Lee had his work cut out for him. The two hundred-odd police officers he was supposed to turn into a lean fighting unit were an ill-disciplined, poorly equipped mob whose duties rarely strayed from dragging drunks to the jailhouse to sleep off their tempers. The gringo colonel won them over straightaway, issuing them with smart new uniforms, shoes, and sidearms, and parading them around the streets of the capital.
Lee reported directly to the minister for war, Manuel Bonilla—expected to be the Liberal’s candidate in the upcoming election. However, when Sierra put forward a patsy as the party’s candidate, it was clear the president had no intention of honoring his bond and relinquishing power. Bonilla ran in the election as an independent, and, after a fierce campaign, emerged victorious. On entirely spurious grounds, Sierra declared the election null and void, and Lee realized his true role: protect the president at all costs.
However, he had struck up a friendship with Manuel Bonilla, recognizing in him a kind of kindred spirit. Bonilla had another trait, all too rare among politicians: he kept his word, inspiring fierce loyalty among his supporters. Lee could see which way the wind was blowing. There was going to be trouble, and Lee wanted to be on the right side when the shooting started.
On January 30, 1903, Lee stole out of Tegucigalpa. He had achieved what was asked of him: the capital’s police force was loyal to one man … but that man was Leon Winfield Christmas.
His troops helped usher out deputies, officials, and businessmen loyal to the true victor of the election—Manuel Bonilla, who was safely holed up inside Tigre Island’s fort, on the Pacific coast, surrounded by partisans. While Lee and his men were on the three-day trek toward the revolutionary forces, Sierra had his stooge declared president—a loyalist named Davíla, who in turn appointed Sierra commander-in-chief of the armed forces. Sierra had one mission. Wipe out the rebellion.
The first engagement didn’t take place until the beginning of March, when Bonilla’s troops routed the government forces, forcing Sierra back. Prior to the battle, Bonilla had sent four flying columns to surround Tegucigalpa. After this decisive victory, when Sierra refused to parlay, Bonilla ordered them to march on the capital.
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Lee stared down at his throbbing feet and shook his head. His police-issue shoes had come apart two days beforehand, so one of the men had fashioned him a pair of caites—cowhide sandals the natives sported. They pinched his feet, and the blisters were killing him. His men took great joy in his discomfort, laughing at the gringo with the caites, and making jokes about the size of his feet. Seeing as he was a good deal taller than all of them, Lee reckoned they’d never seen feet his size either.
He was in a detachment hiking up from the Pacific along the San Antonio Valley, serving as second-in-command to General Saturnino Medal. As they raced toward the capital, each garrison they encountered had been abandoned, the federales having either pulled back or simply deserted their posts. Aside from Lee’s chafing feet, the only thing slowing the rebels’ march was the hostile terrain. They had one Krupp mountain gun borne by mules, but the inclines were so steep that the artillery often had to be unloaded and carried by hand—and sometimes the poor beasts of burden too. Their advance was only checked when they reached the brush-covered plain below Lamaní Hill.
General Medal called Lee over. “Bring the men to a halt.”
Lee called out the order and then removed his caites. His feet were swollen and blistered, which gave his troops unending merriment, but it felt good to get some air on his sores.
The general chuckled. “They take some getting used to.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Lee rubbed his feet as he looked up at the general. “But you aren’t stopping for my benefit. Did you spot something?”
“Federales.” Medal spat in disgust. “Two Gatling emplacements covering the valley. We cannot move until we silence them.” He hunkered down beside Lee, pointing to the hill. “Look. Beneath the shadow of that rocky outcrop.”
Lee scanned the area. “I see it.”
“The second is thirty yards to the left … down a little.”
“Got it.”
“Excellent,” said Medal. “Now, that barranco behind us crosses the plain and seems to continue all the way up to the hill.” Lee peered down the gully as the general continued. “We’ll hold position here to see if we can draw them out. Take a couple of men and see how close you can get to that hill without being shot. You might spot something.”
Lee beamed. “With pleasure, sir.”
He soon found that the gully didn’t provide sufficient cover. Even if those old hand-cranked Gatling guns were no match for modern machine guns, he didn’t want them raining down on him. Scouting around on his own, he found a vantage point overlooking the entire plain. The first thing he spotted were federales, creeping along that very same gully, right toward Medal and his men.
Wincing from the caites chafing his feet, he hurried back to the general and explained what he saw. “Let me take fifty men,” he said. “We’ll ambush the sons of bitches. Cut ’em to pieces.”
General Medal thought for a moment. “Bueno.”
Lee barked the orders, and within a few minutes he had twenty-five troops on either side of the ravine, advancing slowly. When they reached sufficient cover, Lee raised his hand. The men stopped and took position, lying on their bellies, rifles pointed at the valley below. He’d ordered complete silence and warned the men to ensure their position was shielded. They were not to fire until he gave the order, no matter how close the enemy came.
Once he was satisfied his men had all angles covered, he positioned himself at the front of his group, careful he wasn’t exposed in any way. After a couple of minutes, the first of the federales appeared; Lee instinctively tensed. It was all he could do to resist firing. He just hoped his men showed similar restraint. The first enemy soldier drew closer, but still Lee waited. He glanced across to his corresponding number on the other edge of the ravine and held his hand up. The soldier nodded. He took aim once more. Wait, he thought, wait.
The leading soldier walked beyond his position.
Lee took a breath. “Fuego!”
His men unleashed a volley of rifle fire, filling the ravine with lead.
“Viva Bonilla!” they shouted, as their withering assault engaged the enemy below. Only the odd shot was fired in response, and within a few minutes, the enemy fire quelled completely. Thirty federales had been slaughtered. Sixty more dropped their weapons and ran along the ravine, straight into the arms of General Medal’s men, and surrendered. Only a handful escaped.
Lee raced back to make his report. The general ordered an immediate charge on Lamaní Hill. The federales had been expecting a victory of their own, so the confusion caused by the rebel advance meant the general’s men faced little resistance and easily captured both Gatling guns.
Rather than holding the hill and taking stock, Medal ordered the men to march. Lee was on a high. It was his first real engagement as a commander, and he’d handled it resolutely. They headed south to join up with the other flying columns for a general advance on the capital. As they walked, Lee looked down at his caites. He hadn’t noticed them cutting into his feet during the battle. I could get used to this, he thought. The fighting, though, not these damn shoes.
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Once more their advance was halted short of the capital, another hilltop gun embankment preventing Colonel Christmas, General Medal, and the rest of the rebels from joining up with their compadres and seizing Tegucigalpa. This time, however, the challenge was more daunting than a pair of outdated Gatling guns. The federales were putting an Asbury mountain cannon to good use, shelling any suspected rebel position repeatedly. Lee was supervising his men as they hauled their Krupp cannon into place, when General Medal beckoned him. The general looked east. “Do you think you can take it out?”
Lee thought for a moment, scanning the hill. He’d never used an artillery piece before. “Sure,” he said, and returned to his men
. Once the Krupp was in place, he estimated the range and angle and then stood back, putting his fingers in his ears. “Fuego!”
The cannon roared into life, and the men watched in hope before their charge fell hopelessly short. Lee ordered the angle adjusted, but the next shot fell even further short. One more attempt, with the muzzle dipped slightly, landed inexplicably beyond the enemy position. The next time, however, he didn’t adjust the angle. He fired again. It fell short, as feared. Lee grimaced. Something must be wrong with the cannon, he thought, examining it, either that, or the ammo.
The Krupp didn’t use set ammunition like the Asbury; its individual projectiles were backed by cloth sacks that contained the black powder charge. Lee weighed two of the sacks in his hand. They don’t seem even. He spread a blanket on the ground, while his men looked on, puzzled. Emptying the contents of the cloth sacks, Lee found his suspicions were correct. He grabbed his machete and hollowed out a gourd, using it to measure out equal charges before refilling the cloth sacks. Smiling, he handed them back to his gunners. “Let’s try this again.”
The fourth attempt was a direct hit, disabling the distant Asbury. The panicked federales attempted to flee but were soon swept up by General Medal’s men.
Following another victory for the rebels, President Sierra panicked and fled over the border to El Salvador. Bonilla was with the main body of troops, pursuing him, but he couldn’t cross the border without provoking an international incident. No matter. Sierra’s men would melt away soon enough, eager to return to their homes and families, which left Tegucigalpa there for the taking.
The four flying columns took position on the heights surrounding the capital, where they waited for Bonilla to arrive with the rest of the army and lead in the victorious rebels. Surrenders were negotiated for the remaining federales, guaranteeing them safe passage to Nicaragua. During the victory march into Tegucigalpa, Bonilla’s first act was to make Lee Christmas the chief of the federal police once more, and to promote him to general.
On May 12, 1903, Congress convened, ratified the stolen election, and declared Bonilla president.
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Within months, Lee tired of his routine duties in the capital and longed to return to Puerto Cortés to resume his pursuit of Adelaide Caruso. Demented by desire for the blonde Italian, he plagued Bonilla for a transfer, but the president was unwilling to grant one. Despite the relative tranquility of his first few months back in office, President Bonilla was sure something was brewing, especially given his enmity with his namesake, Policarpo.
Lee probably would have resigned had it been anyone else in the Presidential Palace, but he trusted Bonilla, and, what’s more, he liked him.
Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places, he thought.
Lee saw how businessmen like Sam Zemurray had been rewarded for financing the revolution: a permanent waiver on import duties, a reduction in banana taxes, huge land concessions, the right to build his own railroad, and the ability to draw half a million dollars in government-backed loans. Zemurray relied on this extensive backing to radically expand his operations along the Cuyamel River, eventually purchasing land abutting the biggest player—the United Fruit Company, a firm that dwarfed Zemurray’s comparatively trifling concern.
Lee didn’t think Bonilla was being paranoid; he could sense trouble himself. Policarpo was back in Congress, after grabbing the Copán seat, and was drawing the disaffected toward him, claiming Bonilla had abandoned the Liberals. If there was going to be another fight, Lee didn’t want to miss it.
By the end of the year, Tegucigalpa was alive with rumors of revolution and invasion. Some were saying the coalition that had swept Manuel Bonilla into office on a wave of good feeling had evaporated. Others warned that Policarpo was just waiting for any kind of spurious pretext to launch a revolution. But everyone agreed that Nicaragua’s President Zelaya was likely to be unhappy with a Honduran regime allied with Guatemala, and would be itching for trouble himself.
All the situation needed was a spark, but Bonilla was watching developments closely, snuffing out any trouble as it arose. One of the newspapers that had backed his original candidacy, Diario de Honduras—whose editor, José María Valladares, had fought alongside Bonilla to overturn the stolen election—suddenly turned against him. Bonilla summoned Valladares to the Presidential Palace in an attempt to explain the gravity of the situation. But instead of reaching an understanding, they quarreled. Valladares stormed out of Bonilla’s office, pledging to run his paper as he saw fit.
Bonilla couldn’t take any chances. On the final day of 1903, the president sent his gringo police chief to shut the newspaper down. Valladares was enraged, complaining of heavy-handed treatment at the hands of Lee and twenty of his officers, and fled to join Policarpo’s disaffected mob. Then came the spark.
* * *
In the tobacco-growing region of western Honduras, the townsfolk of Santa Bárbara had gathered for a fiesta. A Liberal politician’s daughter was getting married, which demanded a giant celebration. Even those without political inclinations turned up to pay their respects to the newlyweds; no one with any sense would turn down the opportunity to feast and drink at the expense of the region’s biggest landowner.
With the band playing and the aguardiente flowing, the crowd was in high spirits, until a brawl ended the night early. One prominent Liberal had made a throwaway remark, quoting from an imported copy of Nietzsche, which he’d hoped would illustrate his educated but fatalistic outlook. Another local tyro, suspecting he’d merely scanned the text looking for something quotable, disagreed with his interpretation and refused to let it slide. The first stammered, surprised at the challenge to what he had thought was a clever quip. His interlocutor smiled, basking in the glow of his obscure knowledge, happy he’d given a metaphorical black eye to a rival, besting him in the arena of ideas.
Until his rival gave him a real black eye.
Both men were popular, with their own teams of supporters, and groups of revelers soon joined in on either side of the grievance. Such was the scale and ferocity of the brawl, the federal police had to be deployed to restore order. When the hotheads were detained and the debris cleared, two bodies were discovered—the pair at the genesis of the dispute. Both badly beaten. Both dead. Both also happened to be from Policarpo Bonilla’s wing of the party. His speech in Congress the following week scandalized the nation. Policarpo bitterly alleged that both men had been assassinated on political grounds, charges that were seconded by his associate, Dr. Navarro. Soon, the accusations swept around Tegucigalpa.
Lee, infuriated by such baseless crap circulating as truth, encountered Dr. Navarro later that afternoon. He unloaded a foul-mouthed tirade, leaving Navarro in no doubt as to what he thought of the pair and what he would do if they made any such accusations in the future.
At the next sitting of Congress, Dr. Navarro rose and denounced “el yanqui, Lee Christmas,” detailing the threats of physical violence that had been made against him—a Congressman, no less—by the president’s chief henchman. Congress was in uproar, and voted to remain in permanent session until they got to the bottom of the matter. As soon as the vote was carried, however, something unprecedented occurred. The door to the chamber burst open, and in charged the subject of their outrage.
Lee Christmas, with a group of armed policemen at his heels, pointed to Policarpo and eight of his cronies, and had them hauled from their seats. Policarpo stood firm, calling him a “yanqui dog.”
They were fighting words, and only the intervention of a bystander prevented Lee from shooting Policarpo on the spot. Instead, he lunged toward him and struck him several times. The nine politicians were sent to jail in shackles.
Policarpo had his just cause. Revolution was only a matter of time.
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It wasn’t just a display of hotheadedness on Lee’s part. Bonilla had been gathering evidence against Policarpo for months, and it had been agreed they shouldn’t let the president’s op
position get up a head of steam and flout Bonilla’s authority; doing so would only increase the numbers flocking to Policarpo’s banner. A show of strength was needed, and planned; Policarpo’s provocations merely accelerated matters. Details of the plot to overthrow Manuel Bonilla’s government were announced by the federal police, and the disaffected Liberal was charged with sedition and treason.
Bonilla was determined to stop the revolution in its tracks; after all, power had been snatched from him once before. He suspended the Constitution. Dissolved Congress. He even declared martial law, which allowed him to try Policarpo and his gang of plotters before a military tribunal instead of in a civil court.
They received ten years apiece. While his cronies were pardoned within months, after spilling details about Nicaragua’s backing, Policarpo remained behind bars and suffered the seizure of his estates. Meanwhile, a convention of technocrats rewrote the Constitution. The term of the presidency increased from four years to six, with Bonilla’s new six-year term as president to commence from that date, greatly extending the period before an election. He needed time to strengthen his position.
On February 25, 1904, Lee arrived at the Presidential Palace to farewell Manuel Bonilla. Feeling secure at last, Bonilla had finally acceded to his gringo general’s request and appointed him comandante of Puerto Cortés.
“You know what day it is today?” the President said, as he greeted Lee warmly in his private chambers.
“Sure,” said Lee.
Bonilla raised an eyebrow.
“The day I finally head off to the woman I’ve been dreaming of all this time.”
Bonilla smiled. “This day is special for another reason.” He clapped his hands, and a servant appeared, bearing a gold-handed sword. “Two years ago today,” Manuel continued, “you showed extreme ingenuity in taking out the Asbury mountain cannon that blocked our path to Tegucigalpa.”
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