely justifies” occupation.25 Naval planners in
1904 did foresee “advance bases” in Haiti and the Dominican Republic that
might require occupation, but the idea largely lost its appeal by the late Wil-
liam Howard Taft administration.26 The navy never acquired the Môle nor
Samaná Bay yet continued occupying Haiti and the Dominican Republic after
the war.
The marines also protected and promoted US economic interests.27 By 1912
the United States bought a third of Latin America’s exports and sold a quarter
of its imports.28 The Panama Canal opened its locks to many more trading ves-
sels than gunboats.29 Economic motives got their own policy moniker—“dollar
diplomacy.” Begun under Theodore Roosevelt and flourishing under Taft, the
policy gave out Wall Street loans to Latin American governments in exchange
for the right of marines to control the customs houses to pay back those loans. In
1907 the Dominicans signed over their customs in a treaty that became the legal
justification for the 1916 landing, and in 1910 the United States set up a col-
lectorship in Nicaragua, the Dawson Pact, modeled after the Dominican one.30
A $1.5 million loan soon followed, giving Wall Street ownership of the national
bank, the national railroad, and a steamship company.31 Wall Street also muscled
its way into Haiti, taking half the national bank and the entire national railway in
1910–1911.32 All this demonstrated the US intent to expand its economic and
financial power in Latin America through intervention.33
However, military occupations were far more costly than any investments
they might protect. In 1913, Nicaragua, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic to-
gether made up less than 1 percent of US investments in the Caribbean basin.34
In Nicaragua in 1912, US assets amounted to only $2.5 million, 90 percent of
them on the sparsely populated east coast.35 In Haiti pre-occupation invest-
ments probably did not rise to $15 million.36 Further, investments and loans
were virtually always secured before occupations.37 Heads of state were only too
6 t h e i n va d e d
happy to hand over financial oversight if they could get more loans from the
deal, and Haitian elites clamored for financial tutelage like the Dominicans and
Nicaraguans had.38 Occupations, moreover, turned out to be bad for business.
Investors stayed away from any place foreigners with guns antagonized natives
with guns. In 1910, one US mine manager in Nicaragua discussed how the pre-
vious year’s revolution had driven away “practically all the native Nicaraguan or
‘Spaniards’ who are the only men practically suitable for underground work.”39
Finally, virtually no private interests pressured State Department personnel into
ordering occupations. The main exception was businessman Roger Farnham,
but he scared Wilson with tales of French and German intrigue in Haiti, not
of economic catastrophe.40 The goal of dollar diplomacy therefore was not to
enrich US corporations—though that did occur—but to transfer debt from
Europe to Wall Street and thus bolster regime stability. As the State Depart-
ment’s Dana Munro wrote, dollar diplomacy’s “purpose, under Taft as well as
under Wilson, was purely political.”41 Wilson, especially, refused to send troops
“at the beck and call of the American dollar.”42 In a speech in Mobile, Alabama,
on October 27, 1913, Wilson foresaw the end of unfair loans and subsequent
land grabs and predicted Latin America’s coming “emancipation from . . . private
enterprise.”43
US cultural rationales also played an undeniable though not primary role
in military interventions. The main statement of the progressive movement,
Herbert Croly’s 1909 The Promise of American Life, advocated armed polic-
ing of the hemisphere.44 The racist paternalism of US policymakers even more
clearly justified military intervention. In the late nineteenth century the drive
began to define the US role in the world as advancing white Anglo-Saxon civi-
lization overseas. In 1886, Josiah Strong’s best-selling Our Country linked these
sentiments to a divine plan for spreading Protestantism. Missionaries were es-
pecially imbued with cultural Americanization ideals and unleashed them on
Puerto Rico.45 So were bankers and soldiers. In 1898, the desire to “help free
little Cuba” compelled Smedley Butler, at sixteen, to lie about his age so he could
fight Spain.46
Yet no single policymaker made a case for landing marines primarily on the
basis of US cultural superiority or Latin American inferiority.47 Rather, progres-
sives’ morality often led them to counsel restraint in international affairs. Sec-
retary of State William Jennings Bryan concurred with Wilson on this, calling
colonialism an “inexcusable blunder.”48
The desire to remake political culture, however, did compel occupations after
short-term rationales for landing faded.49 Occupations were uniquely intended
to reform permanently the institutions, practices, and beliefs of governance.50
In the narrowest argument, a Latin America in which leaders passed on the
reins of government peacefully and contracted no outrageous debts would keep
Introduc tion : Occupation : W hy Fight It ? 7
methods, such as in the 1907 Dominican treaty.61 When diplomacy failed, the
threat of occupation bristled Latin Americans; occupation itself enraged them.
A US major general spying in Mexico in 1911 reported that when a mere rumor
of an invasion spread, “Mexicans of the better classes did not hesitate to inform
American residents that not a ‘Gringo’ would escape assassination.”62 When the
US government took over Veracruz in 1914 for seven months, riots erupted
throughout Mexico. Eggs, rocks, and tomatoes rained on the many US citizens
who fled.63
Resistance to gunboat threats also arose in Nicaragua, Haiti, and the Do-
minican Republic. In the first, President Zelaya and memories of his overthrow
were the primary obstacles to a landing. Initially pro-United States, in 1906–
1907 Zelaya opposed US meddling in a war between Guatemala and El Salva-
dor, seeing it as a threat to his own hegemony over Central America.64 There
were other issues—loans contracted outside the United States, the slow settle-
ment of claims, flirtations with Germany and Japan, the execution of two US
adventurers, and especially the US decision not to build a canal in Nicaragua.
In late 1909, Secretary of State Philander Knox, whose former law firm repre-
sented US mining interests in conflict with the Nicaraguan president, broke
diplomatic relations and sent a thousand marines to overthrow Zelaya. The Ni-
caraguan fled to Mexico, where shouts of “Death to the Yankee!” greeted his
every appearance.65
Haitians’ bloody eighteenth-century revolution against the slaveholding
blancs and the century-long diplomatic isolation that followed convinced them
that no white man valued Haiti’s welfare. Haitians encoded within their con-
stitutions prohibitions against white, later foreign, landownership and rejected
Washington’s attempts to buy the Môle Saint-Nicolas. In the 1910s, anti-foreign
sentiment swelled, targeting first Syrians and then the French, Germans, and
Dutch.66 In 1915, a rebellion broke out against the MacDonald railroad conces-
sion in the north.67
After the 1907 customs treaty, which banned new loans without Washington’s
approval, Dominicans also resisted additional encroachments that might lead to
occupation.68 In 1911, the Dominican Congress rejected a US project to install a
US director of public works and financial advisor with expanded powers. Wilson
soon threatened a marine landing if his conditions were not met. In 1912, Santo
Domingo declared Spanish the national language.69 In November 1915, after
taking over Haiti, Washington increased its demands on Dominicans, includ-
ing replacing their military with a US-led constabulary. The administration of
President Juan Isidro Jimenes rejected what it called “an abdication of national
sovereignty.”70
And so, in the early 1910s, Washington stood ready to reform through oc-
cupation the political culture of its southern neighbors, a political culture that
Introduc tion : Occupation : W hy Fight It ? 9
The major claims of this book—that the invaded resisted because of local auton-
omy rather than nationalism; that resistance was effective for this very reason;
that peaceful activists were as central to the struggle as were violent guerrillas;
and that transnationalism amplified all these struggles—contribute to a histori-
cal narrative of the era of occupations that is still, a century later, incomplete,
misunderstood, and romanticized. These cases were specific to their time, space,
and culture, and a familiarity with Nicaragua, Haiti, and the Dominican Repub-
lic is essential to grasping both their uniqueness and their similarities. These
cases also show that the first third of the twentieth century stood neither as an
aberration of US expansion nor as an exemplar of timeless US behavior in times
of occupation. While the conclusion draws present-day lessons from these oc-
cupations, the specific circumstances of every US occupation should be kept
foremost in mind. Falling short of respecting the local and the concrete would
dishonor the memory of the invaded.
PART ONE
INTERVENTION RESISTANCE
1
Nicaragua, 1912
So bitter as to be scarcely understood by civilised people.
—Smedley Butler, on Nicaraguan political parties
13
14 t h e i n va d e d
The military intervention of 1912 ended in a quick, decisive victory for Wash-
ington and its Nicaraguan allies.5 In the midst of a civil war, on August 3, Ni-
caraguan Minister of Foreign Relations Diego Chamorro warned of a danger
to US lives and property in Managua and asked Washington for an interven-
tion force.6 The following day, 100 bluejackets or navy sailors went to the
capital to guard the US legation. In mid-August Major Smedley Butler joined
them from Panama with 354 marines.7 Within a few more weeks there were
2,350 US forces in Nicaragua, more than enough to overtake any Nicaraguan
challenger.
Overtake they did. On September 24, the leader of the rebellion, Secretary of
War General Luis Mena, surrendered to Butler and his marines. Two days later
he was on a ship to Panama, promising never to return.8 On October 4 came the
decisive defeat of one of Mena’s generals, Benjamín Zeledón. Two days later the
marines took the town of León. On October 8, the war was over.9 By the end of
1912, only 120 marines were left.10 “The disturbance of the peace in Nicaragua
has now ceased,” cabled Admiral William Southerland, who commanded the
navy forces, “and public feeling is quieting down.”11
Nicarag ua , 1 9 1 2 15
Had it? What had disturbed the peace and how did that disturbance portend
resistance to the remaining force of 100?
Before the intervention, Nicaraguans, among all Latin American peoples,
perhaps most resented the long-term economic and strategic control that Wash-
ington and Wall Street arrogated over Latin America. Nicaragua was deep in
debt after the José Santos Zelaya dictatorship and the 1909–1910 civil war, and
by 1913 foreigners owned 40 percent of that debt.12 In 1911 and 1912, the US
State Department brokered classic “dollar diplomacy” bargains in which Nica-
ragua got $2.25 million in loans from bankers Brown Brothers and J. and W.
Seligman, in return for which the two corporations received a 51 percent share
of the National Railway and the country’s steamers and wharves.13 Mena seized
the company’s steamers during his rebellion.14
The deals united Nicaraguans in hostility, a stunning feat considering their
extreme partisanship. In 1911, the US minister found “an overwhelming major-
ity of Nicaraguans . . . antagonistic to the United States” because of the loans.15
When Secretary of State Philander Knox visited in March 1912, rumors of an as-
sassination attempt abounded, and President Adolfo Díaz jailed demonstrators
and muzzled the press.16 Knox still met with hostility from both parties. Liberals,
then out of power, greeted the secretary with violent demonstrations while Con-
servatives engaged in angry speeches, accusing fellow Conservatives who signed
the loan deals of an “Americanizing mania.”17 The assemblyman who introduced
Knox to the National Assembly sarcastically derided US meddling.18 Part of the
suspicion centered on the deal-brokers themselves: Knox was the former lawyer
of the La Luz and Los Angeles Mining Company, prominent in Nicaragua, and
Díaz was its former bookkeeper, and everyone knew it.19
Nicaraguan opposition to the deals went even deeper. In September 1912
Liberal delegate and revolutionary Leonardo Argüello expressed to Admi-
ral Southerland his three-fold opposition to the landing. Argüello argued
that any intervention weakened Nicaragua’s sovereignty and independence.
He also rejected the right of the United States to defend its property—the
banks’ railroad—since it rested on land owned by the Nicaraguan people.
Finally he questioned the concept of a government intervening on behalf of
a private company.20 Although Argüello articulated a thorough rejection of
dollar diplomacy shared by Mena and others, Butler dismissed such argu-
ments as “rot.”21
There were other reasons for the temporary Nicaraguan unity. Mena posited
a popular, non-Spanish, mixed-race identity for Nicaragua. He also marshaled a
bipartisan alliance, naming a Liberal, Zeledón, as co-commander. When Mena
launched his rebellion in July 1912, he fled with 600 troops to the Liberal town
of Masaya, set up an alternate National Assembly, symbolically deposed Díaz,
and later bombarded Managua. On August 3 it was US minister to Nicaragua
16 t h e i n va d e d
George Weitzel who prodded Díaz to request intervention.22 The State Depart-
ment’s Dana Munro recalled that “North Americans were in real danger because
Mena’s followers as well as the liberals were resentful toward the United States.”
Two US citizens apparently died in the bombardment of Managua and many
more petitioned for succor.23
Partisans, however, exaggerated the danger of violence against US citizens.
One member of the American colony in Matagalpa attended a ball in 1912 at
which “we all learned that there never had been danger or threat of massacre
or molestation of foreigners.” Furthermore, “the whole massacre story was an
arrant hoax, sent out, as was openly avowed to me, for the purpose of bringing
US forces into Nicaragua so as to cow and overawe the Nicaraguan liberals.”24
Indeed, after the landing of 1912, US forces identified with Díaz and against
the Liberals. Butler naïvely thought he was a peacemaker and expressed surprise
when he received an order “virtually changing our status from neutral to par-
tisanship with the Government forces. This goes back on all the things I have
told the rebels.”25 Late in his life the US military court-martialed Butler when he
implied that the Department of State had rigged the elections of 1912 in favor
of Díaz by proscribing most Liberal politicians from participating, a move that
engendered further opposition to US intervention.26 Once president, Díaz un-
derstood his marching orders in favor of US investors. As one US mine man-
ager wrote in December 1912, after the rebellion, “If those people out there
[US investors] want mines, I should think that now would be the time to get
them—That [Díaz] Government will be run from Washington more than from
Managua.”27
Before such a US-friendly government could function, however, Mena had to
be conquered. The landing marked the first time marines walked into Managua
and was the largest US force to date in Central America. Two to five thousand
Nicaraguans died during the civil war and US intervention.28 Butler wrote that
the enmity between Nicaraguans was “so bitter as to be scarcely understood by
civilised people.”29
There was plenty of bitterness left over for the invaders. The first incidents of
resistance in spring 1912 were attacks on Granada, a Conservative town. After
a drought, hungry farmers overcrowded cities, including Granada, and many
blamed the United States, saying, “The Conservatives sold the country and the
gringos don’t care if the people of Nicaragua die of hunger.”30 More specifically,
a US official in charge of Nicaragua’s custom duties held up government imports
of grains. In June, when the government did buy grains, the move brought infla-
tion and a more dire situation. Hunger and crime soared. To make matters still
worse, Zeledón and his rebels—the majority of them dissident Conservatives—
blamed Granadan elites for the fall of Zelaya, so they tortured and humiliated
the town’s men and women for two months.31
Another random document with
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gewaande verpleegster keek, waaruit hij terecht kon afleiden, dat het
drietal het over hem had.
De taak van deze beide vrouwen bestond slechts hierin dat zij acht
moesten geven dat geen zieke de zaal zou verlaten en om in dringende
gevallen bij een plotselinge verergering den dienstdoenden geneesheer
te waarschuwen.
En voor de rest behoefden zij slechts aan [27]patiënten, die dit noodig
hadden, op gezette tijden geneesmiddelen ingeven.
De groote zaal werd nu dus slechts verlicht door het flakkerend schijnsel
der beide kaarslantaarns en zij maakten een troosteloozen, bijna
somberen indruk op den man naast het bed van Beaupré, met al die
bedden, met hun vage witte omtrekken, en hier en daar een donkere
plek van een hoofd op een kussen.
En Charly zelf, hoezeer hij zich ook inspande, vocht slechts met moeite
tegen den slaap die hem dreigde te overmannen.
Ook den vorigen nacht had hij zeer weinig kunnen slapen—en hij
beschikte niet over de ijzeren wilskracht van een John Raffles, die
desnoods drie dagen en drie nachten zonder slaap kon blijven!
Maar eensklaps werd hij uit zijn halven dommel gewekt door een heel
licht geraas!
Hij hief het hoofd op—en eensklaps was hij klaar wakker, zoo wakker,
als hij zich in geen tijden gevoeld had, naar hij meende.
Hij luisterde met de grootste aandacht, maar het geluid herhaalde zich
niet.
Hij nam een lantaarn met een zeer sterk licht tik zijn zak, en bevestigde
deze met een haak voor op de borst.
In een oogwenk was het door zijn hoofd gegaan, dat de koude
luchtstroom, welken hij zooeven gevoeld had, onmogelijk verwekt kon
zijn doordat de deur open ging—want dat had hij stellig moeten hooren,
en bovendien, de surveillant zat daar nog altijd even rustig als daar
straks, met gekruiste armen, en het hoofd op de borst gezonken.
Hij kon zich niet vergissen—een van die gordijnen had heel licht
bewogen alsof er een tochtje langs streek—of alsof daarachter iemand
het met de hand aanraakte.….
Hij stond nu slechts een paar decimeter van het gordijn af.…..
Toen drukte hij op den knop van zijn electrische zaklantaarn, en een
onderdeel van een seconde later rukte hij het gordijn terzijde, hief zijn
revolver op, en beval mat gedempte, maar dringende stem:
—Handen op!
Dit bevel was gericht tot een man, met een bleek vertrokken gelaat,
waarin twee boosaardige oogen fonkelden, en die blijkbaar eenige
minuten te voren door het raam was binnengeklommen. Een hoog,
dubbel raam, dat bij wijze van een deur open ging, en evenals andere
ramen uitkwam op een smal bordes.
De man achter het gordijn liet een sissenden klank hooren, maar zijn
handen gingen de hoogte in.
De surveillanten waren wakker geworden, door het onverwachte, sterke
lichtschijnsel, en door het terzijde rukken van het linnen gordijn en
snelden nu in de hoogste verbazing en schrik toe.
—Wat moet dat beteekenen, Miss? riep een hunner, schor van
ontroering uit.
—Dat zult gij aanstonds zien, zeide Charly kortaf. Onderzoek zijn
zakken, maar doe het voorzichtig! Ik zal hem intusschen in bedwang
houden en ik zweer u [28]dat ik den kerel neerschiet als hij ook maar een
vinger durft verroeren. Hij had het gemunt op het leven van mijnheer
Dubois!
—Open het maar eens, gelastte Charly, zonder den schurk uit het oog
te verliezen, maar wees op uw hoede.
—Houdt dat gevaarlijke ding maar hier en laat het onderzoeken! ging
Charly voort, ik ben er van overtuigd dat die naald gevuld is met een
snelwerkend vergif! Maar eerst zullen wij dezen ellendeling machteloos
maken! Snijd een stuk van het gordijnkoord af, en bind hem stevig de
polsen bijeen.
—Gij zijt getuigen van dezen laaghartigen overval geweest en gij zult er
wel voor zorgen dat hij aan de politie wordt overgeleverd, welke ik
zooeven heb opgebeld, ik zelf ga aanstonds Madame Dubois op de
hoogte brengen en wat den patiënt betreft, als hij maar even vervoerd
kan worden, breng hem dan morgen onmiddellijk naar een vertrek, waar
dergelijke aanrandingen tot de onmogelijkheden behooren. Bewaak dien
kerel goed, want ik acht een sluipmoordenaar tot alles in staat! Ik geloof
dat ik zijn gezicht ken en de politie zal hem zeker ook wel kennen!
Met deze woorden snelde Charly weg en hij had het gebouw reeds
verlaten toen de politie daar aankwam om den moordenaar in ontvangst
te nemen.
[Inhoud]
HOOFDSTUK VII.
De inbraak.
Den volgenden dag, omstreeks vier uur in den middag, hield er een
huurauto stil voor een prachtig huis in de Drury Lane, het verblijf van Sir
Roger Maxwell.
Hij wierp den bezoeker een verbaasden blik toe, maar haastte zich met
het kaartje weg, na hem te hebben verzocht plaats te nemen in de
prachtige marmeren hall.
Na eenige minuten keerde hij terug en vroeg den detective hem te willen
volgen.
Een oogenblik later stond Greenwood tegenover een man van een jaar
of zestig met een geel gelaat, dikke lippen, paarse wallen onder de
oogen en zoo goed als geheel kaal.
Die man was Sir Roger Maxwell, zeer bekend in de uitgaande wereld en
in sportkringen.
Hij wendde zijn waterige blauwe oogen naar Greenwood terwijl hij het
kaartje tusschen zijn vingers heen en weer draaide en vroeg, terwijl hij
zijn woorden als met een scheermes afsneed:
—Greenwood? Nooit van gehoord. Ga zitten. Wat wenscht gij? Zaak
van belang? Nooit iets met politie uitstaande gehad! Port? Madera?
Sigaren?
Greenwood was kalm gaan zitten en antwoordde, terwijl hij zijn heldere
grijze oogen op het schatrijke Hoogerhuislid vestigde:
—Ik zal geen misbruik maken van uw tijd, Sir! Sterken drank gebruik ik
niet, en ik rook ook nooit als er werk voor den boeg is. Ik zal zeer kort
zijn. Men komt hedennacht bij u inbreken!
—Zij komen waarschijnlijk met vier of vijf man, zij zijn gevaarlijk en zij
komen om half twee!
—Heel snugger! Heel snugger! Dan is hier alles naar bed. Vervloekte
schurken! Hoe weet gij dit alles?
De edele Lord stak den detective die hem aldus kwam waarschuwen,
twee vingers toe, welke deze echter niet scheen te zien.
Hij stond op, maakte een korte buiging voor het lid van het Hoogerhuis
en verliet het vertrek.
—Ik ben precies zeven minuten binnen geweest. Nu, die Sir Maxwell
mag een leeghoofdige, schatrijke en oude doordraaier zijn, hij is
tenminste geen kletsmeier. En ik moet tot zijn eer opmerken dat hij de
zaak tamelijk flegmatiek behandeld heeft. Wij zullen eens zien hoe onze
vriend zich vannacht houdt!
Juist toen het middernacht sloeg ging een deur in den muur van den tuin
achter het groote huis van Sir Maxwell open, en verleende doorgang
aan een tiental agenten, onder aanvoering van een inspecteur.
Een oude bediende, trillend van zenuwen, verzocht hen met schorre
stem hem te volgen en bracht hen naar de vestibule, terwijl de
inspecteur zich naar het werkvertrek van Sir Maxwell begaf dat op de
eerste verdieping was gelegen.
Binnen een kwartier waren alle maatregelen genomen, en wie onkundig
was van het veldtochtplan, zou, indien hij de vestibule ware
binnengetreden, zeker niet vermoed hebben dat er achter alle deuren,
achter een gordijn, en achter een zware pilaar, agenten verborgen
stonden, gereed om toe te springen!
De tijd verstreek langzaam, terwijl Sir Maxwell dien verdreef met het
drinken van eenige glazen rooden wijn, en het rooken van eenige fijne
import-sigaren.
De inbrekers mochten komen, zij zouden het niet eens tot aan de trap
brengen.
Zoo werd het half twee—en toen had iemand met een scherp gehoor,
beneden in de groote hall een zacht geklikklak van metaal op metaal
kunnen hooren en kort daarop het langzaam opengaan van een zwaar
ijzeren luik.
Men tilde Dr. Fox, die blijkbaar zwaar gewond was, en die door een
kogel in het voorhoofd getroffen was, behoedzaam op en droeg hem
naar buiten waar een groote politieauto, die inmiddels gewaarschuwd
was, kwam aanrijden.
Maar juist toen het portier geopend was, en men den zwaargewonde
naar binnen wilde dragen, richtte Fox zich eensklaps overeind, rukte
zich los, schoot een der agenten neder die het dichtst bij hem stond met
een kleine revolver, welke hij in zijn mouw verborgen had gehouden, en
snelde zoo vlug zijn beenen hem wilden dragen, in de duisternis weg.
Zijne lordschap vond het blijkbaar niet meer dan natuurlijk, dat een
inbraak in zijn huis iets onmogelijks was, en van te voren tot mislukking
gedoemd.
Sir Roger Maxwell keerde weder in zijn werkkamer terug om nog enkele
papieren te ordenen, toen hij plotseling als aan den grond genageld
bleef staan.
Tegenover de plek, waar hij zooeven aan zijn schrijftafel gezeten had,
aan de andere zijde van dit meubel, zat een man in een gemakkelijken
leunstoel, die heel op zijn gemak een sigaret rookte, blijkbaar zooeven
uit een zilveren doos genomen, die midden op de tafel stond.
—Ik zat in die kast daar, Sir Maxwell, antwoordde Raffles kalm.
—O, zoo weinig! zeide Raffles glimlachend. Men mag het werkelijk geen
naam geven! Neen, de hoofdsom denk ik van u te ontvangen!
—Zeer vriendelijk! hernam Raffles spottend. Maar ik vind het wel wat
weinig!
—Weinig! riep sir Maxwell nu toornig uit. Hoeveel dacht gij dan wel te
vragen?
—Tien duizend!
—Tien duizend pond sterling? kwam Mylord, en hij werd vuurrood. Zeg
eens, mijnheer—ik vind, dat uw grapjes wat ver gaan!
—Het is geen grapje, Sir Maxwell, maar bittere ernst! zeide Raffles,
terwijl hij opnieuw een dichte tabakswolk deed opstijgen.
—Maar—wie zijt gij dan? riep Mylord, schor van drift nu, en een geheel
ander man, dan toen hij er zoo zeker van was, dat zijn bezit geen
gevaar liep.
Toen koos hij, zooals men dat noemt, eieren voor zijn geld, stapte op de
kast toe, na de sleutels te hebben genomen, opende de zware deur,
telde haastig een pak bankbiljetten af en stak het Raffles toe.
Deze ging vluchtig den inhoud van het kostbare pak na, stond op, en
wierp zijn sigaret in den aschbak.
—Mijn taak is gedaan, Sir Maxwell! zeide hij, op zijn gewone rustige
manier. Het spijt mij, dat ik u langer heb moeten ophouden, dan mijn
bedoeling was. En tot mijn leedwezen zal ik nu genoodzaakt zijn, u even
in uw eigen kamer op te sluiten—om begrijpelijke redenen! Gij zoudt het
mij nog al te warm kunnen maken! En wat het geld betreft, dat ik u
zooeven ontnomen heb—wees er zeker van, dat het een betere
bestemming zal krijgen, dan gij er met mogelijkheid aan zoudt hebben
kunnen geven!
Nog een hoffelijke buiging—en Raffles had het vertrek verlaten, na den
sleutel uit het slot te hebben genomen.
[Inhoud]
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Metadata
Lord Lister
Titel: No. 305: De
schijndooden
Theo von
Blankensee
[Pseudoniem
Auteur: Info https://viaf.org/viaf/8133268/
van Mathias
Blank (1881–
1928)]
Felix
Info
Auteur: Hageman
https://viaf.org/viaf/5168161211441040070000/
(1877–1966)
Kurt Matull
Auteur: (1872– Info https://viaf.org/viaf/56770919/
1930?)
Jan
Illustrator: Wiegman Info https://viaf.org/viaf/65074834/
(1884–1963)
2023-09-22
Aanmaakdatum
20:58:09
bestand:
UTC
Taal: Nederlands
(Spelling De
Vries-Te
Winkel)
Oorspronkelijke
[1920]
uitgiftedatum:
Detective
and mystery
Trefwoorden:
stories --
Periodicals
Dime novels
-- Periodicals
Codering
Documentgeschiedenis
2023-09-21 Begonnen.
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