Amador decided, first, that he himself had gone too far to pull back and, second, that for the time being he would confide this latest piece of information to no one except Herbert Prescott, who would be described as a “very energetic and typical railroad man, one who does not do things halfway.” Together they agreed to “bluff it out.”
That was October 28. Early the following day, Amador made his move. He would demonstrate to the others what could be achieved by merely saying the word. The crucial telegram–“Fate news bad powerful tiger. Urge vapor Colon.”–went off to New York. Conferences were hastily arranged with Porfirio Meléndez, a stout, highly political police chief and part-time straw boss for the railroad at Colón, who agreed to manage the uprising on the Atlantic side, and with General Ruben Varón, commander of the Padilla, one of two Colombian gunboats presently in the Bay of Panama. For the promise of $35,000 in silver, Varón agreed to turn his ship over to the junta the moment their revolution commenced. The uprising was scheduled for November 4.
By Sunday, November 1, Amador had his answer from New York, which “had the effect of putting fresh life into the conspirators.” Tomás Arias instantly regained his faith in the scheme. Dr. Carlos Mendoza, leader of the Liberals, and two of his prominent compatriots, Eusebio Morales and Juan Henríquez, agreed to prepare a proper manifesto and to improve upon Bunau-Varilla’s declaration of independence. A new flag was designed by Amador’s son Manuel and was sewn together by Senorita Maria Amelia de la Ossa, the fiancée of Herbert Prescott’s brother, who was the railroad’s chief telegrapher. The flag was composed of four rectangles, the lower left of blue, the upper right of red, the upper left of white with a blue star in the center, the lower right of white with a red star in the center. And it was rapidly duplicated by other ladies, including Señora Amador and her daughter Elmira (who was married to the nephew of United States Vice-Consul Felix Ehrman), and various members of the Arango and Arosemena households.
Even J. Gabriel Duque lent his unqualified support, promising that the city’s fire brigade, of which he was the leader and major financial support–some 280 men–could be counted on when the time came.
None of the so-called inner circle, not even Arango, was as yet aware that Colombian troops were en route. Only Amador knew, probably his wife, Herbert Prescott, and, as of now, Colonel James Shaler, superintendent of the railroad. Shaler had to be included: the railroad was not only the one means of moving men from Colón (where the troops would land) to Panama City (where the revolution was to begin), the railroad had the only telephone and telegraph system between Colón and Panama City.
Prescott had gone over to Colón to confer with Shaler as soon as Amador apprised him of the situation; and with Shaler’s blessing, Prescott had shifted all idle rolling stock, every car that might be used to transport troops, out of the yards and back to the Panama City end of the line. The railroad, these two men saw immediately, was the key. Shaler remained where he was; Prescott returned to Panama City to “wait until something turns up.” Which is how things stood on Monday, November 2, when the Nashville came over the horizon.
The urgent cable to Commander Hubbard of the Nashville, a cable classified as secret and confidential, had been sent on October 30, the day of Philippe Bunau-Varilla’s chance encounter with Assistant Secretary Loomis in Lafayette Square. The Nashville was to proceed at once for Colon; Hubbard was to telegraph in cipher the situation there once he had consulted with the United States consul; and he was to keep his destination secret. Nothing was said of an expected revolution on the Isthmus or of any action to be taken in such event. So to Hubbard and his crew as they steamed out of Kingston, it had seemed a relatively routine matter. The long, white two-stacked gunboat had called at Colón on other occasions and as recently as two weeks before.
Nor was the ship’s arrival at Colón taken as any particular cause for alarm by those Colombian or local officials who knew nothing of the schemes afoot. It only surprised them that the ship had returned so soon.
To Amador’s fellow conspirators, however, it was the long-awaited decisive moment, the irrefutable sign that the United States stood prepared to guarantee their success, that Amador’s Frenchman was truly their deliverer. “Have just wired you that the Nashville has been sighted,” James Shaler wrote in a quick letter to Prescott at about four the afternoon of November 2. “This, I presume, settles the question.”
The ship dropped anchor in the harbor at 5:30, or only about eight hours later than Bunau-Varilla had specified. Hubbard went ashore and found that “everything on the Isthmus was quiet.” But he also talked to Shaler and there is no reason to believe that Shaler kept anything from him. So Hubbard undoubtedly appreciated exactly what the situation was when the Colombian gunboat next arrived in the harbor.
According to Hubbard’s log it was nearly midnight when the Cartagena steamed in, her lights all aglow. Whether anyone was on duty at the railroad office at that hour or could determine what ship she was, what message Shaler may have put on the wire to Panama City that night, if any, are not known. But at daybreak, November 3, Hubbard took a launch to the Colombian ship, went aboard, and was informed by General Juan Tobar that she was carrying nearly five hundred troops and that he, General Tobar, intended to put them ashore at once.
Hubbard made no protest, despite what he knew. He had no orders to prevent such a landing and as yet there was not a sign of disturbance of any kind by which he might have justified his own intervention.
News of the landing was immediately telephoned to Panama City, and to those conspirators who had been kept in the dark this whole time, it was a crushing revelation. word of a Colombian warship standing off Colón would in itself have had a devastating effect; but far worse was the realization that the American ship had made no move to prevent the Colombian troops–and assuredly a Colombian firing squad –from coming ashore. All the bravado engendered by the arrival of the Nashville the evening before was undone in an instant. The conspirators saw themselves as the victims of a diabolic Yankee betrayal. Even Amador, by all accounts, was having his own bleak second thoughts and might have called the whole thing off right then, early on the morning of the third, had it not been for the stately Arango, who declared himself ready to stand by his old friend, and for Señora Amador, a woman “of courage and snap” (as William Howard Taft would later describe her) who was considerably younger than her husband and who declared that it was time to get on with the fight, soldiers or no soldiers.
A plan was hurriedly improvised, an extremely neat stratagem that appears also to have been the inspiration of Señora Amador, and the details were quickly communicated by telephone to Colonel Shaler, he being the one chosen to bell the cat.
Colonel James Shaler was seventy-seven years old, older even than Amador, and he was widely regarded as the most important and popular North American on the Isthmus. A New York reporter who met Shaler a few months later perceived that “the impress of his personality” could be felt everywhere. In a land where most of mankind was short or medium-sized, brown-skinned and black-haired, Shaler was tall and lean and was made especially conspicuous by a huge white mustache and a great bushy crown of pure white hair. In a society where prolific families counted above all else, he was also a bachelor, a quiet man of quiet, contemplative pleasures (books, billiards). But he openly adored Panama and both his physical and mental vitality belied all traditional accounts of the torpor engendered by permanent residence in such a climate. To the junta he was suddenly indispensable. As several of them were to acknowledge later, without him there would never have been an independent Republic of Panama.
General Tobar and the Tiradores Battalion (plus perhaps a dozen wives) landed at the old Panama Railroad wharf, Tobar and his aides “glittering in elaborate uniforms and bristling with all the arms it was permissible for officers to bear.” They were being received with customary deference by various local officials when Shaler approached from the railroad office. Shaler introduced himself, bid the o
fficers welcome, and calmly recommended that they depart at once for Panama City on a special train, a single car and a locomotive, which had been arranged for their convenience, he said, at the personal request of Governor Obaldóa. The troops could not be transported immediately because of a temporary shortage of equipment, he explained, but they would follow shortly. Tobar hesitated; Shaler was insistent, saying that the time fixed for departure had already passed and that there was no reason in the world why the officers should have to stand about in the killing heat a moment longer.
“I pointed out to him,” Tobar explained afterward in his own defense, “that it was necessary for me to take the proper measures for the disembarkation of the troops . . . [but] as he insisted in his efforts, and as I was able to satisfy myself, even by the assurance of the prefect himself, that the troops could and would go over in a special train . . . I found no justifiable reason to persist in my refusal. . . .”
A young officer was picked to remain in command of the battalion, a Colonel Eliseo Torres.
But just as Tobar and his aides–fifteen men in all–were being comfortably settled in their special car, Tobar’s second-in-command, General Ramon Amaya, grew suddenly uneasy about the arrangement, saying he must get off at once. Tobar objected, claiming it would be unseemly if the two of them were not to arrive in Panama City together. The issue was resolved only when Shaler stepped quietly to the rear of the car, pulled the signal cord, and hopped off the train. He was smiling broadly and waving as the train steamed away.
The railroad office now became a kind of command post. Shaler telephoned Prescott and told him to expect the generals at about eleven. He would do all he could to hold the troops in Colón, Shaler said, but he did not know how long it would be before they became suspicious and decided to take things into their own hands.
Sometime between 10:30 and 11:00, Commander Hubbard appeared at the office eager to know the situation, as he had just received a most important cable from Washington. His specific, secret orders now– orders issued the day before, November 2–were to prevent the landing of Colombian troops. The cable, a document of particular interest in time to come, read as follows:
NASHVILLE, CARE AMERICAN CONSUL, COLÓN:
SECRET AND CONFIDENTIAL. MAINTAIN FREE AND UNINTERRUPTED TRANSIT. IF INTERRUPTION THREATENED BY ARMED FORCE, OCCUPY The LINE OF THE RAILROAD. PREVENT LANDING OF ANY ARMED FORCE WITH HOSTILE INTENT, EITHER GOVERNMENT OR INSURGENT, EITHER AT COLÓN, PORTO BELLO, OR OTHER POINT. SEND COPY OF INSTRUCTIONS TO THE SENIOR OFFICER PRESENT AT PANAMA UPON ARRIVAL OF BOSTON. HAVE SENT COPY OF INSTRUCTIONS AND HAVE TELEGRAPHED DIXIE TO PROCEED WITH All POSSIBLE DISPATCH from KINGSTON TO COLÓN. GOVERNMENT FORCE REPORTED APPROACHING COLÓN IN VESSELS. PREVENT THEIR LANDING IF IN YOUR JUDGMENT THIS WOULD PRECIPITATE A CONFLICT. ACKNOWLEDGMENT IS REQUIRED.
DARLING, ACTING.
Shaler told Hubbard what he had done with the generals, and Hub-bard left to send a return cable to Washington. Colombian troops were already ashore, he reported; however, no revolution had been declared (Washington had said nothing of a revolution) and there had been no disturbances. Still: “Situation is most critical if revolutionary leaders act.”
Hubbard was being scrupulously careful. Nothing would be done out of line, nothing, that is, without specific instructions from Washington. That Shaler had decided to “act,” that things were also moving swiftly on the other side of the Isthmus, were perfectly obvious. Hub-bard, in fact, was probably present when Porfirio Meléndez came into the office and Shaler and Meléndez began concocting a plan in the event that the soldiers demanded a train at gunpoint. The plan, as Shaler later explained, was to put all their rifles and ammunition in the rear car. When the train reached Lion Hill, one of Meléndez’ men would pull the rear coupling pin and leave the arms stalled in the jungle. The engineer would then run the train full steam to Culebra, where he would abandon his engine and let the stranded, unarmed soldiers walk out whichever direction they chose.
To inform the others in Panama City of this scheme, and of a plan to hijack the Cartagena, it was decided to make up an unscheduled train and send Meléndez’ daughter across. Aminta Meléndez, a tiny, cheerful eighteen-year-old who appeared considerably younger than her age, made the journey as asked, an act of considerable courage, which she would modestly discount afterward. She was neither stopped nor questioned by anyone. She simply found Arango, whom her father regarded as the real leader of the movement, and delivered the message. And as things turned out, the information had no effect one way or the other, since neither scheme was to be necessary, but Aminta Meléndez and her “ride” would become an essential element in the story of the revolution. In a favorite version she would be pictured as riding in the cab with the engineer, when in fact she sat quite comfortably in a coach.
The trap for Tobar and Amaya was being neatly set, meantime.
As soon as Herbert Prescott received Shaler’s message that the generals were on their way, he went to Amador’s house and told him it would have to be “now or never.” Some very fast thinking was called for, as they had about two hours to get things ready. Amador was also convinced, from what he had learned during his trip to New York, that excessive bloodshed would seriously jeopardize American sympathy for their cause. The revolution, it was decided, would take place that afternoon.
Amador at once ordered his carriage and drove to the Cuartel de Chiriquí, the barracks of the Colombian garrison, a large pale building by the seawall, facing onto the Plaza Chiriquí. In command of the garrison was General Esteban Huertas, small, smooth-faced, impeccable, young, and very ambitious, as Amador well knew. According to the recollection of one of Huertas’ own men, who was standing nearby when Huertas received the white-haired doctor, Amador said that he himself was old and tired but that Panama and the general had a great future ahead.
“If you will aid us, we shall reach immortality in the history of the new republic.” An American ship had arrived, more were coming, Amador added. “You and your battalion can accomplish nothing against the superior force of the cruisers, which have their orders. Choose here, glory and riches; in Bogotá, misery and ingratitude.”
Huertas is said to have remained “impassive” for a moment, then put out his hand. “I accept.”
But since this appears to have been the only time the two met more or less privately that morning, an agreement must also have been reached regarding the sums Huertas and his men were to receive for their part, unless, of course, the bargain had already been worked out in secret in the days preceding, which is perfectly possible. In any event, payment to the soldiers was to be $50 per man, while Huertas was to be compensated for his revolutionary fervor with $65,000, an absolute fortune in Panama in the year 1903.
At 10:30, in full uniform, Huertas marched at the head of his regiment down the Avenida Central to receive the generals at the railroad station.
At 11:30 the train pulled in and Tobar, Amaya, and their aides stepped down to an amazing welcome. Governor Obaldóa was there, accompanied by all his official family; General Francisco Castro, military commander of Panama, with his aides; United States Vice-Consul Ehrman, who was also head of the important Ehrman bank in Panama City; and Huertas with his troops, drawn up on the dusty little plaza across from the station. There was much saluting, much cheering, Obaldóa was full of mellifluous words of welcome, and a line of sleek carriages stood waiting.
“There was,” Tobar said later, “nothing that did not show the greatest cordiality and give me the most complete assurance that peace reigned throughout the department.”
An elaborate luncheon followed at the Government House. But as the afternoon wore on, with still no sign of his troops, Tobar grew increasingly suspicious and finally demanded to be taken to military headquarters at the Cuartel, where he promptly assumed command. An officer confided that rumors of an uprising were sweeping the city; a cryptic note from a prominent citizen warned Tobar to trust no one.
Sometime near two o’clock th
e anxious general sent several of his aides to Obaldóa to inform him of these rumors and to request that Obaldóa order the immediate dispatch of the troops from Colon. The aides returned saying the governor had assured them that everything would be taken care of.
Apparently satisfied by this, Tobar and a number of his officers crossed to the barracks, where, joined by Huertas and Huertas’ own retinue of officers, they inspected the local troops. The seawall was next, Tobar showing Huertas where he wanted the best marksmen placed to command the streets running from the harbor to Cathedral Plaza.
All this time Amador had been extremely busy completing his arrangements. He had met with Arango, who was to tell Carlos Mendoza to have the declaration of independence ready. He had met with J. Gabriel Duque to tell him the uprising would begin promptly at five, that the fire brigade must be at Cathedral Plaza, ready to march on the barracks. He had met Huertas on a street corner near the plaza, just before Tobar went to the barracks, and had listened rather impatiently as Huertas argued for a different plan. (Huertas wanted to strike later in the evening when there was to be a band concert and it would be easier to take the generals separately.)
Tobar and Huertas were still on the seawall when a secretary to Governor Obaldóa appeared to tell Tobar that unfortunately the railroad superintendent, Colonel Shaler, was placing difficulties in the way. The troops could not be moved, Shaler had insisted, until their fares had been paid in full and in cash; it was a company regulation. Tobar told the man to go straight back and inform Obaldóa that he was prepared to pay and that the troops were to be dispatched at once.*
Reports reached the barracks that things were getting out of hand elsewhere in the city. The head of the Panama Treasury, Eduardo de la Guardia, arrived to inform the generals that an uprising was certain and that Obaldóa would do nothing to suppress it. By now it was nearly 4:30.
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