The Mystery Ship
Hail! the Red, Yellow, and Blue!
The Tri-Colour that flew
On the winds of the Spanish Main,
Striking the heart of Spain,
Breaking the Tyrant-chain,
With its message of Freedom true!
The Red, the Yellow, the Blue!
It was early in the year 1806. Near a wharf in Staten Island rode the good ship Leander tugging at her anchor.
A crowd of young men, some of them from New York and Long Island, came hurrying onto the wharf. Many were college men, others were working boys. Some were dressed in fashionable clothes; while others, who shouldered their way huskily through the crowd, wore plain homespun and carried kits of tools or bundles of clothes. Among these young men was William Steuben Smith, the grandson of John Adams, ex-President of the United States. With his father’s permission he had left college to sail on the Leander; but he had not consulted his grandfather.
He and the other young men had signed ship’s papers to sail in the Leander, yet few of them knew where they were going. It was to be a mysterious voyage. A number of the men had been told that they would get much gold, and at the same time help to free an unknown suffering people from slavery. Others had been persuaded to join the expedition by being assured that they were going south to guard the Washington mail. Few, if any, had seen their new employer and commander, George Martin.
The ship’s boats filled rapidly and rowed out to the Leander. All the men were set on board. Then she weighed anchor, and, with sails spread, was soon briskly cutting her way through the waves of the outer bay. And when Sandy Hook was passed, she stood out to sea.
Then, there appeared on deck a most romantic figure, in a red robe and slippers. The word went round:—
“It’s our Commander, George Martin.”
And George Martin, though the young men did not know it, was Francisco de Miranda.
The red robe flapped in the wind around his well-built form. His gray hair, powdered and combed back from his high forehead, was tied behind with a ribbon. While from either ear stood out large, wiry, gray side-whiskers. As he strolled across the deck, examining the young men with his piercing, eager, hazel eyes, he smiled pleasantly, showing handsome white teeth.
They crowded around him, hoping to hear where they were going. Some even asked the question. But he, ignoring it, shook hands with each one, and conversed in a delightful manner, now asking the college men about their studies, and now speaking to the others about their work. Still the mystery remained—whither was the ship going?
Day after day went by, and the mystery deepened. The Leander took her course southward. George Martin, mingling with the men, chatted affably. He related his adventures, he told of his sufferings, escapes, and many perils, and of his friendships at Court and of all the romance of his life. Then he waxed warmer, and spoke of his great idea—of Equality, Fraternity, and Liberty for all men. Thus he aimed to sow seeds of heroic deeds and Freedom, in the minds of the young men.
Meanwhile, he began to drill the men on deck, assigning officers to duties. He fixed the regimental uniforms; the infantry dress in blue and yellow, the artillery in blue and red; the engineers in blue and black velvet; the riflemen in green; the dragoons in yellow and blue.
From sunrise to sunset there was hustle and bustle on deck. A printing press was set up. At an armourer’s bench a man was repairing old muskets, sharpening bayonets, and cleaning rusty swords. Tailors, sitting cross-legged on the deck, were cutting out and stitching uniforms. A body of raw recruits were drilling under a drill-master who looked as bold as a lion and roared nearly as loud.
There was buzz everywhere, and excitement too, for no one yet knew to what land the ship was going. And George Martin, looking mightily pleased, stood watching everybody and everything, and saying, “We shall soon be ready for the Main.”
Then a day arrived when several hundred proclamations were run off the printing press. They were addressed to the People of South America, painting strongly their hardships and woes, and promising them deliverance from Spain. They were signed, “Don Francisco de Miranda, Commander-in-Chief of the Colombian Army.”
Thereupon George Martin—who was Miranda—announced that he expected soon to land on the coast of Venezuela and strike the first blow against Spain.
Some of the young Americans, who were eager to fight anywhere or anybody, and who longed for the glint of Spanish Gold, cheered loudly. But their mates kept quiet, with heavy hearts, for they had begun to wonder whether after all they were not a band of mere filibusters instead of a noble army, since they were sailing under no protecting flag.
Then, too, rumours were going the round, that if any of the men were captured by the enemy, they would be given short shrift and hanged as pirates.
A few days later General Miranda hoisted for the first time the new Colombian flag of Freedom—a tri-colour, the Red, Yellow, and Blue. And as it floated wide on the southern wind, a gun was fired and toasts drunk to the banner that was long to wave—and is waving to-day—over the Republic of Venezuela.
It was the first Flag of Spanish-American Independence.
After the flag-raising the Leander sped merrily on her way, carrying the raw army of about two hundred men to fight the whole of Spain. While many of them in the gloomy bottoms of their hearts, were heartily wishing that they were safe at home again in the good old City of New York.
Retold from accounts by James Biggs, and Moses Smith of Long Island, two Americans who sailed with Miranda, 1806