26690	----	http://www.eBookForge.net Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations and images of the original pages. See 26690-h.htm or 26690-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/6/6/9/26690/26690-h/26690-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/6/6/9/26690/26690-h.zip) THE PIRATES OF PANAMA [Illustration: "THE MAN-OF-WAR GAVE THEM CHASE"--_Page 43_] THE PIRATES OF PANAMA Or The Buccaneers of America A True Account of the Famous Adventures and Daring Deeds of Sir Henry Morgan and Other Notorious Freebooters of the Spanish Main by JOHN ESQUEMELING _One of the Buccaneers who was Present at those Tragedies_ EDITED AND ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS [Illustration] New York Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers Copyright, 1914, by Frederick A. Stokes Company All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages. Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS PAGE (1) INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS xi (2) THE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION xv CHAPTER I. The Introduction--The Author sets forth for the Western Islands, in the service of the West India Company of France--They meet with an English frigate, and arrive at the Island of Tortuga 1 CHAPTER II. A description of Tortuga--The fruits and plants there--How the French first settled there, at two several times, and forced out the Spaniards--The Author twice sold in the said island 7 CHAPTER III. A description of Hispaniola--Also a relation of the French Buccaneers 19 CHAPTER IV. Original of the most famous pirates of the coasts of America--Famous exploit of Pierre le Grand 34 CHAPTER V. How the pirates arm their vessels, and regulate their voyages 39 CHAPTER VI. Of the origin of Francis Lolonois, and the beginning of his robberies 57 CHAPTER VII. Lolonois equips a fleet to land upon the Spanish islands of America, with intent to rob, sack, and burn whatsoever he met with 63 CHAPTER VIII. Lolonois makes new preparations to take the city of St. James de Leon; as also that of Nicaragua; where he miserably perishes 81 CHAPTER IX. The origin and descent of Captain Henry Morgan--His exploits, and the most remarkable actions of his life 101 CHAPTER X. Of the Island of Cuba--Captain Morgan attempts to preserve the Isle of St. Catherine as a refuge to the nest of pirates; but fails of his design--He arrives at, and takes, the village of El Puerto del Principe 112 CHAPTER XI. Captain Morgan resolving to attack and plunder the City of Puerto Bello, equips a fleet, and with little expense and small forces takes it 123 CHAPTER XII. Captain Morgan takes the City of Maracaibo, on the coast of Neuva Venezuela--Piracies committed in those seas--Ruin of three Spanish ships set forth to hinder the robberies of the pirates 134 CHAPTER XIII. Captain Morgan goes to Hispaniola to equip a new fleet, with intent to pillage again on the coast of the West Indies 170 CHAPTER XIV. What happened in the river De la Hacha 173 CHAPTER XV. Captain Morgan leaves Hispaniola, and goes to St. Catherine's, which he takes 179 CHAPTER XVI. Captain Morgan takes the Castle of Chagre, with four hundred men sent to this purpose from St. Catherine's 187 CHAPTER XVII. Captain Morgan departs from Chagre, at the head of twelve hundred men, to take the city of Panama 195 CHAPTER XVIII. Captain Morgan sends canoes and boats to the South Sea--He fires the city of Panama--Robberies and cruelties committed there by the pirates, till their return to the Castle of Chagre 213 ILLUSTRATIONS "The Man-of-War gave them chase" _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Pierre le Grand commanding the Spanish Captain to surrender the ship 36 "Portugues made the best of his way to del Golpho Triste" 46 "They boarded the ship with great agility" 92 "Lolonois, with those that remained, had much ado to escape aboard their boats" 96 Captain Morgan recruiting his forces 114 "Being come to the place of the duel, the Englishman stabbed the Frenchman in the back" 120 "Morgan commanded the religious men and women to place the ladders against the walls" 128 "They hanged him on a tree" 146 "The fire-ship sailing before the rest fell presently upon the great ship" 158 Morgan dividing the treasure taken at Maracaibo 166 Sacking of Panama--"Morgan re-entered the city with his troops" 214 INTRODUCTION This volume was originally written in Dutch by John Esquemeling, and first published in Amsterdam in 1678 under the title of De Americaeneche Zee Roovers. It immediately became very popular and this first hand history of the Buccaneers of America was soon translated into the principal European languages. The first English edition was printed in 1684. Of the author, John Esquemeling, very little is known although it is generally conceded that he was in all probability a Fleming or Hollander, a quite natural supposition as his first works were written in the Dutch language. He came to the island of Tortuga, the headquarters of the Buccaneers, in 1666 in the employ of the French West India Company. Several years later this same company, owing to unsuccessful business arrangements, recalled their representatives to France and gave their officers orders to sell the company's land and all its servants. Esquemeling then a servant of the company was sold to a stern master by whom he was treated with great cruelty. Owing to hard work, poor food and exposure he became dangerously ill, and his master seeing his weak condition and fearing to lose the money Esquemeling had cost him resold him to a surgeon. This new master treated him kindly so that Esquemeling's health was speedily restored, and after one year's service he was set at liberty upon a promise to pay his benefactor, the surgeon, 100 pieces of eight at such a time as he found himself in funds. Once more a free man he determined to join the pirates and was received into their society and remained with them until 1672. Esquemeling served the Buccaneers in the capacity of barber-surgeon, and was present at all their exploits. Little did he suspect that his first hand observations would some day be cherished as the only authentic and true history of the Buccaneers and Marooners of the Spanish Main. From time to time new editions of this work have been published, but in many cases much new material, not always authentic, has been added and the result has been to mar the original narrative as set forth by Esquemeling. In arranging this edition, the original English text only has been used, and but few changes made by cutting out the long and tedious description of plant and animal life of the West Indies of which Esquemeling had only a smattering of truth. But, the history of Captain Morgan and his fellow buccaneers is here printed almost identical with the original English translation, and we believe it is the first time this history has been published in a suitable form for the juvenile reader with no loss of interest to the adult. The world wide attention at this time in the Isthmus of Panama and the great canal connecting the Atlantic with the Pacific Ocean lends to this narrative an additional stimulus. Here are set forth the deeds of daring of the wild freebooters in crossing the isthmus to attack the cities, Puerto Bellow and Panama. The sacking and burning of these places accompanied by pillage, fire, and treasure seeking both on land and on sea form exciting reading. _The Buccaneers and Marooners of America_ well deserves a place on the book shelf with those old world-wide favorites _Robinson Crusoe_ and the _Swiss Family Robinson_. GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS. THE TRANSLATOR TO THE READER (OF 1684). _THE present Volume, both for its Curiosity and Ingenuity, I dare recommend unto the perusal of our English nation, whose glorious actions it containeth. What relateth unto the curiosity hereof, this Piece, both of Natural and Humane History, was no sooner published in the_ Dutch Original, _than it was snatch't up for the most curious Library's of_ Holland; _it was Translated into_ Spanish _(two impressions thereof being sent into_ Spain _in one year_); _it was taken notice of by the learned Academy of Paris; and finally recommended as worthy our esteem, by the ingenious Author of the_ Weekly Memorials for the Ingenious, _printed here at_ London _about two years ago. Neither all this undeservedly, seeing it enlargeth our acquaintance of Natural History, so much prized and enquir'd for, by the Learned of this present Age, with several observations not easily to be found in other accounts already received from_ America: _and besides, it informeth us (with huge novelty) of as great and bold attempts, in point of Military conduct and valour, as ever were performed by mankind; without excepting, here, either_ Alexander the Great, _or_ Julius Cæsar, _or the rest of the_ Nine Worthy's of Fame. _Of all which actions, as we cannot confess ourselves to have been ignorant hitherto (the very name of_ Bucaniers _being, as yet, known but unto few of the_ Ingenious; _as their Lives, Laws, and Conversation, are in a manner unto none) so can they not choose but be admired, out of this ingenuous Author, by whosoever is curious to learn the various revolutions of humane affairs. But, more especially by our_ English Nation; _as unto whom these things more narrowly do appertain. We having here more than half the Book filled with the unparallel'd, if not inimitable, adventures and_ Heroick _exploits of our own Country-men, and Relations; whose undaunted, and exemplary courage, when called upon by our King and Country, we ought to emulate._ _From whence it hath proceeded, that nothing of this kind was ever, as yet, published in_ England, _I cannot easily determine; except, as some will say, from some secret_ Ragion di Stato. _Let the reason be as t'will; this is certain, so much the more we are obliged unto this present Author, who though a stranger unto our Nation, yet with that Candour and Fidelity hath recorded our Actions, as to render the Metal of our true English Valour to be the more believed and feared abroad, than if these things had been divulged by our selves at home. From hence peradventure will other Nations learn, that the English people are of their Genius more inclinable to act than to write; seeing as well they as we have lived unacquainted with these actions of our Nation, until such time as a Foreign Author to our Country came to tell them._ _Besides the merits of this Piece for its curiosity, another point of no less esteem, is the truth and sincerity wherewith everything seemeth to be penned. No greater ornament or dignity can be added unto History, either humane or natural, than truth. All other embellishments, if this be failing, are of little or no esteem; if this be delivered, are either needless or superfluous. What concerneth this requisite in our Author, his lines do everywhere declare the faithfulness and sincerity of his mind. He writeth not by hearsay, but was an eye witness, as he somewhere telleth you, unto all and every one of the bold and hazardous attempts which he relateth. And these he delivereth with such candour of stile, such ingenuity of mind, such plainness of words, such conciseness of periods, so much divested of Rhetorical Hyperboles, or the least flourishes of Eloquence, so hugely void of Passion or national Reflections, as that he strongly perswadeth all-along to the credit of what he saith; yea, raiseth the mind of the Reader to believe these things far greater than what he hath said; and having read him, leaveth onely this scruple or concern behind, that you can read him no longer. In a word, such are his deserts, that some persons peradventure would not stickle to compare him to the Father of Historians_, Philip de Comines; _at least thus much may be said, with all truth imaginable, that he resembleth that great Author in many of his excellent qualities._ _I know some persons have objected against the greatness of these prodigious Adventures, intimating that the resistance our_ Bucaniers _found in_ America, _was everywhere but small. For the_ Spaniards, _say they, in the_ West Indies, _are become of late years nothing less, but rather much more degenerate than in_ Europe. _The continual Peace they have enjoyed in those parts, the defect of Military Discipline, and_ European _souldiers for their Commanders, much contributing hereunto. But more especially, and above all other reasons, the very luxury of the Soil and Riches, the extreme heat of those Countries, and influence of the Stars being such, as totally inclineth their bodies unto an infinite effeminacy and cowardize of minds._ _Unto these Reasons I shall only answer in brief. This History will convince them to be manifestly false. For as to the continual Peace here alleadged, we know that no Peace could ever be established_ beyond the Line, _since the first possession of the_ West-Indies _by the_ Spaniards, _till the burning of_ Panama. _At that time, or few months before_, Sir William Godolphin _by his prudent negotiation in quality of Embassadour for our most Gracious Monarch, did conclude at_ Madrid _a peace to be observed even_ beyond the Line, _and through the whole extent of the Spanish Dominions in the_ West-Indies. _This transaction gave the Spaniards new causes of complaints against our proceedings, that no sooner a Peace had been established for those parts of_ America, _but our forces had taken and burnt both_ Chagre, St. Catherine, _and_ Panama. _But our reply was convincing, That whereas eight or ten months of time had been allowed by Articles for the publishing of the said Peace through all the Dominions of both Monarchies in_ America, _those Hostilities had been committed, not onely without orders from his Majesty of_ England, _but also within the space of the said eight or ten months of time. Until that time the Spanish Inhabitants of_ America _being, as it were, in a perpetual War with_ Europe, _certain it is that no Coasts nor Kingdoms in the World have been more frequently infested nor alarm'd with the invasions of several Nations than theirs. Thus from the very beginning of their Conquests in America, both_ English, French, Dutch Portuguese, Swedes, Danes, _Curlanders, and all other nations that navigate the_ Ocean, _have frequented the_ West-Indies, _and filled them with their robberies and Assaults. From these occasions have they been in continual watch and ward, and kept their_ Militia _in constant exercise, as also their Garrisons pretty well provided and paid; as fearing every sail they discovered at Sea, to be_ Pirats _of one Nation or another. But much more especially, since that_ Curasao, Tortuga, _and_ Jamaica _have been inhabited by_ English, French, _and_ Dutch, _and bred up that race of_ Hunts-men, _than which, no other ever was more desperate, nor more mortal enemies to the Spaniards, called Bucaniers. Now shall we say, that these People, through too long continuation of Peace, have utterly abolished the exercises of War, having been all-along incessantly vexed with the Tumults and Alarms thereof?_ _In like manner is it false, to accuse their defect of Military Discipline for want of_ European _Commanders. For who knoweth not that all places, both Military and Civil, through those vast dominions of the_ West-Indies, _are provided out of_ Spain? _And those of the Militia most commonly given unto expert Commanders, trained up from their infancy in the Wars of_ Europe, _either in_ Africa, Milan, Sicily, Naples, _or_ Flanders, _fighting against either_ English, French, Dutch, Portuguese, _or_ Moors? _Yea their very Garrisons, if you search them in those parts, will peradventure be found to be stock'd three parts to four with Souldiers both born and bred in the Kingdom of_ Spain. _From these Considerations it may be inferr'd what little difference ought to be allowed betwixt the Spanish Souldiers, Inhabitants of the_ West-Indies, _and those of_ Europe. _And how little the Soil or Climate hath influenced or caused their Courage to degenerate towards cowardize or baseness of mind. As if the very same Argument, deduced from the nature of that Climate, did not equally militate against the valour of our famous Bucaniers, and represent this to be of as degenerate Metal as theirs._ _But nothing can be more clearly evinced, than is the Valour of the_ American Spaniards, _either Souldiers or Officers, by the sequel of this History. What men ever fought more desperately than the Garrison of_ Chagre? _Their number being 314, and of all these, only thirty remaining; of which number scarce ten were unwounded; and among them, not one officer found alive? Were not 600 killed upon the spot at_ Panama, _500 at_ Gibraltar, _almost as many more at_ Puerto del Principe, _all dying with their Arms in their hands, and facing bravely the Enemy for the defence of their Country and private Concerns? Did not those of the Town of_ San Pedro _both fortifie themselves, lay several Ambuscades, and lastly sell their lives as dear as any European Souldier could do; Lolonois being forced to gain step by step his advance unto the Town, with huge loss both of bloud and men? Many other instances might be produced out of this compendious Volume, of the generous resistance the_ Spaniards _made in several places, though Fortune favoured not their Arms._ _Next, as to the personal Valour of many of their Commanders, What man ever behaved himself more briskly than the Governour of_ Gibraltar, _than the Governour of_ Puerto del Principe, _both dying for the defence of their Towns; than Don Alonso del Campo, and others? Or what examples can easily parallel the desperate courage of the Governour of_ Chagre? _who, though the_ Palizda's _were fired, the Terraplens were sunk into the Ditch, the Breaches were entred, the Houses all burnt above him, the whole Castle taken, his men all killed; yet would not admit of any quarter, but chose rather to die under his Arms, being shot into the brain, than surrender himself as a Prisoner unto the_ Bucaniers. _What lion ever fought to the last gasp more obstinately than the Governour of_ Puerto Velo? _who, seeing the Town enter'd by surprizal in the night, one chief Castle blown up into the Air, all the other Forts and Castles taken, his own assaulted several ways, both Religious men and women placed at the front of the Enemy to fix the Ladders against the Walls; yet spared not to kill as many of the said Religious persons as he could. And at last, the walls being scaled, the Castle enter'd and taken, all his own men overcome by fire and sword, who had cast down their Arms, and begged mercy from the Enemy; yet would admit of none for his own life. Yet, with his own hands killed several of his Souldiers, to force them to stand to their Arms, though all were lost. Yea, though his own Wife and Daughter begged of him upon their knees that he would have his life by craving quarter, though the Enemy desired of him the same thing; yet would hearken to no cries nor perswasions, but they were forced to kill him, combating with his Arms in his hands, being not otherwise able to take him Prisoner, as they were desirous to do. Shall these men be said to be influenced with Cowardize, who thus acted to the very last_ Scene _of their own_ Tragedies? _Or shall we rather say that they wanted no Courage, but Fortune? It being certainly true, that he who is killed in a Batel, may be equally couragious with him that killeth. And that whosoever derogateth from the Valour of the_ Spaniards _in the_ West-Indies, _diminisheth in like manner the Courage of the_ Bucaniers, _his own Country-men, who have seemed to act beyond mortal men in_ America. _Now, to say something concerning_ John Esquemeling, _the first Author of this History. I take him to be a_ Dutch-man, _or at least born in_ Flanders, _notwithstanding that the Spanish Translation representeth him to be a Native of the Kingdom of_ France. _His printing this History originally in Dutch, which doubtless must be his native Tongue, who otherwise was but an illiterate man, together with the very sound of his name, convincing me thereunto. True it is, he set sail from_ France, _and was some years at_ Tortuga; _but neither of these two Arguments, drawn from the History, are prevalent. For were he to be a_ French-man _born, how came he to learn the_ Dutch _language so perfectly as to prefer it to his own? Especially that not being spoken at Tortuga nor_ Jamaica, _where he resided all the while._ _I hope I have made this English Translation something more plain and correct than the Spanish. Some few notorious faults either of the Printer or the Interpreter, I am sure I have redressed. But the Spanish Translator complaining much of the intricacy of Stile in the Original (as flowing from a person who, as hath been said, was no Scholar) as he was pardonable, being in great haste, for not rendring his own Version so distinct and elaborate as he could desire; so must I be excused from the one, that is to say, Elegancy, if I have cautiously declined the other, I mean Confusion._ THE PIRATES OF PANAMA THE BUCCANEERS OF AMERICA CHAPTER I _The introduction--The author sets forth for the Western islands, in the service of the West-India Company of France--They meet with an English frigate, and arrive at the Island of Tortuga._ WE set sail from Havre-de-Grace in France, from whence we set sail in the ship called _St. John_, May 2, 1666. Our vessel was equipped with twenty-eight guns, twenty mariners, and two hundred and twenty passengers, including those whom the company sent as free passengers. Soon after we came to an anchor under the Cape of Barfleur, there to join seven other ships of the same West-India company, which were to come from Dieppe, under convoy of a man-of-war, mounted with thirty-seven guns, and two hundred and fifty men. Of these ships two were bound for Senegal, five for the Caribbee islands, and ours for Tortuga. Here gathered to us about twenty sail of other ships, bound for Newfoundland, with some Dutch vessels going for Nantz, Rochel, and St. Martin's, so that in all we made thirty sail. Here we put ourselves in a posture of defence, having noticed that four English frigates, of sixty guns each, waited for us near Aldernay. Our admiral, the Chevalier Sourdis, having given necessary orders, we sailed thence with a favourable gale, and some mists arising, totally impeded the English frigates from discovering our fleet. We steered our course as near as we could to the coast of France, for fear of the enemy. As we sailed along, we met a vessel of Ostend, who complained to our admiral, that a French privateer had robbed him that very morning; whereupon we endeavoured to pursue the said pirate; but our labour was in vain, not being able to overtake him. Our fleet, as we sailed, caused no small fears and alarms to the inhabitants of the coasts of France, these judging us to be English, and that we sought some convenient place for landing. To allay their fright, we hung out our colours; but they would not trust us. After this we came to an anchor in the bay of Conquet in Brittany, near Ushant, there to take in water. Having stored ourselves with fresh provisions here, we prosecuted our voyage, designing to pass by the Ras of Fontenau, and not expose ourselves to the Sorlingues, fearing the English that were cruising thereabouts. The river Ras is of a current very strong and rapid, which, rolling over many rocks, disgorges itself into the sea, on the coast of France, in 48 deg. 10 min. latitude; so that this passage is very dangerous, all the rocks, as yet, being not thoroughly known. Here I shall mention the ceremony, which, at this passage, and some other places, is used by the mariners, and by them called baptism, though it may seem little to our purpose. The master's mate clothed himself with a ridiculous sort of garment, that reached to his feet, and on his head he put a suitable cap, made very burlesque; in his right hand he had a naked wooden sword, and in his left a pot full of ink: his face was horribly blacked with soot, and his neck adorned with a collar of many little pieces of wood. Thus apparelled, he commanded every one to be called who had never passed through that dangerous place before; and then, causing them to kneel down, he made the sign of the cross on their foreheads, with ink, and gave every one a stroke on the shoulders with his wooden sword. Meanwhile, the standers-by cast a bucket of water upon each man's head; and so ended the ceremony. But that done, each of the baptized must give a bottle of brandy, placing it nigh the main-mast, without speaking a word; even those who have no such liquor not being excused. If the vessel never passed that way before, the captain is obliged to distribute some wine among the mariners and passengers; but as for other gifts, which the newly-baptized frequently offer, they are divided among the old seamen, and of them they make a banquet among themselves. The Hollanders likewise, not only at this passage, but also at the rocks called Berlingues, nigh the coast of Portugal, in 39 deg. 40 min. (being a passage very dangerous, especially by night, when, in the dark, the rocks are not distinguishable, the land being very high) they use some such ceremony: but their manner of baptizing is very different from that of the French; for he that is to be baptized is fastened, and hoisted up thrice, at the mainyard's end, as if he were a criminal. If he be hoisted the fourth time, in the name of the Prince of Orange, or of the captain of the vessel, his honour is more than ordinary. Thus every one is dipped several times in the main ocean; but he that is dipped first has the honour of being saluted with a gun. Such as are not willing to fall, must pay twelve pence for ransom; if he be an officer, two shillings; and if a passenger, at their own pleasure. If the ship never passed that way before, the captain is to give a small rundlet of wine, which, if he denies, the mariners may cut off the stem of the vessel. All the profit accruing by this ceremony is kept by the master's mate, who, after reaching their port, usually lays it out in wine, which is drank amongst the ancient seamen. Some say this ceremony was instituted by the Emperor Charles V. though it is not amongst his laws. But here I leave these sea customs, and return to our voyage. Having passed the Ras, we had very good weather, till we came to Cape Finis Terræ: here a sudden tempest surprised us, and separated our ship from the rest that were in our company. This storm continued eight days; in which time it would move compassion to see how miserably the passengers were tumbled to and fro, on all sides of the ship; insomuch, that the mariners, in the performance of their duty, were compelled to tread upon them. This boisterous weather being over, we had very favourable gales again, till we came to the tropic of Cancer. This tropic is an imaginary circle, which astronomers have invented in the heavens, limiting the progress of the sun towards the north pole. It is placed in the latitude of 23 deg. 30 min. Here we were baptized a second time, as before. The French always perform this ceremony at the tropic of Cancer, as also under the tropic of Capricorn. In this part of the world we had very favourable weather, at which we were very glad, because of our great want of water; for that element is so scarce with us, that we were stinted to two half pints a man every day. About the latitude of Barbadoes, we met an English frigate, or privateer, who first began to give us chase; but finding herself not to exceed us in force, presently got away: hereupon, we pursued her, firing several guns, eight-pounders, at her; but at length she escaped, and we returned to our course. Soon after, we came within sight of Martinico. We were bent to the coast of the isle of St. Peter, but were frustrated by a storm, which took us hereabouts. Hence we resolved to steer to Gaudaloupe, yet we could not reach this island, by reason of the said storm; so that we directed our course to the isle of Tortuga, being the very same land we were bound to. We passed along the coast of Punta Rica, which is extremely agreeable and delightful to the sight, being adorned with beautiful woods, even to the tops of the mountains. Then we discovered Hispaniola (of which I shall give a description), and we coasted about it till we came to Tortuga, our desired port. Here we anchored, July 7, in the same year, not having lost one man in the voyage. We landed the goods that belonged to the West-India company, and, soon after, the ship was sent to Cal de Sac with some passengers. CHAPTER II _A description of Tortuga--The fruits and plants there--How the French first settled there, at two several times, and forced out the Spaniards--The author twice sold in the said island._ THE island of Tortuga is situate on the north side of Hispaniola, in 20 deg. 30 min. latitude; its just extent is threescore leagues about. The Spaniards, who gave name to this island, called it so from the shape of the land, in some manner resembling a great sea-tortoise, called by them Tortuga-de-mar. The country is very mountainous, and full of rocks, and yet thick of lofty trees, that grow upon the hardest of those rocks, without partaking of a softer soil. Hence it comes that their roots, for the greatest part, are seen naked, entangled among the rocks like the branching of ivy against our walls. That part of this island which stretches to the north is totally uninhabited: the reason is, first, because it is incommodious, and unhealthy: and, secondly, for the ruggedness of the coast, that gives no access to the shore, unless among rocks almost inaccessible: for this cause it is peopled only on the south part, which hath only one port indifferently good: yet this harbour has two entries, or channels, which afford passage to ships of seventy guns; the port itself being without danger, and capable of receiving a great number of vessels. The inhabited parts, of which the first is called the Low-Lands, or Low-Country: this is the chief among the rest, because it contains the port aforesaid. The town is called Cayona, and here live the chiefest and richest planters of the island. The second part is called the Middle Plantation: its soil is yet almost new, being only known to be good for tobacco. The third is named Ringot, and is situate towards the west part of the island. The fourth and last is called the Mountain, in which place were made the first plantations upon this island. As to the wood that grows here, we have already said that the trees are exceeding tall, and pleasing to the sight; whence no man will doubt, but they may be applied to several uses. Such is the yellow saunder, which by the inhabitants is called bois de chandel, or, in English, candle-wood, because it burns like a candle, and serves them with light while they fish by night. Here grows, also, lingnum sanctum, or guaiacum: its virtues are very well known, more especially to those who observe not the Seventh Commandment, and are given to impure copulations!--physicians drawing hence, in several compositions, the greatest antidote for venereal diseases; as also for cold and viscous humours. The trees, likewise, which afford gummi elemi, grow here in great abundance; as doth radix Chinæ, or China root: yet this is not so good as that of other parts of the western world. It is very white and soft, and serves for pleasant food to the wild boars, when they can find nothing else. This island, also, is not deficient in aloes, nor an infinite number of the other medicinal herbs, which may please the curiosity of such as are given to their contemplation: moreover, for building of ships, or any other sort of architecture, here are found several sorts of timber. The fruits, likewise, which grow here abundantly, are nothing inferior, in quantity or quality, to what other islands produce. I shall name only some of the most ordinary and common: such are magnoit, potatoes, Abajou apples, yannas, bacones, paquays, carosoles, mamayns, annananes, and divers other sorts, which I omit to specify. Here grow likewise, in great numbers, those trees called palmitoes, or palmites, whence is drawn a certain juice which serves the inhabitants instead of wine, and whose leaves cover their houses instead of tiles. In this island aboundeth, also, the wild boar. The governor hath prohibited the hunting of them with dogs, fearing lest, the island being but small, the whole race of them, in a short time, should be destroyed. The reason why he thought convenient to preserve these wild beasts was, that, in case of any invasion, the inhabitants might sustain themselves with their food, especially were they once constrained to retire to the woods and mountains. Yet this sort of game is almost impeded by itself, by reason of the many rocks and precipices, which, for the greatest part, are covered with little shrubs, very green and thick; whence the huntsmen have oftentimes fallen, and left us the sad remembrance of many a memorable disaster. At a certain time of the year there resort to Tortuga large flocks of wild pigeons, and then the inhabitants feed on them very plentifully, having more than they can consume, and leaving totally to their repose all other sorts of fowl, both wild and tame; that so, in the absence of the pigeons, these may supply their place. But as nothing in the universe, though never so pleasant, can be found, but what hath something of bitterness with it; the very symbol of this truth we see in the aforesaid pigeons: for these, the season being past, can scarce be touched with the tongue, they become so extremely lean, and bitter even to admiration. The reason of this bitterness is attributed to a certain seed which they eat about that time, even as bitter as gall. About the sea-shores, everywhere, are found great multitudes of crabs, both of land and sea, and both sorts very big. These are good to feed servants and slaves, whose palates they please, but are very hurtful to the sight: besides, being eaten too often, they cause great giddiness in the head, with much weakness of the brain; so that, very frequently, they are deprived of sight for a quarter of an hour. The French having settled in the isle of St. Christopher, planted there a sort of trees, of which, at present, there possibly may be greater quantities; with the timber whereof they made long-boats, and hoys, which they sent thence westward, well manned and victualled, to discover other islands. These setting sail from St. Christopher, came within sight of Hispaniola, where they arrived with abundance of joy. Having landed, they marched into the country, where they found large quantities of cattle; such as cows, bulls, horses, and wild boars: but finding no great profit in these animals, unless they could enclose them, and knowing, likewise, the island to be pretty well peopled by the Spaniards, they thought it convenient to enter upon and seize the island of Tortuga. This they performed without any difficulty, there being upon the island no more than ten or twelve Spaniards to guard it. These few men let the French come in peaceably, and possess the island for six months, without any trouble; meanwhile they passed and repassed, with their canoes, to Hispaniola, from whence they transported many people, and at last began to plant the whole island of Tortuga. The few Spaniards remaining there, perceiving the French to increase their number daily, began, at last, to repine at their prosperity, and grudge them the possession: hence they gave notice to others of their nation, their neighbours, who sent several boats, well armed and manned, to dispossess the French. This expedition succeeded according to their desires; for the new possessors, seeing the great number of Spaniards, fled with all they had to the woods, and hence, by night, they wafted over with canoes to the island of Hispaniola: this they the more easily performed, having no women or children with them, nor any great substance to carry away. Here they also retired into the woods, both to seek for food, and from thence, with secrecy, to give intelligence to others of their own faction; judging for certain, that within a little while they should be in a capacity to hinder the Spaniards from fortifying in Tortuga. Meanwhile, the Spaniards of the great island ceased not to seek after their new guests, the French, with intent to root them out of the woods if possible, or cause them to perish with hunger; but this design soon failed, having found that the French were masters both of good guns, powder, and bullets. Here therefore the fugitives waited for a certain opportunity, wherein they knew the Spaniards were to come from Tortuga with arms, and a great number of men, to join with those of the greater island for their destruction. When this occasion offered, they in the meanwhile deserting the woods where they were, returned to Tortuga, and dispossessed the small number of Spaniards that remained at home. Having so done, they fortified themselves the best they could, thereby to prevent the return of the Spaniards in case they should attempt it. Moreover, they sent immediately to the governor of St. Christopher's, craving his aid and relief, and demanding of him a governor, the better to be united among themselves, and strengthened on all occasions. The governor of St. Christopher's received their petition with much satisfaction, and, without delay, sent Monsieur le Passeur to them in quality of a governor, together with a ship full of men, and all necessaries for their establishment and defence. No sooner had they received this recruit, but the governor commanded a fortress to be built upon the top of a high rock, from whence he could hinder the entrance of any ships or other vessels to the port. To this fort no other access could be had, than by almost climbing through a very narrow passage that was capable only of receiving two persons at once, and those not without difficulty. In the middle of this rock was a great cavity, which now serves for a storehouse: besides, here was great convenience for raising a battery. The fort being finished, the governor commanded two guns to be mounted, which could not be done without great toil and labour; as also a house to be built within the fort, and afterwards the narrow way, that led to the said fort, to be broken and demolished, leaving no other ascent thereto than by a ladder. Within the fort gushes out a plentiful fountain of pure fresh water, sufficient to refresh a garrison of a thousand men. Being possessed of these conveniences, and the security these things might promise, the French began to people the island, and each of them to seek their living; some by hunting, others by planting tobacco, and others by cruizing and robbing upon the coasts of the Spanish islands, which trade is continued by them to this day. The Spaniards, notwithstanding, could not behold, but with jealous eyes, the daily increase of the French in Tortuga, fearing lest, in time, they might by them be dispossessed also of Hispaniola. Thus taking an opportunity (when many of the French were abroad at sea, and others employed in hunting), with eight hundred men, in several canoes, they landed again in Tortuga, almost without being perceived by the French; but finding that the governor had cut down many trees for the better discovery of any enemy in case of an assault, as also that nothing of consequence could be done without great guns, they consulted about the fittest place for raising a battery. This place was soon concluded to be the top of a mountain which was in sight, seeing that from thence alone they could level their guns at the fort, which now lay open to them since the cutting down of the trees by the new possessors. Hence they resolved to open a way for the carriage of some pieces of ordnance to the top. This mountain is somewhat high, and the upper part thereof plain, from whence the whole island may be viewed: the sides thereof are very rugged, by reason a great number of inaccessible rocks do surround it; so that the ascent was very difficult, and would always have been the same, had not the Spaniards undergone the immense labour and toil of making the way before mentioned, as I shall now relate. The Spaniards had with them many slaves and Indians, labouring men, whom they call matades, or, in English, half-yellow men; these they ordered with iron tools to dig a way through the rocks. This they performed with the greatest speed imaginable; and through this way, by the help of many ropes and pulleys, they at last made shift to get up two pieces of ordnance, wherewith they made a battery next day, to play on the fort. Meanwhile, the French knowing these designs, prepared for a defence (while the Spaniards were busy about the battery) sending notice everywhere to their companions for help. Thus the hunters of the island all joined together, and with them all the pirates who were not already too far from home. These landed by night at Tortuga, lest they should be seen by the Spaniards; and, under the same obscurity of the night, they all together, by a back way, climbed the mountain where the Spaniards were posted, which they did the more easily being acquainted with these rocks. They came up at the very instant that the Spaniards, who were above, were preparing to shoot at the fort, not knowing in the least of their coming. Here they set upon them at their backs with such fury as forced the greatest part to precipitate themselves from the top to the bottom, and dash their bodies in pieces: few or none escaped; for if any remained alive, they were put to the sword. Some Spaniards did still keep the bottom of the mountain; but these, hearing the shrieks and cries of them that were killed, and believing some tragical revolution to be above, fled immediately towards the sea, despairing ever to regain the island of Tortuga. The governors of this island behaved themselves as proprietors and absolute lords thereof till 1664, when the West-India company of France took possession thereof, and sent thither, for their governor, Monsieur Ogeron. These planted the colony for themselves by their factors and servants, thinking to drive some considerable trade from thence with the Spaniards, even as the Hollanders do from Curacao: but this design did not answer; for with other nations they could drive no trade, by reason they could not establish any secure commerce from the beginning with their own; forasmuch as at the first institution of this company in France they agreed with the pirates, hunters, and planters, first possessors of Tortuga, that these should buy all their necessaries from the said company upon trust. And though this agreement was put in execution, yet the factors of the company soon after found that they could not recover either monies or returns from those people, that they were constrained to bring some armed men into the island, in behalf of the company, to get in some of their payments. But neither this endeavour, nor any other, could prevail towards the settling a second trade with those of the island. Hereupon, the company recalled their factors, giving them orders to sell all that was their own in the said plantation, both the servants belonging to the company (which were sold, some for twenty, and others for thirty pieces of eight), as also all other merchandizes and proprieties. And thus all their designs fell to the ground. On this occasion I was also sold, being a servant under the said company in whose service I left France: but my fortune was very bad, for I fell into the hands of the most cruel and perfidious man that ever was born, who was then governor, or rather lieutenant-general, of that island. This man treated me with all the hard usage imaginable, yea, with that of hunger, with which I thought I should have perished inevitably. Withal, he was willing to let me buy my freedom and liberty, but not under the rate of three hundred pieces of eight, I not being master of one at a time in the world. At last, through the manifold miseries I endured, as also affliction of mind, I was thrown into a dangerous sickness. This misfortune, added to the rest, was the cause of my happiness: for my wicked master, seeing my condition, began to fear lest he should lose his monies with my life. Hereupon he sold me a second time to a surgeon, for seventy pieces of eight. Being with this second master, I began soon to recover my health through the good usage I received, he being much more humane and civil than my first patron. He gave me both clothes and very good food; and after I had served him but one year, he offered me my liberty, with only this condition, that I should pay him one hundred pieces of eight when I was in a capacity so to do; which kind proposal of his I could not but accept with infinite joy and gratitude. Being now at liberty, though like Adam when he was first created--that is, naked and destitute of all human necessaries--not knowing how to get my living, I determined to enter into the order of the pirates or robbers at sea. Into this society I was received with common consent, both of the superior and vulgar sort, where I continued till 1672. Having assisted them in all their designs and attempts, and served them in many notable exploits (of which hereafter I shall give the reader a true account), I returned to my own native country. But before I begin my relation, I shall say something of the island Hispaniola, which lies towards the western part of America; as also give my reader a brief description thereof, according to my slender ability and experience. CHAPTER III _A Description of Hispaniola.--Also a Relation of the French Buccaneers._ THE large and rich island called Hispaniola is situate from 17 degrees to 19 degrees latitude; the circumference is 300 leagues; the extent from east to west 120; its breadth almost 50, being broader or narrower at certain places. This island was first discovered by Christopher Columbus, A.D. 1492; he being sent for this purpose by Ferdinand, king of Spain; from which time to this present the Spaniards have been continually possessors thereof. There are upon this island very good and strong cities, towns, and hamlets, as well as a great number of pleasant country houses and plantations, the effects of the care and industry of the Spaniards its inhabitants. The chief city and metropolis hereof is Santo Domingo; being dedicated to St. Dominic, from whom it derives its name. It is situate towards the south, and affords a most excellent prospect; the country round about being embellished with innumerable rich plantations, as also verdant meadows and fruitful gardens; all which produce plenty and variety of excellent pleasant fruits, according to the nature of those countries. The governor of the island resides in this city, which is, as it were, the storehouse of all the cities, towns, and villages, which hence export and provide themselves with all necessaries for human life; and yet hath it this particularity above many other cities, that it entertains no commerce with any nation but its own, the Spaniards. The greatest part of the inhabitants are rich and substantial merchants or shopkeepers. Another city of this island is San Jago, or St. James, being consecrated to that apostle. This is an open place, without walls or castle, situate in 19 deg. latitude. The inhabitants are generally hunters and planters, the adjacent territory and soil being very proper for the said exercises: the city is surrounded with large and delicious fields, as much pleasing to the view as those of Santo Domingo; and these abound with beasts both wild and tame, yielding vast numbers of skins and hides, very profitable to the owners. In the south part of this island is another city, called Nuestra Sennora de Alta Gracia. This territory produces great quantities of cacao, whereof the inhabitants make great store of the richest chocolate. Here grows also ginger and tobacco, and much tallow is made of the beasts which are hereabouts hunted. The inhabitants of this beautiful island of Hispaniola often resort in their canoes to the isle of Savona, not far distant, where is their chief fishery, especially of tortoises. Hither those fish constantly resort in great multitudes, at certain seasons, there to lay their eggs, burying them in the sands of the shoal, where, by the heat of the sun, which in those parts is very ardent, they are hatched. This island of Savona has little or nothing that is worthy consideration, being so very barren by reason of its sandy soil. True it is, that here grows some small quantity of lignum sanctum, or guaiacum, of whose use we say something in another place. Westward of Santo Domingo is another great village called El Pueblo de Aso, or the town of Aso: the inhabitants thereof drive great traffic with those of another village, in the very middle of the island, and is called San Juan de Goave, or St. John of Goave. This is environed with a magnificent prospect of gardens, woods, and meadows. Its territory extends above twenty leagues in length, and grazes a great number of wild bulls and cows. In this village scarce dwell any others than hunters and butchers, who flay the beasts that are killed. These are for the most part a mongrel sort of people; some of which are born of white European people and negroes, and called mulattoes: others of Indians and white people, and termed mesticos: but others come of negroes and Indians, and are called alcatraces. From the said village are exported yearly vast quantities of tallow and hides, they exercising no other traffic: for as to the lands in this place, they are not cultivated, by reason of the excessive dryness of the soil. These are the chiefest places that the Spaniards possess in this island, from the Cape of Lobos towards St. John de Goave, unto the Cape of Samana nigh the sea, on the north side, and from the eastern part towards the sea, called Punta de Espada. All the rest of the island is possessed by the French, who are also planters and hunters. This island hath very good ports for ships, from the Cape of Lobos to the Cape of Tiburon, on the west side thereof. In this space there are no less than four ports, exceeding in goodness, largeness, and security, even the very best of England. Besides these, from the Cape of Tiburon to the Cape of Donna Maria, there are two very excellent ports; and from this cape to the Cape of St. Nicholas, there are no less than twelve others. Every one of these ports hath also the confluence of two or three good rivers, in which are great plenty of several sorts of fish very pleasing to the palate. The country hereabouts is well watered with large and deep rivers and brooks, so that this part of the land may easily be cultivated without any great fear of droughts, because of these excellent streams. The sea-coasts and shores are also very pleasant, to which the tortoises resort in large numbers to lay their eggs. This island was formerly very well peopled, on the north side, with many towns and villages; but these, being ruined by the Hollanders, were at last, for the greatest part, deserted by the Spaniards. The spacious fields of this island commonly are five or six leagues in length, the beauty whereof is so pleasing to the eye, that, together with the great variety of their natural productions, they captivate the senses of the beholder. For here at once they not only with diversity of objects recreate the sight, but with many of the same do also please the smell, and with most contribute delights to the taste; also they flatter and excite the appetite, especially with the multitudes of oranges and lemons here growing, both sweet and sour, and those that participate of both tastes, and are only pleasantly tartish. Besides here abundantly grow several sorts of fruit, such are citrons, toronjas, and limas; in English not improperly called crab lemons. Beside the fruit which this island produces, whose plenty, as is said, surpasses all the islands of America; it abounds also with all sorts of quadrupeds, as horses, bulls, cows, wild boars, and others, very useful to mankind, not only for food, but for cultivating the ground, and the management of commerce. Here are vast numbers of wild dogs: these destroy yearly many cattle; for no sooner hath a cow calved, or a mare foaled, but these wild mastiffs devour the young, if they find not resistance from keepers and domestic dogs. They run up and down the woods and fields, commonly fifty, threescore, or more, together; being withal so fierce, that they will often assault an entire herd of wild boars, not ceasing to worry them till they have fetched down two or three. One day a French buccaneer showed me a strange action of this kind: being in the fields a-hunting together, we heard a great noise of dogs which has surrounded a wild boar: having tame dogs with us, we left them to the custody of our servants, being desirous to see the sport. Hence my companion and I climbed up two several trees, both for security and prospect. The wild boar, all alone, stood against a tree, defending himself with his tusks from a great number of dogs that enclosed him; killed with his teeth, and wounded several of them. This bloody fight continued about an hour; the wild boar, meanwhile, attempting many times to escape. At last flying, one dog, leaping upon his back, fastened on his throat. The rest of the dogs, perceiving the courage of their companion, fastened likewise on the boar, and presently killed him. This done, all of them, the first only excepted, laid themselves down upon the ground about the prey, and there peaceably continued, till he, the first and most courageous of the troop, had ate as much as he could: when this dog had left off, all the rest fell in to take their share, till nothing was left. What ought we to infer from this notable action, performed by wild animals, but this: that even beasts themselves are not destitute of knowledge, and that they give us documents how to honour such as have deserved well; even since these irrational animals did reverence and respect him that exposed his life to the greatest danger against the common enemy? The governor of Tortuga, Monsieur Ogeron, finding that the wild dogs killed so many of the wild boars, that the hunters of that island had much ado to find any; fearing lest that common substance of the island should fail, sent for a great quantity of poison from France to destroy the wild mastiffs: this was done, A.D. 1668, by commanding horses to be killed, and empoisoned, and laid open at certain places where the wild dogs used to resort. This being continued for six months, there were killed an incredible number; and yet all this could not exterminate and destroy the race, or scarce diminish them; their number appearing almost as large as before. These wild dogs are easily tamed among men, even as tame as ordinary house dogs. The hunters of those parts, whenever they find a wild bitch with whelps, commonly take away the puppies, and bring them home; which being grown up, they hunt much better than other dogs. But here the curious reader may perhaps inquire how so many wild dogs came here. The occasion was, the Spaniards having possessed these isles, found them peopled with Indians, a barbarous people, sensual and brutish, hating all labour, and only inclined to killing, and making war against their neighbours; not out of ambition, but only because they agreed not with themselves in some common terms of language; and perceiving the dominion of the Spaniards laid great restrictions upon their lazy and brutish customs, they conceived an irreconcilable hatred against them; but especially because they saw them take possession of their kingdoms and dominions. Hereupon, they made against them all the resistance they could, opposing everywhere their designs to the utmost: and the Spaniards finding themselves cruelly hated by the Indians, and nowhere secure from their treacheries, resolved to extirpate and ruin them, since they could neither tame them by civility, nor conquer them with the sword. But the Indians, it being their custom to make the woods their chief places of defence, at present made these their refuge, whenever they fled from the Spaniards. Hereupon, those first conquerors of the New World made use of dogs to range and search the intricatest thickets of woods and forests for those their implacable and unconquerable enemies: thus they forced them to leave their old refuge, and submit to the sword, seeing no milder usage would do it; hereupon they killed some of them, and quartering their bodies, placed them in the highways, that others might take warning from such a punishment; but this severity proved of ill consequence, for instead of fighting them and reducing them to civility, they conceived such horror of the Spaniards, that they resolved to detest and fly their sight for ever; hence the greatest part died in caves and subterraneous places of the woods and mountains, in which places I myself have often seen great numbers of human bones. The Spaniards finding no more Indians to appear about the woods, turned away a great number of dogs they had in their houses, and they finding no masters to keep them, betook themselves to the woods and fields to hunt for food to preserve their lives; thus by degrees they became unacquainted with houses, and grew wild. This is the truest account I can give of the multitudes of wild dogs in these parts. But besides these wild mastiffs, here are also great numbers of wild horses everywhere all over the island: they are but low of stature, short bodied, with great heads, long necks, and big or thick legs: in a word, they have nothing handsome in their shape. They run up and down commonly in troops of two or three hundred together, one going always before to lead the multitude: when they meet any person travelling through the woods or fields, they stand still, suffering him to approach till he can almost touch them: and then suddenly starting, they betake themselves to flight, running away as fast as they can. The hunters catch them only for their skins, though sometimes they preserve their flesh likewise, which they harden with smoke, using it for provisions when they go to sea. Here would be also wild bulls and cows in great number, if by continual hunting they were not much diminished; yet considerable profit is made to this day by such as make it their business to kill them. The wild bulls are of a vast bigness of body, and yet they hurt not any one except they be exasperated. Their hides are from eleven to thirteen feet long. It is now time to speak of the French who inhabit great part of this island. We have already told how they came first into these parts: we shall now only describe their manner of living, customs, and ordinary employments. The callings or professions they follow are generally but three, either to hunt or plant, or else to rove the seas as pirates. It is a constant custom among them all, to seek out a comrade or companion, whom we may call partner in their fortunes, with whom they join the whole stock of what they possess towards a common gain. This is done by articles agreed to, and reciprocally signed. Some constitute their surviving companion absolute heir to what is left by the death of the first: others, if they be married, leave their estates to their wives and children; others, to other relations. This done, every one applies himself to his calling, which is always one of the three afore-mentioned. The hunters are again subdivided into two sorts; for some of these only hunt wild bulls and cows, others only wild boars. The first of these are called bucaniers, and not long ago were about six hundred on this island, but now they are reckoned about three hundred. The cause has been the great decrease of wild cattle, which has been such, that, far from getting, they now are but poor in their trade. When the bucaniers go into the woods to hunt for wild bulls and cows, they commonly remain there a twelvemonth or two years, without returning home. After the hunt is over, and the spoil divided, they commonly sail to Tortuga, to provide themselves with guns, powder, and shot, and other necessaries for another expedition; the rest of their gains they spend prodigally, giving themselves to all manner of vices and debauchery, particularly to drunkenness, which they practise mostly with brandy: this they drink as liberally as the Spaniards do water. Sometimes they buy together a pipe of wine; this they stave at one end, and never cease drinking till it is out. Thus sottishly they live till they have no money left. The said bucaniers are very cruel and tyrannical to their servants, so that commonly they had rather be galley-slaves, or saw Brazil wood in the rasphouses of Holland, than serve such barbarous masters. The second sort hunt nothing but wild boars; the flesh of these they salt, and sell it so to the planters. These hunters have the same vicious customs, and are as much addicted to debauchery as the former; but their manner of hunting is different from that in Europe; for these bucaniers have certain places designed for hunting, where they live for three or four months, and sometimes a whole year. Such places are called deza boulan; and in these, with only the company of five or six friends, they continue all the said time in mutual friendship. The first bucaniers many times agree with planters to furnish them with meat all the year at a certain price: the payment hereof is often made with two or three hundredweight of tobacco in the leaf; but the planters commonly into the bargain furnish them with a servant, whom they send to help. To the servant they afford sufficient necessaries for the purpose, especially of powder and shot to hunt withal. The planters here have but very few slaves; for want of which, themselves and their servants are constrained to do all the drudgery. These servants commonly bind themselves to their masters for three years; but their masters, having no consciences, often traffic with their bodies, as with horses at a fair, selling them to other masters as they sell negroes. Yea, to advance this trade, some persons go purposely into France (and likewise to England, and other countries) to pick up young men or boys, whom they inveigle and transport; and having once got them into these islands, they work them like horses, the toil imposed on them being much harder than what they enjoin the negroes, their slaves; for these they endeavour to preserve, being their perpetual bondmen: but for their white servants, they care not whether they live or die, seeing they are to serve them no longer than three years. These miserable kidnapped people are frequently subject to a disease, which in these parts is called coma, being a total privation of their senses. This distemper is judged to proceed from their hard usage, and the change of their native climate; and there being often among these some of good quality, tender education, and soft constitutions, they are more easily seized with this disease, and others of those countries, than those of harder bodies, and laborious lives. Beside the hard usage in their diet, apparel, and rest, many times they beat them so cruelly, that they fall down dead under the hands of their cruel masters. This I have often seen with great grief. Of the many instances, I shall only give you the following history, it being remarkable in its circumstances. A certain planter of these countries exercised such cruelty towards one of his servants, as caused him to run away. Having absconded, for some days, in the woods, at last he was taken, and brought back to the wicked Pharaoh. No sooner had he got him, but he commanded him to be tied to a tree; here he gave him so many lashes on his naked back, as made his body run with an entire stream of blood; then, to make the smart of his wounds the greater, he anointed him with lemon-juice, mixed with salt and pepper. In this miserable posture he left him tied to the tree for twenty-four hours, which being past, he began his punishment again, lashing him, as before, so cruelly, that the miserable wretch gave up the ghost, with these dying words: "I beseech the Almighty God, creator of heaven and earth, that he permit the wicked spirit to make thee feel as many torments before thy death, as thou hast caused me to feel before mine." A strange thing, and worthy of astonishment and admiration! Scarce three or four days were past, after this horrible fact, when the Almighty Judge, who had heard the cries of the tormented wretch, suffered the evil one suddenly to possess this barbarous and inhuman homicide, so that those cruel hands which had punished to death his innocent servant, were the tormentors of his own body: for he beat himself and tore his flesh, after a miserable manner, till he lost the very shape of a man; not ceasing to howl and cry, without any rest by day or night. Thus he continued raving mad, till he died. Many other examples of this kind I could rehearse; but these not belonging to our present discourse, I omit them. The planters of the Caribbee islands are rather worse, and more cruel to their servants, than the former. In the isle of St. Christopher dwells one named Bettesa, well known to the Dutch merchants, who has killed above a hundred of his servants with blows and stripes. The English do the same with their servants; and the mildest cruelty they exercise towards them is, that when they have served six years of their time (they being bound among the English for seven) they use them so cruelly, as to force them to beg of their masters to sell them to others, though it be to begin another servitude of seven years, or at least three or four. And I have known many, who have thus served fifteen or twenty years, before they could obtain their freedom. Another law, very rigorous in that nation, is, if any man owes another above twenty-five shillings English, if he cannot pay it, he is liable to be sold for six or eight months. Not to trouble the reader any longer with relations of this kind, I shall now describe the famous actions and exploits of the greatest pirates of my time, during my residence in those parts: these I shall relate without the least passion or partiality, and assure my reader that I shall give him no stories upon trust, or hearsay, but only those enterprises to which I was myself an eye-witness. CHAPTER IV _Original of the most famous pirates of the coasts of America--Famous exploit of Pierre le Grand._ I HAVE told you in the preceding chapters how I was compelled to adventure my life among the pirates of America; which sort of men I name so, because they are not authorized by any sovereign prince: for the kings of Spain having on several occasions sent their ambassadors to the kings of England and France, to complain of the molestations and troubles those pirates often caused on the coasts of America, even in the calm of peace; it hath always been answered, "that such men did not commit those acts of hostility and piracy as subjects to their majesties; and therefore his Catholic Majesty might proceed against them as he should think fit." The king of France added, "that he had no fortress nor castle upon Hispaniola, neither did he receive a farthing of tribute from thence." And the king of England adjoined, "that he had never given any commissions to those of Jamaica, to commit hostilities against the subjects of his Catholic Majesty." Nor did he only give this bare answer, but out of his royal desire to pleasure the court of Spain, recalled the governor of Jamaica, placing another in his room; all which could not prevent these pirates from acting as heretofore. But before I relate their bold actions, I shall say something of their rise and exercises; as also of the chiefest of them, and their manner of arming themselves before they put to sea. The first pirate that was known upon Tortuga was Pierre le Grand, or Peter the Great. He was born at Dieppe in Normandy. That action which rendered him famous was his taking the vice-admiral of the Spanish flota, near the Cape of Tiburon, on the west side of Hispaniola; this he performed with only one boat, and twenty-eight men. Now till that time the Spaniards had passed and repassed with all security, through the channel of Bahama; so that Pierre le Grand setting out to sea by the Caycos, he took this great ship with all the ease imaginable. The Spaniards they found aboard they set ashore, and sent the vessel to France. The manner how this undaunted spirit attempted and took this large ship I shall give you, out of the journal of the author, in his own words. "The boat," says he, "wherein Pierre le Grand was with his companions, had been at sea a long time without finding any prize worth his taking; and their provisions beginning to fail, they were in danger of starving. Being almost reduced to despair, they spied a great ship of the Spanish flota, separated from the rest; this vessel they resolved to take, or die in the attempt. Hereupon, they sailed towards her, to view her strength. And though they judged the vessel to be superior to theirs, yet their covetousness, and the extremity they were reduced to, made them venture. Being come so near that they could not possibly escape, they made an oath to their captain, Pierre le Grand, to stand by him to the last. 'Tis true, the pirates did believe they should find the ship unprovided to fight, and thereby the sooner master her. It was in the dusk of the evening they began to attack; but before they engaged, they ordered the surgeon of the boat to bore a hole in the sides of it, that their own vessel sinking under them, they might be compelled to attack more vigorously, and endeavour more hastily to board the ship. This was done accordingly, and without any other arms than a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, they immediately climbed up the sides of the ship, and ran altogether into the great cabin, where they found the captain, with several of his companions, playing at cards. Here they set a pistol to his breast, commanding him to deliver up the ship. The Spaniards, surprised to see the pirates on board their ship, cried 'Jesus bless us! are these devils, or what are they?' Meanwhile some of them took possession of the gun-room, and seized the arms, killing as many as made any opposition; whereupon the Spaniards presently surrendered. That very day the captain of the ship had been told by some of the seamen that the boat which was in view, cruising, was a boat of pirates; whom the captain slightly answered, 'What then, must I be afraid of such a pitiful thing as that is? No, though she were a ship as big and as strong as mine is.' As soon as Pierre le Grand had taken this rich prize, he detained in his service as many of the common seamen as he had need of, setting the rest ashore, and then set sail for France, where he continued, without ever returning to America again." [Illustration: "PIERRE LE GRAND COMMANDING THE SPANISH CAPTAIN TO SURRENDER THE SHIP"--_Page 36_] The planters and hunters of Tortuga had no sooner heard of the rich prize those pirates had taken, but they resolved to follow their example. Hereupon, many of them left their employments, and endeavoured to get some small boats, wherein to exercise piracy; but not being able to purchase, or build them at Tortuga, they resolved to set forth in their canoes, and seek them elsewhere. With these they cruised at first upon Cape de Alvarez, where the Spaniards used to trade from one city to another in small vessels, in which they carry hides, tobacco, and other commodities, to the Havannah, and to which the Spaniards from Europe do frequently resort. Here it was that those pirates at first took a great many boats laden with the aforesaid commodities; these they used to carry to Tortuga, and sell the whole purchase to the ships that waited for their return, or accidentally happened to be there. With the gains of these prizes they provided themselves with necessaries, wherewith to undertake other voyages, some of which were made to Campechy, and others toward New Spain; in both which the Spaniards then drove a great trade. Upon those coasts they found great numbers of trading vessels, and often ships of great burden. Two of the biggest of these vessels, and two great ships which the Spaniards had laden with plate in the port of Campechy, to go to the Caraccas, they took in less than a month's time, and carried to Tortuga; where the people of the whole island, encouraged by their success, especially seeing in two years the riches of the country so much increased, they augmented the number of pirates so fast, that in a little time there were, in that small island and port, above twenty ships of this sort of people. Hereupon the Spaniards, not able to bear their robberies any longer, equipped two large men-of-war, both for the defence of their own coasts, and to cruise upon the enemies. CHAPTER V _How the pirates arm their vessels, and regulate their voyages._ BEFORE the pirates go to sea, they give notice to all concerned, of the day on which they are to embark; obliging each man to bring so many pounds of powder and ball as they think necessary. Being all come aboard, they consider where to get provisions, especially flesh, seeing they scarce eat anything else; and of this the most common sort is pork; the next food is tortoises, which they salt a little: sometimes they rob such or such hog-yards, where the Spaniards often have a thousand head of swine together. They come to these places in the night, and having beset the keeper's lodge, they force him to rise, and give them as many heads as they desire, threatening to kill him if he refuses, or makes any noise; and these menaces are oftentimes executed on the miserable swine-keepers, or any other person that endeavours to hinder their robberies. Having got flesh sufficient for their voyage, they return to their ship: here they allow, twice a day, every one as much as he can eat, without weight or measure; nor does the steward of the vessel give any more flesh, or anything else, to the captain, than to the meanest mariner. The ship being well victualled, they deliberate whither they shall go to seek their desperate fortunes, and likewise agree upon certain articles, which are put in writing, which every one is bound to observe; and all of them, or the chiefest part, do set their hands to it. Here they set down distinctly what sums of money each particular person ought to have for that voyage, the fund of all the payments being what is gotten by the whole expedition; for otherwise it is the same law among these people as with other pirates. No prey, no pay. First, therefore, they mention how much the captain is to have for his ship; next, the salary of the carpenter, or shipwright, who careened, mended, and rigged the vessel: this commonly amounts to one hundred or one hundred and fifty pieces of eight, according to the agreement. Afterwards, for provisions and victualling, they draw out of the same common stock about two hundred pieces of eight; also a salary for the surgeon, and his chest of medicaments, which usually is rated at two hundred or two hundred and fifty pieces of eight. Lastly, they agree what rate each one ought to have that is either wounded or maimed in his body, suffering the loss of any limb; as, for the loss of a right arm, six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves; for the left arm, five hundred pieces of eight, or five slaves; for a right leg, five hundred pieces of eight, or five slaves; for the left leg, four hundred pieces of eight, or four slaves; for an eye, one hundred pieces of eight, or one slave; for a finger, the same as for an eye. All which sums are taken out of the common stock of what is gotten by their piracy, and a very exact and equal dividend is made of the remainder. They have also regard to qualities and places: thus the captain, or chief, is allotted five or six portions, to what the ordinary seamen have: the master's mate only two, and other officers proportionately to their employ: after which, they draw equal parts from the highest to the lowest mariner, the boys not being omitted, who draw half a share; because when they take a better vessel than their own, it is in the boys' duty to fire their former vessel, and then retire to the prize. They observe among themselves very good orders; for in the prizes which they take, it is severely prohibited, to every one, to take anything to themselves: hence all they take is equally divided, as hath been said before: yea, they take a solemn oath to each other, not to conceal the least thing they find among the prizes; and if any one is found false to the said oath, he is immediately turned out of the society. They are very civil and charitable to each other; so that if any one wants what another has, with great willingness they give it one to another. As soon as these pirates have taken a prize, they immediately set ashore the prisoners, detaining only some few, for their own help and service: whom, also, they release, after two or three years. They refresh themselves at one island or another, but especially at those on the south of Cuba; here they careen their vessels, while some hunt, and others cruise in canoes for prizes. The inhabitants of New Spain and Campechy lade their best merchandize in ships of great bulk: the vessels from Campechy sail in the winter to Caraccas, Trinity isles, and that of Margarita, and return back again in the summer. The pirates knowing these seasons (being very diligent in their inquiries) always cruise between the places above-mentioned; but in case they light on no considerable booty, they commonly undertake some more hazardous enterprises: one remarkable instance of which I shall here give you. A certain pirate called Pierre François, or Peter Francis, waiting a long time at sea with his boat and twenty-six men, for the ships that were to return from Maracaibo to Campechy, and not being able to find any prey, at last he resolved to direct his course to Rancheiras, near the River de la Plata, in 12 deg. and a half north latitude. Here lies a rich bank of pearl, to the fishery whereof they yearly sent from Carthagena twelve vessels with a man-of-war for their defence. Every vessel has at least two negroes in it, who are very dextrous in diving to the depth of six fathoms, where they find good store of pearls. On this fleet, called the pearl-fleet, Pierre François resolved to venture, rather than go home empty; they then rid at anchor at the mouth of the River de la Hacha, the man-of-war scarce half a league distant from the small ships, and the wind very calm. Having spied them in this posture, he presently pulled down his sails, and rowed along the coast feigning to be a Spanish vessel coming from Maracaibo; but no sooner was he come to the pearl-bank, when suddenly he assaulted the vice-admiral of eight guns and sixty men, commanding them to surrender. The Spaniards made a good defence for some time, but at last were forced to submit. Having thus taken the vice-admiral, he resolved to attempt the man-of-war, with which addition he hoped to master the rest of the fleet: to this end he presently sunk his own boat, putting forth the Spanish colours, and weighed anchor with a little wind which then began to stir, having with threats and promises compelled most of the Spaniards to assist him: but so soon as the man-of-war perceived one of his fleet to sail, he did so too, fearing lest the mariners designed to run away with the riches they had on board. The pirate on this immediately gave over the enterprise, thinking themselves unable to encounter force to force: hereupon they endeavoured to get out of the river and gain the open seas, by making as much sail as they could; which the man-of-war perceiving, he presently gave them chase, but the pirates having laid on too much sail, and a gust of wind suddenly rising, their main-mast was brought by the board, which disabled them from escaping. This unhappy event much encouraged those in the man-of-war, they gaining upon the pirates every moment, and at last overtook them; but finding they had twenty-two sound men, the rest being either killed or wounded, resolved to defend themselves as long as possible; this they performed very courageously for some time, till they were forced by the man-of-war, on condition that they should not be used as slaves to carry stones, or be employed in other labours for three or four years, as they served their negroes, but that they should be set safe ashore on free land. On these articles they yielded with all they had taken, which was worth, in pearls alone, above 100,000 pieces of eight, besides the vessel, provisions, goods, &c. All of which would have made this a greater prize than he could desire, which he had certainly carried off, if his main-mast had not been lost, as we said before. Another bold attempt like this, no less remarkable, I shall also give you. A certain pirate of Portugal, thence called Bartholomew Portugues, was cruising in a boat of thirty men and four small guns from Jamaica, upon the Cape de Corriente in Cuba, where he met a great ship from Maracaibo and Carthagena, bound for the Havannah, well provided with twenty great guns and seventy men, passengers and mariners; this ship he presently assaulted, which they on board as resolutely defended. The pirate escaping the first encounter, resolved to attack her more vigorously than before, seeing he had yet suffered no great damage: this he performed with so much resolution, that at last, after a long and dangerous fight, he became master of it. The Portuguese lost only ten men, and had four wounded; so that he had still remaining twenty fighting men, whereas the Spaniards had double the number. Having possessed themselves of the ship, the wind being contrary to return to Jamaica, they resolved to steer to Cape St. Anthony (which lies west of Cuba), there to repair and take in fresh water, of which they were then in great want. Being very near the cape abovesaid, they unexpectedly met with three great ships coming from New Spain, and bound for the Havannah; by these not being able to escape, they were easily retaken, both ship and pirates, and all made prisoners, and stripped of all the riches they had taken but just before. The cargo consisted in 120,000 weight of cocoa-nuts, the chief ingredient of chocolate, and 70,000 pieces of eight. Two days after this misfortune, there arose a great storm, which separated the ships from one another. The great vessel, where the pirates were, arrived at Campechy, where many considerable merchants came and saluted the captain; these presently knew the Portuguese pirate, being infamous for the many insolencies, robberies and murders he had committed on their coasts, which they kept fresh in their memory. The next day after their arrival, the magistrates of the city sent to demand the prisoners from on board the ship, in order to punish them according to their deserts; but fearing the captain of the pirates should make his escape (as he had formerly done, being their prisoner once before) they judged it safer to leave him guarded on ship-board for the present, while they erected a gibbet to hang him on the next day, without any other process than to lead him from the ship to his punishment; the rumour of which was presently brought to Bartholomew Portugues, whereby he sought all possible means to escape that night: with this design he took two earthen jars, wherein the Spaniards carry wine from Spain to the West Indies, and stopped them very well, intending to use them for swimming, as those unskilled in that art do corks or empty bladders; having made this necessary preparation, he waited when all should be asleep; but not being able to escape his sentinel's vigilance, he stabbed him with a knife he had secretly purchased, and then threw himself into the sea with the earthen jars before-mentioned, by the help of which, though he never learned to swim, he reached the shore, and immediately took to the woods, where he hid himself for three days, not daring to appear, eating no other food than wild herbs. [Illustration: "'PORTUGUES MADE THE BEST OF HIS WAY TO DEL GOLPHO TRISTE'"--_Page 46_] Those of the city next day made diligent search for him in the woods, where they concluded him to be. This strict inquiry Portugues saw from the hollow of a tree, wherein he lay hid; and upon their return he made the best of his way to del Golpho Triste, forty leagues from Campechy, where he arrived within a fortnight after his escape: during which time, as also afterwards, he endured extreme hunger and thirst, having no other provision with him than a small calabaca with a little water: besides the fears of falling again into the hands of the Spaniards. He eat nothing but a few shell-fish, which he found among the rocks near the seashore; and being obliged to pass some rivers, not knowing well how to swim, he found at last an old board which the waves had driven ashore, wherein were a few great nails; these he took, and with no small labour whetted on a stone, till he had made them like knives, though not so well; with these, and nothing else, he cut down some branches of trees, which with twigs and osiers he joined together, and made as well as he could a boat to waft him over the rivers: thus arriving at the Cape of Golpho Triste, as was said, he found a vessel of pirates, comrades of his own, lately come from Jamaica. To these he related all his adversities and misfortunes, and withal desired they would fit him with a boat and twenty men, with which company alone he promised to return to Campechy, and assault the ship that was in the river, by which he had been taken fourteen days before. They presently granted his request, and equipped him a boat accordingly. With this small company he set out to execute his design, which he bravely performed eight days after he left Golpho Triste; for being arrived at Campechy, with an undaunted courage, and without any noise, he assaulted the said ship: those on board thought it was a boat from land that came to bring contraband goods, and so were in no posture of defence; which opportunity the pirates laying hold of, assaulted them so resolutely, that in a little time they compelled the Spaniards to surrender. Being masters of the ship, they immediately weighed anchor and set sail from the port, lest they should be pursued by other vessels. This they did with the utmost joy, seeing themselves possessors of so brave a ship; especially Portugues, who by a second turn of fortune was become rich and powerful again, who was so lately in that same vessel a prisoner, condemned to be hanged. With this purchase he designed greater things, which he might have done, since there remained in the vessel so great a quantity of rich merchandise, though the plate had been sent to the city: but while he was making his voyage to Jamaica, near the isle of Pinos, on the south of Cuba, a terrible storm arose, which drove against the Jardines rocks, where she was lost; but Portugues, with his companions, escaped in a canoe, in which he arrived at Jamaica, where it was not long ere he went on new adventures, but was never fortunate after. Nor less considerable are the actions of another pirate who now lives at Jamaica, who on several occasions has performed very surprising things. He was born at Groninghen in the United Provinces. His own name not being known, his companions gave him that of Roche Brasiliano, by reason of his long residence in Brasil: hence he was forced to fly, when the Portuguese retook those countries from the Dutch, several nations then inhabiting at Brasil (as English, French, Dutch, and others), being constrained to seek new fortunes. This person fled to Jamaica, where, being at a stand how to get his living, he entered himself into the society of pirates, where he served as a private mariner for some time, and behaved himself so well, that he was beloved and respected by all. One day some of the mariners quarrelled with their captain to that degree, that they left the boat. Brasiliano following them, was chosen their leader, who having fitted out a small vessel, they made him captain. Within a few days after, he took a great ship coming from New Spain, which had a great quantity of plate on board, and carried it to Jamaica. This action got him a great reputation at home; and though in his private affairs he governed himself very well, he would oftentimes appear brutish and foolish when in drink, running up and down the streets, beating and wounding those he met, no person daring to make any resistance. To the Spaniards he was always very barbarous and cruel, out of an inveterate hatred against that nation. Of these he commanded several to be roasted alive on wooden spits, for not showing him hog-yards where he might steal swine. After many of these cruelties, as he was cruising on the coasts of Campechy, a dismal tempest surprised him so violently, that his ship was wrecked upon the coasts, the mariners only escaping with their muskets and some few bullets and powder, which were the only things they could save. The ship was lost between Campechy and the Golpho Triste: here they got ashore in a canoe, and, marching along the coast with all the speed they could, they directed their course towards Golpho Triste, the common refuge of the pirates. Being upon his journey, and all very hungry and thirsty, as is usual in desert places, they were pursued by a troop of an hundred Spaniards. Brasiliano, perceiving their imminent danger, encouraged his companions, telling them they were better soldiers, and ought rather to die under their arms fighting, as it became men of courage, than surrender to the Spaniards, who would take away their lives with the utmost torments. The pirates were but thirty; yet, seeing their brave commander oppose the enemy with such courage, resolved to do the like: hereupon they faced the troop of Spaniards, and discharged their muskets on them so dextrously, that they killed one horseman almost with every shot. The fight continued for an hour, till at last the Spaniards were put to flight. They stripped the dead, and took from them what was most for their use; such as were also not quite dead they dispatched with the ends of their muskets. Having vanquished the enemy, they mounted on horses they found in the field, and continued their journey; Brasiliano having lost but two of his companions in this bloody fight, and had two wounded. Prosecuting their way, before they came to the port they spied a boat at anchor from Campechy, well manned, protecting a few canoes that were lading wood: hereupon they sent six of their men to watch them, who next morning, by a wile, possessed themselves of the canoes. Having given notice to their companions, they boarded them, and also took the little man-of-war, their convoy. Being thus masters of this fleet, they wanted only provisions, of which they found little aboard those vessels: but this defect was supplied by the horses, which they killed, and salted with salt, which by good fortune the wood-cutters had brought with them, with which they supported themselves till they could get better. They took also another ship going from New Spain to Maracaibo, laden with divers sorts of merchandise and pieces of eight, designed to buy cocoa-nuts for their lading home: all these they carried to Jamaica, where they safely arrived, and, according to custom, wasted all in a few days in taverns, giving themselves to all manner of debauchery. Such of these pirates will spend two or three thousand pieces of eight in a night, not leaving themselves a good shirt to wear in the morning. My own master would buy sometimes a pipe of wine, and, placing it in the street, would force those that passed by to drink with him, threatening also to pistol them if they would not. He would do the like with barrels of beer or ale; and very often he would throw these liquors about the streets, and wet peoples' clothes without regarding whether he spoiled their apparel. Among themselves these pirates are very liberal: if any one has lost all, which often happens in their manner of life, they freely give him of what they have. In taverns and alehouses they have great credit; but at Jamaica they ought not to run very deep in debt, seeing the inhabitants there easily sell one another for debt. This happened to my patron, to be sold for a debt of a tavern wherein he had spent the greatest part of his money. This man had, within three months before, three thousand pieces of eight in ready cash, all which he wasted in that little time, and became as poor as I have told you. But to return Brasiliano, after having spent all, was forced to go to sea again to seek his fortune. He set forth towards the coast of Campechy, his common rendezvous: fifteen days after his arrival, he put himself into a canoe to espy the port of that city, and see if he could rob any Spanish vessel; but his fortune was so bad, that both he and all his men were taken and carried before the governor, who immediately cast them into a dungeon, intending to hang them every one; and doubtless he had done so, but for a stratagem of Brasiliano, which saved their lives. He wrote a letter to the governor, in the names of other pirates that were abroad at sea, telling them he should have a care how he used those persons he had in custody; for if he hurt them in the least, they swore they would never give quarter to any Spaniard that should fall into their hands. These pirates having been often at Campechy, and other places of the West Indies in the Spanish dominions, the governor feared what mischief their companions abroad might do, if he should punish them. Hereupon he released them, exacting only an oath on them that they would leave their exercise of piracy for ever; and withal he sent them as common mariners, in the galleons, to Spain. They got in this voyage, all together, five hundred pieces of eight; so that they tarried not long there after their arrival. Providing themselves with necessaries, they returned to Jamaica, from whence they set forth again to sea, committing greater robberies and cruelties than before; but especially abusing the poor Spaniards, who fell into their hands, with all sorts of cruelty. The Spaniards, finding they could gain nothing on these people, nor diminish their number, daily resolved to lessen the number of their trading ships. But neither was this of any service; for the pirates, finding few ships at sea, began to gather into companies, and to land on their dominions, ruining cities, towns, and villages; pillaging, burning, and carrying away as much as they could. The first pirate who began these invasions by land was Lewis Scot, who sacked the city of Campechy, which he almost ruined, robbing and destroying all he could; and after he had put it to an excessive ransom, he left it. After Scot came another named Mansvelt, who invaded Granada, and penetrated even to the South Sea; till at last, for want of provision, he was forced to go back. He assaulted the isle of St. Catherine, which he took, with a few prisoners. These directed him to Carthagena, a principal city in Neuva Granada. But the bold attempts and actions of John Davis, born at Jamaica, ought not to be forgotten, being some of the most remarkable; especially his rare prudence and valour showed in the fore-mentioned kingdom of Granada. This pirate, having long cruised in the Gulf of Pocatauro, on the ships expected to Carthagena, bound for Nicaragua, and not meeting any of them, resolved at last to land in Nicaragua, leaving his ship hid on the coast. This design he soon executed; for taking eighty men out of ninety, which he had in all--and the rest he left to keep the ship--he divided them equally into three canoes. His intent was to rob the churches, and rifle the houses of the chief citizens of Nicaragua. Thus in the dark night they entered the river leading to that city, rowing in their canoes; by day they hid themselves and boats under the branches of trees, on the banks, which grow very thick along the river-sides in those countries, and along the sea-coast. Being arrived at the city the third night, the sentinel, who kept the post of the river, thought them to be fishermen that had been fishing in the lake: and most of the pirates understanding Spanish, he doubted not, as soon as he heard them speak. They had in their company an Indian who had run away from his master, who would have enslaved him unjustly. He went first ashore, and instantly killed the sentinel: this done, they entered the city, and went directly to three or four houses of the chief citizens, where they knocked softly. These, believing them to be friends, opened the doors; and the pirates, suddenly possessing themselves of the houses, stole all the money and plate they could find. Nor did they spare the churches and most sacred things; all of which were pillaged and profaned, without any respect or veneration. Meanwhile, great cries and lamentations were heard of some who had escaped them; so that the whole city was in an uproar, and all the citizens rallied in order, to a defence; which the pirates perceiving, they instantly fled, carrying away their booty, and some prisoners: these they led away, that if any of them should be taken by the Spaniards, they might use them for ransom. Thus they got to their ship, and with all speed put to sea, forcing the prisoners, before they let them go, to procure them as much flesh as was necessary for their voyage to Jamaica. But no sooner had they weighed anchor, when they saw a troop of about five hundred Spaniards, all well armed, at the sea-side: against these they let fly several guns, wherewith they forced them to quit the sands, and retire, with no small regret to see these pirates carry away so much plate of their churches and houses, though distant at least forty leagues from the sea. These pirates got, on this occasion, above four thousand pieces of eight in money, besides much plate, and many jewels; in all, to the value of fifty thousand pieces of eight, or more: with all this they arrived at Jamaica soon after. But this sort of people being never long masters of their money, they were soon constrained to seek more by the same means; and Captain John Davis, presently after his return, was chosen admiral of seven or eight vessels, he being now esteemed an able conductor for such enterprises. He began his new command by directing his fleet to the north of Cuba, there to wait for the fleet from New Spain; but missing his design, they determined for Florida. Being arrived there, they landed their men, and sacked a small city named St. Augustine of Florida. The castle had a garrison of two hundred men, but could not prevent the pillage of the city, they effecting it without the least damage from the soldiers or townsmen. CHAPTER VI _Of the origin of Francis Lolonois, and the beginning of his robberies._ FRANCIS LOLONOIS was a native of that territory in France which is called Les Sables d'Olone, or The Sands of Olone. In his youth he was transported to the Caribbee islands, in quality of servant, or slave, according to custom; of which we have already spoken. Being out of his time, he came to Hispaniola; here he joined for some time with the hunters, before he began his robberies upon the Spaniards, which I shall now relate, till his unfortunate death. At first he made two or three voyages as a common mariner, wherein he behaved himself so courageously as to gain the favour of the governor of Tortuga, Monsieur de la Place; insomuch that he gave him a ship, in which he might seek his fortune, which was very favourable to him at first; for in a short time he got great riches. But his cruelties against the Spaniards were such, that the fame of them made him so well known through the Indies, that the Spaniards, in his time, would choose rather to die, or sink fighting, than surrender, knowing they should have no mercy at his hands. But Fortune, being seldom constant, after some time turned her back; for in a huge storm he lost his ship on the coast of Campechy. The men were all saved, but coming upon dry land, the Spaniards pursued them, and killed the greatest part, wounding also Lolonois. Not knowing how to escape, he saved his life by a stratagem; mingling sand with the blood of his wounds, with which besmearing his face, and other parts of his body, and hiding himself dextrously among the dead, he continued there till the Spaniards quitted the field. They being gone, he retired to the woods, and bound up his wounds as well as he could. These being pretty well healed, he took his way to Campechy, having disguised himself in a Spanish habit; here he enticed certain slaves, to whom he promised liberty if they would obey him and trust to his conduct. They accepted his promises, and stealing a canoe, they went to sea with him. Now the Spaniards, having made several of his companions prisoners, kept them close in a dungeon, while Lolonois went about the town and saw what passed. These were often asked, "What is become of your captain?" To whom they constantly answered, "He is dead:" which rejoiced the Spaniards, who made bonfires, and, knowing nothing to the contrary, gave thanks to God for their deliverance from such a cruel pirate. Lolonois, having seen these rejoicings for his death, made haste to escape, with the slaves above-mentioned, and came safe to Tortuga, the common refuge of all sorts of wickedness, and the seminary, as it were, of pirates and thieves. Though now his fortune was low, yet he got another ship with craft and subtlety, and in it twenty-one men. Being well provided with arms and necessaries, he set forth for Cuba, on the south whereof is a small village, called De los Cayos. The inhabitants drive a great trade in tobacco, sugar, and hides, and all in boats, not being able to use ships, by reason of the little depth of that sea. Lolonois was persuaded he should get here some considerable prey; but by the good fortune of some fishermen who saw him, and the mercy of God, they escaped him: for the inhabitants of the town dispatched immediately a vessel overland to the Havannah, complaining that Lolonois was come to destroy them with two canoes. The governor could very hardly believe this, having received letters from Campechy that he was dead: but, at their importunity, he sent a ship to their relief, with ten guns, and ninety men, well armed; giving them this express command, "that they should not return into his presence without having totally destroyed those pirates." To this effect he gave them a negro to serve for a hangman, and orders, "that they should immediately hang every one of the pirates, excepting Lolonois, their captain, whom they should bring alive to the Havannah." This ship arrived at Cayos, of whose coming the pirates were advertised beforehand, and instead of flying, went to seek it in the river Estera, where she rode at anchor. The pirates seized some fishermen, and forced them by night to show them the entry of the port, hoping soon to obtain a greater vessel than their two canoes, and thereby to mend their fortune. They arrived, after two in the morning, very nigh the ship; and the watch on board the ship asking them, whence they came, and if they had seen any pirates abroad? They caused one of the prisoners to answer, they had seen no pirates, nor anything else. Which answer made them believe that they were fled upon hearing of their coming. But they soon found the contrary, for about break of day the pirates assaulted the vessel on both sides, with their two canoes, with such vigour, that though the Spaniards behaved themselves as they ought, and made as good defence as they could, making some use of their great guns, yet they were forced to surrender, being beaten by the pirates, with sword in hand, down under the hatches. From hence Lolonois commanded them to be brought up, one by one, and in this order caused their heads to be struck off: among the rest came up the negro, designed to be the pirates' executioner; this fellow implored mercy at his hands very dolefully, telling Lolonois he was constituted hangman of that ship, and if he would spare him, he would tell him faithfully all that he should desire. Lolonois, making him confess what he thought fit, commanded him to be murdered with the rest. Thus he cruelly and barbarously put them all to death, reserving only one alive, whom he sent back to the governor of the Havannah, with this message in writing: "I shall never henceforward give quarter to any Spaniard whatsoever; and I have great hopes I shall execute on your own person the very same punishment I have done upon them you sent against me. Thus I have retaliated the kindness you designed to me and my companions." The governor, much troubled at this sad news, swore, in the presence of many, that he would never grant quarter to any pirate that should fall into his hands. But the citizens of the Havannah desired him not to persist in the execution of that rash and rigorous oath, seeing the pirates would certainly take occasion from thence to do the same, and they had an hundred times more opportunity of revenge than he; that being necessitated to get their livelihood by fishery, they should hereafter always be in danger of their lives. By these reasons he was persuaded to bridle his anger, and remit the severity of his oath. Now Lolonois had got a good ship, but very few provisions and people in it; to purchase both which, he resolved to cruise from one port to another. Doing thus, for some time, without success, he determined to go to the port of Maracaibo. Here he surprised a ship laden with plate, and other merchandises, outward bound, to buy cocoa-nuts. With this prize he returned to Tortuga, where he was received with joy by the inhabitants; they congratulating his happy success, and their own private interest. He stayed not long there, but designed to equip a fleet sufficient to transport five hundred men, and necessaries. Thus provided, he resolved to pillage both cities, towns, and villages, and finally, to take Maracaibo itself. For this purpose he knew the island of Tortuga would afford him many resolute and courageous men, fit for such enterprises: besides, he had in his service several prisoners well acquainted with the ways and places designed upon. CHAPTER VII _Lolonois equips a fleet to land upon the Spanish islands of America, with intent to rob, sack and burn whatsoever he met with._ OF this design Lolonois giving notice to all the pirates, whether at home or abroad, he got together, in a little while, above four hundred men; beside which, there was then in Tortuga another pirate, named Michael de Basco, who, by his piracy, had got riches sufficient to live at ease, and go no more abroad; having, withal, the office of major of the island. But seeing the great preparations that Lolonois made for this expedition, he joined him, and offered him, that if he would make him his chief captain by land (seeing he knew the country very well, and all its avenues) he would share in his fortunes, and go with him. They agreed upon articles to the great joy of Lolonois, knowing that Basco had done great actions in Europe, and had the repute of a good soldier. Thus they all embarked in eight vessels, that of Lolonois being the greatest, having ten guns of indifferent carriage. All things being ready, and the whole company on board, they set sail together about the end of April, being, in all, six hundred and sixty persons. They steered for that part called Bayala, north of Hispaniola: here they took into their company some French hunters, who voluntarily offered themselves, and here they provided themselves with victuals and necessaries for their voyage. From hence they sailed again the last of July, and steered directly to the eastern cape of the isle called Punta d'Espada. Hereabouts espying a ship from Puerto Rico, bound for New Spain, laden with cocoa-nuts, Lolonois commanded the rest of the fleet to wait for him near Savona, on the east of Cape Punta d'Espada, he alone intending to take the said vessel. The Spaniards, though they had been in sight full two hours, and knew them to be pirates, yet would not flee, but prepared to fight, being well armed, and provided. The combat lasted three hours, and then they surrendered. This ship had sixteen guns, and fifty fighting men aboard: they found in her 120,000 weight of cocoa, 40,000 pieces of eight, and the value of 10,000 more in jewels. Lolonois sent the vessel presently to Tortuga to be unladed, with orders to return as soon as possible to Savona, where he would wait for them: meanwhile, the rest of the fleet being arrived at Savona, met another Spanish vessel coming from Coman, with military provisions to Hispaniola, and money to pay the garrisons there. This vessel they also took, without any resistance, though mounted with eight guns. In it were 7,000 weight of powder, a great number of muskets, and like things, with 12,000 pieces of eight. These successes encouraged the pirates, they seeming very lucky beginnings, especially finding their fleet pretty well recruited in a little time: for the first ship arriving at Tortuga, the governor ordered it to be instantly unladen, and soon after sent back, with fresh provisions, and other necessaries, to Lolonois. This ship he chose for himself, and gave that which he commanded to his comrade, Anthony du Puis. Being thus recruited with men in lieu of them he had lost in taking the prizes, and by sickness, he found himself in a good condition to set sail for Maracaibo, in the province of Neuva Venezuela, in the latitude of 12 deg. 10 min. north. This island is twenty leagues long, and twelve broad. To this port also belong the islands of Onega and Monges. The east side thereof is called Cape St. Roman, and the western side Cape of Caquibacoa: the gulf is called, by some, the Gulf of Venezuela, but the pirates usually call it the Bay of Maracaibo. At the entrance of this gulf are two islands extending from east to west; that towards the east is called Isla de las Vigilias, or the Watch Isle; because in the middle is a high hill, on which stands a watch-house. The other is called Isla de la Palomas, or the Isle of Pigeons. Between these two islands runs a little sea, or rather lake of fresh water, sixty leagues long, and thirty broad; which disgorging itself into the ocean, dilates itself about the said two islands. Between them is the best passage for ships, the channel being no broader than the flight of a great gun, of about eight pounds. On the Isle of Pigeons standeth a castle, to impede the entry of vessels, all being necessitated to come very nigh the castle, by reason of two banks of sand on the other side, with only fourteen feet water. Many other banks of sand there are in this lake; as that called El Tablazo, or the Great Table, no deeper than ten feet, forty leagues within the lake; others there are, that have no more than six, seven, or eight feet in depth: all are very dangerous, especially to mariners unacquainted with them. West hereof is the city of Maracaibo, very pleasant to the view, its houses being built along the shore, having delightful prospects all round: the city may contain three or four thousand persons, slaves included, all which make a town of reasonable bigness. There are judged to be about eight hundred persons able to bear arms, all Spaniards. Here are one parish church, well built and adorned, four monasteries, and one hospital. The city is governed by a deputy governor, substituted by the governor of the Caraccas. The trade here exercised is mostly in hides and tobacco. The inhabitants possess great numbers of cattle, and many plantations, which extend thirty leagues in the country, especially towards the great town of Gibraltar, where are gathered great quantities of cocoa-nuts, and all other garden fruits, which serve for the regale and sustenance of the inhabitants of Maracaibo, whose territories are much drier than those of Gibraltar. Hither those of Maracaibo send great quantities of flesh, they making returns in oranges, lemons, and other fruits; for the inhabitants of Gibraltar want flesh, their fields not being capable of feeding cows or sheep. Before Maracaibo is a very spacious and secure port, wherein may be built all sorts of vessels, having great convenience of timber, which may be transported thither at little charge. Nigh the town lies also a small island called Borrica, where they feed great numbers of goats, which cattle the inhabitants use more for their skins than their flesh or milk; they slighting these two, unless while they are tender and young kids. In the fields are fed some sheep, but of a very small size. In some islands of the lake, and in other places hereabouts, are many savage Indians, called by the Spaniards bravoes, or wild: these could never be reduced by the Spaniards, being brutish, and untameable. They dwell mostly towards the west side of the lake, in little huts built on trees growing in the water; so to keep themselves from innumerable mosquitoes, or gnats, which infest and torment them night and day. To the east of the said lake are whole towns of fishermen, who likewise live in huts built on trees, as the former. Another reason of this dwelling, is the frequent inundations; for after great rains, the land is often overflown for two or three leagues, there being no less than twenty-five great rivers that feed this lake. The town of Gibraltar is also frequently drowned by these, so that the inhabitants are constrained to retire to their plantations. Gibraltar, situate at the side of the lake about forty leagues within it, receives its provisions of flesh, as has been said, from Maracaibo. The town is inhabited by about 1,500 persons, whereof four hundred may bear arms; the greatest part of them keep shops, wherein they exercise one trade or another. In the adjacent fields are numerous plantations of sugar and cocoa, in which are many tall and beautiful trees, of whose timber houses may be built, and ships. Among these are many handsome and proportionable cedars, seven or eight feet about, of which they can build boats and ships, so as to bear only one great sail; such vessels being called piraguas. The whole country is well furnished with rivers and brooks, very useful in droughts, being then cut into many little channels to water their fields and plantations. They plant also much tobacco, well esteemed in Europe, and for its goodness is called there tobacco de sacerdotes, or priest's tobacco. They enjoy nigh twenty leagues of jurisdiction, which is bounded by very high mountains perpetually covered with snow. On the other side of these mountains is situate a great city called Merida, to which the town of Gibraltar is subject. All merchandise is carried hence to the aforesaid city on mules, and that but at one season of the year, by reason of the excessive cold in those high mountains. On the said mules returns are made in flour of meal, which comes from towards Peru, by the way of Estaffe. Thus far I thought good to make a short description of the lake of Maracaibo, that my reader might the better comprehend what I shall say concerning the actions of pirates in this place, as follows. Lolonois arriving at the gulf of Venezuela, cast anchor with his whole fleet out of sight of the Vigilia or Watch Isle; next day very early he set sail thence with all his ships for the lake of Maracaibo, where they cast anchor again; then they landed their men, with design to attack first the fortress that commanded the bar, therefore called de la barra. This fort consists only of several great baskets of earth placed on a rising ground, planted with sixteen great guns, with several other heaps of earth round about for covering their men: the pirates having landed a league off this fort, advanced by degrees towards it; but the governor having espied their landing, had placed an ambuscade to cut them off behind, while he should attack them in front. This the pirates discovered, and getting before, they defeated it so entirely, that not a man could retreat to the castle: this done, Lolonois, with his companions, advanced immediately to the fort, and after a fight of almost three hours, with the usual desperation of this sort of people, they became masters thereof, without any other arms than swords and pistols: while they were fighting, those who were the routed ambuscade, not being able to get into the castle, retired into Maracaibo in great confusion and disorder, crying "The pirates will presently be here with two thousand men and more." The city having formerly been taken by this kind of people, and sacked to the uttermost, had still an idea of that misery; so that upon these dismal news they endeavoured to escape towards Gibraltar in their boats and canoes, carrying with them all the goods and money they could. Being come to Gibraltar, they told how the fortress was taken, and nothing had been saved, nor any persons escaped. The castle thus taken by the pirates, they presently signified to the ships their victory, that they should come farther in without fear of danger: the rest of that day was spent in ruining and demolishing the said castle. They nailed the guns, and burnt as much as they could not carry away, burying the dead, and sending on board the fleet the wounded. Next day, very early, they weighed anchor, and steered altogether towards Maracaibo, about six leagues distant from the fort; but the wind failing that day, they could advance little, being forced to expect the tide. Next morning they came in sight of the town, and prepared for landing under the protection of their own guns, fearing the Spaniards might have laid an ambuscade in the woods: they put their men into canoes, brought for that purpose, and landed where they thought most convenient, shooting still furiously with their great guns: of those in the canoes, half only went ashore, the other half remained aboard; they fired from the ships as fast as possible, towards the woody part of the shore, but could discover nobody; then they entered the town, whose inhabitants, as I told you, were retired to the woods, and Gibraltar, with their wives, children, and families. Their houses they left well provided with victuals, as flour, bread, pork, brandy, wines, and poultry, with these the pirates fell to making good cheer, for in four weeks before they had no opportunity of filling their stomachs with such plenty. They instantly possessed themselves of the best houses in the town, and placed sentinels wherever they thought convenient; the great church served them for their main guard. Next day they sent out an hundred and sixty men to find out some of the inhabitants in the woods thereabouts; these returned the same night, bringing with them 20,000 pieces of eight, several mules laden with household goods and merchandise, and twenty prisoners, men, women, and children. Some of these were put to the rack, to make them confess where they had hid the rest of the goods; but they could extort very little from them. Lolonois, who valued not murdering, though in cold blood, ten or twelve Spaniards, drew his cutlass, and hacked one to pieces before the rest, saying, "If you do not confess and declare where you have hid the rest of your goods, I will do the like to all your companions." At last, amongst these horrible cruelties and inhuman threats, one promised to show the place where the rest of the Spaniards were hid; but those that were fled, having intelligence of it, changed place, and buried the remnant of their riches underground, so that the pirates could not find them out, unless some of their own party should reveal them; besides, the Spaniards flying from one place to another every day, and often changing woods, were jealous even of each other, so as the father durst scarce trust his own son. After the pirates had been fifteen days in Maracaibo, they resolved for Gibraltar; but the inhabitants having received intelligence thereof, and that they intended afterwards to go to Merida, gave notice of it to the governor there, who was a valiant soldier, and had been an officer in Flanders. His answer was, "he would have them take no care, for he hoped in a little while to exterminate the said pirates." Whereupon he came to Gibraltar with four hundred men well armed, ordering at the same time the inhabitants to put themselves in arms, so that in all he made eight hundred fighting men. With the same speed he raised a battery toward the sea, mounted with twenty guns, covered with great baskets of earth: another battery he placed in another place, mounted with eight guns. This done, he barricaded a narrow passage to the town through which the pirates must pass, opening at the same time another through much dirt and mud into the wood totally unknown to the pirates. The pirates, ignorant of these preparations, having embarked all their prisoners and booty, took their way towards Gibraltar. Being come in sight of the place, they saw the royal standard hanging forth, and that those of the town designed to defend their houses. Lolonois seeing this, called a council of war what they ought to do, telling his officers and mariners, "That the difficulty of the enterprise was very great, seeing the Spaniards had had so much time to put themselves in a posture of defence, and had got a good body of men together, with much ammunition; but notwithstanding," said he, "have a good courage; we must either defend ourselves like good soldiers, or lose our lives with all the riches we have got. Do as I shall do who am your captain: at other times we have fought with fewer men than we have in our company at present, and yet we have overcome greater numbers than there possibly can be in this town: the more they are, the more glory and the greater riches we shall gain." The pirates supposed that all the riches of the inhabitants of Maracaibo were transported to Gibraltar, or at least the greatest part. After this speech, they all promised to follow, and obey him. Lolonois made answer, "'Tis well; but know ye, withal, that the first man who shall show any fear, or the least apprehension thereof, I will pistol him with my own hands." With this resolution they cast anchor nigh the shore, near three-quarters of a league from the town: next day before sun-rising, they landed three hundred and eighty men well provided, and armed every one with a cutlass, and one or two pistols, and sufficient powder and bullet for thirty charges. Here they all shook hands in testimony of good courage, and began their march, Lolonois speaking thus, "Come, my brethren, follow me, and have good courage." They followed their guide, who, believing he led them well, brought them to the way which the governor had barricaded. Not being able to pass that way, they went to the other newly made in the wood among the mire, which the Spaniards could shoot into at pleasure; but the pirates, full of courage, cut down the branches of trees and threw them on the way, that they might not stick in the dirt. Meanwhile, those of Gibraltar fired with their great guns so furiously, they could scarce hear nor see for the noise and smoke. Being passed the wood, they came on firm ground, where they met with a battery of six guns, which immediately the Spaniards discharged upon them, all loaded with small bullets and pieces of iron; and the Spaniards sallying forth, set upon them with such fury, as caused the pirates to give way, few of them caring to advance towards the fort, many of them being already killed and wounded. This made them go back to seek another way; but the Spaniards having cut down many trees to hinder the passage, they could find none, but were forced to return to that they had left. Here the Spaniards continued to fire as before, nor would they sally out of their batteries to attack them any more. Lolonois and his companions not being able to grimp up the baskets of earth, were compelled to use an old stratagem, wherewith at last they deceived and overcame the Spaniards. Lolonois retired suddenly with all his men, making show as if he fled; hereupon the Spaniards crying out "They flee, they flee, let us follow them," sallied forth with great disorder to the pursuit. Being drawn to some distance from the batteries, which was the pirates only design, they turned upon them unexpectedly with sword in hand, and killed above two hundred men; and thus fighting their way through those who remained, they possessed themselves of the batteries. The Spaniards that remained abroad, giving themselves over for lost, fled to the woods: those in the battery of eight guns surrendered themselves, obtaining quarter for their lives. The pirates being now become masters of the town, pulled down the Spanish colours and set up their own, taking prisoners as many as they could find. These they carried to the great church, where they raised a battery of several great guns, fearing lest the Spaniards that were fled should rally, and come upon them again; but next day, being all fortified, their fears were over. They gathered the dead to bury them, being above five hundred Spaniards, besides the wounded in the town, and those that died of their wounds in the woods. The pirates had also above one hundred and fifty prisoners, and nigh five hundred slaves, many women and children. Of their own companions only forty were killed, and almost eighty wounded, whereof the greatest part died through the bad air, which brought fevers and other illness. They put the slain Spaniards into two great boats, and carrying them a quarter of a league to sea, they sunk the boats; this done, they gathered all the plate, household stuff, and merchandise they could, or thought convenient to carry away. The Spaniards who had anything left had hid it carefully: but the unsatisfied pirates, not contented with the riches they had got, sought for more goods and merchandise, not sparing those who lived in the fields, such as hunters and planters. They had scarce been eighteen days on the place, when the greatest part of the prisoners died for hunger. For in the town were few provisions, especially of flesh, though they had some, but no sufficient quantity of flour of meal, and this the pirates had taken for themselves, as they also took the swine, cows, sheep, and poultry, without allowing any share to the poor prisoners; for these they only provided some small quantity of mules' and asses' flesh; and many who could not eat of that loathsome provision died for hunger, their stomachs not being accustomed to such sustenance. Of the prisoners many also died under the torment they sustained to make them discover their money or jewels; and of these, some had none, nor knew of none, and others denying what they knew, endured such horrible deaths. Finally, after having been in possession of the town four entire weeks, they sent four of the prisoners to the Spaniards that were fled to the woods, demanding of them a ransom for not burning the town. The sum demanded was 10,000 pieces of eight, which if not sent, they threatened to reduce it to ashes. For bringing in this money, they allowed them only two days; but the Spaniards not having been able to gather so punctually such a sum, the pirates fired many parts of the town; whereupon the inhabitants begged them to help quench the fire, and the ransom should be readily paid. The pirates condescended, helping as much as they could to stop the fire; but, notwithstanding all their best endeavours, one part of the town was ruined, especially the church belonging to the monastery was burnt down. After they had received the said sum, they carried aboard all the riches they had got, with a great number of slaves which had not paid the ransom; for all the prisoners had sums of money set upon them, and the slaves were also commanded to be redeemed. Hence they returned to Maracaibo, where being arrived, they found a general consternation in the whole city, to which they sent three or four prisoners to tell the governor and inhabitants, "they should bring them 30,000 pieces of eight aboard their ships, for a ransom of their houses, otherwise they should be sacked anew and burnt." Among these debates a party of pirates came on shore, and carried away the images, pictures, and bells of the great church, aboard the fleet. The Spaniards who were sent to demand the sum aforesaid returned, with orders to make some agreement; who concluded with the pirates to give for their ransom and liberty 20,000 pieces of eight, and five hundred cows, provided that they should commit no farther hostilities, but depart thence presently after payment of money and cattle. The one and the other being delivered, the whole fleet set sail, causing great joy to the inhabitants of Maracaibo, to see themselves quit of them: but three days after they renewed their fears with admiration, seeing the pirates appear again, and re-enter the port with all their ships: but these apprehensions vanished, upon hearing one of the pirate's errand, who came ashore from Lolonois, "to demand a skilful pilot to conduct one of the greatest ships over the dangerous bank that lieth at the very entry of the lake." Which petition, or rather command, was instantly granted. They had now been full two months in those towns, wherein they committed those cruel and insolent actions we have related. Departing thence, they took their course to Hispaniola, and arrived there in eight days, casting anchor in a port called Isla de la Vacca, or Cow Island. This island is inhabited by French bucaniers, who mostly sell the flesh they hunt to pirates and others, who now and then put in there to victual, or trade. Here they unladed their whole cargazon of riches, the usual storehouse of the pirates being commonly under the shelter of the bucaniers. Here they made a dividend of all their prizes and gains, according to the order and degree of every one, as has been mentioned before. Having made an exact calculation of all their plunder, they found in ready money 260,000 pieces of eight: this being divided, every one received for his share in money, as also in silk, linen, and other commodities, to the value of above 100 pieces of eight. Those who had been wounded received their first part, after the rate mentioned before, for the loss of their limbs: then they weighed all the plate uncoined, reckoning ten pieces of eight to a pound; the jewels were prized indifferently, either too high or too low, by reason of their ignorance: this done, every one was put to his oath again, that he had not smuggled anything from the common stock. Hence they proceeded to the dividend of the shares of such as were dead in battle, or otherwise: these shares were given to their friends, to be kept entire for them, and to be delivered in due time to their nearest relations, or their apparent lawful heirs. The whole dividend being finished, they set sail for Tortuga: here they arrived a month after, to the great joy of most of the island; for as to the common pirates, in three weeks they had scarce any money left, having spent it all in things of little value, or lost it at play. Here had arrived, not long before them, two French ships, with wine and brandy, and suchlike commodities; whereby these liquors, at the arrival of the pirates, were indifferent cheap. But this lasted not long, for soon after they were enhanced extremely, a gallon of brandy being sold for four pieces of eight. The governor of the island bought of the pirates the whole cargo of the ship laden with cocoa, giving for that rich commodity scarce the twentieth part of its worth. Thus they made shift to lose and spend the riches they had got, in much less time than they were purchased: the taverns and stews, according to the custom of pirates, got the greatest part; so that, soon after, they were forced to seek more by the same unlawful means they had got the former. CHAPTER VIII _Lolonois makes new preparations to make the city of St. James de Leon; as also that of Nicaragua; where he miserably perishes._ LOLONOIS had got great repute at Tortuga by this last voyage, because he brought home such considerable profit; and now he need take no great care to gather men to serve under him, more coming in voluntarily than he could employ; every one reposing such confidence in his conduct that they judged it very safe to expose themselves, in his company, to the greatest dangers. He resolved therefore a second voyage to the parts of Nicaragua, to pillage there as many towns as he could. Having published his new preparations, he had all his men together at the time, being about seven hundred. Of these he put three hundred aboard the ship he took at Maracaibo, and the rest in five other vessels of lesser burthen; so that they were in all six ships. The first port they went to was Bayaha in Hispaniola, to victual the fleet, and take in provisions; which done, they steered their course to a port called Matamana, on the south side of Cuba, intending to take here all the canoes they could; these coasts being frequented by the fishers of tortoises, who carry them hence to the Havannah. They took as many of them, to the great grief of those miserable people, as they thought necessary; for they had great use for these small bottoms, by reason the port they designed for had not depth enough for ships of any burthen. Hence they took their course towards the cape Gracias à Dios on the continent, in latitude 15 deg. north, one hundred leagues from the Island de los Pinos. Being at sea, they were taken with a sad and tedious calm, and, by the agitation of the waves alone, were thrown into the gulf of Honduras: here they laboured hard in vain to regain what they had lost, both the waters and the winds being contrary; besides, the ship wherein Lolonois was embarked could not follow the rest; and what was worse, they wanted provisions. Hereupon, they were forced to put into the first port they could reach, to revictual: so they entered with their canoes into the river Xagua, inhabited by Indians, whom they totally destroyed, finding great quantities of millet, and many hogs and hens: not contented with which, they determined to remain there till the bad weather was over, and to pillage all the towns and villages along the coast of the gulf. Thus they passed from one place to another, seeking still more provisions, with which they were not sufficiently supplied. Having searched and rifled many villages, where they found no great matter, they came at last to Puerto Cavallo: here the Spaniards have two storehouses to keep the merchandises that are brought from the inner parts of the country, till the arrival of the ships. There was then in the port a Spanish ship of twenty-four guns, and sixteen pedreros or mortar-pieces: this ship was immediately seized by the pirates, and then drawing nigh the shore, they landed, and burnt the two storehouses, with all the rest of the houses there. Many inhabitants likewise they took prisoners, and committed upon them the most inhuman cruelties that ever heathens invented; putting them to the cruellest tortures they could devise. It was the custom of Lolonois, that having tormented persons not confessing, he would instantly cut them in pieces with his hanger, and pull out their tongues, desiring to do so, if possible, to every Spaniard in the world. It often happened that some of these miserable prisoners, being forced by the rack, would promise to discover the places where the fugitive Spaniards lay hid, which not being able afterwards to perform, they were put to more cruel deaths than they who were dead before. The prisoners being all dead but two (whom they reserved to show them what they desired), they marched hence to the town of San Pedro, or St. Peter, ten or twelve leagues from Puerto Cavallo, being three hundred men, whom Lolonois led, leaving behind him Moses van Vin his lieutenant, to govern the rest in his absence. Being come three leagues on their way, they met with a troop of Spaniards, who lay in ambuscade for their coming: these they set upon, with all the courage imaginable, and at last totally defeated. Howbeit, they behaved themselves very manfully at first; but not being able to resist the fury of the pirates, they were forced to give way, and save themselves by flight, leaving many pirates dead in the place, some wounded, and some of their own party maimed, by the way. These Lolonois put to death without mercy, having asked them what questions he thought fit for his purpose. There were still remaining some few prisoners not wounded; these were asked by Lolonois, if any more Spaniards did lie farther on in ambuscade? They answered, there were. Then being brought before him, one by one, he asked if there was no other way to town but that. This he did to avoid if possible those ambuscades. But they all constantly answered him they knew none. Having asked them all, and finding they could show him no other way, Lolonois grew outrageously passionate; so that he drew his cutlass, and with it cut open the breast of one of those poor Spaniards, and pulling out his heart began to bite and gnaw it with his teeth, like a ravenous wolf, saying to the rest, "I will serve you all alike, if you show me not another way." Hereupon, those miserable wretches promised to show him another way, but withal, they told him, it was extremely difficult, and laborious. Thus to satisfy that cruel tyrant, they began to lead him and his army; but finding it not for his purpose as they had told him, he was forced to return to the former way, swearing with great choler and indignation, "Mort Dieu, les Espagnols me le payeront. By God's death, the Spaniards shall pay me for this." Next day he fell into another ambuscade, which he assaulted with such horrible fury, that in less than an hour's time he routed the Spaniards, and killed the greatest part of them. The Spaniards thought by these ambuscades better to destroy the pirates, assaulting them by degrees, and for this reason had posted themselves in several places. At last he met with a third ambuscade, where was placed a party stronger, and more advantageously, than the former: yet notwithstanding, the pirates, by continually throwing little fire-balls in great numbers, for some time, forced this party, as well as the former, to flee, and this with so great loss of men, that before they could reach the town, the greatest part of the Spaniards were either killed or wounded. There was but one path which led to the town, very well barricaded with good defences; and the rest of the town round was planted with shrubs called raqueltes, full of thorns very sharp pointed. This sort of fortification seemed stronger than the triangles used in Europe, when an army is of necessity to pass by the place of an enemy; it being almost impossible for the pirates to traverse those shrubs. The Spaniards posted behind the said defences, seeing the pirates come, began to ply them with their great guns; but these perceiving them ready to fire, used to stoop down, and when the shot was made, to fall upon the defendants with fire-balls and naked swords, killing many of the town: yet notwithstanding, not being able to advance any farther, they retired, for the present: then they renewed the attack with fewer men than before, and observing not to shoot till they were very nigh, they gave the Spaniards a charge so dextrously, that with every shot they killed an enemy. The attack continuing thus eager on both sides till night, the Spaniards were compelled to hang forth a white flag, and desired to come to a parley: the only conditions they required were, "that the pirates should give the inhabitants quarter for two hours." This little time they demanded with intent to carry away and hide as much of their goods and riches as they could, and to fly to some other neighbouring town. Granting this article, they entered the town, and continued there the two hours, without committing the least hostility on the inhabitants; but no sooner was that time past, than Lolonois ordered that the inhabitants should be followed, and robbed of all they had carried away; and not only their goods, but their persons likewise to be made prisoners; though the greatest part of their merchandise and goods were so hid, as the pirates could not find them, except a few leathern sacks, filled with anil, or indigo. Having stayed here a few days, and, according to their custom, committed most horrid insolences, they at last quitted the place, carrying away all they possibly could, and reducing the town to ashes. Being come to the seaside, where they left a party of their own, they found these had been cruising upon the fishermen thereabouts, or who came that way from the river of Guatemala: in this river was also expected a ship from Spain. Finally, they resolved to go toward the islands on the other side of the gulf, there to cleanse and careen their vessels; but they left two canoes before the coast, or rather the mouth of the river of Guatemala, in order to take the ship, which, as I said, was expected from Spain. But their chief intent in going hither was to seek provisions, knowing the tortoises of those places are excellent food. Being arrived, they divided themselves, each party choosing a fit post for that fishery. They undertook to knit nets with the rinds of certain trees called macoa, whereof they make also ropes and cables; so that no vessel can be in need of such things, if they can but find the said trees. There are also many places where they find pitch in so great abundance, that running down the sea-coasts, being melted by the sun, it congeals in the water in great heaps, like small islands. This pitch is not like that of Europe, but resembles, both in colour and shape, that froth of the sea called bitumen; but, in my judgment, this matter is nothing but wax mixed with sand, which stormy weather, and the rolling waves of great rivers hath cast into the sea; for in those parts are great quantities of bees who make their honey in trees, to the bodies of which the honeycomb being fixed, when tempests arise, they are torn away, and by the fury of the winds carried into the sea, as is said. Some naturalists say, that the honey and the wax are separated by the salt water; whence proceeds the good amber. This opinion seems the more probable, because the said amber tastes as wax doth. But to return to my discourse. The pirates made in those islands all the haste they possibly could to equip their vessels, hearing that the Spanish ship was come which they expected. They spent some time cruising on the coasts of Jucatan, where inhabit many Indians, who seek for the said amber in those seas. And I shall here, by the by, make some short remarks on the manner of living of the Indians, and their religion. They have now been above a hundred years under the Spaniards, to whom they performed all manner of services; for whensoever any of them needed a slave or servant, they sent for these to serve them as long as they pleased. By the Spaniards they were initiated in the principles of the Christian faith and religion, and they sent them every Sunday and holiday a priest to perform divine service among them; afterwards, for reasons not known, but certainly through temptations of the father of idolatry, the devil, they suddenly cast off the Christian religion, abusing the priest that was sent them: this provoked the Spaniards to punish them, by casting many of the chiefs into prison. Every one of those barbarians had, and hath still, a god to himself, whom he serves and worships. It is a matter of admiration, how they use a child newly born: as soon as it comes into the world, they carry it to the temple; here they make a hole, which they fill with ashes only, on which they place the child naked, leaving it there a whole night alone, not without great danger, nobody daring to come near it; meanwhile the temple is open on all sides, that all sorts of beasts may freely come in and out. Next day, the father, and relations of the infant, return to see if the track or step of any animal appears in the ashes: not finding any, they leave the child there till some beast has approached the infant, and left behind him the marks of his feet: to this animal, whatsoever it be, they consecrate the creature newly born, as to its god, which he is bound to worship all his life, esteeming the said beast his patron and protector. They offer to their gods sacrifices of fire, wherein they burn a certain gum called by them copal, whose smoke smells very deliciously. When the infant is grown up, the parents thereof tell him who he ought to worship, and serve, and honour as his own proper god. Then he goes to the temple, where he makes offerings to the said beast. Afterwards, if in the course of his life, any one injure him, or any evil happen to him, he complains to that beast, and sacrifices to it for revenge. Hence it often comes, that those who have done the injury of which he complains are bitten, killed, or otherwise hurt by such animals. After this superstitious and idolatrous manner live those miserable and ignorant Indians that inhabit the islands of the gulf of Honduras; as also many of them on the continent of Jucatan, in the territories whereof are most excellent ports, where those Indians most commonly build their houses. These people are not very faithful to one another, and use strange ceremonies at their marriages. Whensoever any one pretends to marry a young damsel, he first applies himself to her father or nearest relation: he examines him nicely about the manner of cultivating their plantations, and other things at his pleasure. Having satisfied the questions of his father-in-law, he gives the young man a bow and arrow, with which he repairs to the young maid, and presents her with a garland of green leaves and sweet-smelling flowers; this she is obliged to put on her head, and lay aside that which she wore before, it being the custom for virgins to go perpetually crowned with flowers. This garland being received, and put on her head, every one of the relations and friends go to advise with others whether that marriage will be like to be happy or not; then they meet at the house of the damsel's father, where they drink of a liquor made of maize, or Indian wheat; and here, before the whole company, the father gives his daughter in marriage to the bridegroom. Next day the bride comes to her mother, and in her presence pulls off the garland, and tears it in pieces, with great cries and lamentations. Many other things I could relate of the manner of living and customs of those Indians, but I shall follow my discourse. Our pirates therefore had many canoes of the Indians in the isle of Sambale, five leagues from the coasts of Jucatan. Here is great quantity of amber, but especially when any storm arises from towards the east; whence the waves bring many things, and very different. Through this sea no vessels can pass, unless very small, it being too shallow. In the lands that are surrounded by this sea, is found much Campechy wood, and other things that serve for dyeing, much esteemed in Europe, and would be more, if we had the skill of the Indians, who make a dye or tincture that never fades. [Illustration: "'THEY BOARDED THE SHIP WITH GREAT AGILITY'"--_Page 92_] The pirates having been in that gulf three months, and receiving advice that the Spanish ship was come, hastened to the port where the ship lay at anchor unlading her merchandise, with design to assault her as soon as possible; but first they thought convenient to send away some of their boats to seek for a small vessel also expected very richly laden with plate, indigo, and cochineal. Meanwhile, the ship's crew having notice that the pirates designed upon them, prepared all things for a good defence, being mounted with forty-two guns, well furnished with arms and other necessaries, and one hundred and thirty fighting men. To Lolonois all this seemed but little, for he assaulted her with great courage, his own ship carrying but twenty-two guns, and having no more than a small saety or fly-boat for help: but the Spaniards defended themselves so well, as they forced the pirates to retire; but the smoke of the powder continuing thick, as a dark fog or mist, with four canoes well manned, they boarded the ship with great agility, and forced the Spaniards to surrender. The ship being taken, they found not in her what they thought, being already almost unladen. All they got was only fifty bars of iron, a small parcel of paper, some earthen jars of wine, and other things of small importance. Then Lolonois called a council of war, and told them, he intended for Guatemala: hereupon they divided into several sentiments, some liking the proposal, and others disliking it, especially a party of them who were but raw in those exercises, and who imagined at their setting forth from Tortuga that pieces of eight were gathered as easy as pears from a tree; but finding most things contrary to their expectation, they quitted the fleet, and returned; others affirmed they had rather starve than return home without a great deal of money. But the major part judging the propounded voyage little to their purpose, separated from Lolonois and the rest: of these one Moses Vanclein was ringleader, captain of the ship taken at Puerto Cavallo: this fellow steered for Tortuga, to cruise to and fro in these seas. With him joined another comrade of his, by name Pierre le Picard, who seeing the rest leave Lolonois, thought fit to do the same. These runaways having thus parted company, steered homewards, coasting along the continent till they came to Costa Rica; here they landed a strong party nigh the river Veraguas, and marched in good order to the town of the same name: this they took and totally pillaged, though the Spaniards made a strong resistance. They brought away some of the inhabitants as prisoners, with all they had, which was of no great importance, by reason of the poverty of the place, which exerciseth no other trade than working in the mines, where some of the inhabitants constantly attend, while none seek for gold, but only slaves. These they compel to dig and wash the earth in the neighbouring rivers, where often they find pieces of gold as big as peas. The pirates gaining in this adventure but seven or eight pounds weight of gold, they returned, giving over the design to go to the town of Nata, situate on the coasts of the South Sea, whose inhabitants are rich merchants, and their slaves work in the mines of Veraguas; being deterred by the multitudes of Spaniards gathered on all sides to fall upon them, whereof they had timely advice. Lolonois, thus left by his companions, remained alone in the gulf of Honduras. His ship being too great to get out at the reflux of those seas, there he sustained great want of provisions, so as they were constrained to go ashore every day to seek sustenance, and not finding anything else, they were forced to kill and eat monkeys, and other animals, such as they could find. At last in the altitude of the cape of Gracias a Dios, near a certain little island called De las Pertas, his ship struck on a bank of sand, where it stuck so fast, as no art could get her off again, though they unladed all the guns, iron, and other weighty things as much as they could. Hereupon they were forced to break the ship in pieces, and with planks and nails build themselves a boat to get away; and while they are busy about it, I shall describe the said isles and their inhabitants. The islands De las Pertas are inhabited by savage Indians, not having known or conversed with civil people: they are tall and very nimble, running almost as fast as horses; at diving also they are very dextrous and hardy. From the bottom of the sea I saw them take up an anchor of six hundredweight, tying a cable to it with great dexterity, and pulling it from a rock. Their arms are made of wood, without any iron point; but some instead thereof use a crocodile's tooth. They have no bows nor arrows, as the other Indians have, but their common weapon is a sort of lance a fathom and a half long. Here are many plantations surrounded with woods, whence they gather abundance of fruits, as potatoes, bananas, racoven, ananas, and many others. They have no houses to dwell in, as at other places in the Indies. Some say they eat human flesh, which is confirmed by what happened when Lolonois was there. Two of his companions, one a Frenchman and the other a Spaniard, went into the woods, where having straggled awhile, a troop of Indians pursued them. They defended themselves as well as they could with their swords, but at last were forced to flee. The nimble Frenchman escaped; but the Spaniard being not so swift, was taken and heard of no more. Some days after, twelve pirates set forth well armed to seek their companion, among whom was the Frenchman, who conducted them, and showed them the place where he left him; here they found that the Indians had kindled a fire, and at a small distance they found a man's bones well roasted, with some pieces of flesh ill scraped off the bones, and one hand, which had only two fingers remaining, whence they concluded they had roasted the poor Spaniard. They marched on, seeking for Indians, and found a great number together, who endeavoured to escape, but they overtook some of them, and brought aboard their ships five men and four women; with these they took much pains to make themselves be understood, and to gain their affections, giving them trifles, as knives, beads, and the like; they gave them also victuals and drink, but nothing would they taste. It was also observable, that while they were prisoners, they spoke not one word to each other; so that seeing these poor Indians were much afraid, they presented them again with some small things, and let them go. When they parted, they made signs they would come again, but they soon forgot their benefactors, and were never heard of more; neither could any notice afterwards be had of these Indians, nor any others in the whole island, which made the pirates suspect that both those that were taken, and all the rest of the islanders, swam away by night to some little neighbouring islands, especially considering they could never set eyes on any Indian more, nor any boat or other vessel. Meanwhile the pirates were very desirous to see their long-boat finished out of the timber that struck on the sands; yet considering their work would be long, they began to cultivate some pieces of ground; here they sowed French beans, which ripened in six weeks, and many other fruits. They had good provision of Spanish wheat, bananas, racoven, and other things; with the wheat they made bread, and baked it in portable ovens, brought with them. Thus they feared not hunger in those desert places, employing themselves thus for five or six months; which past, and the long-boat finished, they resolved for the river of Nicaragua, to see if they could take some canoes, and return to the said islands for their companions that remained behind, by reason the boat could not hold so many men together; hereupon, to avoid disputes, they cast lots, determining who should go or stay. [Illustration: "'LOLONOIS, WITH THOSE THAT REMAINED, HAD MUCH ADO TO ESCAPE ABOARD THEIR BOATS'"--_Page 97_] The lot fell on one half of the people of the lost vessel, who embarked in the long-boat, and on the skiff which they had before, the other half remaining ashore. Lolonois having set sail, arrived in a few days at the river of Nicaragua: here that ill-fortune assailed him which of long time had been reserved for him, as a punishment due to the multitude of horrible crimes committed in his licentious and wicked life. Here he met with both Spaniards and Indians, who jointly setting upon him and his companions, the greatest part of the pirates were killed on the place. Lolonois, with those that remained alive, had much ado to escape aboard their boats: yet notwithstanding this great loss, he resolved not to return to those he had left at the isle of Pertas, without taking some boats, such as he looked for. To this effect he determined to go on to the coasts of Carthagena; but God Almighty, the time of His Divine justice being now come, had appointed the Indians of Darien to be the instruments and executioners thereof. These Indians of Darien are esteemed as bravoes, or wild savage Indians, by the neighbouring Spaniards, who never could civilize them. Hither Lolonois came (brought by his evil conscience that cried for punishment), thinking to act his cruelties; but the Indians within a few days after his arrival took him prisoner, and tore him in pieces alive, throwing his body limb by limb into the fire, and his ashes into the air, that no trace or memory might remain of such an infamous, inhuman creature. One of his companions gave me an exact account of this tragedy, affirming that himself had escaped the same punishment with the greatest difficulty; he believed also that many of his comrades, who were taken in that encounter by those Indians, were, as their cruel captain, torn in pieces and burnt alive. Thus ends the history, the life, and miserable death of that infernal wretch Lolonois, who full of horrid, execrable, and enormous deeds, and debtor to so much innocent blood, died by cruel and butcherly hands, such as his own were in the course of his life. Those that remained in the island De las Pertas, waiting for the return of them who got away only to their great misfortune, hearing no news of their captain nor companions, at last embarked on the ship of a certain pirate, who happened to pass that way. This fellow came from Jamaica, with intent to land at Gracias a Dios, and from thence to enter the river with his canoes, and take the city of Carthagena. These two crews of pirates being now joined, were infinitely glad at the presence and society of one another. Those, because they found themselves delivered from their miseries, poverty, and necessities, wherein they had lived ten entire months. These, because they were now considerably strengthened, to effect with greater satisfaction their designs. Hereupon, as soon as they were arrived at Gracias a Dios, they all put themselves into canoes, and entered the river, being five hundred men, leaving only five or six persons in each ship to keep them. They took no provisions, being persuaded they should find everywhere sufficient; but these their hopes were found totally vain, not being grounded on Almighty God; for He ordained it so, that the Indians, aware of their coming, all fled, not leaving in their houses or plantations, which for the most part border on the sides of rivers, any necessary provisions or victuals: hereby, in a few days after they had quitted their ships, they were reduced to most extreme necessity and hunger; but their hopes of making their fortunes very soon, animating them for the present, they contented themselves with a few green herbs, such as they could gather on the banks of the river. Yet all this courage and vigour lasted but a fortnight, when their hearts, as well as bodies, began to fail for hunger; insomuch as they were forced to quit the river, and betake themselves to the woods, seeking out some villages where they might find relief, but all in vain; for having ranged up and down the woods for some days, without finding the least comfort, they were forced to return to the river, where being come, they thought convenient to descend to the sea-coast where they had left their ships, not having been able to find what they sought for. In this laborious journey they were reduced to such extremity, that many of them devoured their own shoes, the sheaths of their swords, knives, and other such things, being almost ravenous, and eager to meet some Indians, intending to sacrifice them to their teeth. At last they arrived at the sea-coast, where they found some comfort and relief to their former miseries, and also means to seek more: yet the greatest part perished through faintness and other diseases contracted by hunger, which also caused the remaining part to disperse, till at last, by degrees, many or most of them fell into the same pit that Lolonois did; of whom, and of whose companions, having given a compendious narrative, I shall continue with the actions and exploits of Captain Henry Morgan, who may deservedly be called the second Lolonois, not being unlike or inferior to him, either in achievements against the Spaniards, or in robberies of many innocent people. CHAPTER IX _The origin and descent of Captain Henry Morgan--His exploits, and the most remarkable actions of his life._ CAPTAIN HENRY MORGAN was born in Great Britain, in the principality of Wales; his father was a rich yeoman, or farmer, of good quality, even as most who bear that name in Wales are known to be. Morgan, when young, had no inclination to the calling of his father, and therefore left his country, and came towards the sea-coasts to seek some other employment more suitable to his aspiring humour; where he found several ships at anchor, bound for Barbadoes. With these he resolved to go in the service of one, who, according to the practice of those parts, sold him as soon as he came ashore. He served his time at Barbadoes, and obtaining his liberty, betook himself to Jamaica, there to seek new fortunes: here he found two vessels of pirates ready to go to sea; and being destitute of employment, he went with them, with intent to follow the exercises of that sort of people: he soon learned their manner of living, so exactly, that having performed three or four voyages with profit and success, he agreed with some of his comrades, who had got by the same voyages a little money, to join stocks, and buy a ship. The vessel being bought, they unanimously chose him captain and commander. With this ship he set forth from Jamaica to cruise on the coasts of Campechy, in which voyage he took several ships, with which he returned triumphant. Here he found an old pirate, named Mansvelt (whom we have already mentioned), busied in equipping a considerable fleet, with design to land on the continent, and pillage whatever he could. Mansvelt seeing Captain Morgan return with so many prizes, judged him to be a man of courage, and chose him for his vice-admiral in that expedition: thus having fitted out fifteen ships, great and small, they sailed from Jamaica with five hundred men, Walloons and French. This fleet arrived, not long after, at the isle of St. Catherine, near the continent of Costa Rica, latitude 12 deg. 30 min. and distant thirty-five leagues from the river Chagre. Here they made their first descent, landing most of their men, who soon forced the garrison that kept the island to surrender all the forts and castles thereof; which they instantly demolished, except one, wherein they placed a hundred men of their own party, and all the slaves they had taken from the Spaniards: with the rest of their men they marched to another small island, so near St. Catherine's, that with a bridge they made in a few days, they passed thither, taking with them all the ordnance they had taken on the great island. Having ruined with fire and sword both the islands, leaving necessary orders at the said castle, they put to sea again, with their Spanish prisoners; yet these they set ashore not long after, on the firm land, near Puerto Velo: then they cruised on Costa Rica, till they came to the river Colla, designing to pillage all the towns in those parts, thence to pass to the village of Nata, to do the same. The governor of Panama, on advice of their arrival, and of the hostilities they committed, thought it his duty to meet them with a body of men. His coming caused the pirates to retire suddenly, seeing the whole country was alarmed, and that their designs were known, and consequently defeated at that time. Hereupon, they returned to St. Catherine's, to visit the hundred men they left in garrison there. The governor of these men was a Frenchman, named Le Sieur Simon, who behaved himself very well in that charge, while Mansvelt was absent, having put the great island in a very good posture of defence, and the little one he had caused to be cultivated with many fertile plantations, sufficient to revictual the whole fleet, not only for the present, but also for a new voyage. Mansvelt was very much bent to keep the two islands in perpetual possession, being very commodiously situated for the pirates; being so near the Spanish dominions, and easily defended. Hereupon, Mansvelt determined to return to Jamaica, to send recruits to St. Catherine's, that in case of an invasion the pirates might be provided for a defence. As soon as he arrived, he propounded his intentions to the governor there, who rejected his propositions, fearing to displease his master, the king of England; besides, that giving him the men he desired, and necessaries, he must of necessity diminish the forces of that island, whereof he was governor. Hereupon, Mansvelt, knowing that of himself he could not compass his designs, he went to Tortuga; but there, before he could put in execution what was intended, death surprised him, and put a period to his wicked life, leaving all things in suspense till the occasion I shall hereafter relate. Le Sieur Simon, governor of St. Catherine's, receiving no news from Mansvelt, his admiral, was impatiently desirous to know the cause thereof: meanwhile, Don John Perez de Guzman, being newly come to the government of Costa Rica, thought it not convenient for the interest of Spain for that island to be in the hands of the pirates: hereupon, he equipped a considerable fleet, which he sent to retake it; but before he used violence, he writ a letter to Le Sieur Simon, telling him, that if he would surrender the island to his Catholic Majesty, he should be very well rewarded; but, in case of refusal, severely punished, when he had forced him to do it. Le Sieur Simon, seeing no probability of being able to defend it alone, nor any emolument that by so doing could accrue either to him, or his people, after some small resistance delivered it up to its true lord and master, under the same articles they had obtained it from the Spaniards; a few days after which surrender, there arrived from Jamaica an English ship, which the governor there had sent underhand, with a good supply of people, both men and women: the Spaniards from the castle having espied the ship, put forth English colours, and persuaded Le Sieur Simon to go aboard, and conduct the ship into a port they assigned him. This he performed and they were all made prisoners. A certain Spanish engineer has published in print an exact relation of the retaking of this isle by the Spaniards, which I have thought fit to insert here:-- _A true relation, and particular account of the victory obtained by the arms of his Catholic Majesty against the English pirates, by the direction and valour of Don John Perez de Guzman, knight of the order of St. James, governor and captain-general of Terra Firma, and the Province of Veraguas._ THE kingdom of Terra Firma, which of itself is sufficiently strong to repel and destroy great fleets, especially the pirates of Jamaica, had several ways notice imparted to the governor thereof, that fourteen English vessels cruised on the coasts belonging to his Catholic Majesty. July 14, 1665, news came to Panama, that they were arrived at Puerto de Naos, and had forced the Spanish garrison of the isle of St. Catherine, whose governor was Don Estevan del Campo, and possessed themselves of the said island, taking prisoners the inhabitants, and destroying all that they met. About the same time, Don John Perez de Guzman received particular information of these robberies from some Spaniards who escaped out of the island (and whom he ordered to be conveyed to Puerto Velo), that the said pirates came into the island May 2, by night, without being perceived; and that the next day, after some skirmishes, they took the fortresses, and made prisoners all the inhabitants and soldiers that could not escape. Upon this, Don John called a council of war, wherein he declared the great progress the said pirates had made in the dominions of his Catholic Majesty; and propounded "that it was absolutely necessary to send some forces to the isle of St. Catherine, sufficient to retake it from the pirates, the honour and interest of his Majesty of Spain being very narrowly concerned herein; otherwise the pirates by such conquests might easily, in course of time, possess themselves of all the countries thereabouts." To this some made answer, "that the pirates, not being able to subsist in the said island, would of necessity consume and waste themselves, and be forced to quit it, without any necessity of retaking it: that consequently it was not worth the while to engage in so many expenses and troubles as this would cost." Notwithstanding which, Don John being an expert and valiant soldier, ordered that provisions should be conveyed to Puerto Velo for the use of the militia, and transported himself thither, with no small danger of his life. Here he arrived July 2, with most things necessary to the expedition in hand, where he found in the port a good ship, and well mounted, called the _St. Vincent_, that belonged to the company of the negroes, which he manned and victualled very well, and sent to the isle of St. Catherine, constituting Captain Joseph Sanchez Ximenez, major of Puerto Velo, commander thereof. He carried with him two hundred and seventy soldiers, and thirty-seven prisoners of the same island, besides thirty-four Spaniards of the garrison of Puerto Velo, twenty-nine mulattoes of Panama, twelve Indians, very dextrous at shooting with bows and arrows, seven expert and able gunners, two lieutenants, two pilots, one surgeon, and one priest, of the order of St. Francis, for their chaplain. Don John soon after gave orders to all the officers how to behave themselves, telling them that the governor of Carthagena would supply them with more men, boats, and all things else, necessary for that enterprise; to which effect he had already written to the said governor. July 24, Don John setting sail with a fair wind, he called before him all his people, and made them a speech, encouraging them to fight against the enemies of their country and religion, and especially against those inhuman pirates, who had committed so many horrid cruelties upon the subjects of his Catholic Majesty; withal, promising every one most liberal rewards, especially to such as should behave themselves well in the service of their king and country. Thus Don John bid them farewell, and the ship set sail under a favourable gale. The 22nd they arrived at Carthagena, and presented a letter to the governor thereof, from the noble and valiant Don John, who received it with testimonies of great affection to the person of Don John, and his Majesty's service: and seeing their resolution to be comfortable to his desires, he promised them his assistance, with one frigate, one galleon, one boat, and one hundred and twenty-six men; one half out of his own garrison, and the other half mulattoes. Thus being well provided with necessaries, they left the port of Carthagena, August 2, and the 10th they arrived in sight of St. Catherine's towards the western point thereof; and though the wind was contrary, yet they reached the port, and anchored within it, having lost one of their boats by foul weather, at the rock called Quita Signos. The pirates, seeing our ships come to an anchor, gave them presently three guns with bullets, which were soon answered in the same coin. Hereupon, Major Joseph Sanchez Ximenez sent ashore to the pirates one of his officers to require them, in the name of the Catholic King his master, to surrender the island, seeing they had taken it in the midst of peace between the two crowns of Spain and England; and that if they would be obstinate, he would certainly put them all to the sword. The pirates made answer, that the island had once before belonged unto the government and dominions of the king of England, and that instead of surrendering it, they preferred to lose their lives. On Friday the 13th, three negroes, from the enemy, came swimming aboard our admiral; these brought intelligence that all the pirates upon the island were only seventy-two in number, and that they were under a great consternation, seeing such considerable forces come against them. With this intelligence, the Spaniards resolved to land, and advance towards the fortresses, which ceased not to fire as many great guns against them as they possibly could; which were answered in the same manner on our side, till dark night. On Sunday, the 15th, the day of the Assumption of our Lady, the weather being very calm and clear, the Spaniards began to advance thus: The ship _St. Vincent_, riding admiral, discharged two whole broadsides on the battery called the Conception; the ship _St. Peter_, that was vice-admiral, discharged likewise her guns against the other battery named St. James: meanwhile, our people landed in small boats, directing their course towards the point of the battery last mentioned, and thence they marched towards the gate called Cortadura. Lieutenant Francis de Cazeres, being desirous to view the strength of the enemy, with only fifteen men, was compelled to retreat in haste, by reason of the great guns, which played so furiously on the place where he stood; they shooting, not only pieces of iron, and small bullets, but also the organs of the church, discharging in every shot threescore pipes at a time. Notwithstanding this heat of the enemy, Captain Don Joseph Ramirez de Leyva, with sixty men, made a strong attack, wherein they fought on both sides very desperately, till at last he overcame, and forced the pirates to surrender the fort. On the other side, Captain John Galeno, with ninety men, passed over the hills, to advance that way towards the castle of St. Teresa. Meanwhile Major Don Joseph Sanchez Ximenes, as commander-in-chief, with the rest of his men, set forth from the battery of St. James, passing the port with four boats, and landing, in despite of the enemy. About this same time, Captain John Galeno began to advance with the men he led to the forementioned fortress; so that our men made three attacks on three several sides, at one and the same time, with great courage; till the pirates seeing many of their men already killed, and that they could in no manner subsist any longer, retreated towards Cortadura, where they surrendered, themselves and the whole island, into our hands. Our people possessed themselves of all, and set up the Spanish colours, as soon as they had rendered thanks to God Almighty for the victory obtained on such a signalized day. The number of dead were six men of the enemies, with many wounded, and seventy prisoners: on our side was only one man killed, and four wounded. There were found on the island eight hundred pounds of powder, two hundred and fifty pounds of small bullets, with many other military provisions. Among the prisoners were taken also, two Spaniards, who had bore arms under the English against his Catholic Majesty: these were shot to death the next day, by order of the major. The 10th day of September arrived at the isle an English vessel, which being seen at a great distance by the major, he ordered Le Sieur Simon, who was a Frenchman, to go and visit the said ship, and tell them that were on board, that the island belonged still to the English. He performed the command, and found in the said ship only fourteen men, one woman and her daughter, who were all instantly made prisoners. The English pirates were all transported to Puerto Velo, excepting three, who by order of the governor were carried to Panama, there to work in the castle of St. Jerom. This fortification is an excellent piece of workmanship, and very strong, being raised in the middle of the port of a quadrangular form, and of very hard stone: its height is eighty-eight geometrical feet, the wall being fourteen, and the curtains seventy-five feet diameter. It was built at the expense of several private persons, the governor of the city furnishing the greatest part of the money; so that it cost his Majesty nothing. CHAPTER X _Of the Island of Cuba--Captain Morgan attempts to preserve the Isle of St. Catherine as a refuge to the nest of pirates, but fails of his design--He arrives at and takes the village of El Puerto del Principe._ CAPTAIN MORGAN seeing his predecessor and admiral Mansvelt were dead, used all the means that were possible, to keep in possession the isle of St. Catherine, seated near Cuba. His chief intent was to make it a refuge and sanctuary to the pirates of those parts, putting it in a condition of being a convenient receptacle of their preys and robberies. To this effect he left no stone unmoved, writing to several merchants in Virginia and New England, persuading them to send him provisions and necessaries, towards putting the said island in such a posture of defence, as to fear no danger of invasion from any side. But all this proved ineffectual, by the Spaniards retaking the said island: yet Captain Morgan retained his courage, which put him on new designs. First, he equipped a ship, in order to gather a fleet as great, and as strong as he could. By degrees he effected it, and gave orders to every member of his fleet to meet at a certain port of Cuba, there determining to call a council, and deliberate what was best to be done, and what place first to fall upon. Leaving these preparations in this condition, I shall give my reader some small account of the said isle of Cuba, in whose port this expedition was hatched, seeing I omitted to do it in its proper place. Cuba lies from east to west, in north latitude, from 20 to 23 deg. in length one hundred and fifty German leagues, and about forty in breadth. Its fertility is equal to that of Hispaniola; besides which, it affords many things proper for trading and commerce; such as hides of several beasts, particularly those that in Europe are called hides of Havanna. On all sides it is surrounded with many small islands, called the Cayos: these little islands the pirates use as ports of refuge. Here they have their meetings, and hold their councils, how best to assault the Spaniards. It is watered on all sides with plentiful and pleasant rivers, whose entries form both secure and spacious ports; beside many other harbours for ships, which along the calm shores and coasts adorn this rich and beautiful island; all which contribute much to its happiness, by facilitating trade, whereto they invited both natives and aliens. The chief of these ports are San Jago, Byame, Santa Maria, Espiritu Santo, Trinidad, Zagoa, Cabo de Corientes, and others, on the south side of the island: on the north side are, La Havanna, Puerto Mariano, Santa Cruz, Mata Ricos, and Barracoa. This island hath two chief cities, to which all the towns and villages thereof give obedience. The first is Santa Jago, or St. James, seated on the south side, and having under its jurisdiction one half of the island. The chief magistrates hereof are a bishop and a governor, who command the villages and towns of the said half. The chief of these are, on the south side, Espiritu Santo, Puerto del Principe, and Bayame. On the north it has Barracoa, and De los Cayos. The greatest part of the commerce driven here comes from the Canaries, whither they transport much tobacco, sugar, and hides, which sort of merchandise are drawn to the head city from the subordinate towns and villages. Formerly the city of Santa Jago was miserably sacked by the pirates of Jamaica and Tortuga, though it is defended by a considerable castle. [Illustration: "CAPTAIN MORGAN RECRUITING HIS FORCES"--_Page 115_] The city and port De la Havanna lies between the north and west side of the island: this is one of the strongest places of the West Indies; its jurisdiction extends over the other half of the island; the chief places under it being Santa Cruz on the north side, and La Trinidad on the south. Hence is transported huge quantities of tobacco, which is sent to New Spain and Costa Rica, even as far as the South Sea, besides many ships laden with this commodity, that are consigned to Spain and other parts of Europe, not only in the leaf, but in rolls. This city is defended by three castles, very great and strong, two of which lie towards the port, and the other is seated on a hill that commands the town. It is esteemed to contain about ten thousand families. The merchants of this place trade in New Spain, Campechy, Honduras, and Florida. All ships that come from the parts before mentioned, as also from Caraccas, Carthagena and Costa Rica, are necessitated to take their provisions in at Havanna to make their voyage for Spain; this being the necessary and straight course they must steer for the south of Europe, and other parts. The plate-fleet of Spain, which the Spaniards call Flota, being homeward bound, touches here yearly to complete their cargo with hides, tobacco, and Campechy wood. Captain Morgan had been but two months in these ports of the south of Cuba, when he had got together a fleet of twelve sail, between ships and great boats, with seven hundred fighting men, part English and part French. They called a council, and some advised to assault the city of Havanna in the night, which they said might easily be done, if they could but take any of the ecclesiastics; yea, that the city might be sacked before the castles could put themselves in a posture of defence. Others propounded, according to their several opinions, other attempts; but the former proposal was rejected, because many of the pirates, who had been prisoners at other times in the said city, affirmed nothing of consequence could be done with less than one thousand five hundred men. Moreover, that with all these people, they ought first go to the island De los Pinos, and land them in small boats about Matamona, fourteen leagues from the said city, whereby to accomplish their designs. Finally, they saw no possibility of gathering so great a fleet, and hereupon, with what they had, they concluded to attempt some other place. Among the rest, one propounded they should assault the town of El Puerto del Principe. This proposition he persuaded to, by saying he knew that place very well, and that being at a distance from sea, it never was sacked by any pirates, whereby the inhabitants were rich, exercising their trade by ready money, with those of Havanna who kept here an established commerce, chiefly in hides. This proposal was presently admitted by Captain Morgan, and the chief of his companions. Hereupon they ordered every captain to weigh anchor and set sail, steering towards that coast nearest to El Puerto del Principe. Here is a bay named by the Spaniards El Puerto de Santa Maria: being arrived at this bay, a Spaniard, who was prisoner aboard the fleet, swam ashore by night to the town of El Puerto del Principe, giving an account to the inhabitants of the design of the pirates, which he overheard in their discourse, while they thought he did not understand English. The Spaniards upon this advice began to hide their riches, and carry away their movables; the governor immediately raised all the people of the town, freemen and slaves, and with part of them took a post by which of necessity the pirates must pass, and commanded many trees to be cut down and laid cross the ways to hinder their passage, placing several ambuscades strengthened with some pieces of cannon to play upon them on their march. He gathered in all about eight hundred men, of which detaching part into the said ambuscades, with the rest he begirt the town, drawing them up in a spacious field, whence they could see the coming of the pirates at length. Captain Morgan, with his men, now on the march, found the avenues to the town unpassable; hereupon they took their way through the wood, traversing it with great difficulty, whereby they escaped divers ambuscades; at last they came to the plain, from its figure called by the Spaniards La Savanna, or the Sheet. The governor seeing them come, detached a troop of horse to charge them in the front, thinking to disperse them, and to pursue them with his main body: but this design succeeded not, for the pirates marched in very good order, at the sound of their drums, and with flying colours; coming near the horse they drew into a semicircle, and so advanced towards the Spaniards, who charged them valiantly for a while; but the pirates being very dextrous at their arms, and their governor, with many of their companions, being killed, they retreated towards the wood, to save themselves with more advantage; but before they could reach it, most of them were unfortunately killed by the pirates. Thus they left the victory to these new-come enemies, who had no considerable loss of men in the battle, and but very few wounded. The skirmish lasted four hours: they entered the town not without great resistance of such as were within, who defended themselves as long as possible, and many seeing the enemy in the town, shut themselves up in their own houses, and thence made several shots upon the pirates; who thereupon threatened them, saying, "If you surrender not voluntarily, you shall soon see the town in a flame, and your wives and children torn to pieces before your faces." Upon these menaces the Spaniards submitted to the discretion of the pirates, believing they could not continue there long. As soon as the pirates had possessed themselves of the town, they enclosed all the Spaniards, men, women, children, and slaves, in several churches, and pillaged all the goods they could find; then they searched the country round about, bringing in daily many goods and prisoners, with much provision. With this they fell to making great cheer, after their old custom, without remembering the poor prisoners, whom they let starve in the churches, though they tormented them daily and inhumanly to make them confess where they had hid their goods, money, &c., though little or nothing was left them, not sparing the women and little children, giving them nothing to eat, whereby the greatest part perished. Pillage and provisions growing scarce, they thought convenient to depart and seek new fortunes in other places; they told the prisoners, "they should find money to ransom themselves, else they should be all transported to Jamaica; and beside, if they did not pay a second ransom for the town, they would turn every house into ashes." The Spaniards hereupon nominated among themselves four fellow-prisoners to go and seek for the above-mentioned contributions; but the pirates, to the intent that they should return speedily with those ransoms, tormented several cruelly in their presence, before they departed. After a few days, the Spaniards returned, telling Captain Morgan, "We have ran up and down, and searched all the neighbouring woods and places we most suspected, and yet have not been able to find any of our own party, nor consequently any fruit of our embassy; but if you are pleased to have a little longer patience with us, we shall certainly cause all that you demand to be paid within fifteen days;" which Captain Morgan granted. But not long after, there came into the town seven or eight pirates who had been ranging in the woods and fields, and got considerable booty. These brought amongst other prisoners, a negro, whom they had taken with letters. Captain Morgan having perused them, found that they were from the governor of Santa Jago, being written to some of the prisoners, wherein he told them, "they should not make too much haste to pay any ransom for their town or persons, or any other pretext; but on the contrary, they should put off the pirates as well as they could with excuses and delays, expecting to be relieved by him in a short time, when he would certainly come to their aid." Upon this intelligence Captain Morgan immediately ordered all their plunder to be carried aboard; and withal, he told the Spaniards, that the very next day they should pay their ransoms, for he would not wait a moment longer, but reduce the whole town to ashes, if they failed of the sum he demanded. [Illustration: "'BEING COME TO THE PLACE OF DUEL, THE ENGLISHMAN STABBED THE FRENCHMAN IN THE BACK'"--_Page 121_] With this intimation, Captain Morgan made no mention to the Spaniards of the letters he had intercepted. They answered, "that it was impossible for them to give such a sum of money in so short a space of time, seeing their fellow-townsmen were not to be found in all the country thereabouts." Captain Morgan knew full well their intentions, but thought it not convenient to stay there any longer, demanding of them only five hundred oxen or cows, with sufficient salt to powder them, with this condition, that they should carry them on board his ships. Thus he departed with all his men, taking with him only six of the principal prisoners as pledges. Next day the Spaniards brought the cattle and salt to the ships, and required the prisoners; but Captain Morgan refused to deliver them, till they had helped his men to kill and salt the beeves: this was performed in great haste, he not caring to stay there any longer, lest he should be surprised by the forces that were gathering against him; and having received all on board his vessels, he set at liberty the hostages. Meanwhile there happened some dissensions between the English and the French: the occasion was as follows: A Frenchman being employed in killing and salting the beeves, an English pirate took away the marrow-bones he had taken out of the ox, which these people esteem much; hereupon they challenged one another: being come to the place of duel, the Englishman stabbed the Frenchman in the back, whereby he fell down dead. The other Frenchmen, desirous of revenge, made an insurrection against the English; but Captain Morgan soon appeased them, by putting the criminal in chains to be carried to Jamaica, promising he would see justice done upon him; for though he might challenge his adversary, yet it was not lawful to kill him treacherously, as he did. All things being ready, and on board, and the prisoners set at liberty, they sailed thence to a certain island, where Captain Morgan intended to make a dividend of what they had purchased in that voyage; where being arrived, they found nigh the value of fifty thousand pieces of eight in money and goods; the sum being known, it caused a general grief to see such a small purchase, not sufficient to pay their debts at Jamaica. Hereupon Captain Morgan proposed they should think on some other enterprise and pillage before they returned. But the French not being able to agree with the English, left Captain Morgan with those of his own nation, notwithstanding all the persuasions he used to reduce them to continue in his company. Thus they parted with all external signs of friendship, Captain Morgan reiterating his promises to them that he would see justice done on that criminal. This he performed; for being arrived at Jamaica, he caused him to be hanged, which was all the satisfaction the French pirates could expect. CHAPTER XI _Captain Morgan resolving to attack and plunder the city of Puerto Bello, equips a fleet, and with little expense and small forces takes it._ SOME may think that the French having deserted Captain Morgan, the English alone could not have sufficient courage to attempt such great actions as before. But Captain Morgan, who always communicated vigour with his words, infused such spirit into his men, as put them instantly upon new designs; they being all persuaded that the sole execution of his orders would be a certain means of obtaining great riches, which so influenced their minds, that with inimitable courage they all resolved to follow him, as did also a certain pirate of Campechy, who on this occasion joined with Captain Morgan, to seek new fortunes under his conduct. Thus Captain Morgan in a few days gathered a fleet of nine sail, either ships or great boats, wherein he had four hundred and sixty military men. All things being ready, they put forth to sea, Captain Morgan imparting his design to nobody at present; he only told them on several occasions, that he doubted not to make a good fortune by that voyage, if strange occurrences happened not. They steered towards the continent, where they arrived in a few days near Costa Rica, all their fleet safe. No sooner had they discovered land but Captain Morgan declared his intentions to the captains, and presently after to the company. He told them he intended to plunder Puerto Bello by night, being resolved to put the whole city to the sack: and to encourage them he added, this enterprise could not fail, seeing he had kept it secret, without revealing it to anybody, whereby they could not have notice of his coming. To this proposition some answered, "they had not a sufficient number of men to assault so strong and great a city." But Captain Morgan replied, "If our number is small, our hearts are great; and the fewer persons we are, the more union and better shares we shall have in the spoil." Hereupon, being stimulated with the hope of those vast riches they promised themselves from their success, they unanimously agreed to that design. Now, that my reader may better comprehend the boldness of this exploit, it may be necessary to say something beforehand of the city of Puerto Bello. This city is in the province of Costa Rica, 10 deg. north latitude, fourteen leagues from the gulf of Darien, and eight westwards from the port called Nombre de Dios. It is judged the strongest place the king of Spain possesses in all the West Indies, except Havanna and Carthagena. Here are two castles almost impregnable, that defend the city, situate at the entry of the port, so that no ship or boat can pass without permission. The garrison consists of three hundred soldiers, and the town is inhabited by about four hundred families. The merchants dwell not here, but only reside awhile, when the galleons come from or go for Spain, by reason of the unhealthiness of the air, occasioned by vapours from the mountains; so that though their chief warehouses are at Puerto Bello, their habitations are at Panama, whence they bring the plate upon mules, when the fair begins, and when the ships belonging to the company of negroes arrive to sell slaves. Captain Morgan, who knew very well all the avenues of this city and the neighbouring coasts, arrived in the dusk of the evening at Puerto de Naos, ten leagues to the west of Puerto Bello. Being come hither, they sailed up the river to another harbour called Puerto Pontin, where they anchored: here they put themselves into boats and canoes, leaving in the ships only a few men to bring them next day to the port. About midnight they came to a place called Estera longa Lemos, where they all went on shore, and marched by land to the first posts of the city: they had in their company an Englishman, formerly a prisoner in those parts, who now served them for a guide: to him and three or four more they gave commission to take the sentinel, if possible, or kill him on the place: but they seized him so cunningly, as he had no time to give warning with his musket, or make any noise, and brought him, with his hands bound, to Captain Morgan, who asked him how things went in the city, and what forces they had; with other circumstances he desired to know. After every question they made him a thousand menaces to kill him, if he declared not the truth. Then they advanced to the city, carrying the said sentinel bound before them: having marched about a quarter of a league, they came to the castle near the city, which presently they closely surrounded, so that no person could get either in or out. Being posted under the walls of the castle, Captain Morgan commanded the sentinel, whom they had taken prisoner, to speak to those within, charging them to surrender to his discretion; otherwise they should all be cut in pieces, without quarter. But they regarding none of these threats, began instantly to fire, which alarmed the city; yet notwithstanding, though the governor and soldiers of the said castle made as great resistance as could be, they were forced to surrender. Having taken the castle, they resolved to be as good as their words, putting the Spaniards to the sword, thereby to strike a terror into the rest of the city. Whereupon, having shut up all the soldiers and officers as prisoners into one room, they set fire to the powder (whereof they found great quantity) and blew up the castle into the air, with all the Spaniards that were within. This done, they pursued the course of their victory, falling upon the city, which, as yet, was not ready to receive them. Many of the inhabitants cast their precious jewels and money into wells and cisterns, or hid them in places underground, to avoid, as much as possible, being totally robbed. One of the party of pirates, assigned to this purpose, ran immediately to the cloisters, and took as many religious men and women as they could find. The governor of the city, not being able to rally the citizens, through their great confusion, retired to one of the castles remaining, and thence fired incessantly at the pirates: but these were not in the least negligent either to assault him, or defend themselves, so that amidst the horror of the assault, they made very few shots in vain; for aiming with great dexterity at the mouths of the guns, the Spaniards were certain to lose one or two men every time they charged each gun anew. This continued very furious from break of day till noon; yea, about this time of the day the case was very dubious which party should conquer, or be conquered. At last, the pirates perceiving they had lost many men, and yet advanced but little towards gaining either this, or the other castles, made use of fire-balls, which they threw with their hands, designing to burn the doors of the castles; but the Spaniards from the walls let fall great quantities of stones, and earthen pots full of powder, and other combustible matter, which forced them to desist. Captain Morgan seeing this generous defence made by the Spaniards, began to despair of success. Hereupon, many faint and calm meditations came into his mind; neither could he determine which way to turn himself in that strait. Being thus puzzled, he was suddenly animated to continue the assault, by seeing English colours put forth at one of the lesser castles, then entered by his men; of whom he presently after spied a troop coming to meet him, proclaiming victory with loud shouts of joy. This instantly put him on new resolutions of taking the rest of the castles, especially seeing the chiefest citizens were fled to them, and had conveyed thither great part of their riches, with all the plate belonging to the churches and divine service. [Illustration: "MORGAN COMMANDED THE RELIGIOUS MEN AND WOMEN TO PLACE THE LADDERS AGAINST THE WALLS"--_Page 128_] To this effect, he ordered ten or twelve ladders to be made in all haste, so broad, that three or four men at once might ascend them: these being finished, he commanded all the religious men and women, whom he had taken prisoners, to fix them against the walls of the castle. This he had before threatened the governor to do, if he delivered not the castle: but his answer was, "he would never surrender himself alive." Captain Morgan was persuaded the governor would not employ his utmost force, seeing the religious women, and ecclesiastical persons, exposed in the front of the soldiers to the greatest danger. Thus the ladders, as I have said, were put into the hands of religious persons of both sexes, and these were forced, at the head of the companies, to raise and apply them to the walls: but Captain Morgan was fully deceived in his judgment of this design; for the governor, who acted like a brave soldier in performance of his duty, used his utmost endeavour to destroy whosoever came near the walls. The religious men and women ceased not to cry to him, and beg of him, by all the saints of heaven, to deliver the castle, and spare both his and their own lives; but nothing could prevail with his obstinacy and fierceness. Thus many of the religious men and nuns were killed before they could fix the ladders; which at last being done, though with great loss of the said religious people, the pirates mounted them in great numbers, and with not less valour, having fire-balls in their hands, and earthen pots full of powder; all which things, being now at the top of the walls, they kindled and cast in among the Spaniards. This effort of the pirates was very great, insomuch that the Spaniards could no longer resist nor defend the castle, which was now entered. Hereupon they all threw down their arms, and craved quarter for their lives; only the governor of the city would crave no mercy, but killed many of the pirates with his own hands, and not a few of his own soldiers; because they did not stand to their arms. And though the pirates asked him if he would have quarter; yet he constantly answered, "By no means, I had rather die as a valiant soldier, than be hanged as a coward." They endeavoured as much as they could to take him prisoner, but he defended himself so obstinately, that they were forced to kill him, notwithstanding all the cries and tears of his own wife and daughter, who begged him, on their knees, to demand quarter, and save his life. When the pirates had possessed themselves of the castle, which was about night, they enclosed therein all the prisoners, placing the women and men by themselves, with some guards: the wounded were put in an apartment by itself, that their own complaints might be the cure of their diseases; for no other was afforded them. This done, they fell to eating and drinking, as usual; that is, committing in both all manner of debauchery and excess, so that fifty courageous men might easily have retaken the city, and killed all the pirates. Next day, having plundered all they could find, they examined some of the prisoners (who had been persuaded by their companions to say they were the richest of the town), charging them severely to discover where they had hid their riches and goods. Not being able to extort anything from them, they not being the right persons, it was resolved to torture them: this they did so cruelly, that many of them died on the rack, or presently after. Now the president of Panama being advertised of the pillage and ruin of Puerto Bello, he employed all his care and industry to raise forces to pursue and cast out the pirates thence; but these cared little for his preparations, having their ships at hand, and determining to fire the city, and retreat. They had now been at Puerto Bello fifteen days, in which time they had lost many of their men, both by the unhealthiness of the country, and their extravagant debaucheries. Hereupon, they prepared to depart, carrying on board all the pillage they had got, having first provided the fleet with sufficient victuals for the voyage. While these things were doing, Captain Morgan demanded of the prisoners a ransom for the city, or else he would burn it down, and blow up all the castles; withal, he commanded them to send speedily two persons, to procure the sum, which was 100,000 pieces of eight. To this effect two men were sent to the president of Panama, who gave him an account of all. The president, having now a body of men ready, set forth towards Puerto Bello, to encounter the pirates before their retreat; but, they, hearing of his coming, instead of flying away, went out to meet him at a narrow passage, which he must pass: here they placed a hundred men, very well armed, which at the first encounter put to flight a good party of those of Panama. This obliged the president to retire for that time, not being yet in a posture of strength to proceed farther. Presently after, he sent a message to Captain Morgan, to tell him, "that if he departed not suddenly with all his forces from Puerto Bello, he ought to expect no quarter for himself, nor his companions, when he should take them, as he hoped soon to do." Captain Morgan, who feared not his threats, knowing he had a secure retreat in his ships, which were at hand, answered, "he would not deliver the castles, before he had received the contribution money he had demanded; which if it were not paid down, he would certainly burn the whole city, and then leave it, demolishing beforehand the castles, and killing the prisoners." The governor of Panama perceived by this answer that no means would serve to mollify the hearts of the pirates, nor reduce them to reason: hereupon, he determined to leave them, as also those of the city whom he came to relieve, involved in the difficulties of making the best agreement they could. Thus in a few days more the miserable citizens gathered the contributions required, and brought 100,000 pieces of eight to the pirates for a ransom of their cruel captivity: but the president of Panama was much amazed to consider that four hundred men could take such a great city, with so many strong castles, especially having no ordnance, wherewith to raise batteries, and, what was more, knowing the citizens of Puerto Bello had always great repute of being good soldiers themselves, and who never wanted courage in their own defence. This astonishment was so great, as made him send to Captain Morgan, desiring some small pattern of those arms wherewith he had taken with much vigour so great a city. Captain Morgan received this messenger very kindly, and with great civility; and gave him a pistol, and a few small bullets, to carry back to the president his master; telling him, withal, "he desired him to accept that slender pattern of the arms wherewith he had taken Puerto Bello, and keep them for a twelvemonth; after which time he promised to come to Panama, and fetch them away." The governor returned the present very soon to Captain Morgan, giving him thanks for the favour of lending him such weapons as he needed not; and, withal, sent him a ring of gold, with this message, "that he desired him not to give himself the labour of coming to Panama, as he had done to Puerto Bello: for he did assure him, he should not speed so well here, as he had done there." After this, Captain Morgan (having provided his fleet with all necessaries, and taken with him the best guns of the castles, nailing up the rest) set sail from Puerto Bello with all his ships, and arriving in a few days at Cuba, he sought out a place wherein he might quickly make the dividend of their spoil. They found in ready money 250,000 pieces of eight, besides other merchandises; as cloth, linen, silks, &c. With this rich purchase they sailed thence to their common place of rendezvous, Jamaica. Being arrived, they passed here some time in all sorts of vices and debaucheries, according to their custom; spending very prodigally what others had gained with no small labour and toil. CHAPTER XII _Captain Morgan takes the city of Maracaibo on the coast of Neuva Venezuela--Piracies committed in those seas--Ruin of three Spanish ships, set forth to hinder the robberies of the pirates._ NOT long after their arrival at Jamaica, being that short time they needed to lavish away all the riches above mentioned, they concluded on another enterprise to seek new fortunes: to this effect Captain Morgan ordered all the commanders of his ships to meet at De la Vacca, or the Cow Isle, south of Hispaniola, as is said. Hither flocked to them great numbers of other pirates, French and English; the name of Captain Morgan being now famous in all the neighbouring countries for his great enterprises. There was then at Jamaica an English ship newly come from New England, well mounted with thirty-six guns: this vessel, by order of the governor of Jamaica, joined Captain Morgan to strengthen his fleet, and give him greater courage to attempt mighty things. With this supply Captain Morgan judged himself sufficiently strong; but there being in the same place another great vessel of twenty-four iron guns, and twelve brass ones, belonging to the French, Captain Morgan endeavoured also to join this ship to his own; but the French not daring to trust the English, denied absolutely to consent. The French pirates belonging to this great ship had met at sea an English vessel; and being under great want of victuals, they had taken some provisions out of the English ship, without paying for them, having, perhaps, no ready money aboard: only they gave them bills of exchange for Jamaica and Tortuga, to receive money there. Captain Morgan having notice of this, and perceiving he could not prevail with the French captain to follow him, resolved to lay hold on this occasion, to ruin the French, and seek his revenge. Hereupon he invited, with dissimulation, the French commander, and several of his men, to dine with him on board the great ship that was come to Jamaica, as is said. Being come, he made them all prisoners, pretending the injury aforesaid done to the English vessel. This unjust action of Captain Morgan was soon followed by Divine punishment, as we may conceive: the manner I shall instantly relate. Captain Morgan, presently after he had taken these French prisoners, called a council to deliberate what place they should first pitch upon in this new expedition. Here it was determined to go to the isle of Savona, to wait for the flota then expected from Spain, and take any of the Spanish vessels straggling from the rest. This resolution being taken, they began aboard the great ship to feast one another for joy of their new voyage, and happy council, as they hoped: they drank many healths, and discharged many guns, the common sign of mirth among seamen. Most of the men being drunk, by what accident is not known, the ship suddenly was blown up, with three hundred and fifty Englishmen, besides the French prisoners in the hold; of all which there escaped but thirty men, who were in the great cabin, at some distance from the main force of the powder. Many more, it is thought, might have escaped, had they not been so much overtaken with wine. This loss brought much consternation of mind upon the English; they knew not whom to blame, but at last the accusation was laid on the French prisoners, whom they suspected to have fired the powder of the ship out of revenge, though with the loss of their own lives: hereupon they added new accusations to their former, whereby to seize the ship and all that was in it, by saying the French designed to commit piracy on the English. The grounds of this accusation were given by a commission from the governor of Barracoa, found aboard the French vessel, wherein were these words, "that the said governor did permit the French to trade in all Spanish ports," &c. "As also to cruise on the English pirates in what place soever they could find them, because of the multitudes of hostilities which they had committed against the subjects of his Catholic Majesty in time of peace betwixt the two crowns." This commission for trade was interpreted as an express order to exercise piracy and war against them, though it was only a bare licence for coming into the Spanish ports; the cloak of which permission were those words, "that they should cruise upon the English." And though the French did sufficiently expound the true sense of it, yet they could not clear themselves to Captain Morgan nor his council: but in lieu thereof, the ship and men were seized and sent to Jamaica. Here they also endeavoured to obtain justice, and the restitution of their ship, but all in vain; for instead of justice, they were long detained in prison, and threatened with hanging. Eight days after the loss of the said ship, Captain Morgan commanded the bodies of the miserable wretches who were blown up to be searched for, as they floated on the sea; not to afford them Christian burial, but for their clothes and attire: and if any had gold rings on their fingers, these were cut off, leaving them exposed to the voracity of the monsters of the sea. At last they set sail for Savona, the place of their assignation. There were in all fifteen vessels, Captain Morgan commanding the biggest, of only fourteen small guns; his number of men was nine hundred and sixty. Few days after, they arrived at the Cabo de Lobos, south of Hispaniola, between Cape Tiburon and Cape Punta de Espada: hence they could not pass by reason of contrary winds for three weeks, notwithstanding all the utmost endeavours Captain Morgan used to get forth; then they doubled the cape, and spied an English vessel at a distance. Having spoken with her, they found she came from England, and bought of her, for ready money, some provisions they wanted. Captain Morgan proceeded on his voyage till he came to the port of Ocoa; here he landed some men, sending them into the woods to seek water and provisions, the better to spare such as he had already on board. They killed many beasts, and among others some horses. But the Spaniards, not well satisfied at their hunting, laid a stratagem for them, ordering three or four hundred men to come from Santo Domingo not far distant, and desiring them to hunt in all the parts thereabout near the sea, that so, if the pirates should return, they might find no subsistence. Within few days the same pirates returned to hunt, but finding nothing to kill, a party of about fifty straggled farther on into the woods. The Spaniards, who watched all their motions, gathered a great herd of cows, and set two or three men to keep them. The pirates having spied them, killed a sufficient number; and though the Spaniards could see them at a distance, yet they could not hinder them at present; but as soon as they attempted to carry them away, they set upon them furiously, crying, "Mata, mata," _i.e._, "Kill, kill." Thus the pirates were compelled to quit the prey, and retreat to their ships; but they did it in good order, retiring by degrees, and when they had opportunity, discharging full volleys on the Spaniards, killing many of their enemies, though with some loss. The Spaniards seeing their damage, endeavoured to save themselves by flight, and carry off their dead and wounded companions. The pirates perceiving them flee, would not content themselves with what hurt they had already done, but pursued them speedily into the woods, and killed the greatest part of those that remained. Next day Captain Morgan, extremely offended at what had passed, went himself with two hundred men into the woods to seek for the rest of the Spaniards, but finding nobody, he revenged his wrath on the houses of the poor and miserable rustics that inhabit those scattering fields and woods, of which he burnt a great number: with this he returned to his ships, somewhat more satisfied in his mind for having done some considerable damage to the enemy; which was always his most ardent desire. The impatience wherewith Captain Morgan had waited a long while for some of his ships not yet arrived, made him resolve to sail away without them, and steer for Savona, the place he always designed. Being arrived, and not finding any of his ships come, he was more impatient and concerned than before, fearing their loss, or that he must proceed without them; but he waiting for their arrival a few days longer, and having no great plenty of provisions, he sent a crew of one hundred and fifty men to Hispaniola to pillage some towns near Santo Domingo; but the Spaniards, upon intelligence of their coming, were so vigilant, and in such good posture of defence, that the pirates thought not convenient to assault them, choosing rather to return empty-handed to Captain Morgan, than to perish in that desperate enterprise. At last Captain Morgan, seeing the other ships did not come, made a review of his people, and found only about five hundred men; the ships wanting were seven, he having only eight in his company, of which the greatest part were very small. Having hitherto resolved to cruise on the coasts of Caraccas, and to plunder the towns and villages there, finding himself at present with such small forces, he changed his resolution by advice of a French captain in his fleet. This Frenchman having served Lolonois in the like enterprises, and at the taking of Maracaibo, knew all the entries, passages, forces, and means, how to put in execution the same again in company of Captain Morgan; to whom having made a full relation of all, he concluded to sack it the second time, being himself persuaded, with all his men, of the facility the Frenchman propounded. Hereupon they weighed anchor, and steered towards Curasao. Being come within sight of it, they landed at another island near it, called Ruba, about twelve leagues from Curasao to the west. This island, defended by a slender garrison, is inhabited by Indians subject to Spain, and speak Spanish, by reason of the Roman Catholic religion, here cultivated by a few priests sent from the neighbouring continent. The inhabitants exercise commerce or trade with the pirates that go or come this way: they buy of the islanders sheep, lambs, and kids, which they exchange for linen, thread, and like things. The country is very dry and barren, the whole substance thereof consisting in those three things, and in a little indifferent wheat. This isle produces many venomous insects, as vipers, spiders, and others. These last are so pernicious, that a man bitten by them dies mad; and the manner of recovering such is to tie them very fast both hands and feet, and so to leave them twenty-four hours, without eating or drinking anything. Captain Morgan, as was said, having cast anchor before this island, bought of the inhabitants sheep, lambs, and wood, for all his fleet. After two days, he sailed again in the night, to the intent they might not see what course he steered. Next day they arrived at the sea of Maracaibo, taking great care not to be seen from Vigilia, for which reason they anchored out of sight of it. Night being come, they set sail again towards the land, and next morning, by break of day, were got directly over against the bar of the said lake. The Spaniards had built another fort since the action of Lolonois, whence they now fired continually against the pirates, while they put their men into boats to land. The dispute continued very hot, being managed with great courage from morning till dark night. This being come, Captain Morgan, in the obscurity thereof, drew nigh the fort, which having examined, he found nobody in it, the Spaniards having deserted it not long before. They left behind them a match lighted near a train of powder, to have blown up the pirates and the whole fortress as soon as they were in it. This design had taken effect, had not the pirates discovered it in a quarter of an hour; but Captain Morgan snatching away the match, saved both his own and his companions' lives. They found here much powder, whereof he provided his fleet, and then demolished part of the walls, nailing sixteen pieces of ordnance, from twelve to twenty-four pounders. Here they also found many muskets and other military provisions. Next day they commanded the ships to enter the bar, among which they divided the powder, muskets, and other things found in the fort: then they embarked again to continue their course towards Maracaibo; but the waters being very low, they could not pass a certain bank at the entry of the lake: hereupon they were compelled to go into canoes and small boats, with which they arrived next day before Maracaibo, having no other defence than some small pieces which they could carry in the said boats. Being landed, they ran immediately to the fort De la Barra, which they found as the precedent, without any person in it, for all were fled into the woods, leaving also the town without any people, unless a few miserable folks, who had nothing to lose. As soon as they had entered the town, the pirates searched every corner, to see if they could find any people that were hid, who might offend them unawares; not finding anybody, every party, as they came out of their several ships, chose what houses they pleased. The church was deputed for the common corps du guard, where they lived after their military manner, very insolently. Next day after they sent a troop of a hundred men to seek for the inhabitants and their goods; these returned next day, bringing with them thirty persons, men, women, and children, and fifty mules laden with good merchandise. All these miserable people were put to the rack, to make them confess where the rest of the inhabitants were, and their goods. Among other tortures, one was to stretch their limbs with cords, and then to beat them with sticks and other instruments. Others had burning matches placed betwixt their fingers, which were thus burnt alive. Others had slender cords or matches twisted about their heads, till their eyes burst out. Thus all inhuman cruelties were executed on those innocent people. Those who would not confess, or who had nothing to declare, died under the hands of those villains. These tortures and racks continued for three whole weeks, in which time they sent out daily parties to seek for more people to torment and rob, they never returning without booty and new riches. Captain Morgan having now gotten into his hands about a hundred of the chief families, with all their goods, at last resolved for Gibraltar, as Lolonois had done before: with this design he equipped his fleet, providing it sufficiently with all necessaries. He put likewise on board all the prisoners, and weighing anchor, set sail with resolution to hazard a battle. They had sent before some prisoners to Gibraltar, to require the inhabitants to surrender, otherwise Captain Morgan would certainly put them all to the sword, without any quarter. Arriving before Gibraltar, the inhabitants received him with continual shooting of great cannon bullets; but the pirates, instead of fainting hereat, ceased not to encourage one another, saying, "We must make one meal upon bitter things, before we come to taste the sweetness of the sugar this place affords." Next day very early they landed all their men, and being guided by the Frenchman abovesaid, they marched towards the town, not by the common way, but crossing through the woods, which way the Spaniards scarce thought they would have come; for at the beginning of their march they made as if they intended to come the next and open way to the town, hereby to deceive the Spaniards: but these remembering full well what Lolonois had done but two years before, thought it not safe to expect a second brunt, and hereupon all fled out of the town as fast as they could, carrying all their goods and riches, as also all the powder; and having nailed all the great guns, so as the pirates found not one person in the whole city, but one poor innocent man who was born a fool. This man they asked whither the inhabitants were fled, and where they had hid their goods. To all which questions and the like, he constantly answered, "I know nothing, I know nothing:" but they presently put him to the rack, and tortured him with cords; which torments forced him to cry out, "Do not torture me any more, but come with me, and I will show you my goods and my riches." They were persuaded, it seems, he was some rich person disguised under those clothes so poor, and that innocent tongue; so they went along with him, and he conducted them to a poor miserable cottage, wherein he had a few earthen dishes and other things of no value, and three pieces of eight, concealed with some other trumpery underground. Then they asked him his name, and he readily answered, "My name is Don Sebastian Sanchez, and I am brother unto the governor of Maracaibo." This foolish answer, it must be conceived, these inhuman wretches took for truth: for no sooner had they heard it, but they put him again upon the rack, lifting him up on high with cords, and tying huge weights to his feet and neck. Besides which, they burnt him alive, applying palm-leaves burning to his face. [Illustration: "'THEY HANGED HIM ON A TREE'"--_Page 146_] The same day they sent out a party to seek for the inhabitants, on whom they might exercise their cruelties. These brought back an honest peasant with two daughters of his, whom they intended to torture as they used others, if they showed not the places where the inhabitants were hid. The peasant knew some of those places, and seeing himself threatened with the rack, went with the pirates to show them; but the Spaniards perceiving their enemies to range everywhere up and down the woods, were already fled thence farther off into the thickest of the woods, where they built themselves huts, to preserve from the weather those few goods they had. The pirates judged themselves deceived by the peasant, and hereupon, to revenge themselves, notwithstanding all his excuses and supplication, they hanged him on a tree. Then they divided into parties to search the plantations; for they knew the Spaniards that were absconded could not live on what the woods afforded, without coming now and then for provisions to their country houses. Here they found a slave, to whom they promised mountains of gold and his liberty, by transporting him to Jamaica, if he would show them where the inhabitants of Gibraltar lay hid. This fellow conducted them to a party of Spaniards, whom they instantly made prisoners, commanding this slave to kill some before the eyes of the rest; that by this perpetrated crime, he might never be able to leave their wicked company. The negro, according to their orders, committed many murders and insolencies upon the Spaniards, and followed the unfortunate traces of the pirates; who eight days after returned to Gibraltar with many prisoners, and some mules laden with riches. They examined every prisoner by himself (who were in all about two hundred and fifty persons), where they had hid the rest of their goods, and if they know of their fellow-townsmen. Such as would not confess were tormented after a most inhuman manner. Among the rest, there happened to be a Portuguese, who by a negro was reported, though falsely, to be very rich; this man was commanded to produce his riches. His answer was, he had no more than one hundred pieces of eight in the world, and these had been stolen from him two days before by his servant; which words, though he sealed with many oaths and protestations, yet they would not believe him, but dragging him to the rack, without any regard to his age of sixty years, they stretched him with cords, breaking both his arms behind his shoulders. This cruelty went not alone; for he not being able or willing to make any other declaration, they put him to another sort of torment more barbarous; they tied him with small cords by his two thumbs and great toes to four stakes fixed in the ground, at a convenient distance, the whole weight of his body hanging on those cords. Not satisfied yet with this cruel torture, they took a stone of above two hundred pounds, and laid it upon his belly, as if they intended to press him to death; they also kindled palm leaves, and applied the flame to the face of this unfortunate Portuguese, burning with them the whole skin, beard, and hair. At last, seeing that neither with these tortures, nor others, they could get anything out of him, they untied the cords, and carried him half dead to the church, where was their corps du guard; here they tied him anew to one of the pillars thereof, leaving him in that condition, without giving him either to eat or drink, unless very sparingly, and so little that would scarce sustain life for some days; four or five being past, he desired one of the prisoners might come to him, by whose means he promised he would endeavour to raise some money to satisfy their demands. The prisoner whom he required was brought to him, and he ordered him to promise the pirate five hundred pieces of eight for his ransom; but they were deaf and obstinate at such a small sum, and instead of accepting it, beat him cruelly with cudgels, saying, "Old fellow, instead of five hundred, you must say five hundred thousand pieces of eight; otherwise you shall here end your life." Finally, after a thousand protestations that he was but a miserable man, and kept a poor tavern for his living, he agreed with them for one thousand pieces of eight. These he raised, and having paid them, got his liberty; though so horribly maimed, that it is scarce to be believed he could survive many weeks. Others were crucified by these tyrants, and with kindled matches burnt between the joints of their fingers and toes: others had their feet put into the fire, and thus were left to be roasted alive. Having used these and other cruelties with the white men, they began to practise the same with the negroes, their slaves, who were treated with no less inhumanity than their masters. Among these slaves was one who promised Captain Morgan to conduct him to a river of the lake, where he should find a ship and four boats, richly laden with goods of the inhabitants of Maracaibo: the same discovered likewise where the governor of Gibraltar lay hid, with the greatest part of the women of the town; but all this he revealed, upon great menaces to hang him, if he told not what he knew. Captain Morgan sent away presently two hundred men in two settees, or great boats, to this river, to seek for what the slave had discovered; but he himself, with two hundred and fifty more, undertook to go and take the governor. This gentleman was retired to a small island in the middle of the river, where he had built a little fort, as well as he could, for his defence; but hearing that Captain Morgan came in person with great forces to seek him, he retired to the top of a mountain not far off, to which there was no ascent but by a very narrow passage, so straight, that whosoever did attempt to gain the ascent, must march his men one by one. Captain Morgan spent two days before he arrived at this little island, whence he designed to proceed to the mountain where the governor was posted, had he not been told of the impossibility of ascent, not only for the narrowness of the way, but because the governor was well provided with all sorts of ammunition: beside, there was fallen a huge rain, whereby all the pirates' baggage and powder was wet. By this rain, also, they lost many men at the passage over a river that was overflown: here perished, likewise, some women and children, and many mules laden with plate and goods, which they had taken from the fugitive inhabitants; so that things were in a very bad condition with Captain Morgan, and his men much harassed, as may be inferred from this relation: whereby, if the Spaniards, in that juncture, had had but fifty men well armed, they might have entirely destroyed the pirates. But the fears the Spaniards had at first conceived were so great, that the leaves stirring on the trees they often fancied to be pirates. Finally, Captain Morgan and his people, having upon this march sometimes waded up to their middles in water for half, or whole miles together, they at last escaped, for the greatest part; but the women and children for the major part died. Thus twelve days after they set forth to seek the governor they returned to Gibraltar, with many prisoners: two days after arrived also the two settees that went to the river, bringing with them four boats, and some prisoners; but the greatest part of the merchandise in the said boats they found not, the Spaniards having unladed and secured it, having intelligence of their coming; who designed also, when the merchandise was taken out, to burn the boats: yet the Spaniards made not so much haste to unlade these vessels, but that they left in the ship and boats great parcels of goods, which the pirates seized, and brought a considerable booty to Gibraltar. Thus, after they had been in possession of the place five entire weeks, and committed an infinite number of murders, robberies, and such-like insolencies, they concluded to depart; but first they ordered some prisoners to go forth into the woods and fields, and collect a ransom for the town, otherwise they would certainly burn it down to the ground. These poor afflicted men went as they were sent, and having searched the adjoining fields and woods, returned to Captain Morgan, telling him they had scarce been able to find anybody, but that to such as they had found they had proposed his demands; to which they had answered, that the governor had prohibited them to give any ransom for the town, but they beseeched him to have a little patience, and among themselves they would collect five thousand pieces of eight; and for the rest, they would give some of their own townsmen as hostages, whom he might carry to Maracaibo, till he had received full satisfaction. Captain Morgan having now been long absent from Maracaibo, and knowing the Spaniards had had sufficient time to fortify themselves, and hinder his departure out of the lake, granted their proposition, and made as much haste as he could for his departure: he gave liberty to all the prisoners, first putting every one to a ransom; yet he detained the slaves. They delivered him four persons agreed on for hostages of what money more he was to receive, and they desired to have the slave mentioned above, intending to punish him according to his deserts; but Captain Morgan would not deliver him, lest they should burn him alive. At last, they weighed anchor, and set sail in all haste for Maracaibo: here they arrived in four days, and found all things as they had left them; yet here they received news from a poor distressed old man, whom alone they found sick in the town, that three Spanish men-of-war were arrived at the entry of the lake, waiting the return of the pirates: moreover, that the castle at the entry thereof was again put into a good posture of defence, well provided with guns and men, and all sorts of ammunition. This relation could not choose but disturb the mind of Captain Morgan, who now was careful how to get away through the narrow entry of the lake: hereupon he sent his swiftest boat to view the entry, and see if things were as they had been related. Next day the boat came back, confirming what was said; assuring him, they had viewed the ships so nigh, that they had been in great danger of their shot, hereunto they added, that the biggest ship was mounted with forty guns, the second with thirty, and the smallest with twenty-four. These forces being much beyond those of Captain Morgan, caused a general consternation in the pirates, whose biggest vessel had not above fourteen small guns. Every one judged Captain Morgan to despond, and to be hopeless, considering the difficulty of passing safe with his little fleet amidst those great ships and the fort, or he must perish. How to escape any other way, by sea or land, they saw no way. Under these necessities, Captain Morgan resumed new courage, and resolving to show himself still undaunted, he boldly sent a Spaniard to the admiral of those three ships, demanding of him a considerable ransom for not putting the city of Maracaibo to the flames. This man (who was received by the Spaniards with great admiration of the boldness of those pirates) returned two days after, bringing to Captain Morgan a letter from the said admiral, as follows:-- _The Letter of Don Alonso del Campo y Espinosa, Admiral of the Spanish Fleet, to Captain Morgan, Commander of the Pirates._ "Having understood by all our friends and neighbours, the unexpected news that you have dared to attempt and commit hostilities in the countries, cities, towns, and villages belonging to the dominions of his Catholic Majesty, my sovereign lord and master; I let you understand by these lines, that I am come to this place, according to my obligation, near that castle which you took out of the hands of a parcel of cowards; where I have put things into a very good posture of defence, and mounted again the artillery which you had nailed and dismounted. My intent is, to dispute with you your passage out of the lake, and follow and pursue you everywhere, to the end you may see the performance of my duty. Notwithstanding, if you be contented to surrender with humility all that you have taken, together with the slaves and all other prisoners, I will let you freely pass, without trouble or molestation; on condition that you retire home presently to your own country. But if you make any resistance or opposition to what I offer you, I assure you I will command boats to come from Caraccas, wherein I will put my troops, and coming to Maracaibo, will put you every man to the sword. This is my last and absolute resolution. Be prudent, therefore, and do not abuse my bounty with ingratitude. I have with me very good soldiers, who desire nothing more ardently than to revenge on you, and your people, all the cruelties, and base infamous actions, you have committed upon the Spanish nation in America. Dated on board the royal ship named the _Magdalen_, lying at anchor at the entry of the lake of Maracaibo, this 24th of April, 1669. "DON ALONSO DEL CAMPO Y ESPINOSA." As soon as Captain Morgan received this letter, he called all his men together in the market-place of Maracaibo, and after reading the contents thereof, both in French and English, asked their advice and resolution on the whole matter, and whether they had rather surrender all they had got to obtain their liberty, than fight for it. They answered all, unanimously, they had rather fight to the last drop of blood, than surrender so easily the booty they had got with so much danger of their lives. Among the rest, one said to Captain Morgan, "Take you care for the rest, and I will undertake to destroy the biggest of those ships with only twelve men: the manner shall be, by making a brulot, or fire-ship, of that vessel we took in the river of Gibraltar; which, to the intent she may not be known for a fireship, we will fill her decks with logs of wood, standing with hats and montera caps, to deceive their sight with the representation of men. The same we will do at the port-holes that serve for the guns, which shall be filled with counterfeit cannon. At the stern we will hang out English colours, and persuade the enemy she is one of our best men-of-war going to fight them." This proposition was admitted and approved by every one; howbeit, their fears were not quite dispersed. For, notwithstanding what had been concluded there, they endeavoured the next day to come to an accommodation with Don Alonso. To this effect, Captain Morgan sent to him two persons, with these propositions: First, that he would quit Maracaibo, without doing any damage to the town, or exacting any ransom for the firing thereof. Secondly, that he would set at liberty one half of the slaves, and all the prisoners, without ransom. Thirdly, that he would send home freely the four chief inhabitants of Gibraltar, which he had in his custody as hostages for the contributions those people had promised to pay. These propositions were instantly rejected by Don Alonso, as dishonourable: neither would he hear of any other accommodation, but sent back this message: "That if they surrendered not themselves voluntarily into his hands, within two days, under the conditions which he had offered them by his letter, he would immediately come, and force them to do it." No sooner had Captain Morgan received this message from Don Alonso, than he put all things in order to fight, resolving to get out of the lake by main force, without surrendering anything. First, he commanded all the slaves and prisoners to be tied, and guarded very well, and gathered all the pitch, tar, and brimstone, they could find in the whole town, for the fire-ship above-mentioned; then they made several inventions of powder and brimstone with palm leaves, well annointed with tar. They covered very well their counterfeit cannon, laying under every piece many pounds of powder; besides, they cut down many outworks of the ship, that the powder might exert its strength the better; breaking open, also, new port-holes, where, instead of guns, they placed little drums used by the negroes. Finally, the decks were handsomely beset with many pieces of wood, dressed up like men with hats, or monteras, and armed with swords, muskets, and bandeleers. The fire-ship being thus fitted, they prepared to go to the entry of the port. All the prisoners were put into one great boat, and in another of the biggest they placed all the women, plate, jewels, and other rich things: into others they put the bales of goods and merchandise, and other things of bulk: each of these boats had twelve men aboard, very well armed; the brulot had orders to go before the rest of the vessels, and presently to fall foul with the great ship. All things being ready, Captain Morgan exacted an oath of all his comrades, protesting to defend themselves to the last drop of blood, without demanding quarter; promising withal, that whosoever behaved himself thus, should be very well rewarded. With this courageous resolution they set sail to seek the Spaniards. On April 30, 1669, they found the Spanish fleet riding at anchor in the middle of the entry of the lake. Captain Morgan, it being now late and almost dark, commanded all his vessels to an anchor, designing to fight even all night if they forced him to it. He ordered a careful watch to be kept aboard every vessel till morning, they being almost within shot, as well as within sight of the enemy. The day dawning, they weighed anchor, and sailed again, steering directly towards the Spaniards; who seeing them move, did instantly the same. The fire-ship sailing before the rest fell presently upon the great ship, and grappled her; which the Spaniards (too late) perceiving to be a fire-ship, they attempted to put her off, but in vain: for the flame seizing her timber and tackling, soon consumed all the stern, the fore part sinking into the sea, where she perished. The second Spanish ship perceiving the admiral to burn, not by accident, but by industry of the enemy, escaped towards the castle, where the Spaniards themselves sunk her, choosing to lose their ship rather than to fall into the hands of those pirates. The third, having no opportunity to escape, was taken by the pirates. The seamen that sunk the second ship near the castle, perceiving the pirates come towards them to take what remains they could find of their shipwreck (for some part was yet above water), set fire also to this vessel, that the pirates might enjoy nothing of that spoil. The first ship being set on fire, some of the persons in her swam towards the shore; these pirates would have taken up in their boats, but they would not ask or take quarter, choosing rather to lose their lives than receive them from their hands, for reasons which I shall relate. [Illustration: "'THE FIRE-SHIP, SAILING BEFORE THE REST, FELL PRESENTLY UPON THE GREAT SHIP'"--_Page 158_] The pirates being extremely glad at this signal victory so soon obtained, and with so great an inequality of forces, conceived greater pride than they had before, and all presently ran ashore, intending to take the castle. This they found well provided with men, cannon, and ammunition, they having no other arms than muskets, and a few hand granadoes: their own artillery they thought incapable, for its smallness, of making any considerable breach in the walls. Thus they spent the rest of the day, firing at the garrison with their muskets, till the dusk of the evening, when they attempted to advance nearer the walls, to throw in their fire-balls: but the Spaniards resolving to sell their lives as dear as they could, fired so furiously at them, that they having experimented the obstinacy of the enemy, and seeing thirty of their men dead, and as many more wounded, they retired to their ships. The Spaniards believing the pirates would next day renew the attack with their own cannon, laboured hard all night to put things in order for their coming; particularly, they dug down, and made plain, some little hills and eminences, when possibly the castle might be offended. But Captain Morgan intended not to come again, busying himself next day in taking prisoners some of the men who still swam alive, hoping to get part of the riches lost in the two ships that perished. Among the rest, he took a pilot, who was a stranger, and who belonged to the lesser ship of the two, of whom he inquired several things; as, What number of people those three ships had in them? Whether they expected any more ships to come? From what port they set forth last, when they came to seek them out? He answered, in Spanish, "Noble sir, be pleased to pardon and spare me, that no evil be done to me, being a stranger to this nation I have served, and I shall sincerely inform you of all that passed till our arrival at this lake. We were sent by orders from the Supreme Council of State in Spain, being six men-of-war well equipped, into these seas, with instructions to cruise upon the English pirates, and root them out from these parts by destroying as many of them as we could. "These orders were given, upon the news brought to the court of Spain of the loss and ruin of Puerto Bello, and other places; of all which damages and hostilities committed here by the English, dismal lamentations have often been made to the catholic king and council, to whom belongs the care and preservation of this new world. And though the Spanish court hath many times by their ambassadors complained hereof to the king of England; yet it hath been the constant answer of his Majesty of Great Britain, that he never gave any letters patent, nor commissions, for acting any hostility against the subjects of the king of Spain. Hereupon the catholic king resolved to revenge his subjects, and punish these proceedings: commanded six men-of-war to be equipped, which he sent under the command of Don Augustine de Bustos, admiral of the said fleet. He commanded the biggest ship, named _N. S. de la Soleda_, of forty-eight great guns, and eight small ones. The vice-admiral was Don Alonso del Campo y Espinosa, who commanded the second ship called _La Conception_, of forty-four great guns, and eight small ones; besides four vessels more, whereof the first was named the _Magdalen_, of thirty-six great guns, and twelve small ones, with two hundred and fifty men. The second was called _St. Lewis_, with twenty-six great guns, twelve small ones, and two hundred men. The third was called _La Marquesa_, of sixteen great guns, eight small ones, and one hundred and fifty men. The fourth and last, _N. S. del Carmen_, with eighteen great guns, eight small ones, and one hundred and fifty men. "Being arrived at Carthagena, the two greatest ships received orders to return to Spain, being judged too big for cruising on these coasts. With the four ships remaining, Don Alonso del Campo y Espinosa departed towards Campechy to seek the English: we arrived at the port there, where, being surprised by a huge storm from the north, we lost one of our ships, being that which I named last. Hence we sailed for Hispaniola, in sight of which we came in a few days, and steered for Santo Domingo: here we heard that there had passed that way a fleet from Jamaica, and that some men thereof had landed at Alta Gracia; the inhabitants had taken one prisoner, who confessed their design was to go and pillage the city of Caraccas. On this news, Don Alonso instantly weighed anchor, and, crossing over to the continent, we came in sight of the Caraccas: here we found them not, but met with a boat, which certified us they were in the lake of Maracaibo, and that the fleet consisted of seven small ships, and one boat. "Upon this we came here, and arriving at the entry of the lake, we shot off a gun for a pilot from the shore. Those on land perceiving we were Spaniards, came willingly to us with a pilot, and told us the English had taken Maracaibo, and that they were now at the pillage of Gibraltar. Don Alonso, on this news, made a handsome speech to his soldiers and mariners, encouraging them to their duty, and promising to divide among them all they should take from the English: he ordered the guns we had taken out of the ship that was lost to be put into the castle, and mounted for its defence, with two eighteen-pounders more, out of his own ship. The pilots conducted us into the port, and Don Alonso commanded the people on shore to come before him, whom he ordered to repossess the castle, and reinforce it with one hundred men more than it had before its being taken. Soon after, we heard of your return from Gibraltar to Maracaibo, whither Don Alonso wrote you a letter, giving you an account of his arrival and design, and exhorting you to restore what you had taken. This you refusing, he renewed his promises to his soldiers and seamen, and having given a very good supper to all his people, he ordered them not to take or give any quarter, which was the occasion of so many being drowned, who dared not to crave quarter, knowing themselves must give none. Two days before you came against us, a negro came aboard Don Alonso's ship, telling him, 'Sir, be pleased to have great care of yourself; for the English have prepared a fire-ship, with design to burn your fleet.' But Don Alonso not believing this, answered, 'How can that be? Have they, peradventure, wit enough to build a fire-ship? Or what instruments have they to do it withal?'" This pilot having related so distinctly these things to Captain Morgan, was very well used by him, and, after some kind proffers made to him, remained in his service. He told Captain Morgan, that, in the ship which was sunk, there was a great quantity of plate, to the value of forty thousand pieces of eight; which occasioned the Spaniards to be often seen in boats about it. Hereupon, Captain Morgan ordered one of his ships to remain there, to find ways of getting out of it what plate they could; meanwhile, himself, with all his fleet, returned to Maracaibo, where he refitted the great ship he had taken, and chose it for himself, giving his own bottom to one of his captains. Then he sent again a messenger to the admiral, who was escaped ashore, and got into the castle, demanding of him a ransom of fire for Maracaibo; which being denied, he threatened entirely to consume and destroy it. The Spaniards considering the ill-luck they had all along with those pirates, and not knowing how to get rid of them, concluded to pay the said ransom, though Don Alonso would not consent. Hereupon, they sent to Captain Morgan, to know what sum he demanded. He answered, that on payment of 30,000 pieces of eight, and five hundred beeves, he would release the prisoners and do no damage to the town. At last they agreed on 20,000 pieces of eight, and five hundred beeves to victual his fleet. The cattle were brought the next day, with one part of the money; and, while the pirates were busied in salting the flesh, they made up the whole 20,000 pieces of eight, as was agreed. But Captain Morgan would not presently deliver the prisoners, as he had promised, fearing the shot of the castle at his going forth out of the lake. Hereupon he told them he intended not to deliver them till he was out of that danger, hoping thus to obtain a free passage. Then he set sail with his fleet in quest of the ship he had left, to seek for the plate of the vessel that was burnt. He found her on the place, with 15,000 pieces of eight got out of the work, beside many pieces of plate, as hilts of swords, and the like; also a great quantity of pieces of eight melted and run together, by the force of the fire. Captain Morgan scarce thought himself secure, nor could he contrive how to avoid the shot of the castle: hereupon he wished the prisoners to agree with the governor to permit a safe passage to his fleet, which, if he should not allow, he would certainly hang them all up in his ships. Upon this the prisoners met, and appointed some of their fellow-messengers to go to the said governor, Don Alonso: these went to him, beseeching and supplicating him to have compassion on those afflicted prisoners, who were, with their wives and children, in the hands of Captain Morgan; and that to this effect he would be pleased to give his word to let the fleet of pirates freely pass, this being the only way to save both the lives of them that came with this petition, as also of those who remained in captivity; all being equally menaced with the sword and gallows, if he granted them not this humble request. But Don Alonso gave them for answer a sharp reprehension of their cowardice, telling them, "If you had been as loyal to your king in hindering the entry of these pirates, as I shall do their going out, you had never caused these troubles, neither to yourselves nor to our whole nation, which hath suffered so much through your pusillanimity. In a word, I shall never grant your request, but shall endeavour to maintain that respect which is due to my king, according to my duty." [Illustration: "MORGAN DIVIDING THE TREASURE TAKEN AT MARACAIBO"--_Page 166_] Thus the Spaniards returned with much consternation, and no hopes of obtaining their request, telling Captain Morgan what answer they had received: his reply was, "If Don Alonso will not let me pass, I will find means how to do it without him." Hereupon he presently made a dividend of all they had taken, fearing he might not have an opportunity to do it in another place, if any tempest should rise and separate the ships, as also being jealous that any of the commanders might run away with the best part of the spoil, which then lay much more in one vessel than another. Thus they all brought in according to their laws, and declared what they had, first making oath not to conceal the least thing. The accounts being cast up, they found to the value of 25,000 pieces of eight, in money and jewels, beside the huge quantity of merchandise and slaves, all which purchase was divided to every ship or boat, according to her share. The dividend being made, the question still remained how they should pass the castle, and get out of the lake. To this effect they made use of a stratagem, as follows: the day before the night wherein they determined to get forth, they embarked many of their men in canoes, and rowed towards the shore, as if they designed to land: here they hid themselves under branches of trees that hang over the coast awhile, laying themselves down in the boats; then the canoes returned to the ships, with the appearance of only two or three men rowing them back, the rest being unseen at the bottom of the canoes: thus much only could be perceived from the castle, and this false landing of men, for so we may call it, was repeated that day several times: this made the Spaniards think the pirates intended at night to force the castle by scaling it. This fear caused them to place most of their great guns on the land side, together with their main force, leaving the side towards the sea almost destitute of defence. Night being come, they weighed anchor, and by moonlight, without setting sail, committed themselves to the ebbing tide, which gently brought them down the river, till they were near the castle; being almost over against it, they spread their sails with all possible haste. The Spaniards perceiving this, transported with all speed their guns from the other side, and began to fire very furiously at them; but these having a very favourable wind, were almost past danger before those of the castle could hurt them; so that they lost few of their men, and received no considerable damage in their ships. Being out of the reach of the guns, Captain Morgan sent a canoe to the castle with some of the prisoners, and the governor thereof gave them a boat to return to their own homes; but he detained the hostages from Gibraltar, because the rest of the ransom for not firing the place was yet unpaid. Just as he departed, Captain Morgan ordered seven great guns with bullets to be fired against the castle, as it were to take his leave of them, but they answered not so much as with a musket shot. Next day after, they were surprised with a great tempest, which forced them to cast anchor in five or six fathom water: but the storm increasing, compelled them to weigh again, and put to sea, where they were in great danger of being lost; for if they should have been cast on shore, either into the hands of the Spaniards or Indians, they would certainly have obtained no mercy: at last, the tempest being spent, the wind ceased, to the great joy of the whole fleet. While Captain Morgan made his fortune by these pillagings, his companions, who were separated from his fleet at the Cape de Lobos, to take the ship spoken of before, endured much misery, and were unfortunate in all their attempts. Being arrived at Savona, they found not Captain Morgan there, nor any of their companions, nor had they the fortune to find a letter which Captain Morgan at his departure left behind him in a place where in all probability they would meet with it. Thus, not knowing what course to steer, they concluded to pillage some town or other. They were in all about four hundred men, divided into four ships and one boat: being ready to set forth, they constituted an admiral among themselves, being one who had behaved himself very courageously at the taking of Puerto Bello, named Captain Hansel. This commander attempted the taking of the town of Commana, on the continent of Caraccas, nigh sixty leagues to the west of the Isle de la Trinidad. Being arrived there, they landed their men, and killed some few Indians near the coast; but approaching the town, the Spaniards having in their company many Indians, disputed the entry so briskly, that, with great loss and confusion, they were forced to retire to the ships. At last they arrived at Jamaica, where the rest of their companions, who came with Captain Morgan, mocked and jeered them for their ill success at Commana, often telling them, "Let us see what money you brought from Commana, and if it be as good silver as that which we bring from Maracaibo." CHAPTER XIII _Captain Morgan goes to Hispaniola to equip a new fleet, with intent to pillage again on the coast of the West Indies._ CAPTAIN MORGAN perceived now that Fortune favoured him, by giving success to all his enterprises, which occasioned him, as is usual in human affairs, to aspire to greater things, trusting she would always be constant to him. Such was the burning of Panama, wherein Fortune failed not to assist him, as she had done before, though she had led him thereto through a thousand difficulties. The history hereof I shall now relate, being so remarkable in all its circumstances, as peradventure nothing more deserving memory will be read by future ages. Captain Morgan arriving at Jamaica, found many of his officers and soldiers reduced to their former indigency, by their vices and debaucheries. Hence they perpetually importuned him for new exploits. Captain Morgan, willing to follow Fortune's call, stopped the mouths of many inhabitants of Jamaica, who were creditors to his men for large sums, with the hopes and promises of greater achievements than ever, by a new expedition. This done, he could easily levy men for any enterprise, his name being so famous through all those islands as that alone would readily bring him in more men than he could well employ. He undertook therefore to equip a new fleet, for which he assigned the south side of Tortuga as a place of rendezvous, writing letters to all the expert pirates there inhabiting, as also to the governor, and to the planters and hunters of Hispaniola, informing them of his intentions, and desiring their appearance, if they intended to go with him. These people upon this notice flocked to the place assigned, in huge numbers, with ships, canoes, and boats, being desirous to follow him. Many, who had not the convenience of coming by sea, traversed the woods of Hispaniola, and with no small difficulties arrived there by land. Thus all were present at the place assigned, and ready against October 24, 1670. Captain Morgan was not wanting to be there punctually, coming in his ship to Port Couillon, over against the island De la Vaca, the place assigned. Having gathered the greatest part of his fleet, he called a council to deliberate about finding provisions for so many people. Here they concluded to send four ships and one boat, with four hundred men, to the continent, in order to rifle some country towns and villages for all the corn or maize they could gather. They set sail for the continent towards the river De la Hacha, designing to assault the village called La Rancheria, usually best stored with maize of all the parts thereabouts. Meanwhile Captain Morgan sent another party to hunt in the woods, who killed a huge number of beasts, and salted them: the rest remained in the ships, to clean, fit, and rig them, that, at the return of their fellows, all things might be in a readiness to weigh anchor and follow their designs. CHAPTER XIV _What happened in the river De la Hacha._ THESE four ships setting sail from Hispaniola, steered for the river De la Hacha, where they were suddenly overtaken with a tedious calm. Being within sight of land becalmed for some days, the Spaniards inhabiting along the coast, who had perceived them to be enemies, had sufficient time to prepare themselves, at least to hide the best of their goods, that, without any care of preserving them, they might be ready to retire, if they proved unable to resist the pirates, by whose frequent attempts on those coasts they had already learned what to do in such cases. There was then in the river a good ship, come from Carthagena to lade with maize, and now almost ready to depart. The men of this ship endeavoured to escape; but, not being able to do it, both they and the vessel fell into their hands. This was a fit purchase for them, being good part of what they came for. Next morning, about break of day, they came with their ships ashore, and landed their men, though the Spaniards made good resistance from a battery they had raised on that side, where, of necessity, they were to land; but they were forced to retire to a village, whither the pirates followed them. Here the Spaniards rallying, fell upon them with great fury, and maintained a strong combat, which lasted till night; but then, perceiving they had lost a great number of men, which was no less on the pirates' side, they retired to secret places in the woods. Next day the pirates seeing them all fled, and the town left empty of people, they pursued them as far as they could, and overtook a party of Spaniards, whom they made prisoners, and exercised with most cruel torments, to discover their goods. Some were forced, by intolerable tortures, to confess; but others, who would not, were used more barbarously. Thus, in fifteen days that they remained there, they took many prisoners, much plate and movables, with which booty they resolved to return to Hispaniola: yet, not content with what they had got, they dispatched some prisoners into the woods to seek for the rest of the inhabitants, and to demand a ransom for not burning the town. They answered, they had no money nor plate; but if they would be satisfied with a quantity of maize, they would give as much as they could. The pirates accepted this, it being then more useful to them than ready money, and agreed they should pay four thousand hanegs, or bushels of maize. These were brought in three days after, the Spaniards being desirous to rid themselves of that inhuman sort of people. Having laded them on board with the rest of their purchase, they returned to Hispaniola, to give account to their leader, Captain Morgan, of all they had performed. They had now been absent five weeks on this commission, which long delay occasioned Captain Morgan almost in despair of their return, fearing lest they were fallen in to the hands of the Spaniards; especially considering the place whereto they went could easily be relieved from Carthagena and Santa Maria, if the inhabitants were careful to alarm the country. On the other side, he feared lest they should have made some great fortune in that voyage, and with it have escaped to some other place. But seeing his ships return in greater numbers than they departed, he resumed new courage, this sight causing both in him and his companions infinite joy, especially when they found them full laden with maize, which they much wanted for the maintenance of so many people, from whom they expected great matters under such a commander. Captain Morgan having divided the said maize, as also the flesh which the hunters brought, among his ships, according to the number of men, he concluded to depart; having viewed beforehand every ship, and observed their being well equipped and clean. Thus he set sail, and stood for Cape Tiburon, where he determined to resolve what enterprise he should take in hand. No sooner were they arrived, but they met some other ships newly come to join them from Jamaica; so that now their fleet consisted of thirty-seven ships, wherein were two thousand fighting men, beside mariners and boys. The admiral hereof was mounted with twenty-two great guns, and six small ones of brass; the rest carried some twenty; some sixteen, some eighteen, and the smallest vessel at least four; besides which, they had great quantities of ammunition and fire-balls, with other inventions of powder. Captain Morgan having such a number of ships, divided the whole fleet into two squadrons, constituting a vice-admiral, and other officers of the second squadron, distinct from the former. To these he gave letters patent, or commissions to act all manner of hostilities against the Spanish nation, and take of them what ships they could, either abroad at sea, or in the harbours, as if they were open and declared enemies (as he termed it) of the king of England, his pretended master. This done, he called all his captains and other officers together, and caused them to sign some articles of agreement betwixt them, and in the name of all. Herein it was stipulated, that he should have the hundredth part of all that was gotten to himself: that every captain should draw the shares of eight men for the expenses of his ship, besides his own. To the surgeon, beside his pay, two hundred pieces of eight for his chest of medicaments. To every carpenter, above his salary, one hundred pieces of eight. The rewards were settled in this voyage much higher than before: as, for the loss of both legs, fifteen hundred pieces of eight, or fifteen slaves, the choice left to the party, for the loss of both hands, eighteen hundred pieces of eight, or eighteen slaves: for one leg, whether right or left, six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves: for a hand, as much as for a leg; and for the loss of an eye, one hundred pieces of eight, or one slave. Lastly, to him that in any battle should signalize himself, either by entering first any castle, or taking down the Spanish colours, and setting up the English, they allotted fifty pieces of eight for a reward. All which extraordinary salaries and rewards to be paid out of the first spoil they should take, as every one should occur to be either rewarded or paid. This contract being signed, Captain Morgan commanded his vice-admirals and captains to put all things in order, to attempt one of these three places; either Carthagena, Panama, or Vera Cruz. But the lot fell on Panama, as the richest of all three; though this city being situate at such a distance from the North Sea as they knew not well the approaches to it, they judged it necessary to go beforehand to the isle of St. Catherine, there to find some persons for guides in this enterprise; for in the garrison there are commonly many banditti and outlaws belonging to Panama and the neighbouring places, who are very expert in the knowledge of that country. But before they proceeded, they published an act through the whole fleet, promising, if they met with any Spanish vessel, the first captain who should take it should have for his reward the tenth part of what should be found in her. CHAPTER XV _Captain Morgan leaves Hispaniola and goes to St. Catherine's, which he takes._ CAPTAIN MORGAN and his companions weighed anchor from the Cape of Tiburon, December 16, 1670. Four days after they arrived in sight of St. Catherine's, now in possession of the Spaniards again, as was said before, to which they commonly banish the malefactors of the Spanish dominions in the West Indies. Here are huge quantities of pigeons at certain seasons. It is watered by four rivulets, whereof two are always dry in summer. Here is no trade or commerce exercised by the inhabitants; neither do they plant more fruits than what are necessary for human life, though the country would make very good plantations of tobacco of considerable profit, were it cultivated. As soon as Captain Morgan came near the island with his fleet, he sent one of his best sailing vessels to view the entry of the river, and see if any other ships were there, who might hinder him from landing; as also fearing lest they should give intelligence of his arrival to the inhabitants, and prevent his designs. Next day, before sunrise, all the fleet anchored near the island, in a bay called Aguade Grande. On this bay the Spaniards had built a battery, mounted with four pieces of cannon. Captain Morgan landed about one thousand men in divers squadrons, marching through the woods, though they had no other guides than a few of his own men, who had been there before, under Mansvelt. The same day they came to a place where the governor sometimes resided: here they found a battery called the Platform, but nobody in it, the Spaniards having retired to the lesser island, which, as was said before, is so near the great one, that a short bridge only may conjoin them. This lesser island was so well fortified with forts and batteries round it, as might seem impregnable. Hereupon, as soon as the Spaniards perceived the pirates approach, they fired on them so furiously, that they could advance nothing that day, but were content to retreat, and take up their rest in the open fields, which was not strange to these people, being sufficiently used to such kind of repose. What most afflicted them was hunger, having not eat anything that whole day. About midnight it rained so hard, that they had much ado to bear it, the greatest part of them having no other clothes than a pair of seaman's trousers or breeches, and a shirt, without shoes or stockings. In this great extremity they pulled down a few thatched houses to make fires withal; in a word, they were in such a condition, that one hundred men, indifferently well armed, might easily that night have torn them all in pieces. Next morning, about break of day, the rain ceased, and they dried their arms and marched on: but soon after it rained afresh, rather harder than before, as if the skies were melted into waters; which kept them from advancing towards the forts, whence the Spaniards continually fired at them. The pirates were now reduced to great affliction and danger, through the hardness of the weather, their own nakedness, and great hunger; for a small relief hereof, they found in the fields an old horse, lean, and full of scabs and blotches, with galled back and sides: this they instantly killed and flayed, and divided in small pieces among themselves, as far as it would reach (for many could not get a morsel) which they roasted and devoured without salt or bread, more like ravenous wolves than men. The rain not ceasing, Captain Morgan perceived their minds to relent, hearing many of them say they would return on board. Among these fatigues of mind and body, he thought convenient to use some sudden remedy: to this effect, he commanded a canoe to be rigged in haste, and colours of truce to be hanged out. This canoe he sent to the Spanish governor, with this message: "That if within a few hours he delivered not himself and all his men into his hands, he did by that messenger swear to him, and all those that were in his company, he would most certainly put them to the sword, without granting quarter to any." In the afternoon the canoe returned with this answer: "That the governor desired two hours' time to deliberate with his officers about it, which being past, he would give his positive answer." The time being elapsed, the governor sent two canoes with white colours, and two persons to treat with Captain Morgan; but, before they landed, they demanded of the pirates two persons as hostages. These were readily granted by Captain Morgan, who delivered them two of the captains for a pledge of the security required. With this the Spaniards propounded to Captain Morgan, that the governor, in a full assembly, had resolved to deliver up the island, not being provided with sufficient forces to defend it against such an armada. But withal, he desired Captain Morgan would be pleased to use a certain stratagem of war, for the better saving of his own credit, and the reputation of his officers both abroad and at home, which should be as follows:--That Captain Morgan would come with his troops by night to the bridge that joined the lesser island to the great one, and there attack the fort of St. Jerome: that at the same time all his fleet would draw near the castle of Santa Teresa, and attack it by land, landing, in the meanwhile, more troops near the battery of St. Matthew: that these troops being newly landed, should by this means intercept the governor as he endeavoured to pass to St. Jerome's fort, and then take him prisoner; using the formality, as if they forced him to deliver the castle; and that he would lead the English into it, under colour of being his own troops. That on both sides there should be continual firing, but without bullets, or at least into the air, so that no side might be hurt. That thus having obtained two such considerable forts, the chiefest of the isle, he need not take care for the rest, which must fall of course into his hands. These propositions were granted by Captain Morgan, on condition they should see them faithfully observed; otherwise they should be used with the utmost rigour: this they promised to do, and took their leave, to give account of their negotiation to the governor. Presently after, Captain Morgan commanded the whole fleet to enter the port, and his men to be ready to assault, that night, the castle of St. Jerome. Thus the false battle began, with incessant firing from both the castles, against the ships, but without bullets, as was agreed. Then the pirates landed, and assaulted by night the lesser island, which they took, as also both fortresses; forcing the Spaniards, in appearance, to fly to the church. Before this assault, Captain Morgan sent word to the governor, that he should keep all his men together in a body; otherwise, if the pirates met any straggling Spaniards in the streets, they should certainly shoot them. This island being taken by this unusual stratagem, and all things put in order, the pirates made a new war against the poultry, cattle, and all sorts of victuals they could find, for some days; scarce thinking of anything else than to kill, roast, and eat, and make what good cheer they could. If wood was wanting, they pulled down the houses, and made fires with the timber, as had been done before in the field. Next day they numbered all the prisoners they had taken upon the island, which were found to be in all four hundred and fifty-nine persons, men, women, and children; viz., one hundred and ninety soldiers of the garrison; forty inhabitants, who were married: forty-three children, thirty-four slaves, belonging to the king; with eight children, eight banditti, thirty-nine negroes belonging to private persons; with twenty-seven female blacks, and thirty-four children. The pirates disarmed all the Spaniards, and sent them out immediately to the plantations to seek for provisions, leaving the women in the church to exercise their devotions. Soon after they reviewed the whole island, and all the fortresses thereof, which they found to be nine in all, viz., the fort of St. Jerome, next the bridge, had eight great guns, of twelve, six, and eight pounds carriage; with six pipes of muskets, every pipe containing ten muskets. Here they found still sixty muskets, with sufficient powder and other ammunition. The second fortress, called St. Matthew, had three guns, of eight pounds each. The third, and chiefest, named Santa Teresa, had twenty great guns, of eighteen, twelve, eight, and six pounds; with ten pipes of muskets, like those before, and ninety muskets remaining, besides other ammunition. This castle was built with stone and mortar, with very thick walls, and a large ditch round it, twenty feet deep, which, though it was dry, yet was very hard to get over. Here was no entry, but through one door, to the middle of the castle. Within it was a mount, almost inaccessible, with four pieces of cannon at the top; whence they could shoot directly into the port. On the sea side it was impregnable, by reason of the rocks round it, and the sea beating furiously upon them. To the land it was so commodiously seated on a mountain, as there was no access to it but by a path three or four feet broad. The fourth fortress was named St. Augustine, having three guns of eight and six pounds. The fifth, named La Plattaforma de la Conception, had only two guns, of eight pounds. The sixth, by name San Salvador, had likewise no more than two guns. The seventh, called Plattaforma de los Artilleros, had also two guns. The eighth, called Santa Cruz, had three guns. The ninth, called St. Joseph's Fort, had six guns, of twelve and eight pounds, besides two pipes of muskets, and sufficient ammunition. In the storehouses were above thirty thousand pounds of powder, with all other ammunition, which was carried by the pirates on board. All the guns were stopped and nailed, and the fortresses demolished, except that of St. Jerome, where the pirates kept guard and resistance. Captain Morgan inquired for any banditti from Panama or Puerto Bello, and three were brought him, who pretended to be very expert in the avenues of those parts. He asked them to be his guides, and show him the securest ways to Panama, which, if they performed, he promised them equal shares in the plunder of that expedition, and their liberty when they arrived in Jamaica. These propositions the banditti readily accepted, promising to serve him very faithfully, especially one of the three, who was the greatest rogue, thief, and assassin among them, who had deserved rather to be broken alive on the wheel, than punished with serving in a garrison. This wicked fellow had a great ascendant over the other two, and domineered over them as he pleased, they not daring to disobey his orders. Captain Morgan commanded four ships and one boat to be equipped, and provided with necessaries, to go and take the castle of Chagre, on the river of that name; neither would he go himself with his whole fleet, lest the Spaniards should be jealous of his farther design on Panama. In these vessels he embarked four hundred men, to put in execution these his orders. Meanwhile, himself remained in St. Catherine's with the rest of the fleet, expecting to hear of their success. CHAPTER XVI _Captain Morgan takes the Castle of Chagre, with four hundred men sent to this purpose from St. Catherine's._ CAPTAIN MORGAN sending this little fleet to Chagre, chose for vice-admiral thereof one Captain Brodely, who had been long in those quarters, and committed many robberies on the Spaniards, when Mansvelt took the isle of St. Catherine, as was before related; and therefore was thought a fit person for this exploit, his actions likewise having rendered him famous among the pirates, and their enemies the Spaniards. Captain Brodely being made commander, in three days after his departure arrived in sight of the said castle of Chagre, by the Spaniards called St. Lawrence. This castle is built on a high mountain, at the entry of the river, surrounded by strong palisades, or wooden walls, filled with earth, which secures them as well as the best wall of stone or brick. The top of this mountain is, in a manner, divided into two parts, between which is a ditch thirty feet deep. The castle hath but one entry, and that by a drawbridge over this ditch. To the land it has four bastions, and to the sea two more. The south part is totally inaccessible, through the cragginess of the mountain. The north is surrounded by the river, which here is very broad. At the foot of the castle, or rather mountain, is a strong fort, with eight great guns, commanding the entry of the river. Not much lower are two other batteries, each of six pieces, to defend likewise the mouth of the river. At one side of the castle are two great storehouses of all sorts of warlike ammunition and merchandise, brought thither from the island country. Near these houses is a high pair of stairs hewn out of the rock, to mount to the top of the castle. On the west is a small port, not above seven or eight fathoms deep, fit for small vessels, and of very good anchorage; besides, before the castle, at the entry of the river, is a great rock, scarce to be described but at low tides. No sooner had the Spaniards perceived the pirates, but they fired incessantly at them with the biggest of their guns. They came to an anchor in a small port, about a league from the castle. Next morning, very early, they went ashore, and marched through the woods, to attack the castle on that side. This march lasted till two of the clock in the afternoon, before they could reach the castle, by reason of the difficulties of the way, and its mire and dirt; and though their guides served them very exactly, yet they came so nigh the castle at first, that they lost many of their men by its shot, they being in an open place without covert. This much perplexed the pirates, not knowing what course to take; for on that side, of necessity, they must make the assault: and being uncovered from head to foot, they could not advance one step without danger: besides that, the castle, both for its situation and strength, made them much doubt of success. But to give it over they dared not, lest they should be reproached by their companions. At last, after many doubts and disputes, resolving to hazard the assault and their lives desperately, they advanced towards the castle with their swords in one hand, and fire-balls in the other. The Spaniards defended themselves very briskly, ceasing not to fire at them continually; crying withal, "Come on, ye English dogs! enemies to God and our king; and let your other companions that are behind come on too, ye shall not go to Panama this bout." The pirates making some trial to climb the walls, were forced to retreat, resting themselves till night. This being come, they returned to the assault, to try, by the help of their fire-balls, to destroy the pales before the wall; and while they were about it, there happened a very remarkable accident, which occasioned their victory. One of the pirates being wounded with an arrow in his back, which pierced his body through, he pulled it out boldly at the side of his breast, and winding a little cotton about it, he put it into his musket, and shot it back to the castle; but the cotton being kindled by the powder, fired two or three houses in the castle, being thatched with palm-leaves, which the Spaniards perceived not so soon as was necessary; for this fire meeting with a parcel of powder, blew it up, thereby causing great ruin, and no less consternation to the Spaniards, who were not able to put a stop to it, not having seen it time enough. The pirates perceiving the effect of the arrow, and the misfortunes of the Spaniards, were infinitely glad; and while they were busied in quenching the fire, which caused a great confusion for want of water, the pirates took this opportunity, setting fire likewise to the palisades. The fire thus seen at once in several parts about the castle, gave them great advantage against the Spaniards, many breaches being made by the fire among the pales, great heaps of earth falling into the ditch. Then the pirates climbing up, got over into the castle, though those Spaniards, who were not busy about the fire, cast down many flaming pots full of combustible matter, and odious smells, which destroyed many of the English. The Spaniards, with all their resistance, could not hinder the palisades from being burnt down before midnight. Meanwhile the pirates continued in their intention of taking the castle; and though the fire was very great, they would creep on the ground, as near as they could, and shoot amidst the flames against the Spaniards on the other side, and thus killed many from the walls. When day was come, they observed all the movable earth, that lay betwixt the pales, to be fallen into the ditch; so that now those within the castle lay equally exposed to them without, as had been on the contrary before; whereupon the pirates continued shooting very furiously, and killed many Spaniards; for the governor had charged them to make good those posts, answering to the heaps of earth fallen into the ditch, and caused the artillery to be transported to the breaches. The fire within the castle still continuing, the pirates from abroad did what they could to hinder its progress, by shooting incessantly against it; one party of them was employed only for this, while another watched all the motions of the Spaniards. About noon the English gained a breach, which the governor himself defended with twenty-five soldiers. Here was made a very courageous resistance by the Spaniards, with muskets, pikes, stones, and swords; but through all these the pirates fought their way, till they gained the castle. The Spaniards, who remained alive, cast themselves down from the castle into the sea, choosing rather to die thus (few or none surviving the fall) than to ask quarter for their lives. The governor himself retreated to the corps du gard, before which were placed two pieces of cannon: here he still defended himself, not demanding any quarter, till he was killed with a musket-shot in the head. The governor being dead, and the corps du gard surrendering, they found remaining in it alive thirty men, whereof scarce ten were not wounded: these informed the pirates that eight or nine of their soldiers had deserted, and were gone to Panama, to carry news of their arrival and invasion. These thirty men alone remained of three hundred and fourteen wherewith the castle was garrisoned, among which not one officer was found alive. These were all made prisoners, and compelled to tell whatever they knew of their designs and enterprises. Among other things, that the governor of Panama had notice sent him three weeks ago from Carthagena, that the English were equipping a fleet at Hispaniola, with a design to take Panama; and, beside, that this had been discovered by a deserter from the pirates at the river De la Hacha, where they had victualled. That upon this, the governor had sent one hundred and sixty-four men to strengthen the garrison of that castle, with much provision and ammunition; the ordinary garrison whereof was only one hundred and fifty men, but these made up two hundred and fourteen men, very well armed. Besides this, they declared that the governor of Panama had placed several ambuscades along the river of Chagre; and that he waited for them in the open fields of Panama with three thousand six hundred men. The taking of this castle cost the pirates excessively dear, in comparison to what they were wont to lose, and their toil and labour was greater than at the conquest of the isle of St. Catherine; for, numbering their men, they had lost above a hundred, beside seventy wounded. They commanded the Spanish prisoners to cast the dead bodies of their own men from the top of the mountain to the seaside, and to bury them. The wounded were carried to the church, of which they made an hospital, and where also they shut up the women. Captain Morgan remained not long behind at St. Catherine's, after taking the castle of Chagre, of which he had notice presently; but before he departed, he embarked all the provisions that could be found, with much maize, or Indian wheat, and cazave, whereof also is made bread in those ports. He transported great store of provisions to the garrison of Chagre, whencesoever they could be got. At a certain place they cast into the sea all the guns belonging thereto, designing to return, and leave that island well garrisoned, to the perpetual possession of the pirates; but he ordered all the houses and forts to be fired, except the castle of St. Teresa, which he judged to be the strongest and securest wherein to fortify himself at his return from Panama. Having completed his arrangements, he took with him all the prisoners of the island, and then sailed for Chagre, where he arrived in eight days. Here the joy of the whole fleet was so great, when they spied the English colours on the castle, that they minded not their way into the river, so that they lost four ships at the entry thereof, Captain Morgan's being one; yet they saved all the men and goods. The ships, too, had been preserved, if a strong northerly wind had not risen, which cast them on the rock at the entry of the river. Captain Morgan was brought into the castle with great acclamations of all the pirates, both of those within, and those newly come. Having heard the manner of the conquest, he commanded all the prisoners to work, and repair what was necessary, especially to set up new palisades round the forts of the castle. There were still in the river some Spanish vessels, called chatten, serving for transportation of merchandise up and down the river, and to go to Puerto Bello and Nicaragua. These commonly carry two great guns of iron, and four small ones of brass. These vessels they seized, with four little ships they found there, and all the canoes. In the castle they left a garrison of five hundred men, and in the ships in the river one hundred and fifty more. This done, Captain Morgan departed for Panama at the head of twelve hundred men. He carried little provisions with him, hoping to provide himself sufficiently among the Spaniards, whom he knew to lie in ambuscade by the way. CHAPTER XVII _Captain Morgan departs from Chagre, at the head of twelve hundred men, to take the city of Panama._ CAPTAIN MORGAN set forth from the castle of Chagre, towards Panama, August 18, 1670. He had with him twelve hundred men, five boats laden with artillery, and thirty-two canoes. The first day they sailed only six leagues, and came to a place called De los Bracos. Here a party of his men went ashore, only to sleep and stretch their limbs, being almost crippled with lying too much crowded in the boats. Having rested awhile, they went abroad to seek victuals in the neighbouring plantations; but they could find none, the Spaniards being fled, and carrying with them all they had. This day, being the first of their journey, they had such scarcity of victuals, as the greatest part were forced to pass with only a pipe of tobacco, without any other refreshment. Next day, about evening, they came to a place called Cruz de Juan Gallego. Here they were compelled to leave their boats and canoes, the river being very dry for want of rain, and many trees having fallen into it. The guides told them, that, about two leagues farther, the country would be very good to continue the journey by land. Hereupon they left one hundred and sixty men on board the boats, to defend them, that they might serve for a refuge in necessity. Next morning, being the third day, they all went ashore, except those who were to keep the boats. To these Captain Morgan gave order, under great penalties, that no man, on any pretext whatever, should dare to leave the boats, and go ashore; fearing lest they should be surprised by an ambuscade of Spaniards in the neighbouring woods, which appeared so thick as to seem almost impenetrable. This morning beginning their march, the ways proved so bad, that Captain Morgan thought it more convenient to transport some of the men in canoes (though with great labour) to a place farther up the river, called Cedro Bueno. Thus they re-embarked, and the canoes returned for the rest; so that about night they got altogether at the said place. The pirates much desired to meet some Spaniards or Indians, hoping to fill their bellies with their provisions, being reduced to extremity and hunger. The fourth day the greatest part of the pirates marched by land, being led by one of the guides; the rest went by water farther up, being conducted by another guide, who always went before them, to discover, on both sides the river, the ambuscades. These had also spies, who were very dextrous to give notice of all accidents, or of the arrival of the pirates, six hours, at least, before they came. This day, about noon, they came near a post called Torna Cavallos: here the guide of the canoes cried out, that he perceived an ambuscade. His voice caused infinite joy to all the pirates, hoping to find some provisions to satiate their extreme hunger. Being come to the place, they found nobody in it, the Spaniards being fled, and leaving nothing behind but a few leathern bags, all empty, and a few crumbs of bread scattered on the ground where they had eaten. Being angry at this, they pulled down a few little huts which the Spaniards had made, and fell to eating the leathern bags, to allay the ferment of their stomachs, which was now so sharp as to gnaw their very bowels. Thus they made a huge banquet upon these bags of leather, divers quarrels arising concerning the greatest shares. By the bigness of the place, they conjectured about five hundred Spaniards had been there, whom, finding no victuals, they were now infinitely desirous to meet, intending to devour some of them rather than perish. Having feasted themselves with those pieces of leather, they marched on, till they came about night to another post, called Torna Munni. Here they found another ambuscade, but as barren as the former. They searched the neighbouring woods, but could not find anything to eat, the Spaniards having been so provident, as not to leave anywhere the least crumb of sustenance, whereby the pirates were now brought to this extremity. Here again he was happy that had reserved since noon any bit of leather to make his supper of, drinking after it a good draught of water for his comfort. Some, who never were out of their mothers' kitchens, may ask, how these pirates could eat and digest those pieces of leather, so hard and dry? Whom I answer, that, could they once experiment what hunger, or rather famine, is, they would find the way as the pirates did. For these first sliced it in pieces, then they beat it between two stones, and rubbed it, often dipping it in water, to make it supple and tender. Lastly, they scraped off the hair, and broiled it. Being thus cooked, they cut it into small morsels, and ate it, helping it down with frequent gulps of water, which, by good fortune, they had at hand. The fifth day, about noon, they came to a place called Barbacoa. Here they found traces of another ambuscade, but the place totally as unprovided as the former. At a small distance were several plantations, which they searched very narrowly, but could not find any person, animal, or other thing, to relieve their extreme hunger. Finally, having ranged about, and searched a long time, they found a grot, which seemed to be but lately hewn out of a rock, where were two sacks of meal, wheat, and like things, with two great jars of wine, and certain fruits called platanoes. Captain Morgan, knowing some of his men were now almost dead with hunger, and fearing the same of the rest, caused what was found to be distributed among them who were in greatest necessity. Having refreshed themselves with these victuals, they marched anew with greater courage than ever. Such as were weak were put into the canoes, and those commanded to land that were in them before. Thus they prosecuted their journey till late at night; when coming to a plantation, they took up their rest, but without eating anything; for the Spaniards, as before, had swept away all manner of provisions. The sixth day they continued their march, part by land and part by water. Howbeit, they were constrained to rest very frequently, both for the ruggedness of the way, and their extreme weakness, which they endeavoured to relieve by eating leaves of trees and green herbs, or grass; such was their miserable condition. This day at noon they arrived at a plantation, where was a barn full of maize. Immediately they beat down the doors and ate it dry, as much as they could devour; then they distributed a great quantity, giving every man a good allowance. Thus provided, and prosecuting their journey for about an hour, they came to another ambuscade. This they no sooner discovered, but they threw away their maize, with the sudden hopes of finding all things in abundance. But they were much deceived, meeting neither Indians nor victuals, nor anything else: but they saw, on the other side of the river, about a hundred Indians, who, all fleeing, escaped. Some few pirates leaped into the river to cross it, and try to take any of the Indians, but in vain: for, being much more nimble than the pirates, they not only baffled them, but killed two or three with their arrows; hooting at them, and crying, "Ha, perros! a la savana, a la savana."--"Ha, ye dogs! go to the plain, go to the plain." This day they could advance no farther, being necessitated to pass the river, to continue their march on the other side. Hereupon they reposed for that night, though their sleep was not profound; for great murmurings were made at Captain Morgan, and his conduct; some being desirous to return home, while others would rather die there than go back a step from their undertaking: others, who had greater courage, laughed and joked at their discourses. Meanwhile, they had a guide who much comforted them, saying, "It would not now be long before they met with people from whom they should reap some considerable advantage." The seventh day, in the morning, they made clean their arms, and every one discharged his pistol, or musket, without bullet, to try their firelocks. This done, they crossed the river, leaving the post where they had rested, called Santa Cruz, and at noon they arrived at a village called Cruz. Being yet far from the place, they perceived much smoke from the chimneys: the sight hereof gave them great joy, and hopes of finding people and plenty of good cheer. Thus they went on as fast as they could, encouraging one another, saying, "There is smoke comes out of every house: they are making good fires, to roast and boil what we are to eat;" and the like. At length they arrived there, all sweating and panting, but found no person in the town, nor anything eatable to refresh themselves, except good fires, which they wanted not; for the Spaniards, before their departure, had every one set fire to his own house, except the king's storehouses and stables. They had not left behind them any beast, alive or dead, which much troubled their minds, not finding anything but a few cats and dogs, which they immediately killed and devoured. At last, in the king's stables, they found, by good fortune, fifteen or sixteen jars of Peru wine, and a leathern sack full of bread. No sooner had they drank of this wine, when they fell sick, almost every man: this made them think the wine was poisoned, which caused a new consternation in the whole camp, judging themselves now to be irrecoverably lost. But the true reason was, their want of sustenance, and the manifold sorts of trash they had eaten. Their sickness was so great, as caused them to remain there till the next morning, without being able to prosecute their journey in the afternoon. This village is seated in 9 deg. 2 min. north latitude, distant from the river Chagre twenty-six Spanish leagues, and eight from Panama. This is the last place to which boats or canoes can come; for which reason they built here storehouses for all sorts of merchandise, which to and from Panama are transported on the backs of mules. Here Captain Morgan was forced to leaves his canoes, and land all his men, though never so weak; but lest the canoes should be surprised, or take up too many men for their defence, he sent them all back to the place where the boats were, except one, which he hid, that it might serve to carry intelligence. Many of the Spaniards and Indians of this village having fled to the near plantations, Captain Morgan ordered that none should go out of the village, except companies of one hundred together, fearing lest the enemy should take an advantage upon his men. Notwithstanding, one party contravened these orders, being tempted with the desire of victuals: but they were soon glad to fly into the town again, being assaulted with great fury by some Spaniards and Indians, who carried one of them away prisoner. Thus the vigilancy and care of Captain Morgan was not sufficient to prevent every accident. The eighth day in the morning Captain Morgan sent two hundred men before the body of his army, to discover the way to Panama, and any ambuscades therein: the path being so narrow, that only ten or twelve persons could march abreast, and often not so many. After ten hours' march they came to a place called Quebrada Obscura: here, all on a sudden, three or four thousand arrows were shot at them, they not perceiving whence they came, or who shot them: though they presumed it was from a high rocky mountain, from one side to the other, whereon was a grot, capable of but one horse or other beast laded. This multitude of arrows much alarmed the pirates, especially because they could not discover whence they were discharged. At last, seeing no more arrows, they marched a little farther, and entered a wood: here they perceived some Indians to fly as fast as they could, to take the advantage of another post, thence to observe their march; yet there remained one troop of Indians on the place, resolved to fight and defend themselves, which they did with great courage till their captain fell down wounded; who, though he despaired of life, yet his valour being greater than his strength, would ask no quarter, but, endeavouring to raise himself, with undaunted mind laid hold of his azagayo, or javelin, and struck at one of the pirates; but before he could second the blow, he was shot to death. This was also the fate of many of his companions, who, like good soldiers, lost their lives with their captain, for the defence of their country. The pirates endeavoured to take some of the Indians prisoners, but they being swifter than the pirates, every one escaped, leaving eight pirates dead, and ten wounded: yea, had the Indians been more dextrous in military affairs, they might have defended that passage, and not let one man pass. A little while after they came to a large champaign, open, and full of fine meadows; hence they could perceive at a distance before them some Indians, on the top of a mountain, near the way by which they were to pass: they sent fifty men, the nimblest they had, to try to catch any of them, and force them to discover their companions: but all in vain; for they escaped by their nimbleness, and presently showed themselves in another place, hallooing to the English, and crying, "A la savana, a la savana, perros Ingleses!" that is, "To the plain, to the plain, ye English dogs!" Meanwhile the ten pirates that were wounded were dressed, and plastered up. Here was a wood, and on each side a mountain. The Indians possessed themselves of one, and the pirates of the other. Captain Morgan was persuaded the Spaniards had placed an ambuscade there, it lying so conveniently: hereupon, he sent two hundred men to search it. The Spaniards and Indians perceiving the pirates descend the mountain, did so too, as if they designed to attack them; but being got into the wood, out of sight of the pirates, they were seen no more, leaving the passage open. About night fell a great rain, which caused the pirates to march the faster, and seek for houses to preserve their arms from being wet; but the Indians had set fire to every one, and driven away all their cattle, that the pirates, finding neither houses nor victuals, might be constrained to return: but, after diligent search, they found a few shepherds' huts, but in them nothing to eat. These not holding many men, they placed in them, out of every company, a small number, who kept the arms of the rest: those who remained in the open field endured much hardship that night, the rain not ceasing till morning. Next morning, about break of day, being the ninth of that tedious journey, Captain Morgan marched on while the fresh air of the morning lasted; for the clouds hanging yet over their heads, were much more favourable than the scorching rays of the sun, the way being now more difficult than before. After two hours' march, they discovered about twenty Spaniards, who observed their motions: they endeavoured to catch some of them, but could not, they suddenly disappearing, and absconding themselves in caves among the rocks, unknown to the pirates. At last, ascending a high mountain, they discovered the South Sea. This happy sight, as if it were the end of their labours, caused infinite joy among them: hence they could descry also one ship, and six boats, which were set forth from Panama, and sailed towards the islands of Tavoga and Tavogilla: then they came to a vale where they found much cattle, whereof they killed good store: here, while some killed and flayed cows, horses, bulls, and chiefly asses, of which there were most; others kindled fires, and got wood to roast them: then cutting the flesh into convenient pieces, or gobbets, they threw them into the fire, and, half carbonaded or roasted, they devoured them, with incredible haste and appetite; such was their hunger, as they more resembled cannibals than Europeans; the blood many times running down from their beards to their waists. Having satisfied their hunger, Captain Morgan ordered them to continue the march. Here, again, he sent before the main body fifty men to take some prisoners, if they could; for he was much concerned, that in nine days he could not meet one person to inform him of the condition and forces of the Spaniards. About evening they discovered about two hundred Spaniards, who hallooed to the pirates, but they understood not what they said. A little while after they came in sight of the highest steeple of Panama: this they no sooner discovered but they showed signs of extreme joy, casting up their hats into the air, leaping and shouting, just as if they had already obtained the victory, and accomplished their designs. All their trumpets sounded, and drums beat, in token of this alacrity of their minds: thus they pitched their camp for that night, with general content of the whole army, waiting with impatience for the morning, when they intended to attack the city. This evening appeared fifty horse, who came out of the city, on the noise of the drums and trumpets, to observe, as it was thought, their motions: they came almost within musket-shot of the army, with a trumpet that sounded marvellously well. Those on horseback hallooed aloud to the pirates, and threatened them, saying, "Perros! nos veremos," that is, "Ye dogs! we shall meet ye." Having made this menace, they returned to the city, except only seven or eight horsemen, who hovered thereabouts to watch their motions. Immediately after the city fired, and ceased not to play their biggest guns all night long against the camp, but with little or no harm to the pirates, whom they could not easily reach. Now also the two hundred Spaniards, whom the pirates had seen in the afternoon, appeared again, making a show of blocking up the passages, that no pirates might escape their hands: but the pirates, though in a manner besieged, instead of fearing their blockades, as soon as they had placed sentinels about their camp, opened their satchels, and, without any napkins or plates, fell to eating, very heartily, the pieces of bulls' and horses' flesh which they had reserved since noon. This done, they laid themselves down to sleep on the grass, with great repose and satisfaction, expecting only, with impatience, the dawning of the next day. The tenth day, betimes in the morning, they put all their men in order, and, with drums and trumpets sounding, marched directly towards the city; but one of the guides desired Captain Morgan not to take the common highway, lest they should find in it many ambuscades. He took his advice, and chose another way through the wood, though very irksome and difficult. The Spaniards perceiving the pirates had taken another way they scarce had thought on, were compelled to leave their stops and batteries, and come out to meet them. The governor of Panama put his forces in order, consisting of two squadrons, four regiments of foot, and a huge number of wild bulls, which were driven by a great number of Indians, with some negroes, and others, to help them. The pirates, now upon their march, came to the top of a little hill, whence they had a large prospect of the city and champaign country underneath. Here they discovered the forces of the people of Panama, in battle array, to be so numerous, that they were surprised with fear, much doubting the fortune of the day: yea, few or none there were but wished themselves at home, or at least free from the obligation of that engagement, it so nearly concerning their lives. Having been some time wavering in their minds, they at last reflected on the straits they had brought themselves into, and that now they must either fight resolutely, or die; for no quarter could be expected from an enemy on whom they had committed so many cruelties. Hereupon they encouraged one another, resolving to conquer, or spend the last drop of blood. Then they divided themselves into three battalions, sending before two hundred bucaniers, who were very dextrous at their guns. Then descending the hill, they marched directly towards the Spaniards, who in a spacious field waited for their coming. As soon as they drew nigh, the Spaniards began to shout and cry, "Viva el rey!" "God save the king!" and immediately their horse moved against the pirates: but the fields being full of quags, and soft underfoot, they could not wheel about as they desired. The two hundred bucaniers, who went before, each putting one knee to the ground, began the battle briskly, with a full volley of shot: the Spaniards defended themselves courageously, doing all they could to disorder the pirates. Their foot endeavoured to second the horse, but were constrained by the pirates to leave them. Finding themselves baffled, they attempted to drive the bulls against them behind, to put them into disorder; but the wild cattle ran away, frighted with the noise of the battle; only some few broke through the English companies, and only tore the colours in pieces, while the bucaniers shot every one of them dead. The battle having continued two hours, the greatest part of the Spanish horse was ruined, and almost all killed: the rest fled, which the foot seeing, and that they could not possibly prevail, they discharged the shot they had in their muskets, and throwing them down, fled away, every one as he could. The pirates could not follow them, being too much harassed and wearied with their long journey. Many, not being able to fly whither they desired, hid themselves, for that present, among the shrubs of the sea-side, but very unfortunately; for most of them being found by the pirates, were instantly killed, without any quarter. Some religious men were brought prisoners before Captain Morgan; but he, being deaf to their cries, commanded them all to be pistolled, which was done. Soon after they brought a captain to him, whom he examined very strictly; particularly, wherein consisted the forces of those of Panama? He answered, their whole strength consisted in four hundred horse, twenty-four companies of foot, each of one hundred men complete; sixty Indians, and some negroes, who were to drive two thousand wild bulls upon the English, and thus, by breaking their files, put them into a total disorder: beside, that in the city they had made trenches, and raised batteries in several places, in all which they had placed many guns; and that at the entry of the highway, leading to the city, they had built a fort mounted with eight great brass guns, defended by fifty men. Captain Morgan having heard this, gave orders instantly to march another way; but first he made a review of his men, whereof he found both killed and wounded a considerable number, and much greater than had been believed. Of the Spaniards were found six hundred dead on the place, besides the wounded and prisoners. The pirates, nothing discouraged, seeing their number so diminished, but rather filled with greater pride, perceiving what huge advantage they had obtained against their enemies, having rested some time, prepared to march courageously towards the city, plighting their oaths to one another, that they would fight till not a man was left alive. With this courage they recommenced their march, either to conquer or be conquered; carrying with them all the prisoners. They found much difficulty in their approach to the city, for within the town the Spaniards had placed many great guns, at several quarters, some charged with small pieces of iron, and others with musket bullets; with all these they saluted the pirates at their approaching, and gave them full and frequent broadsides, firing at them incessantly; so that unavoidably they lost at every step great numbers of men. But these manifest dangers of their lives, nor the sight of so many as dropped continually at their sides, could deter them from advancing, and gaining ground every moment on the enemy; and though the Spaniards never ceased to fire, and act the best they could for their defence, yet they were forced to yield, after three hours' combat. And the pirates having possessed themselves, killed and destroyed all that attempted in the least to oppose them. The inhabitants had transported the best of their goods to more remote and occult places; howbeit, they found in the city several warehouses well stocked with merchandise, as well silks and cloths, as linen and other things of value. As soon as the first fury of their entrance was over, Captain Morgan assembled his men, and commanded them, under great penalties, not to drink or taste any wine; and the reason he gave for it was, because he had intelligence that it was all poisoned by the Spaniards. Howbeit, it was thought he gave these prudent orders to prevent the debauchery of his people, which he foresaw would be very great at the first, after so much hunger sustained by the way; fearing, withal, lest the Spaniards, seeing them in wine, should rally, and, falling on the city, use them as inhumanly as they had used the inhabitants before. CHAPTER XVIII _Captain Morgan sends canoes and boats to the South Sea--He fires the city of Panama--Robberies and cruelties committed there by the pirates, till their return to the Castle of Chagre._ CAPTAIN MORGAN, as soon as he had placed necessary guards at several quarters within and without the city, commanded twenty-five men to seize a great boat, which had stuck in the mud of the port, for want of water, at a low tide. The same day about noon, he caused fire privately to be set to several great edifices of the city, nobody knowing who were the authors thereof, much less on what motives Captain Morgan did it, which are unknown to this day: the fire increased so, that before night the greatest part of the city was in a flame. Captain Morgan pretended the Spaniards had done it, perceiving that his own people reflected on him for that action. Many of the Spaniards, and some of the pirates, did what they could, either to quench the flame, or, by blowing up houses with gunpowder, and pulling down others, to stop it, but in vain: for in less than half an hour it consumed a whole street. All the houses of the city were built with cedar, very curious and magnificent, and richly adorned, especially with hangings and paintings, whereof part were before removed, and another great part were consumed by fire. There were in this city (which is the see of a bishop) eight monasteries, seven for men, and one for women; two stately churches, and one hospital. The churches and monasteries were all richly adorned with altar-pieces and paintings, much gold and silver, and other precious things, all which the ecclesiastics had hidden. Besides which, here were two thousand houses of magnificent building, the greatest part inhabited by merchants vastly rich. For the rest of less quality, and tradesmen, this city contained five thousand more. Here were also many stables for the horses and mules that carry the plate of the king of Spain, as well as private men, towards the North Sea. The neighbouring fields are full of fertile plantations and pleasant gardens, affording delicious prospects to the inhabitants all the year. [Illustration: "'MORGAN RE-ENTERED THE CITY WITH HIS TROOPS'"--_Page 215_] The Genoese had in this city a stately house for their trade of negroes. This likewise was by Captain Morgan burnt to the very ground. Besides which building, there were consumed two hundred warehouses, and many slaves, who had hid themselves therein, with innumerable sacks of meal; the fire of which continued four weeks after it had begun. The greatest part of the pirates still encamped without the city, fearing and expecting the Spaniards would come and fight them anew, it being known they much outnumbered the pirates. This made them keep the field, to preserve their forces united, now much diminished by their losses. Their wounded, which were many, they put into one church, which remained standing, the rest being consumed by the fire. Besides these decreases of their men, Captain Morgan had sent a convoy of one hundred and fifty men to the castle of Chagre, to carry the news of his victory at Panama. They saw often whole troops of Spaniards run to and fro in the fields, which made them suspect their rallying, which they never had the courage to do. In the afternoon Captain Morgan re-entered the city with his troops, that every one might take up their lodgings, which now they could hardly find, few houses having escaped the fire. Then they sought very carefully among the ruins and ashes, for utensils of plate or gold, that were not quite wasted by the flames: and of such they found no small number, especially in wells and cisterns, where the Spaniards had hid them. Next day Captain Morgan dispatched away two troops, of one hundred and fifty men each, stout and well armed, to seek for the inhabitants who were escaped. These having made several excursions up and down the fields, woods, and mountains adjacent, returned after two days, bringing above two hundred prisoners, men, women, and slaves. The same day returned also the boat which Captain Morgan had sent to the South Sea, bringing three other boats which they had taken. But all these prizes they could willingly have given, and greater labour into the bargain, for one galleon, which miraculously escaped, richly laden with all the king's plate, jewels, and other precious goods of the best and richest merchants of Panama: on board which were also the religious women of the nunnery, who had embarked with them all the ornaments of their church, consisting in much gold, plate, and other things of great value. The strength of this galleon was inconsiderable, having only seven guns, and ten or twelve muskets, and very ill provided with victuals, necessaries, and fresh water, having no more sails than the uppermost of the mainmast. This account the pirates received from some one who had spoken with seven mariners belonging to the galleon, who came ashore in the cockboat for fresh water. Hence they concluded they might easily have taken it, had they given her chase, as they should have done; but they were impeded from following this vastly rich prize, by their gluttony and drunkenness, having plentifully debauched themselves with several rich wines they found ready, choosing rather to satiate their appetites than to lay hold on such huge advantage; since this only prize would have been of far greater value than all they got at Panama, and the places thereabout. Next day, repenting of their negligence, being weary of their vices and debaucheries, they set forth another boat, well armed, to pursue with all speed the said galleon; but in vain, the Spaniards who were on board having had intelligence of their own danger one or two days before, while the pirates were cruising so near them; whereupon they fled to places more remote and unknown. The pirates found, in the ports of the island of Tavoga and Tavogilla, several boats laden with very good merchandise; all which they took, and brought to Panama, where they made an exact relation of all that had passed to Captain Morgan. The prisoners confirmed what the pirates said, adding, that they undoubtedly knew where the galleon might then be, but that it was very probable they had been relieved before now from other places. This stirred up Captain Morgan anew, to send forth all the boats in the port of Panama to seek the said galleon till they could find her. These boats, being in all four, after eight days' cruising to and fro, and searching several ports and creeks, lost all hopes of finding her: hereupon they returned to Tavoga and Tavogilla; here they found a reasonable good ship newly come from Payta, laden with cloth, soap, sugar, and biscuit, with 20,000 pieces of eight; this they instantly seized, without the least resistance; as also a boat which was not far off, on which they laded great part of the merchandises from the ship, with some slaves. With this purchase they returned to Panama, somewhat better satisfied; yet, withal, much discontented that they could not meet with the galleon. The convoy which Captain Morgan had sent to the castle of Chagre returned much about the same time, bringing with them very good news; for while Captain Morgan was on his journey to Panama, those he had left in the castle of Chagre had sent for two boats to cruise. These met with a Spanish ship, which they chased within sight of the castle. This being perceived by the pirates in the castle, they put forth Spanish colours, to deceive the ship that fled before the boats; and the poor Spaniards, thinking to take refuge under the castle, were caught in a snare, and made prisoners. The cargo on board the said vessel consisted in victuals and provisions, than which nothing could be more opportune for the castle, where they began already to want things of this kind. This good luck of those of Chagre caused Captain Morgan to stay longer at Panama, ordering several new excursions into the country round about; and while the pirates at Panama were upon these expeditions, those at Chagre were busy in piracies on the North Sea. Captain Morgan sent forth, daily, parties of two hundred men, to make inroads into all the country round about; and when one party came back, another went forth, who soon gathered much riches, and many prisoners. These being brought into the city, were put to the most exquisite tortures, to make them confess both other people's goods and their own. Here it happened that one poor wretch was found in the house of a person of quality, who had put on, amidst the confusion, a pair of taffety breeches of his master's, with a little silver key hanging out; perceiving which, they asked him for the cabinet of the said key. His answer was, he knew not what was become of it, but that finding those breeches in his master's house, he had made bold to wear them. Not being able to get any other answer, they put him on the rack, and inhumanly disjointed his arms; then they twisted a cord about his forehead, which they wrung so hard that his eyes appeared as big as eggs, and were ready to fall out. But with these torments not obtaining any positive answer, they hung him up by the wrists, giving him many blows and stripes under that intolerable pain and posture of body. Afterwards they cut off his nose and ears, and singed his face with burning straw, till he could not speak, nor lament his misery any longer: then, losing all hopes of any confession, they bade a negro run him through, which put an end to his life, and to their inhuman tortures. Thus did many others of those miserable prisoners finish their days, the common sport and recreation of these pirates being such tragedies. Captain Morgan having now been at Panama full three weeks, commanded all things to be prepared for his departure. He ordered every company of men to seek so many beasts of carriage as might convey the spoil to the river where his canoes lay. About this time there was a great rumour, that a considerable number of pirates intended to leave Captain Morgan; and that, taking a ship then in port, they determined to go and rob on the South Sea, till they had got as much as they thought fit, and then return homewards, by way of the East Indies. For which purpose they had gathered much provisions, which they had hid in private places, with sufficient powder, bullets, and all other ammunition: likewise some great guns belonging to the town, muskets, and other things, wherewith they designed not only to equip their vessel, but to fortify themselves in some island which might serve them for a place of refuge. This design had certainly taken effect, had not Captain Morgan had timely advice of it from one of their comrades: hereupon he commanded the mainmast of the said ship to be cut down and burnt, with all the other boats in the port: hereby the intentions of all or most of his companions were totally frustrated. Then Captain Morgan sent many of the Spaniards into the adjoining fields and country to seek for money, to ransom not only themselves, but the rest of the prisoners, as likewise the ecclesiastics. Moreover, he commanded all the artillery of the town to be nailed and stopped up. At the same time he sent out a strong company of men to seek for the governor of Panama, of whom intelligence was brought, that he had laid several ambuscades in the way by which he ought to return: but they returned soon after, saying they had not found any sign of any such ambuscades. For confirmation whereof, they brought some prisoners, who declared that the said governor had had an intention of making some opposition by the way, but that the men designed to effect it were unwilling to undertake it: so that for want of means he could not put his design in execution. February 24, 1671, Captain Morgan departed from Panama, or rather from the place where the city of Panama stood; of the spoils whereof he carried with him one hundred and seventy-five beasts of carriage, laden with silver, gold, and other precious things, beside about six hundred prisoners, men, women, children and slaves. That day they came to a river that passes through a delicious plain, a league from Panama: here Captain Morgan put all his forces into good order, so as that the prisoners were in the middle, surrounded on all sides with pirates, where nothing else was to be heard but lamentations, cries, shrieks, and doleful sighs of so many women and children, who feared Captain Morgan designed to transport them all into his own country for slaves. Besides, all those miserable prisoners endured extreme hunger and thirst at that time, which misery Captain Morgan designedly caused them to sustain, to excite them to seek for money to ransom themselves, according to the tax he had set upon every one. Many of the women begged Captain Morgan, on their knees, with infinite sighs and tears, to let them return to Panama, there to live with their dear husbands and children in little huts of straw, which they would erect, seeing they had no houses till the rebuilding of the city. But his answer was, "He came not thither to hear lamentations and cries, but to seek money: therefore they ought first to seek out that, wherever it was to be had, and bring it to him; otherwise he would assuredly transport them all to such places whither they cared not to go." Next day, when the march began, those lamentable cries and shrieks were renewed, so as it would have caused compassion in the hardest heart: but Captain Morgan, as a man little given to mercy, was not moved in the least. They marched in the same order as before, one party of the pirates in the van, the prisoners in the middle, and the rest of the pirates in the rear; by whom the miserable Spaniards were at every step punched and thrust in their backs and sides, with the blunt ends of their arms, to make them march faster. A beautiful lady, wife to one of the richest merchants of Tavoga, was led prisoner by herself, between two pirates. Her lamentations pierced the skies, seeing herself carried away into captivity often crying to the pirates, and telling them, "That she had given orders to two religious persons, in whom she had relied, to go to a certain place, and fetch so much money as her ransom did amount to; that they had promised faithfully to do it, but having obtained the money, instead of bringing it to her, they had employed it another way, to ransom some of their own, and particular friends." This ill action of theirs was discovered by a slave, who brought a letter to the said lady. Her complaints, and the cause thereof, being brought to Captain Morgan, he thought fit to inquire thereinto. Having found it to be true--especially hearing it confirmed by the confession of the said religious men, though under some frivolous exercises of having diverted the money but for a day or two, in which time they expected more sums to repay it--he gave liberty to the said lady, whom otherwise he designed to transport to Jamaica. But he detained the said religious men as prisoners in her place, using them according to their deserts. Captain Morgan arriving at the town called Cruz, on the banks of the river Chagre, he published an order among the prisoners, that within three days every one should bring in their ransom, under the penalty of being transported to Jamaica. Meanwhile he gave orders for so much rice and maize to be collected thereabouts, as was necessary for victualling his ships. Here some of the prisoners were ransomed, but many others could not bring in their money. Hereupon he continued his voyage, leaving the village on the 5th of March following, carrying with him all the spoil he could. Hence he likewise led away some new prisoners, inhabitants there, with those in Panama, who had not paid their ransoms. But the two religious men, who had diverted the lady's money, were ransomed three days after by other persons, who had more compassion for them than they had showed for her. About the middle of the way to Chagre, Captain Morgan commanded them to be mustered, and caused every one to be sworn, that they had concealed nothing, even not to the value of sixpence. This done, Captain Morgan knowing those lewd fellows would not stick to swear falsely for interest, he commanded every one to be searched very strictly, both in their clothes and satchels, and elsewhere. Yea, that this order might not be ill taken by his companions, he permitted himself to be searched, even to his very shoes. To this effect, by common consent, one was assigned out of every company to be searchers of the rest. The French pirates that assisted on this expedition disliked this new practice of searching; but, being outnumbered by the English, they were forced to submit as well as the rest. The search being over, they re-embarked, and arrived at the castle of Chagre on the 9th of March. Here they found all things in good order, excepting the wounded men whom they had left at their departure; for of these the greatest number were dead of their wounds. From Chagre, Captain Morgan sent, presently after his arrival, a great boat to Puerto Bello, with all the prisoners taken at the isle of St. Catherine, demanding of them a considerable ransom for the castle of Chagre, where he then was; threatening otherwise to ruin it. To this those of Puerto Bello answered, they would not give one farthing towards the ransom of the said castle, and the English might do with it as they pleased. Hereupon the dividend was made of all the spoil made in that voyage; every company, and every particular person therein, receiving their proportion, or rather what part thereof Captain Morgan pleased to give them. For the rest of his companions, even of his own nation, murmured at his proceedings, and told him to his face that he had reserved the best jewels to himself: for they judged it impossible that no greater share should belong to them than two hundred pieces of eight, per capita, of so many valuable plunders they had made; which small sum they thought too little for so much labour, and such dangers, as they had been exposed to. But Captain Morgan was deaf to all this, and many other like complaints, having designed to cheat them of what he could. At last, finding himself obnoxious to many censures of his people, and fearing the consequence, he thought it unsafe to stay any longer at Chagre, but ordered the ordnance of the castle to be carried on board his ship; then he caused most of the walls to be demolished, the edifices to be burnt, and as many other things ruined as could be done in a short time. This done, he went secretly on board his own ship, without giving any notice to his companions, and put out to sea, being only followed by three or four vessels of the whole fleet. These were such (as the French pirates believed) as went shares with Captain Morgan in the best part of the spoil, which had been concealed from them in the dividend. The Frenchmen could willingly have revenged themselves on Captain Morgan and his followers, had they been able to encounter him at sea; but they were destitute of necessaries, and had much ado to find sufficient provisions for their voyage to Jamaica, he having left them unprovided for all things. THE END * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors were corrected. This text uses both main-mast and mainmast; French-man and Frenchman; sea-side and seaside; such-like and suchlike. Page xiii, "Robinsoe" changed to "Robinson" (Robinson Crusoe) Page xx, "West-Indies" was removed from the italics to match rest of usage (dominions of the_ West-Indies) Page xxi, "Soudiers" changed to "Souldiers" (either Souldiers or) Page xxi, "fortifie" moved into italics to match rest of usage (_both fortifie themselves) Page 9, "of" changed to "or" (or China root) Page 89, "chief" changed to "chiefs" (of the chiefs) Page 95, "fish" changed to "flesh" (eat human flesh) Page 116, "el" changed to "El" (of El Puerto del) Page 199, "then" changed to "than" (courage than ever) 
19206	----	Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main by G A Henty. Contents Chapter 1: The Wreck on the Devon Coast. Chapter 2: Friends and Foes. Chapter 3: On the Spanish Main. Chapter 4: An Unsuccessful Attack. Chapter 5: Cast Ashore. Chapter 6: In the Woods. Chapter 7: An Attack in Force. Chapter 8: The Forest Fastness. Chapter 9: Baffled. Chapter 10: Southward Ho! Chapter 11: The Marvel of Fire. Chapter 12: Across a Continent. Chapter 13: Through the Cordilleras. Chapter 14: On the Pacific Coast. Chapter 15: The Prison of the Inquisition. Chapter 16: The Rescue. Chapter 17: The Golden Hind. Chapter 18: San Francisco Bay. Chapter 19: South Sea Idols. Chapter 20: A Portuguese Settlement. Chapter 21: Wholesale Conversion. Chapter 22: Home. Chapter 1: The Wreck on the Devon Coast. It was a Stormy morning in the month of May, 1572; and the fishermen of the little village of Westport, situate about five miles from Plymouth, clustered in the public house of the place; and discussed, not the storm, for that was a common topic, but the fact that Master Francis Drake, whose ships lay now at Plymouth, was visiting the Squire of Treadwood, had passed through the village over night, and might go through it again, today. There was not one of the hardy fishermen there but would gladly have joined Drake's expedition, for marvellous tales had been told of the great booty which he, and other well-known captains, had already obtained from the Dons on the Spanish Main. The number, however, who could go was limited, and even of these the seafaring men were but a small proportion; for in those days, although a certain number of sailors were required to trim the sails and navigate the ship, the strength of the company were the fighting men, who were soldiers by trade, and fought on board ship as if on land. Captain Drake was accompanied by many men of good Devon blood, for that county was then ahead of all England in its enterprise, and its seamanship; and no captain of name or repute ever had any difficulty in getting together a band of adventurers, from the sturdy population of her shores. "I went over myself, last week," said a finely-built young sailor, "and I prayed the captain, on my knees, to take me on board; but he said the tale had been full, long ago; and that so many were the applicants that Master Drake and himself had sworn a great oath, that they would take none beyond those already engaged." "Aye! I would have gone myself," said a grizzly, weatherbeaten old sailor, "if they would have had me. There was Will Trelawney, who went on such another expedition as this, and came back with more bags of Spanish dollars than he could carry. Truly they are a gold mine, these Western seas; but even better than getting gold is the thrashing of those haughty Spaniards, who seem to look upon themselves as gods, and on all others as fit only to clean their worships' boots." "They cannot fight neither, can they?" asked a young sailor. "They can fight, boy, and have fought as well as we could; but, somehow, they cannot stand against us, in those seas. Whether it is that the curse of the poor natives, whom they kill, enslave, and ill treat in every way, rises against them, and takes away their courage and their nerve; but certain is it that, when our little craft lay alongside their big galleons, fight as they will, the battle is as good as over. Nothing less than four to one, at the very least, has any chance against our buccaneers." "They ill treat those that fall into their hands, do they not?" "Ay, do they!" said the old sailor. "They tear off their flesh with hot pincers, wrench out their nails, and play all sorts of devil's games; and then, at last, they burn what is left of them in the marketplaces. I have heard tell of fearsome tales, lad; but the Spaniards outwit themselves. Were our men to have fair treatment as prisoners of war, it may be that the Spaniards would often be able to hold their own against us; but the knowledge that, if we are taken, this horrible fate is certain to be ours, makes our men fight with a desperate fury; and never to give in, as long as one is left. This it is that accounts for the wonderful victories which we have gained there. He would be a coward, indeed, who would not fight with thumbscrews and a bonfire behind him." "It is said that the queen and her ministers favor, though not openly, these adventures." "She cannot do it openly," said the old man, "for here in Europe we are at peace with Spain--worse luck." "How is it, then, that if we are at peace here, we can be at war in the Indian Seas?" "That is more than I can tell thee, lad. I guess the queen's writ runs not so far as that; and while her majesty's commands must be obeyed, and the Spanish flag suffered to pass unchallenged, on these seas; on the Spanish main there are none to keep the peace, and the Don and the Englishman go at each other's throats, as a thing of nature." "The storm is rising, methinks. It is not often I have heard the wind howl more loudly. It is well that the adventurers have not yet started. It would be bad for any craft caught in the Channel, today." As he spoke, he looked from the casement. Several people were seen hurrying towards the beach. "Something is the matter, lads; maybe a ship is driving on the rocks, even now." Seizing their hats and cloaks, the party sallied out, and hurried down to the shore. There they saw a large ship, driving in before the wind into the bay. She was making every effort that seamanship could suggest, to beat clear of the head; but the sailors saw, at once, that her case was hopeless. "She will go on the Black Shoal, to a certainty," the old sailor said; "and then, may God have mercy on their souls." "Can we do nothing to help them?" a woman standing near asked. "No, no," the sailor said; "we could not launch a boat, in the teeth of this tremendous sea. All we can do is to look out, and throw a line to any who may be washed ashore, on a spar, when she goes to pieces." Presently a group of men, whose dress belonged to the upper class, moved down through the street to the beach. "Aye! there is Mr. Trevelyan," said the sailor, "and the gentleman beside him is Captain Drake, himself." The group moved on to where the fishermen were standing. "Is there no hope," they asked, "of helping the ship?" The seamen shook their heads. "You will see for yourself, Master Drake, that no boat could live in such a sea as this." "It could not put out from here," the Captain said; "but if they could lower one from the ship, it might live until it got into the breakers." "Aye, aye," said a sailor; "but there is no lowering a boat from a ship which has begun to beat on the Black Shoal." "Another minute and she will strike," the old sailor said. All gazed intently at the ship. The whole population of the village were now on the shore, and were eager to render any assistance, if it were possible. In another minute or two, a general cry announced that the ship had struck. Rising high on a wave, she came down with a force which caused her mainmast at once to go over the side. Another lift on the next sea and then, high and fast, she was jammed on the rocks of the Black Shoal. The distance from shore was but small, not more than three hundred yards, and the shouts of the sailors on board could be heard in the storm. "Why does not one of them jump over, with a rope?" Captain Drake said, impatiently. "Are the men all cowards, or can none of them swim? It would be easy to swim from that ship to the shore, while it is next to impossible for anyone to make his way out, through these breakers. "Is there no one who can reach her from here?" he said, looking round. "No one among us, your honor," the old sailor said. "Few here can keep themselves up in the water, in a calm sea; but if man or boy could swim through that surf, it is the lad who is just coming down from behind us. The Otter, as we call him, for he seems to be able to live, in water, as well as on land." The lad of whom they were speaking was a bright-faced boy, of some fifteen years of age. He was squarely built, and his dress differed a little from that of the fisher lads standing on the beach. "Who is he?" asked Captain Drake. "He is the son of the schoolmaster here, a learned man, and they do say one who was once wealthy. The lad himself would fain go to sea, but his father keeps him here. It is a pity, for he is a bold boy, and would make a fine sailor." The Otter, as he had been called, had now come down to the beach; and, with his hands shading his eyes from the spray, sheets of which the wind carried along with blinding force, he gazed at the ship and the sea, with a steady intentness. "I think I can get out to her," he said, to the fishermen. "It is madness, boy," Captain Drake said. "There are few men, indeed, so far as I know, in these climes--I talk not of the heathens of the Western Islands--who could swim through a breaking sea, like yonder." "I think I can do it," the boy said, quietly. "I have been out in as heavy seas before, and if one does but choose one's time, and humor them a bit, the waves are not much to be feared, after all. "Get me the light line," he said, to the sailors, "and I will be off, at once." So saying, he carelessly threw off his clothes. The fishermen brought a light line. One end they fastened round his shoulders and, with a cheerful goodbye, he ran down to the water's edge. The sea was breaking with tremendous violence, and the chance of the lad's getting out, through the breakers, appeared slight, indeed. He watched, however, quietly for three or four minutes, when a wave larger than usual broke on the beach. Following it out, he stood knee deep, till the next great wave advanced; then, with a plunge, he dived in beneath it. It seemed an age before he was again seen, and Captain Drake expressed his fear that his head must have been dashed against a rock, beneath the water. But the men said: "He dives like a duck, sir, and has often frighted us by the time he keeps under water. You will see, he will come up beyond the second line of waves." It seemed an age, to the watchers, before a black spot appeared suddenly, beyond the foaming line of breakers. There was a general shout of "There he is!" But they had scarce time to note the position of the swimmer, when he again disappeared. Again and again he came up, each time rapidly decreasing the distance between himself and the shipwrecked vessel; and keeping his head above the waves for a few seconds, only, at each appearance. The people in the vessel were watching the progress of the lad, with attention and interest even greater than was manifested by those on shore; and as he approached the ship, which already showed signs of breaking up, a line was thrown to him. He caught it, but instead of holding on and being lifted to the ship, he fastened the light rope which he had brought out to it, and made signs to them to haul. "Fasten a thicker rope to it," he shouted, "and they will haul it in, from the shore." It would have been no easy matter to get on board the ship; so, having done his work, the lad turned to make his way back to the shore. A thick rope was fastened, at once, by those of the crew who still remained on the deck of the vessel, to the lighter one; and those on shore began to pull it rapidly in; but, ere the knotted joint reached the shore, a cry from all gathered on the beach showed that the brave attempt of the Otter had been useless. A tremendous sea had struck the ship, and in a moment it broke up; and a number of floating fragments, alone, showed where a fine vessel had, a few minutes before, floated on the sea. The lad paused in his course towards the shore and, looking round, endeavored to face the driving wind and spray; in hopes that he might see, among the fragments of the wreck, some one to whom his assistance might be of use. For a time, he could see no signs of a human being among the floating masses of wreck; and indeed, he was obliged to use great caution in keeping away from these, as a blow from any of the larger spars might have been fatal. Presently, close to him, he heard a short muffled bark; and, looking round, saw a large dog with a child in its mouth. The animal, which was of the mastiff breed, appeared already exhausted. The Otter looked hastily round and, seeing a piece of wreck of suitable size, he seized it, and with some difficulty succeeded in bringing it close to the dog. Fortunately the spar was a portion of one of the yards, and still had a quantity of rope connected to it. He now took hold of the child's clothes, the dog readily yielding up the treasure he had carried, seeing that the newcomer was likely to afford better assistance than himself. In a few moments the child was fastened to the spar, and the Otter began steadily to push it towards the shore; the dog swimming alongside, evidently much relieved at getting rid of his burden. When he neared the line of breakers the lad waved his hand, as a sign to them to prepare to rush forward, and lend a hand, when the spar approached. He then paddled forward quietly and, keeping just outside the line of the breakers, waved to those on shore to throw, if possible, a rope. Several attempts were made to hurl a stone, fastened to the end of a light line, within his reach. After many failures, he at last caught the line. This he fastened to the spar, and signaled to those on shore to pull it in; then, side by side with the dog, he followed. Looking round behind him, he watched a great breaker rolling in and, as before, dived as it passed over his head, and rode forward on the swell towards the shore. Then there was a desperate struggle. At one moment his feet touched the ground, at another he was hauled back and tossed into the whirling sea; sometimes almost losing his consciousness, but ever keeping his head cool, and striving steadily to make progress. Several times he was dashed against the beach with great force, and it was his knowledge that the only safe way of approaching shore, through a heavy surf, is to keep sideways to the waves, and allow them to roll one over and over, that he escaped death--for, had he advanced straight towards the shore, the force of the waves would have rolled him heels-over-head, and would almost certainly have broken his neck. At last, just as consciousness was leaving him, and he thought that he could struggle no more, a hand grasped his arm. The fishermen, joining hand in hand, had gone down into the surf; and after many ineffectual efforts, had at last seized him, as a retiring wave was carrying him out again, for the fifth time. With the consciousness of rescue all feeling left him, and it was some minutes before he recovered his senses. His first question was for the safety of the child on the spar, and he was glad to hear that it had come to shore without hurt. The dog, too, had been rolled up the beach, and seized before taken off again, but had broken one of its legs. The Otter was soon on his feet again and, saying, "I must make my way home, they will be alarmed about me," was about to turn away, when a group of gentlemen standing near advanced. "You are a fine lad," one of them said to him. "A fine lad, and an honor to the south of Devonshire. My name is Francis Drake, and if there be aught that I can do for you, now or hereafter, I shall be glad, indeed, to do my utmost for so gallant a youth as yourself." "Oh, sir!" the boy exclaimed, his cheek flushing with excitement. "If you are Master Francis Drake, will you let me join your ship, for the voyage to the Indies?" "Ah! my boy," the gentleman said, "you have asked the only thing, perhaps, which I should feel obliged to refuse you. Already we have more than our number, and to avoid the importunity of the many who wish to go, or of my powerful friends who desired to place sons or relations in my charge, I have been obliged to swear that I would take no other sailor, in addition to those already shipped. "You are, however, young," he said, as he marked the change in the boy's face; "and I promise you that if I come back, and again sail on an expedition like that on which I now start, that you shall be one of my crew. What is your name, lad? I hear them call you Otter, and truly the beast is no better swimmer than you are." "My name, sir, is Ned Hearne. My father is the schoolmaster here." "Will he consent, think you, to your taking to a seafaring life?" "Methinks he will, sir. He knows that my heart is set upon it, for he hath often said if I loved my lessons with one-tenth of the love I bear for the sea, I should make a good scholar, and be a credit to him." "I will not forget you, lad. Trust me, and when you hear of my return, fail not to send a reminder, and to claim a place in my next adventure." Ned Hearne, delighted at the assurance, ran off at full speed to the cottage where his father resided, at the end of the village. The dominie, who was an old man, wore the huge tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles of the time. "Wet again," he said, as his son burst into the room in which he was sitting, studying a Greek tome. "Truly thou earnest the name of which thou art so proud, Otter, hardly. What tempted thee to go into the water, on a day like this?" Ned briefly explained what had taken place. The story was no unusual one, for this was the third time that he had swum out to vessels on the rocks between Westport and Plymouth. Then he related to his father how Captain Francis Drake had spoken to him, and praised him, and how he had promised that, on his next trip to the West Indies, he would take him with him. "I would not have you count too much upon that," the dominie said, dryly. "It is like, indeed, that he may never come back from this hare-brain adventure; and if he brings home his skin safe, he will, methinks, have had enough of burning in the sun, and fighting the Spaniards." "But hath he not already made two or three voyages thither, Father?" the boy asked. "That is true enough," said his father; "but from what I gather, these were mere trips to spy out the land. This affair on which he starts now will be, I wot, a very different matter." "How is it, Father," the boy said on the following morning, resuming the conversation from the point which they were at when he went up to change his wet clothes, the day before, "that when England is at peace with Spain, our sailors and the Spanish do fight bloodily, in the West Indies?" "That, my son, is a point upon which the Roman law telleth us nothing. I have, in my shelves, some very learned treatises on war; but in none do I find mention of a state of things in which two powers, at peace at home, do fight desperately at the extreme end of the earth." "But, Father, do you think it not lawful to kill the Spaniard, and to take the treasures which he robbeth from the poor heathen of the West?" "I know not about lawful, my son, but I see no warrant whatsoever for it; and as for heathen, indeed, it appears to me that the attacks upon him do touch, very closely, upon piracy upon the high seas. However, as the country in general appeareth to approve of it, and as it is said that the queen's most gracious majesty doth gladly hear of the beating of the Spaniards, in those seas, it becometh not me to question the rights of the case." "At any rate, Father, you would not object when the time comes for me to sail with Mr. Francis Drake?" "No, my boy; thou hast never shown any aptitude whatever for learning. Thou canst read and write, but beyond that thy knowledge runneth not. Your mind seems to be set on the water, and when you are not in it you are on it. Therefore it appears, to me, to be flying in the face of Providence to try to keep you on shore. Had your poor mother lived, it would have been a different thing. Her mind was set upon your becoming a clerk; but there, one might as well try to make a silk purse from the ear of a sow. But I tell you again, count not too much upon this promise. It may be years before Mr. Francis Drake may be in a position to keep it." Had Ned Hearne watched for Captain Drake's second voyage, he would, indeed, as his father had said, have waited long. Three days after the conversation, however, a horseman from Plymouth rode into the little village, and inquired for the house of Master Hearne. Being directed thither, he rode up in haste to the gate. "Here is a letter!" he cried, "for the son of the schoolmaster, who goes by the name of the Otter." "I am he," Ned cried. "What is it, and who can have written to me?" "It is a letter from His Honor, the Worshipful Mr. Francis Drake." Seizing the letter, Ned broke the seal, read a few lines, threw his cap into the air with a shout of joy, and rushed in to his father. "Father," he said, "Captain Drake has written to acquaint me that one of the boys in his ship has been taken ill, and cannot go; and that it has pleased him to appoint me to go in his place; and that I am to be at Plymouth in three days, at the utmost, bringing with me what gear I may require for the expedition." The schoolmaster was a little taken aback at this sudden prospect of departure, but he had always been wholly indulgent to his son, and it was not in his nature to refuse to allow him to avail himself of an opportunity which appeared to be an excellent one. The danger of these expeditions was, no doubt, very great; but the spoils were in proportion, and there was not a boy or man of the seafaring population of Devon who would not gladly have gone with the adventurous captains. Chapter 2: Friends and Foes. Three days after the receipt of the letter, Ned Hearne stood with his bundle on the quay at Plymouth. Near him lay a large rowboat from the ships, waiting to take off the last comers. A little way behind, Captain Francis Drake and his brother, Captain John Drake, talked with the notable people of Plymouth, who had come down to bid them farewell; the more since this was a holiday, being Whitsun Eve, the 24th May, and all in the town who could spare time had made their way down to the Hove to watch the departure of the expedition; for none could say how famous this might become, or how great deeds would be accomplished by the two little craft lying there. Each looker on thought to himself that it might be that, to the end of his life, he should tell his children and his children's children, with pride, "I saw Mr. Drake start for his great voyage." Small, indeed, did the fleet appear, in comparison to the work which it had to do. It was composed of but two vessels. The first, the Pacha, of seventy tons, carrying forty-seven men and boys, was commanded by Captain Francis Drake himself. By her side was the Swanne, of twenty-five tons, carrying twenty-six men and boys, and commanded by Captain John Drake. This was truly but a small affair to undertake so great a voyage. In those days the Spaniards were masters of the whole of South America, and of the Isles of the West Indies. They had many very large towns full of troops, and great fleets armed to carry the treasure which was collected there to Spain. It did seem almost like an act of madness that two vessels, which by the side of those of the Spaniards were mere cockleshells, manned in all by less than eighty men, should attempt to enter a region where they would be regarded, and rightly, as enemies, and where the hand of every man would be against them. Captain Drake and his men thought little of these things. The success which had attended their predecessors had inspired the English sailors with a belief in their own invincibility, when opposed to the Spaniards. They looked, to a certain extent, upon their mission as a crusade. In those days England had a horror of Popery, and Spain was the mainstay and supporter of this religion. The escape which England had had of having Popery forced upon it, during the reign of Mary, by her spouse, Philip of Spain, had been a narrow one; and even now, it was by no means certain that Spain would not, sooner or later, endeavor to carry out the pretensions of the late queen's husband. Then, too, terrible tales had come of the sufferings of the Indians at the hands of the Spaniards; and it was certain that the English sailors who had fallen into the hands of Spain had been put to death, with horrible cruelty. Thus, then, the English sailors regarded the Spaniards as the enemy of their country, as the enemy of their religion, and as the enemy of humanity. Besides which, it cannot be denied that they viewed them as rich men, well worth plundering; and although, when it came to fighting, it is probable that hatred overbore the thought of gain, it is certain that the desire for gold was, in itself, the main incentive to those who sailed upon these expeditions. Amid the cheers of the townsfolk the boats pushed off, Mr. Francis Drake and his brother waving their plumed hats to the burghers of Plymouth, and the sailors giving a hurrah, as they bent to the oars. Ned Hearne, who had received a kind word of greeting from Mr. Drake, had taken his place in the bow of one of the boats, lost in admiration at the scene; and at the thought that he was one of this band of heroes, who were going out to fight the Spaniards, and to return laden with countless treasure wrested from them. At the thought his eyes sparkled, his blood seemed to dance through his veins. The western main, in those days, was a name almost of enchantment. Such strange tales had been brought home, by the voyagers who had navigated those seas, of the wonderful trees, the bright birds, the beauties of nature, the gold and silver, and the abundance of all precious things, that it was the dream of every youngster on the seaboard some day to penetrate to these charmed regions. A week since, and the realization of the dream had appeared beyond his wildest hopes. Now, almost with the suddenness of a transformation scene, this had changed; and there was he on his way out to the Swanne, a part of the expedition itself. It was to the Swanne that he had been allotted, for it was on board that ship that the boy whose place he was to take had been seized with illness. Although but twenty-five tons in burden, the Swanne made a far greater show than would be made by a craft of that size in the present day. The ships of the time lay but lightly on the water, while their hulls were carried up to a prodigious height; and it is not too much to say that the portion of the Swanne, above water, was fully as large as the hull which we see of a merchantman of four times her tonnage. Still, even so, it was but a tiny craft to cross the Atlantic, and former voyages had been generally made in larger ships. Mr. Francis Drake, however, knew what he was about. He considered that large ships required large crews to be left behind to defend them, that they drew more water, and were less handy; and he resolved, in this expedition, he would do no small part of his work with pinnaces and rowboats; and of these he had three fine craft, now lying in pieces in his hold, ready to fit together on arriving in the Indies. As they neared the ships the two boats separated, and Ned soon found himself alongside of the Swanne. A ladder hung at her side, and up this Ned followed his captain; for in those days the strict etiquette that the highest goes last had not been instituted. "Master Holyoake," said Mr. John Drake, to a big and powerful-looking man standing near, "this is the new lad, whose skill in swimming, and whose courage, I told you of yesternight. He will, I doubt not, be found as willing as he is brave; and I trust that you will put him in the way of learning his business as a sailor. It is his first voyage. He comes on board a green hand, but I doubt not that, ere the voyage be finished, he will have become a smart young sailor." "I will put him through," John Holyoake, sailing master of the ship, replied; for in those days the sailing master was the navigator of the ship, and the captain was as often as not a soldier, who knew nothing whatever about seamanship. The one sailed the ship, the other fought it; and the admirals were, in those days, more frequently known as generals, and held that position on shore. As Ned looked round the deck, he thought that he had never seen a finer set of sailors. All were picked men, hardy and experienced, and for the most part young. Some had made previous voyages to the West Indies, but the greater portion were new to that country. They looked the men on whom a captain could rely, to the last. Tall and stalwart, bronzed with the sun, and with a reckless and fearless expression about them, which boded ill to any foes upon whom they might fall. Although Ned had never been to sea on a long voyage, he had sailed too often in the fishing boats of his native village to have any qualm of seasickness, or to feel in any degree like a new hand. He was, therefore, at once assigned to a place and duty. An hour later the admiral, as Mr. Francis Drake was called, fired a gun, the two vessels hoisted their broad sails and turned their heads from shore, and the crews of both ships gave a parting cheer, as they turned their faces to the south. As Ned was not in the slightest degree either homesick or seasick, he at once fell to work, laughing and joking with the other boys, of whom there were three on board. He found that their duties consisted of bearing messages, of hauling any rope to which they were told to fix themselves, and in receiving, with as good a face as might be, the various orders, to say nothing of the various kicks, which might be bestowed upon them by all on board. At the same time their cheerful countenances showed that these things which, when told, sounded a little terrible, were in truth in no way serious. Ned was first shown where he was to sling his hammock, and how; where he was to get his food; and under whose orders he was specially to consider himself; the master, for the present, taking him under his own charge. For the next ten days, as the vessel sailed calmly along, with a favoring wind, Ned had learned all the names of the ropes and sails, and their uses; could climb aloft, and do his share of the work of the ship; and if not yet a skilled sailor, was at least on the high road to become one. The master was pleased at his willingness and eagerness to oblige, and he soon became a great favorite of his. Between the four boys on the ship a good feeling existed. All had been chosen as a special favor, upon the recommendation of one or other of those in authority. Each of them had made up his mind that, one of these days, he, too, would command an expedition to the West Indies. Each thought of the glory which he would attain; and although, in the hearts of many of the elder men in the expedition, the substantial benefits to be reaped stood higher than any ideas of glory or honor; to the lads, at least, pecuniary gain exercised no inducement whatever. They burned to see the strange country, and to gain some of the credit and glory which would, if the voyage was successful, attach to each member of the crew. All were full of fun, and took what came to them, in the way of work, so good temperedly and cheerfully, that the men soon ceased to give them work for work's sake. They were, too, a strong and well-built group of boys. Ned was by a full year the youngest, and by nigh a head the shortest of them; but his broad shoulders and sturdy build, and the strength acquired by long practice in swimming and rowing, made him their equal. There were, however, no quarrels among them, and their strength they agreed to use in alliance, if need be, should any of the crew make a dead set at one or other of them; for even in an expedition like this there must be some brutal, as well as many brave men. There were assuredly two or three, at least, of those on board the Swanne who might well be called brutal. They were for the most part old hands, who had lived on board ship half their lives, had taken part in the slave traffic of Captain Hawkins, and in the buccaneering exploits of the earlier commanders. To them the voyage was one in which the lust of gold was the sole stimulant; and, accustomed to deeds of bloodshed, what feelings they ever had had become utterly blunted, and they needed but the power to become despotic and brutal masters. The chief among these was Giles Taunton, the armorer He was a swarthy ruffian, who hid, beneath the guise of a jovial bonhomie, a cruel and unfeeling nature. He was ever ready to cuff and beat the boys, on the smallest provocation. They soon gathered together, in a sort of defensive league, against their common oppressors. All four were high-spirited lads. The other three, indeed, were sons of men of substance in Devon, whose fathers had lent funds to Captain Drake for the carrying out of his great enterprise. They therefore looked but ill on the kicks and curses which, occasionally, fell to their lot. One day they gathered together round the bowsprit, and talked over what they should do. Gerald Summers, the eldest of the party, proposed that they should go in a body to Captain Drake, and complain of the tyranny to which they were subject. After some talk, however, all agreed that such a course as this would lower them in the estimation of the men, and that it would be better to put up with the ill treatment than, to get the name of tell tales. Ned then said to the others: "It seems to me that, if we do but hold together, we need not be afraid of this big bully. If we all declare to each other and swear that, the first time he strikes one of us, we will all set upon him; my faith on it, we shall be able to master him, big as he is. We are all of good size, and in two years will think ourselves men; therefore it would be shame, indeed, if the four of us could not master one, however big and sturdy he may be." After much consultation, it was agreed that this course should be adopted; and the next day, as Reuben Gale was passing by Giles, he turned round and struck him on the head with a broom. The boy gave a long whistle, and in a moment, to the astonishment of the armorer, the other three lads rushed up, and at once assailed him with fury. Astonished at such an attack, he struck out at them with many strange oaths. Gerald he knocked down, but Ned leaped on his back from behind, and the other two, closing with him, rolled him on to the deck; then, despite of his efforts, they pummeled him until his face was swollen and bruised, and his eyes nearly closed. Some of the men of his own sort, standing by, would fain have interfered; but the better disposed of the crew, who had seen, with disgust, the conduct of the armorer and his mates to the boys, held them back, and said that none should come between. Just as the boys drew off, and allowed the furious armorer to rise to his feet, Captain John Drake, attracted by the unusual noise, came from his cabin. "What is this?" he asked. "These young wild cats have leapt upon me," said Giles Taunton furiously, "and have beaten me nigh to death. But I will have my turn. They will see, and bitterly shall they have cause to regret what they have done." "We have been driven almost weary of our lives, sir, with the foul and rough conduct of this man, and of some of his mates," Gerald said. "We did not like to come to tell you of it, and to gain the name of carry tales; but we had resolved among ourselves at last that, whoever struck one of us, the whole should set upon him. Today we have carried it out, and we have shown Giles Taunton that we are more than a match for one man, at any rate." "Four good-sized dogs, if they are well managed," said Captain John Drake, "will pull down a lion; and the best thing that the lion can do is to leave them alone. "I am sorry to hear, Master Taunton, that you have chosen to mistreat these lads; who are, indeed, the sons of worthy men, and are not the common kind of ship boys. I am sure that my brother would not brook such conduct, and I warn you that, if any complaint again on this head reaches me, I shall lay it before him." With angry mutterings, the armorer went below. "We have earned a bitter foe," Ned said to his friends, "and we had best keep our eyes well open. There is very little of the lion about Master Taunton. He is strong, indeed; but if it be true that the lion has a noble heart, and fights his foes openly, methinks he resembles rather the tiger, who is prone to leap suddenly upon his enemies." "Yes, indeed, he looked dark enough," Gerald said, "as he went below; and if looks could have killed us, we should not be standing here alive, at present." "It is not force that we need fear now, but that he will do us some foul turn; at all events, we are now forewarned, and if he plays us a scurvy trick it will be our own faults." For several days the voyage went on quietly, and without adventure. They passed at a distance the Portuguese Isle of Madeira, lying like a cloud on the sea. The weather now had become warm and very fair, a steady wind blew, and the two barks kept along at a good pace. All sorts of creatures, strange to the boys, were to be seen in the sea. Sometimes there was a spout of a distant whale. Thousands of flying fish darted from the water, driven thence by the pursuit of their enemies beneath; while huge flocks of gulls and other birds hovered over the sea, chasing the flying fish, or pouncing down upon the shoals of small fry; whose splashings whitened the surface of the water, as if a sandbank had laid below it. Gradually, as the time went on, the heat increased. Many of the crew found themselves unable to sleep below, for in those days there was but little thought of ventilation. The boys were among these, for the heat and the confinement were, to them, especially irksome. One day the wind had fallen almost to a calm, and the small boat had been lowered, to enable the carpenter to do some repair to the ship's side, where a seam leaked somewhat, when the waves were high. When night came on, and all was quiet, Ned proposed to the others that they should slip down the rope over the stern into the boat which was towing behind; where they could sleep undisturbed by the tramp of the sentry, or the call to pull at ropes and trim sails. The idea was considered a capital one, and the boys slid down into the boat; where, taking up their quarters as comfortably as they could, they, after a short chat, curled themselves up and were soon sound asleep, intending to be on board again, with the earliest gleam of morn. When they awoke, however, it was with a start and a cry. The sun was already high, but there were no signs whatever of the ship; they floated, alone, in the mid-ocean. With blank amazement they looked at each other. "This is a stroke of misfortune, indeed," Gerald said. "We have lost the ship, and I fear our lives, as well. "What do you say, Otter?" For the lad's nickname had come on board ship with him, and he was generally known by it. "It seems to me," said Ned, "that our friend the armorer has done us this bad turn. I am sure that the rope was well tied, for I was the first who slipped down it, and I looked at the knot well, before I went over the side and trusted my weight to it. He must have seen us, and as soon as he thought we were fairly asleep must have loosened the knot and cast us adrift. What on earth is to be done, now?" "I should think," Gerald said, "that it will not be long before the ship comes back for us. The boat is sure to be missed, in the morning, for the carpenter will be wanting it to go over the side. We, too, will be missed, for the captain will be wanting his flagon of wine, soon after the day has dawned." "But think you," Tom Tressilis said, "that the captain will turn back on his voyage, for us?" "Of that I think there is no doubt," Gerald said; "the only question is as to the finding us, but I should say that of that there is little fear; the wind is light, the ship was not making fast through the water, and will not be more than fifty miles, at most, away, when she turns on her heel and comes to look for us. I expect that Master Taunton knew, well enough, that we should be picked up again; but he guessed that the admiral would not be pleased at losing a day, by our freak, and that the matter is not likely to improve the favor in which we may stand with him and his brother." "It is going to be a terrible hot day," Ned said, "and with the sun above our heads and no shade, and not so much as a drop of water, the sooner we are picked up the more pleasant it will be, even if we all get a touch of the rope's end for our exploit." All day the boys watched anxiously. Once they saw the two vessels sailing backward on their track, but the current had drifted the boat, and the ships passed fully eight miles away to windward of them, and thus without seeing them. This caused the boys, courageous as they were, almost to despair. "If," argued Gerald, "they pass us in the daylight, our chance is small, indeed, that they will find us at night. They will, doubtless, sail back till dusk; and then judge that they have missed us, or that we have in some way sunk; then, putting their heads to the west, they will continue their voyage. "If we had oars, or a sail, we might make a shift to pull the boat into the track they are following, which would give us a chance of being picked up when they again turn west; but as we have neither one nor the other, we are helpless, indeed." "I do not think," Ned said, "that Captain John or his brother are the men to leave us, without a great effort; and methinks that, when they have sailed over the ground to the point where, at the utmost, we must have parted from them, they will lay by through the night, and search back again, tomorrow." And so it proved. On the morrow, about midday, the boys beheld one of the ships coming up, nearly in a line behind them; while the other, some six miles away to leeward, was keeping abreast of her. "They are quartering the ground, like hounds," Gerald said; "and, thanks to their care and thoughtfulness, we are saved, this time." By the time that, three hours later, the ship, which was the Pacha, came alongside, the boys were suffering terribly from the heat and thirst; for thirty-six hours no drop of water had passed their lips, and the sun had blazed down upon them with terrible force. Therefore when the vessel hauled her course, and laid by for a boat to be lowered to pick them up, their plight was so bad a one that Captain Francis, although sorely vexed at having lost near two days of his voyage, yet felt that they had been amply punished for their escapade. Chapter 3: On the Spanish Main. The four boys, upon gaining the Pacha's deck, were taken below; and after drink and food had been given them, were called to the captain's cabin. He spoke to them gravely, and inquired how it was that they had all got adrift, together. They told him the circumstances, and said that they thought there was no chance of any mishap occurring; the knot was well fastened, the night was calm, and though they regretted much the pains and trouble which they had given, and the delay to which they had put the fleet, yet it did not appear to them, they said frankly, that they had been so very much to blame, as they could hardly have believed that the boat would have broken afloat; and indeed, Ned said plainly, they believed that it was not the result of chance, but that an enemy had done them an evil turn. "Why think you so?" Captain Drake said sharply. "How can boys like you have an enemy?" Gerald then detailed the account of their trouble with Master Taunton. "He is a rough man," Captain Drake said, "and a violent man, maybe, but he is useful and brave. However, I will have reason with him. Of course it is a mere suspicion, but I will speak to my brother." When the boat had first come in sight, the Pacha had made the signal to the Swanne that the boys were found, and that she was to keep her course, drawing gradually alongside. Before dark the vessels were within hailing distance, and Captain Drake, lowering a boat, went himself on board the Swanne with the four lads. Captain John was at the top of the ladder, and was about to rate them soundly. Captain Francis said, "Let us talk together, John, first;" and he repaired with him to his cabin, while the crew swarmed round the boys, to gather an account of how they got adrift. Then Captain John appeared at the door of his cabin, and called for Master Taunton, who went in and remained, for some time, in converse with the two captains. Then he came out, looking surly and black, and Captain Francis soon after issued out with his brother, walked round the ship, said a few cheery words to all the crew; and, with a parting laugh and word of advice to the boys, to be more careful where they slept in future, descended the side and went off to his ship again. Opinions were much mingled, on board the Swanne, as to whether the slipping of the knot had been the effect of accident or of an evil turn; however, the boys said little about it, and endeavored, so far as might be, to let it pass as an accident. They felt that the matter between themselves and Master Taunton had already gone too far for their safety and comfort. They doubted not that he had been reprimanded by the admiral, as well as by Captain John, and that they had earned his hatred; which, although it might slumber for a while, was likely to show itself again, when a chance might occur. Not wishing to inflame farther his fury against them, they abstained from giving such a complexion to their tale as might seem to cast a suspicion upon him. Nevertheless there was a strong feeling, amongst many of the crew, that Master Taunton must have had a hand in the casting adrift of the boys; or that if he did not himself do it, it had been done by one of the party who always worked with him. Whatever the feelings of Giles Taunton might be, he kept them to himself. He now never interfered with the boys, by word or deed, working sullenly and quietly at his craft as armorer The boys felt their lives much lightened thereby, and now thoroughly enjoyed the voyage. Although as boys it was not a part of their duty to go aloft, which was done by the regular sailors who were hired for the purpose, yet they spent no small part of their time, when not engaged--and their duties truly were but nominal--in going aloft, sliding down the ropes, and learning to be thoroughly at home among the sails. Every day, too, there would be practices with arms. It was of the utmost importance that each man should be able to use sword and axe with the greatest skill; and on board each ship those who were best skilled would exercise and give lessons to those who were less practiced with their arms; and, using wooden clubs in place of boarding axes, they would much belabor each other, to the amusement of the lookers on. The boys were most assiduous at this kind of work. It was their highest ambition to become good swordsmen, and to have a chance of distinguishing themselves against the Spaniards; and so they practiced diligently, with point and edge. The knowledge of singlestick and quarterstaff still lingered, in the country parts of England. They had all already some skill with these, and picked up fast the use of the heavier, and more manly arms. It was the end of July before they sighted land. Great was the delight of all; for, cooped up in what were after all but narrow quarters, they longed for a sight of the green and beautiful forests, of which they had heard so much. They were still far from the destination which the admiral had marked as his base of operations. They cruised along for days, with the land often in sight, but keeping for the most part a long distance out; for they feared that the knowledge of their coming might be carried, by the natives, to the Spaniards in the towns; and that such preparations might be made as would render their journey fruitless. Near, however, to some of the smaller islands, which were known to be uninhabited by Spaniards, the vessels went closely, and one day dropped anchor in a bay. They observed some natives on the shore, but the white men had so bad a name, caused by the cruelty of the Spaniards, that these withdrew hastily from sight. The captain, however, had a boat lowered; which, pulling towards shore, and waving a white flag in token of amity, met with no resistance. There were on board some who could speak Spanish, and one of these shouted aloud to the Indians to have no fear, for that they were friends, and haters of the Spaniards; whereupon the natives came out from the woods, and greeted them. They were a fine race of men, but gentle and timid in their demeanor They were copper in color, and wore headdresses of bright feathers, but the men had but little other clothing; of which, indeed, in such a climate, there is but slight necessity. In exchange for some trifles from the ship they brought many baskets of fruits, such as none of those who had fresh come from England had ever before seen. Great was the joy on board ship, especially among the four boys, at the profusion of strange fruits; and they were seen, seated together, eating pineapples, bananas, and many other things of which they knew not so much as the name, but which they found delicious, indeed, after so long a voyage upon salted food. Then, sailing on, they dropped anchor in the bay which Captain Drake had himself christened, during his last voyage, Port Pheasant; for they had killed many of this kind of bird there. Here the admiral purposed waiting for a while, to refresh the crews and to put the pinnaces together. Accordingly the anchors were put out, and all was made snug. A boat's crew was sent on shore to see that all was safe, for there was no saying where the Spaniards might be lurking. They returned with a great plate of lead, which they had found fastened to a tree, close to the water's edge. Upon it were these words: "Captain Drake, if it is your fortune to come into this part, make haste away; for the Spaniards which were with you here, last year, have betrayed the place; and taken away all that you left here. I departed hence on this present 7th July, 1572. Your very loving friend, John Garrett." "I would I had been here a few days earlier," Captain Drake said, when he read this notice, "for John Garrett would assuredly have joined us, and his aid would have been no slight assistance in the matter in which we are about to engage. However, it will not do to despise his caution; therefore, lest we be attacked while on shore by the Spaniards, we will even make a fort; and we shall be able to unload our stores, and put our pinnaces together, without fear of interruption." The crew were now landed; and set to work, with hatchet and bill, to clear a plot of ground. Three quarters of an acre was, after three days' work, cleared; and the trees were cast outwards, and piled together in such form as to make a sort of wall, 30 feet high, round it. This hard work done, most of the crew were allowed a little liberty; the carpenters, and experienced artificers, being engaged in putting the three pinnaces together. The boys, in pairs, for all could never obtain leave together, rambled in the woods, full of admiration for the beauties of nature. Huge butterflies flitted about upon the brilliant flowers. Long trailing creepers, rich with blossom, hung on the trees. Here and there, as they passed along, snakes slipped away among the undergrowth; and these, in truth, the boys were as ready to leave alone as the reptiles were to avoid them, for they were told that it was certain death to be bitten by these creatures. Most of all the boys admired the little birds, which indeed it was hard for them to believe not to be butterflies, so small were they, so rapid their movements, and so brilliant their color. On the 7th day from landing the pinnaces were finished; and, the vessels being anchored near the shore, the crews went on board for the last time, preparatory to making their start the next day. There was one tall and bright-faced sailor with whom the boys had struck up a great friendship. He had sailed before with Captain Drake; and as the evening was cool, and there was naught to do, they begged him to tell them of his former visits in the Caribbean Seas. "My first," he said, "was the worst, and might well have been my last. Captain John Hawkins was our captain, a bold man and a good sailor; but not gentle as well as brave, as is our good Captain Francis. Our fleet was a strong one. The admiral's ship, the Jesus, of Lubeck, was 700 tons. Then there were the smaller craft; the Minion, Captain Hampton, in which I myself sailed; the William and John of Captain Boulton; the Judith with Captain Francis Drake; and two little ships, besides. We sailed later in the year. It was the 2nd October, five years back; that is, 1567. We started badly, for a storm struck us off Finisterre, the ships separated, and some boats were lost. "We came together at Cape de Verde, and there we tried to get slaves; for it was part of the object of our voyage to buy slaves on the coast of Africa, and sell them to the Spaniards, here. It was a traffic for which I myself had but little mind; for though it be true that these black fellows are a pernicious race, given to murder, and to fightings of all kinds among themselves, yet are they human beings; and it is, methinks, cruel to send them beyond the seas into slavery, so far from their homes and people. But it was not for me, a simple mariner, to argue the question with our admirals and captains; and I have heard many worshipful merchants are engaged in the traffic. "However that be, methinks that our good Captain Francis did, likewise, turn himself against this kind of traffic in human flesh; for although he has been three times, since, in these regions, he has never again taken a hand in it. "With much to do at Cape de Verde, we succeeded in getting a hundred and fifty men; but not without much resistance from the natives, who shot their arrows at us, and wounded many; and most of those who were wounded did die of lock-jaw, for the arrows had been smeared in some poisonous stuff. Then we went farther down the coast, and took in two hundred more. "Coasting still farther down, to Saint Jorge de Mina, we landed; and Captain Hawkins found that the negro king there was at war with an enemy, a little farther inland. He besought our assistance, and promised us plenty of slaves, if we would go there and storm the place with him. Captain Hawkins agreed, cheerfully enough; and set off, with a portion of his crews, to assist the king. "The enemy fought well, and it was only after a very hard fight on our part, and a loss of many men, that we took the town. Methinks the two hundred and fifty slaves which we took there were dearly paid for; and there was much grumbling, among the ships, at the reckless way in which our admiral had risked our lives, for meager gain. It is true that these slaves would sell at a high price, yet none of us looked upon money, gained in that way, quite as we do upon treasure taken in fair fight. In the one case we traffic with the Spaniards, who are our natural enemies; and it is repugnant, to a Christian man, to hand over even these poor negroes to such willful masters as these; in the other we are fighting for our queen and country. The Spaniards are the natural enemies of all good Protestants, and every ship we see, and every treasure bag we capture, does something to pare the nails of that fierce and haughty power. "Having filled up our hold with the slaves which we had captured at Saint Jorge de Mina, we turned our back upon the African coast, and sailed to the West Indies. At Rio de Hacha, the first port at which we touched, the people did not wish to trade with us; but the admiral was not the man to allow people to indulge in fancies of this kind. We soon forced them to buy, or to sell, that which we chose; and not what they had a fancy for. "Sailing along, we were caught in a storm; and in searching for the port of Saint Juan d'Ulloa, where we hoped to refit, we captured three ships. In the port we found twelve other small craft, but these we released; and sent some of them to Mexico, to ask that victuals and stores might be sent. "The next day thirteen great ships appeared off the harbor In them was the Viceroy of Mexico. We had then only the Jesus, the Minion of 100 tons, and the Judith of 50 tons, and this big fleet was large enough to have eaten us; but Captain Hawkins put a good face on it, and sailed out to meet them, waiting at the mouth of the harbor Here he told them haughtily that he should not allow their fleet to enter, save on his terms. I doubt not that Hawkins would have been glad enough to have made off, if he could have done so; for what with the sale of the slaves, and the vessels we had captured, we had now 1,800,000 pounds, in silver and gold, on board of the ships. The Spanish admiral accepted the terms which Captain Hawkins laid down, and most solemnly swore to observe them. "So with colors flying, both fleets sailed into the harbor together. It is true, however, that the man who places faith in a Spaniard is a fool, and so it proved to us. No sooner had they reached the port than they began to plot, secretly among themselves, how to fall upon us. Even then, though they had thirteen big ships, the smallest of which was larger than the Jesus, they feared to attack us openly. "Numbers of men were set to work by them on the shore, secretly, to get up batteries by which they might fire into us; while a great ship, having 500 men on board, was moored close alongside the Minion. "I remember well talking the matter over with Jack Boscowan, who was boatswain on board; and we agreed that this time we had run into an ugly trap, and that we did not see our way out of it. Englishmen can, as all the world knows, lick the Spaniards when they are but as one to five; but when there are twenty of the Dons to one of us, it is clear that the task is a hard one. "What made it worse was that we were in harbor At sea, our quickness in handling our ships would have made us a match for the Spanish fleet; but at anchor, and with the guns of the port commanding us, we did not truly see how we were to get out of it. "The fight began by the Spaniards letting their big ship drift alongside the Minion; when, suddenly, 500 men leapt out on our decks. We were beaten below in no time, for we were scarce prepared for so sudden an onslaught. There, however, we defended ourselves stoutly, firing into the hull of the ship alongside, and defending our ports and entrances from the Spaniards. "For a while our case seemed desperate. The Jesus was hard at work, too; and when she had sunk the ship of the Spanish admiral, she came up, and gave a broadside into the ship alongside of us. Her crew ran swiftly back to her; and we, with much rejoicing, poured on deck again, and began to pay them hotly for their sudden attack upon us. "It was a great fight, and one that would have done your heart good, to see the three English ships, two of them so small as to be little more than boats, surrounded by a whole fleet of Spaniards, while from on shore the guns of the forts played upon us. Had it not been for those forts, I verily believe that we should have destroyed the Spanish fleet. Already another large vessel had followed the example of their admiral's ship, and had gone to the bottom. Over 540 of their sailors we had, as they have themselves admitted, slain outright. "We were faring well, and had begun to hope that we might get to find our way out of the toils, when a cry came from the lookout, who said that the Jesus was hoisting signals of distress, and that he feared she was sinking. "Close as she was lying to a battery, and surrounded by enemies, our bold captain did not hesitate a minute; but sailed the Minion, through a crowd of enemies, close to the Jesus. You should have heard the cheer that the two crews gave each other. It rose above all the noise of the battle, and would assuredly have done your heart good. The Jesus was sinking fast, and it was as much as they could do to tumble into the boats, and to row hastily to our side. We should have saved them all, but the Spaniards, who dared not lay us aboard, and who were in no slight degree troubled by the bravery with which we had fought, set two of their great ships on fire, and launched them down upon us, preferring to lose two of their own ships for the sake of capturing or destroying our little bark. The sight of the ships coming down, in flames, shook the hearts of our men more than all the fury of the Spaniards had been able to do; and without waiting for orders, they turned the ship's head for the mouth of the port. "The admiral, who had just come on board, cursed and shouted when he saw what was being done; but the panic of the fire ships got the better of the men, and we made off, firing broadsides at the Spaniards' fleet as we passed through them; and aided by the little Judith, which stuck to us through the whole of the fight. "When we cooled down and came to think of it, we were in no slight degree ashamed of our desertion of our comrades in the Jesus. Fortunately the number so left behind was not large; but we knew that, according to their custom, the Spaniards would put all to death, and so indeed it afterwards turned out, many of them being dispatched with horrible tortures. "This terrible treatment of the prisoners caused, when it was known, great indignation; and although Queen Elizabeth did not declare war with Spain, from that time she gave every countenance she could to the adventurers who waged war, on their own account, against her. "The Minion suffered severely, packed close as she was with all her own crew, and a great part of that of the Jesus, vast numbers of whom were wounded. However, at length a hundred were, at their own request, landed and left to shift for themselves, preferring to run the risk of Indians, or even of Spaniards, to continue any longer amid the horrors on board the ship. I myself, boys, was not one of that number, and came back to England in her. "Truly it was the worst voyage that I ever made, for though fortune was for a time good to us, and we collected much money; yet in the end we lost all, and hardly escaped with our lives. It has seemed to me that this bad fortune was sent as a punishment upon us, for carrying off the negroes into slavery. Many others thought the same, and methinks that that was also the opinion of our present good admiral." "Did you come out with him, in his further voyages here?" Ned asked. "I was with him in the Dragon, two years ago, when with the Swanne she came here. Last year I sailed with him in the Swanne, alone." "You did not have any very stirring adventures?" "No, we were mainly bent on exploring; but for all that we carried off many prizes, and might, had we been pilgrims, have bought farms in Devonshire, and settled down on our share of the prize money; but there, that is not the way with sailors. Quick come, quick go, and not one in a hundred that I have ever heard of, however much he may have taken as his share of prizes, has ever kept it, or prospered greatly therefrom." It was now evening, and many of the men had betaken themselves to the water, for a swim. The heat had been great all day, and as it was their last, they had been pressed at work to get the stores, which had been landed, again on board ship; and to finish all up, ready for the division of the party, next day. "I do not care for bathing here," Ned said, in reply to a sailor, who asked him why he too did not join in the sport. "I confess that I have a dread of those horrible sharks, of which we have heard so much, and whose black fins we see from time to time." "I should have thought," said the harsh, sneering voice of Giles Taunton, "that an Otter would have been a match for a shark. The swimmers of the South Isles, and indeed the natives here, attack the sharks without fear. I should have thought that anyone who prides himself, as you do, upon swimming, would have been equally willing to encounter them." "I do not know that I do pride myself on my swimming, Giles Taunton," Ned said composedly; "at any rate, no one has ever heard me speak of such abilities as I may have in that way. As to the natives, they have seen each other fight with sharks, and know how the matter is gone about. If I were to be present a few times, when such strife takes place, it may be that I should not shirk from joining in the sport; but knowing nothing whatever of the method pursued, or of the manner of attack, I should be worse than a fool, were I to propose to venture my life in such a sport." Many sailors who were standing round approved of what Ned said. "Aye, aye, lad," one said, "no one would think of making his first jump across the spot where he might be dashed to pieces. Let a man learn to jump on level ground; and then, when he knows his powers, he may go across a deep chasm." By this time a good many of the men were out of the water, when suddenly there arose the cry of, "Shark!" from the lookout on the poop. There was a great rush for the ship, and the excitement on board was nearly as great as that in the water. Ned quietly dropped off his jacket and his shoes and, seizing a short boarding pike, waited to see what would come of it. It chanced that his friends, the other boys, were farther out than the men; having, with the ardor of youth, engaged themselves in races, regardless of the admonition that had frequently been given them to keep near the ship; for the terror of these water beasts was very great. The men all gained the ship in safety, but the shark, which had come up from a direction in which it would cut them off, was clearly likely to arrive before the boys could gain the side. At first it seemed, indeed, that their fate was sealed; but the shark, who in many respects resembles a cat with a mouse, and seems to prefer to trifle with its victim to the last, allowed them to get close to the ship; although, by rapid swimming, it could easily have seized them before. The nearest to it, as it approached the ship, was Tom Tressilis, who was not so good a swimmer as the others; but he had swum lustily, and with good heart, though his white face showed how great the effect of the danger was upon him. He had not spoken a word, since the shark first made its appearance. As he struck despairingly to gain the ship, from which the sailors were already casting him ropes, his eye caught that of Ned, who cried to him cheerily: "Keep up your spirits, Tom. I will be with you." As the huge fish swept along, at a distance of some four yards from the side of the ship, and was already turning on its back, opening its huge mouth to seize its victim, Ned dived head foremost from the ship onto him. So great was the force and impetus with which he struck the creature, that it was fairly driven sideways from its course, missing by the nearest shave the leg of Tom Tressilis. Ned himself was half stunned by the force with which his head had struck the fish, for a shark is not so soft a creature to jump against as he had imagined; however, he retained consciousness enough to grasp at the fin of the shark, to which he held on for half a minute. By this time the shark was recovering from the effects of the sudden blow, and Ned was beginning to be able to reflect. In a moment he plunged the half pike deep into the creature's stomach. Again and again he repeated the stroke; until the shark, rolling over in his agony, and striking furiously with his tail, shook Ned from his hold. He instantly dived beneath the water, and came up at a short distance. The shark was still striking the water furiously, the sailors on board were throwing down upon him shot, pieces of iron, and all sorts of missiles, and some of the best archers were hastily bringing their bows to the side. The shark caught sight of his opponent, and instantly rushed at him. Ned again dived, just before the creature reached him; and, rising under him, inflicted some more stabs with the pike; then he again swam off, for he was in no slight fear that he might be struck by his friends on board ship, of whose missiles, indeed, he was more in dread than of the shark himself. When he rose, at a short distance from the shark, he was again prepared for a rush on the part of his enemy; but the great fish had now had enough of it. He was still striking the water, but his movements were becoming slower, for he was weakened by the loss of blood from the stabs he had received from below, and from the arrows, many of which were now buried to the goose quill in him. In a minute or two he gradually turned on one side, and floated, with his white belly in the air. A shout broke from the crew of the Swanne, and also of the Pacha, who had been attracted to the side by the cries. When he saw that the battle was over, and that the enemy had been vanquished without loss of life, or hurt to any, Ned speedily seized one of the ropes, and climbed up the side of the ship; where he was, you may be sure, received with great cheering, and shouts of joy and approval. "You are a fine lad," Captain John Drake said, "and your name of Otter has indeed been well bestowed. You have saved the life of your comrade; and I know that my old friend, Mr. Frank Tressilis, his father, will feel indebted indeed to you, when he comes to learn how gallantly you risked your life to preserve that of his son." Ned said that he saw no credit in the action, and that he was mightily glad to have had an opportunity of learning to do that which the negroes thought nothing of; for that it shamed him to think that these heathens would venture their lives boldly against sharks, while he, an English boy, although a good swimmer, and not, he hoped, wanting in courage, was yet afraid to encounter these fierce brutes. This incident acted, as might be expected, as a fresh bond between the boys; and as it also secured for Ned the cordial goodwill of the sailors, they were, in future, free from any persecution at the hands of Master Taunton, or of his fellows. Chapter 4: An Unsuccessful Attack. It should have been said, in its proper place, that upon the day after the arrival of the Pacha and Swanne in Pheasant Bay, a barque named the Isle of Wight, commanded by James Rause, with thirty men on board, many of whom had sailed with Captain Drake upon his previous voyages, came into the port; and there was great greeting between the crews of the various ships. Captain Rause brought with him a Spanish caravel, captured the day before; and a shallop also, which he had taken at Cape Blanco. This was a welcome reinforcement, for the crews of the two ships were but small for the purpose which they had in hand, especially as it would be necessary to leave a party to take charge of the vessels. Captain Drake made some proposals to Captain Rause, which the latter accepted, and it was arranged that he and his crew would be, for a time, under the command of Captain Drake. When the division of the crews was made, it was decided that James Rause should remain in command of the four ships at Pheasant Bay; and that Captain Drake, with fifty-three of his own men and twenty of Rause's, should start in the three pinnaces and the shallop for Nombre de Dios. The first point at which they stopped was the Isle of Pines, on the 22nd July. Here they put in to water the boats and, as the crews had been cramped from their stay therein, Captain Drake decided to give them a day on shore. Ned and Reuben Gale were of the party, the other two being, to their great discontent, left behind in the ship. After the barriques had been filled with water, the fires lit for cooking, and the labors of the day over, Ned and Reuben started for a ramble in the island, which was of a goodly extent. When they had proceeded some distance in the wood, picking fruit as they went, and looking at the butterflies and bright birds, they were suddenly seized and thrown upon the ground by some men, who sprang out from the underwood through which they had passed. They were too surprised at this sudden attack to utter even a cry; and, being safely gagged and bound, they were lifted by their captors, and carried away into the interior of the island. After an hour's passage they were put down in the heart of a thick grove of trees and, looking round, saw they were surrounded by a large number of natives. One of these, a person evidently in authority, spoke to them in a language which they did not understand. They shook their heads, and after several times attempting to make them comprehend, Ned caught the words Espanolos. To this he vehemently shook his head in denial, which caused quite an excitement among his hearers. One of the latter then said "English," to which Ned and his companion nodded. The news evidently filled the natives with great joy. The bands were taken off the boys, and the Indians endeavored, by gestures, to express the sorrow that they felt for having carried them off. It was clear that they had taken them for Spaniards, and that they had been watched as they wandered inland, and captured for the purpose of learning the objects and force of the expedition. Now, however, that their captors understood that the ships were English, with great signs of pleasure they started with them for the seashore. It had already darkened when they arrived there, and the crews of the boats jumped hastily to their feet, at the sight of so many persons approaching. Ned, however, called to them just as they were about to betake themselves to their arms, and shouted that the natives were perfectly friendly, and well disposed. Captain Drake himself now advanced, and entered into conversation with the leader of the natives, in Spanish. It seemed that they had met before, and that many, indeed, of the natives were acquainted with his person. These were a party of Simeroons, as they were then called; i.e., of natives who had been made slaves by the Spaniards, and who had now fled. They afterwards came to be called Cameroons, and are mostly so spoken of in the books of English buccaneers. These men were greatly pleased at the arrival of Captain Drake and his boats, for their own had been destroyed, and they feared taking to the sea in such as they could build. After much talk, Captain Drake arranged to put them on shore, so that they would go on to the Isthmus of Darien, where there were more of them in the forests; and they promised to prepare these to assist Captain Drake, when he should come there. The natives, some thirty in number, were soon packed in the boats, and were ready to cross to the mainland; and the party then going forward, entered the port of Nombre de Dios at three in the morning. As they sailed in, being yet a good way from the city, they came upon a barque of some 60 tons. It was all unprepared for attack, and the boats got alongside, and the crews climbed on to the deck before their presence was discovered, or dreamt of. No resistance whatever was offered by the Spaniards against the English. All were, indeed, asleep below. A search was made, and it was found that the ship was laden with Canary wine, a circumstance which gave great pleasure to the English, who looked forward to a long bout of good drinking. While they were searching the ship, they had paid but little attention to the Spanish crew. Presently, however, they heard the sound of oars at some little distance from the ship. "What is that?" said Captain Drake. Ned ran to the stern of the vessel. "I think, sir," he said, "that one or two of the Spaniards have got off, with their boat. I saw it towing to the stern, when we boarded." Captain Drake leant over the side, and at once gave orders to one of the boats whose crew had not boarded the vessel, and was lying alongside, to pursue; and to strain every nerve to catch the boat, before she came near the town. The sailors leapt to the oars, and pulled with a will, for they knew as well as their captain how serious a matter it would be, were the town alarmed; and indeed, that all their toil and pains would be thrown away, as it was only by surprise that so small a handful of men could possibly expect to take a large and important town like Nombre de Dios. Fortunately the boat overtook the fugitives before they were within hailing distance of the town, and rapidly towed them back to the ship. All then took their places in the pinnaces, and pushed off without further delay. It was not yet light, and steered by one who knew the town well, they rowed up alongside a battery, which defended it, without the alarm being given. As they climbed up over the wall the sentry fired his piece, and the artillerymen, who, there having been some rumors of the arrival of Drake's fleet in those waters, were sleeping by the side of their guns, sprang to their feet and fled, as the English leapt down into the battery. There were six large guns in the place, and many small, and bombards. "Now, my lads," Captain Drake said, "you must lose no time. In five minutes, yonder artillerymen will have alarmed the whole town, and we must be there before the Spaniards have managed to get their sleepy eyes open. "Advance in three parties, and meet in the marketplace. It is good that we should make as much show as possible. There can be no more concealment and, therefore, we must endeavor to make the Spaniards believe that we are a far stronger force than, in truth, we are." It was not until the three parties met in the marketplace that any real resistance on the part of the Spaniards began, although windows had been opened, and shots fired here and there. The alarm bells were now ringing, shouts and screams were heard through the town, and the whole population was becoming fairly aroused. As they entered the marketplace, however, a heavy fire was opened with arquebuses and guns. The English had taken with them no firearms, but each man carried his bow and arrows, and with these they shot fast and hard at the Spaniards, and silenced their fire. At this moment, however, it happened, sadly for the success of the enterprise, that a ball struck Captain Drake, and inflicted a serious wound. Ned was standing near him, and observed him stagger. "Are you hit, sir?" he asked anxiously. "Tush, my boy," he replied, "it is a scratch; say nothing of it. "Now, forward to the Treasury. The town is in your hands, my lads. It only remains to you to sack as much treasure as you can carry; but remember, do not lose your discipline, and keep together. If we straggle, we are lost. "Now, light at once the torches which you have brought with you, and shout aloud to the inhabitants, you that can speak Spanish, that if any more resistance is offered, we will burn the whole town to the ground." This threat mightily alarmed the inhabitants, and the firing ceased altogether; for as these were not regular soldiers, and knew that the object of the English attack was to plunder the public treasuries, rather than private property, the townsmen readily deemed it to their interest to hold aloof, rather than to bring upon their city and themselves so grievous a calamity as that threatened by the English. In the advance, two or three Spaniards had fallen into the hands of the men and, these being threatened with instant death if they hesitated, at once led the way to the governor's house, where the silver, brought down on mules from Panama, was stored. A party were placed at the door of this building, and Captain Drake, with the rest, entered. The governor had fled, with his attendants. The house was richly furnished; full of silk hangings, of vessels of gold and silver, and of all kinds of beautiful things. These, however, attracted little attention from the English, although Ned and his young comrades marveled much. Never had they seen, in England, anything approaching to the wealth and beauty of this furnishing. It seemed to them, indeed, as if they had entered one of the houses of the magicians and enchanters, of whom they had read in books during their childhood. Captain Drake, however, passed through these gorgeous rooms with scarce a glance and, led by the Spaniards, descended some steps into a vast cellar. A cry of astonishment and admiration burst from the whole party, as they entered this treasury. Here, piled up twelve feet high, lay a mighty mass of bars of silver, carefully packed. This heap was no less than 70 feet long and 10 feet wide, and the bars each weighed from 35 to 40 pounds. "My lads," Captain Drake said, "here is money enough to make us all rich for our lives; but we must leave it for the present, and make for the Treasury House, which is as full of gold and of precious stones as this is of silver." The men followed Captain Drake and his brother, feeling quite astonished, and almost stupefied at the sight of this pile of silver; but they felt, moreover, the impossibility of their carrying off so vast a weight, unless the town were completely in their hands. This, indeed, was very far from being the case, for the whole town was now rising. The troops, who had at the first panic fled, were now being brought forward; and as the day lightened, the Spaniards, sorely ashamed that so small a body of men should have made themselves masters of so great and rich a city, were plucking up heart and preparing to attack them. Ill was it, then, for the success of the adventure, that Captain Francis had suffered so heavy a wound in the marketplace. Up to this time he had kept bravely on, and none except Ned, all being full of the prospect of vast plunder, had noticed his pale face, or seen the blood which streamed down from him, and marked every footstep as he went; but nature could now do no more and, with his body well nigh drained of all its blood, he suddenly fell down fainting. Great was the cry that rose from the men, as they saw the admiral thus fall. Hastily gathering round him, they lifted his body from the ground, and shuddered at seeing how great a pool of blood was gathered where he had been standing. It seemed almost as if, with the fall of their captain, the courage which had animated these men, and would animate them again in fighting against ever so great odds, had for the moment deserted them. In spite of the orders of Captain John, that four or five should carry his brother to the boats; and that the rest should seize, without delay, the treasures of gold and diamonds in the Treasury, and carry off as great a weight as they might bear, none paid attention. They gathered round the body of Captain Francis and, lifting him on their shoulders, they hurried to the boats, careless of the promised treasures, and thinking only to escape, and bear with them their beloved commander from the forces of the Spaniards; who, as they saw the party fall back, with great shouting fell upon them, shooting hotly. The swoon of the admiral had lasted but a few moments. As cordial was poured down his throat he opened his eyes and, seeing what the men were minded to do, protested with all his force against their retreat. His words, however, had no weight with them and, in spite of his resistance, they carried him down to the battery; and there, placing him in a pinnace, the whole took to their boats, and rowed on board ship. Wonderful to relate, although many were wounded, but one man, and he Giles Taunton the armorer, was killed in this attack upon the great city, in which they only missed making themselves masters of one of the greatest treasures upon earth by the accident of their commander fainting, at a critical moment, and to the men being seized by an unaccountable panic. Some of the crew had, indeed, carried off certain plunder, which they had snatched in passing through the governor's house, and in such short searches as they had been able to make in private dwellings; but the men, in general, had been so struck with amazement and sorrow at the sight of their general's wound, that although this wealth was virtually at their mercy, they put off with him without casting a thought upon what they were leaving behind. The boats now rowed without pausing to the isle, which they called the Isle of Victuals; and there they stayed two days, nursing their wounds, and supporting themselves with poultry, of which there was a great abundance found in the island, and with vegetables and fruits from the gardens. There was great joy among them when it was found that Captain Drake's wound, although severe enough, was yet not likely to imperil his life; and that it was loss of blood, alone, which had caused him to faint. At this news the men all took heart, and rejoiced so exceedingly that a stranger would have supposed that they had attained some great victory, rather than have come out unsuccessful from an adventure which promised to make each man wealthy. Upon the second day after their arrival at the Isle of Victuals, they saw a boat rowing out from the direction of Nombre de Dios. As they knew that there was no fleet in that harbor which would venture to attack them, the English had no fear of the approaching boat; although, indeed, they wondered much what message could have been sent them. On board the boat was an hidalgo, or Spanish noble, who was rowed by four negroes. He said that he had come from the mainland to make inquiries as to the gallant men who had performed so great a feat, and that he cherished no malice, whatever, against them. He wished to know whether the Captain Drake who commanded them was the same who had been there before, and especially did he inquire whether the arrows used by the English were poisoned; for, he said, great fear and alarm reigned in the town, many believing that all who had been struck by the English shafts would certainly die. Upon this head he was soon reassured; and the English were, indeed, mightily indignant at its being supposed that they would use such cowardly weapons as poisoned arrows. Then the hidalgo inquired why the English had so suddenly retreated from the town, when it was in their hands, and why they had abstained from carrying off the three hundred and sixty tons of silver which lay at the governor's house, and the still greater value of gold in the treasure house--the gold, indeed, being far more valuable than the silver, insomuch as it was more portable. The answers to all these questions were freely given, for in those days there was a curious mixture of peace and war, of desperate violence and of great courtesy, between combatants; and whereas, now, an enemy arriving with a view merely to obtain information would be roughly treated, in those days he was courteously entertained, and his questions as freely answered as if he had been a friend and ally. When he heard of the wound of Captain Drake he expressed great sorrow; and, after many compliments were exchanged, he returned to Nombre de Dios; while, the next day, Captain Drake and the English rowed away to the Isle of Pines, where Captain Rause was remaining in charge of the ships. He was mightily glad to see them return, as were their comrades who had remained; for their long absence had caused great fear and anxiety, as it was thought that Captain Drake must have fallen into some ambuscade, and that ill had come to the party. Although there was some regret at the thought that the chance of gaining such vast booty had been missed, yet the joy at the safe return overpowered this feeling; and, for a day or two, the crews feasted merrily and held festival. Captain Rause then determined to continue the adventure no further, but to separate with his ship and men from Captain Drake. He was of opinion, firmly, that now the Spaniards had discovered their presence in the island, such measures of defense would be taken, at every port, as to place these beyond the hazard of attack by so small a body as those carried by the three ships. He therefore, receiving full satisfaction for the use of his men and for guarding the ships, sailed away on the 7th August, leaving the Swanne and the Pacha to proceed upon the adventure, alone. Captain Drake sent his brother and Ellis Hickson to examine the river Chagres; and on their return Captain Drake, with his two ships and three pinnaces, sailed for Carthagena, where he arrived on the 13th day of August. While on the voyage thither he captured two Spanish ships, each of 240 tons, with rich cargoes, neither of them striking so much as a blow in resistance. At evening he anchored between the Island of Cara and Saint Bernardo, and the three pinnaces entered the harbor of Carthagena. Lying at the entrance they found a frigate, which in those days meant a very small craft, not much larger than a rowing boat. She had but one old man on board, who said that the rest of the company had gone ashore, to fight a duel about a quarrel which they had had overnight. He said, too, what was much more important to the English--that, an hour before nightfall, a pinnace had passed him, and that the man who was steering had shouted out that the English were at hand, and that he had better up anchor and go into the port. He said, moreover, that when the pinnace reached Carthagena guns were fired, and he could see that all the shipping hauled in under shelter of the castle. This was bad news indeed, and there was much hard language among the sailors, when they heard it. It was clear that the castle of Carthagena, if prepared, was not to be carried by some thirty or forty men, however gallant and determined they might be. There was, too, but little hope that the old man had spoken falsely, for they had themselves heard guns, shortly before their arrival there. With much bitterness, it was determined to abandon the plan of attack; and thus Carthagena, as well as Nombre de Dios, escaped from the hands of the English. They did not, however, go out empty handed; for they succeeded in capturing, by boarding, four pinnaces, each laden with cargo; and as they turned their heads to go out to sea, a great ship of Seville came sailing in. Her they laid alongside and captured easily, she having just arrived from Spain, having no thoughts of meeting a foe, just as she reached her port of destination. This lightened the hearts of the crew, and with their prizes in tow, they sailed out in good spirits. The ship contained large stores of goods from Spain, with sherries, and merchandise of every kind. They went back to the Isle of Pines, their usual rendezvous, and on adding up the goods that they had taken from various prizes, found that, even now, they had made no bad thing of their voyage. They were now much reduced in fighting strength by illness, and Captain Drake determined in his mind that the crews were no longer strong enough for the manning of two ships, and that it would be better to take to one, alone. He knew, however, that even his authority would not suffice to persuade the sailors to abandon one of the vessels, for sailors have a great love for their ships. He therefore determined to do it by a sudden stroke, and that known only to himself and another. Therefore he called to him Thomas Moore, the carpenter of the Swanne; and, taking him aside, told him to make auger holes in the bottom of that ship. Moore, who was a good sailor, made a great resistance to the orders; but upon the admiral assuring him that it was necessary, for the success of the enterprise, that one of the ships should be destroyed, he very reluctantly undertook the task. Previous to this Captain Drake had ordered all the booty, and a considerable portion of the stores of both ships, to be hauled on shore; so that they might lose nothing of value to them. The next morning, Ned and his friends were sitting on the bulwark of the vessel, watching the fish playing about in the depths of the clear blue water. "We seem to be lower in the water than usual," Ned said. "Does not it seem to you that we are not so high above the sea as we are wont to be?" The others agreed that the vessel had that appearance; but as it seemed clearly impossible that it should be so, especially when she was lighter than usual, they thought that they must be mistaken, and the subject was put aside. Half an hour later Captain Drake himself, rowing alongside, called to his brother, who came to the side. "I am going to fish," he said; "are you disposed to come, also?" Captain John expressed his willingness to do so. "I will wait for you," his brother said. Captain John was turning to go into his cabin to get his cap and cloak, when Captain Francis cried out: "Is not your ship very low in the water this morning?" "The same as usual, I suppose," Captain John said, laughing; but looking over the side himself, he said, "Methinks she does lie deep in the water;" and, calling the carpenter, he bade him sound the well. The latter, after doing so, cried out loudly that there were four feet of water in the ship. A great astonishment seized upon both officers and crew, at this unexpected news. All hands were at once set to work, the pumps were rigged and, with buckets and all sorts of gear, they strove manfully and hard to get rid of the water. It soon, however, became plain that it entered faster than they could pump it forth, and that the vessel must have sprung a bad leak. When it was clear that the Swanne could not be saved, the boats of the Pacha were brought alongside, and all the goods that remained in her were removed, together with the arms and ammunition. Then the crew, taking to the boats, lay by, until in a few minutes the Swanne sank, among the tears of many of her crew, who had made three voyages in her, and loved her well. It was not, for a long time afterwards, known that the loss of this ship was the effect of the orders of the admiral; who, indeed, acted with his usual wisdom in keeping the matter secret; for assuredly, although the men would have obeyed his orders, he would have lost much favor and popularity among them, had the truth been at that time known. The next day the news was spread, among the men, that it was determined to fill the Pacha with all the stores that were on shore; and, leaving a party there with her, to embark the crews in the pinnaces, for service in the river Chagres and along the coast; until, at any rate, they could capture another ship to replace the Swanne. Next day they rowed on into the Gulf of Darien. There the ship was laid up in a good place, and they remained quiet for fifteen days, amusing and refreshing themselves. By this means they hoped to throw all the Spaniards off their guard, and to cause a report to be spread that they had left the island. The Simeroons living near had been warned, by those who had been landed from the Isle of Pines, of their coming; and received them with good cheer, and promised all aid that could be required. Then the pinnaces were sent out, to catch any passing ships which might be cruising along the coast. It happened, one day, that two of them had set off in pursuit of a great ship, which they saw passing in the distance. The wind was light, and they had little doubt that they should overhaul her. Ned, who was one of those who remained behind, was much angered at missing so good an enterprise; but some four hours afterwards another ship was seen to pass along. The remaining pinnace was at once manned, Captain John Drake taking the command; and, with fourteen men, she set out to take the Spanish galleon. Gallant as are the exploits which have been performed in modern times by British tars, in their attacks upon slavers, yet in none of these cases does the disparity of force at all approach that which often existed between the English boats and the Spanish galleons; indeed, the only possible reason that can be given, for the success of the English, is the fear that their enemy entertained for them. Both the Spanish captains and crews had come to look upon them as utterly invincible, and they seemed, when attacked by the English buccaneers, altogether paralyzed. As the boat rowed up towards the great ship, her size became gradually more apparent, and her deck could be seen crowded with men; even Ned, who was not greatly given to reflection, could not but feel a passing doubt as to the possibility of one small boat, with fourteen men, attacking a floating castle like this. Presently the boom of a cannon from the forecastle of the vessel was heard, and a ball whizzed over their heads; then shot after shot was fired, and soon a rattle of small arms broke out, and the water all round was cut up by bullets and balls. The rough seamen cared little for this demonstration. With a cheer they bent their backs to the oars and, although some were wounded, they rowed up to the side of the ship without hesitation or doubt. Then from above a shower of missiles were hurled upon them--darts, stones, hot water, and even boiling tar. It would have gone hard with the English, had not the Spanish carelessly left a porthole open near the water level; through this the English clambered, eager to get at their foe, and many of them raging with the pain caused by the boiling materials. As they rushed on to the deck, the Spaniards were ranged, in two ranks, on either side of the hatchway; and fell upon them at once; but so great was the fury of the English that, facing either way, with a roar like beasts springing on their prey, they fell with axe and sword upon the Spaniards. It was the wild rage with which the English buccaneers fought that was the secret of their success. The Spaniards are a people given to ceremony, and even in matters of battle are somewhat formal and pedantic. The combat, then, between them and the English, was one which presented no familiar conditions to their minds. These rough sailors, hardened by exposure, skilled in the use of arms, were no doubt formidable enough, individually; but this alone would not have intimidated the Spaniards, or have gone any great distance towards equalizing the tremendous odds between them. It was the fury with which they fought that was the secret of their success. It was as when a cat, furious with passion, flies at a dog many times larger and heavier than itself. The latter may be as brave, in many matters, as the cat; and ready to face a creature much larger even than itself, under ordinary circumstances. It is the fury of the cat which appalls, and turns it into a very coward. Thus, when the band of English fell upon the Spaniards in the galleon--who were some six times as numerous as themselves--naked to the waist, with hair streaming back, with all their faces wild with pain, brandishing their heavy axes, and with a shout rushed upon their foes drawn up in regular order; the latter, after a moment or two of resistance, began rapidly to fall back. Their officers, in vain, shouted to them to stand firm. In vain they taunted them with falling back before a handful of men. In vain even turned their swords against their own soldiers. It was useless. Those in front, unable indeed to retreat, were cut down by the heavy axes. Those behind recoiled, and after but a few minutes' fighting, some began to leap down the hatchways; and although the fight continued for a short time, isolated groups here and there making resistance, the battle was virtually won in five minutes after the English appeared on deck. The captain and his two principal officers were killed, fighting bravely; and had their efforts been in any way backed by those of their men, they would have made short work of the assailants. Captain Drake's voice was heard, high above the din, as soon as the resistance ceased. He ordered the prisoners to be all brought upon deck, and disarmed, and at once forced into their own boats, and obliged to row away from the vessel; for he knew that, were his men once to begin to plunder, and to fall upon the liquors, the Spaniards, even if unarmed, would be able to rise and overpower them. No sooner was the last Spaniard out of the ship, than the men scattered to look for plunder. Ned was standing on the poop, watching the boats rowing away, and thinking to himself that, so crowded were they, if a breeze were to spring up there would not be much chance of their reaching Nombre de Dios. Suddenly he heard below him a scream, followed by a splash; looking over, he saw the head of a woman appear above the water, and without hesitation dived at once from the side. For a moment the girl, for she was little more, struggled with him as if she would have sunk; but Ned, grasping her firmly, in a few strokes swam with her alongside the ship to the boat; and two or three sailors, running down, assisted him to pull her into it. Then, dripping wet, she was taken to the deck, where the captain, in kind tones, assured her that she would receive the most courteous treatment, and that she need be under no fear, whatever. She was the daughter of a wealthy Spaniard, at Nombre de Dios, and was now coming out from Spain to join him. Frightened by the noise of the fighting, and by the terrible reputation of the English buccaneers, she had, when the sailors rushed into the cabin with loud shouts, been so alarmed that she had jumped from the stern windows into the sea. Captain Drake assured her courteously that, rough as his men might be, they would, none of them, lay a finger upon a woman. He then hoisted a flag and fired a gun, as a signal to the Spanish boats, which were yet within a quarter of a mile, to return. For a moment they rowed on, but a ball, sent skimming across their bows, was a hint which they could not disregard; for, full as they were of men, they could not have hoped to avoid the English pinnace, should it have put off after them. When the boats came alongside, some of those on board were ordered to ascend the side of the ship; and, plenty of accommodation having been made, the young Spanish lady and her maid, who had remained in the cabin, descended into the largest boat; handed down by Captain Drake, with a courtesy equal to that which a Spanish hidalgo himself would have shown. Before she went, the young lady turned to Ned, who was standing near, and expressed to him her deep thanks for the manner in which he had leapt over for her. Ned himself could understand only a few words, for although many of the sailors spoke Spanish, and sometimes used it among themselves, he had not yet made any great progress with it, although he had tried to pick up as many words and phrases as he could. The captain, however, translated the words to him; and he said to her, in reply, that there was nothing for her to feel herself under any obligation to him for, for that any dog would have jumped out and done the business, just as well. The young lady, however, undid a bracelet of gold on her arm, and insisted upon herself fastening it round Ned's wrist, an action which caused blushes of confusion to crimson his face. In a few minutes the Spanish boats were again off. The captain added, to that in which the young lady was placed, some food, some bottles of liqueur, and other matters which might render her voyage easy and pleasant. He promised that the Spaniards who had been transferred again to the ship should be landed, at the earliest opportunity. The vessel was now searched, regularly, and was found to contain much treasure in goods; but as she was on her way from Europe, she had, of course, none of the gold and silver which was the main object of their search. However, they consoled themselves with the thought that the ship which had been chased by their comrades, earlier in the day, was homewards bound; and they hoped, therefore, that a rich cargo would there be secured. They were not mistaken, for when the ship sailed up to the rendezvous they found another alongside, and the cheers of their comrades told them that the prize had been a handsome one. They found that they had secured nearly half a million in gold and silver; and, transferring the cargo of the one ship into the other, they set the first on fire, and sailed back to the spot where their camp was formed, on the isthmus. Several other ships fell into their hands in this way, but after this they hindered no more vessels on their way from Europe. They had ample stores and, indeed, far more than enough to supply them with every luxury; for on board the Pacha the richest wines, the most delicate conserves, the richest garments of all kinds were already in such abundance as to become common to them all. Down to the common sailor, all feasted on the best, and drank wines that an emperor might have approved. Captain Drake, in this way, gave his men when on shore much license; insisting, however, that they should abstain from drunkenness. For, as he said, not only would they be at the mercy of any small body of the enemy which might find them, but drunkenness breeds quarrels and disputes, and as between comrades would be fatal, indeed. Thus, although enough of good liquor was given to each man to make him merry, none were allowed to drink beyond this point. The reason why the ships coming from Europe were allowed to pass, unmolested, was that Drake wished not that, each day, some fresh tale of capture should be brought to Panama by the crews set free in the boats; for it was certain that the tale so told would, at last, stir up such fear and indignation at the ravages committed by so small a body, that the governors of the Spanish towns would combine their forces, and would march against them with a veritable army. While only the ships starting from Darien were overhauled, and lightened of their contents, the tale was not brought back to Darien; for the crews were allowed to sail on with their ships to Europe, as Drake had already more vessels than he knew what to do with; and as for prisoners, they were, to him, quite useless. Captain John did, indeed, at one time propose to him that he should take out of each ship all the principal men, so as to hold them as hostages, in case of any misfortune happening to the English; but the admiral said to him, that so great was the enmity and fear of them, that did they fall into the hands of the Spaniards, these would not exchange them and let them go, even if as many kings were set free in return. In all, five vessels were seized and plundered while lying at Darien. All was not, however, going well; for while they lay there, a terrible sickness broke out among them. Whether this was from the change of life, or from any noxious thing which they ate, or merely from the heat, none could say; but, very shortly, the illness made great ravages among them. First died Charles Clift, one of the quartermasters. Then one day, when the pinnace in which Ned always sailed returned, they were met with the sad news that Captain John Drake was also dead. He had fallen, however, not by the fever, but by the ball of the Spaniards. He had gone out with one of the pinnaces, and had engaged a great Spanish ship; but the latter had shot more straight and faster than usual, and the captain himself and Richard Allen, one of his men, had been slain in an unsuccessful attempt to capture the ship. His sad end was not the result of any rashness on his part; for he, indeed, had told the men that the vessel carried many guns, and that it was too rash an enterprise. The sailors, however, had by this time become so accustomed to victory as to despise the Dons altogether, and insisted upon going forward. It was with bitter lamentation and regret that they returned, bringing the body of the admiral's brother. They were now at the end of the year, and in this week no less than six of the company died, among whom was Joseph Drake, another of the admiral's brothers. These losses saddened the crew greatly, and even the treasures which they had amassed now seemed to them small, and of little account. Even those who did not take the fever were much cast down, and Captain Drake determined, without any further loss, to attempt the expedition on which he had set his mind. On February 3rd, being Shrove Tuesday, he started with eighteen English and thirteen Simeroons for Panama. He had now, since he sailed, lost no less than twenty-eight of the party which set out from Plymouth. In a few days they reached Venta Cruz, but one of the men, who had taken too much strong liquor, made a noise; and the alarm being given, much of the treasure was carried out of the place, before they could effect a landing. They followed, however, one of the treasure parties out of the town, and pursued them for some distance. On their way they came across another large convoy, with gold. This they easily took and, having sent the Spaniards away, unloaded the mules and buried the gold, desiring to press on further. As they went, one of the chief Simeroons took the admiral apart from the road they were traversing, and led him to the foot of a lofty tree. Upon this steps had been cut, and the Indian told the admiral to ascend, and see what he could observe from the top. Upon reaching the summit, the admiral gave a shout of joy and astonishment. From that point he could see the Pacific Ocean, and by turning his head the Atlantic, which they had just left. This was a joyful moment for the great sailor, and when he descended, one by one most of the men climbed to the top of the tree, to see the two oceans. Drake was the first Englishman who had seen this sight. To the Spaniards it was, of course, familiar; indeed, Vasco Nunez had stood upon the spot and had seen the Pacific, and taken possession of it, in the name of Spain, in the year 1513. They now retraced their steps; for, with the force at their disposal, Captain Drake thought it would be madness to cross the isthmus, with any view of attacking the Spaniards on the other side. He had now accomplished his purpose, and had learned the nature and geography of the place; and proposed, on some future occasion, to return with a force sufficient to carry out the great enterprises on which he had set his mind. On their return, they were sorely disappointed at finding that the Spaniards, having captured one of the party, had extorted from him the hiding place of the gold, and had lifted and carried it off. They now prepared to re-embark in their pinnace. Reaching the seashore, however, they were surprised, and in some way dismayed, at seeing seven Spanish vessels nearing the coast. The Spaniards had at last determined to make an effort, and had arrived at a time more unfortunate for the English than could have been supposed. The pinnace, after landing the party, had sailed away, in order to prevent the Spaniards seizing upon those on board; and when Captain Drake reached the shore she was not in sight, having indeed hauled her wind, and made off, on the approach of the Spanish fleet. The situation seemed bad, indeed, for it was certain that the Spaniards would land their troops and search the shore; and it was of the highest importance that the pinnace should be discovered first. There was a counsel held, and the men were well-nigh despairing. Captain Drake, however, bade them keep up their courage, and pointed out to them the four lads, all of whom had escaped the effect of fever and disease, their constitution, no doubt, being strengthened by the fact that none of them indulged in too much liquor; indeed, seldom touching any. "Look," said Captain Drake, "at these four lads. Their courage is unshaken, and they look cheerful and hopeful on all occasions. Take example from them, and keep up your hopes. I propose to make a raft upon which I myself will embark, and by making out from this bay into the open sea, may succeed in catching sight of the pinnace, and bringing it hither to your rescue." The proposal seemed a desperate one, for it was far more likely that the Spaniards' ships would come along, and descry the raft, than that the latter should meet with the pinnace. However, there seemed no other resource. The materials for the raft were scanty and weak; and when Captain Francis, with three companions, got fairly out of the bay, the raft sank so deeply in the water that they were completely standing in the sea. For some hours they beat about; and then, to their great joy, they descried the pinnace in the distance, making for land. The wind had now risen, and it was blowing hard, and their position on the raft was dangerous enough. They found that it would be impossible for them to keep at sea, and still more impossible to place themselves in the track of the pinnaces, which were making for a bay behind a projecting headland. Painfully paddling the raft to the shore, Captain Francis landed; and they made their way, with much toil and fatigue, over the hill which divided them from that bay; and, towards morning, got down to the pinnace, where they were received with much joy. Then they at once launched the boat, and made for the spot where they had left their comrades. These received them as if risen from the dead, for they had all made up their minds that their admiral, and his companions, had been lost upon the frail raft on which they had embarked. They now put to sea, and had the good fortune to escape the ken of the Spaniards, who had sailed further up the coast. So, thanking God for their escape, they sailed back to the bay where the Pacha and her prizes lay, and then all hands began to make great preparation for return home. Chapter 5: Cast Ashore. It was time, indeed, for the little band of adventurers to be turning their faces towards England. Their original strength, of eighty men, was reduced to fifty; and of these, many were sick and weak. They had gained a vast store of wealth, although they had missed the plunder of Nombre de Dios and of Carthagena. Their doings had caused such consternation and alarm that it was certain that the Spaniards would, ere long, make a great and united effort to crush them; and fifty men, however valiant, could not battle with a fleet. The men were longing for home, looking forward to the delight of spending the great share of prize money which would fall to each. The sudden death which had stricken many of their comrades had, too, cast a chill on the expedition, and made all long more eagerly to be away from those beautiful, but deadly, shores. When, therefore, on the day after the return of Captain Francis, the word was given to prepare for the homeward voyage, the most lively joy prevailed. The stores were embarked; the Simeroons, who had done them good service, dismissed with rich presents; and all embarked, with much joy and thankfulness that their labors and dangers were overpast. They were, however, extremely shorthanded, and were scattered among the three or four prizes which were the best among the ships which they had taken. Ned and Gerald, being now able to give good assistance, in case of need, to the sailors, were put on board one of the prizes with four seamen. Captain Drake had determined to keep, for a time, the prizes with him; for as it might well be that they should meet, upon their way, a great Spanish fleet, he thought that by keeping together, with the flag of Saint George flying on all the ships, the Spaniards would believe that the Pacha had been joined by ships from England, and so would assuredly let her and her consorts pass at large. At the last land at which they touched Captain Drake intended to dismiss all but one of the prizes, and to sail across the Atlantic with her and the Pacha. This, however, was not to be. One day, shortly after their departure, Ned said to Gerald: "I do not like the look of the sky. It reminds me of the sky that we had before that terrible hurricane, when we were moored off the Isle of Pines; and with our scanty crew we should be in a mightily unfavorable position, should the wind come on to blow." In that wise the sailors shared Ned's apprehensions, and in the speediest possible time all sail was lowered, and the ship prepared to meet the gale. It was not long before the whole sky was covered with black clouds. Captain Drake signaled to the vessels that each was to do its best; and, if separated, was to rendezvous at the spot before agreed upon. Then, all having been done that could be thought of, they waited the bursting of the storm. It came at last, with the suddenness and almost the force of an explosion. A faint rumbling noise was first heard, a white line of foam was seen in the distance; and then, with a roar and a crash, the hurricane was upon them. The vessel reeled over so far under the blow that, for a time, all on board thought that she would capsize. The two sailors at the helm, however, held on sturdily; and at last her head drifted off on the wind, and she flew along before its force. The sea rose as if by magic. Where, for weeks, scarcely a ripple had ruffled the surface of the water; now great waves, with crested tops, tore along. The air was full of blinding foam, swept from the tops of the waves; and it was difficult for those on board even to breathe, when facing the force of the wind. "This is tremendous," Ned shouted in Gerald's ears, "and as there seem to be islands all over these seas, if we go on at the rate we are doing now, methinks that it will not be long before we land on one or another. We are, as I reckon, near Hispaniola, but there is no saying which way we may drift; for these storms are almost always changeable, and while we are running south at present, an hour hence we may be going in the opposite direction." For twenty-four hours the storm continued, with unabated fury. At times it seemed impossible that the vessel could live, so tremendous were the seas which struck and buffeted her. However, being light in the water, and buoyant, she floated over it. During the next night the wind sensibly abated, and although still blowing with tremendous force, there was evidence, to the accustomed eyes of the sailors, that the storm was well-nigh blowing itself out. The sea, too, sensibly went down, although still tremendous; and all began to hope that they would weather the gale, when one of the sailors, who had crawled forward to the bow, shouted: "Breakers ahead!" It was now, fortunately, morning; although the darkness had been so intense, since the storm began, that the difference between night and day was faint, indeed. Still it was better, if danger were to be met with, that there should be as much light as possible. All hands looked out over the bows and saw, before them, a steep coast rising both to the right and left. "It is all over with the ship," Gerald said to Ned, "and I do not think that there is a chance, even for you. The surf on those rocks is terrible." "We must do our best," said Ned, "and trust in God. You keep close to me, Gerald, and when you want aid I will assist you as far as I can. You swim fairly, but scarce well enough, unaided, to get through that surf yonder." The men, seeing that what appeared to be certain destruction stared them in the face, now shook hands all round; and then, commending their souls to God, sat down and waited for the shock. When it came, it was tremendous. The masts snapped at the board, like rotten sticks. The vessel shivered from stem to stern and, drawing back for an instant, was again cast down with terrible force; and, as if struck by lightning, parted amidships, and then seemed to fall all to pieces, like a house of cards. Ned and Gerald were standing, hand in hand, when the vessel struck; and as she went to pieces, and they were precipitated into the water, Ned still kept close to his friend, swimming side by side with him. They soon neared the edge of the line where the waves broke upon the rocks. Then Ned shouted to Gerald to coast along, outside the broken water; for that there was no landing there, with life. For upwards of an hour they swam on, outside the line of surf. The sea, although tremendously high, did not break till it touched a certain point, and the lads rose and fell over the great billows. They had stripped off the greater portion of their clothing, before the ship struck; and in the warm water had no sensation of chill, and had nothing to fight against, but fatigue. When they were in the hollow of the waves their position was easy enough, and they could make each other hear, by shouting loudly. When, however, they were on the crest of one of the mountainous waves, it was a hard struggle for life. The wind blew with such fury, taking the top of the water off in sheets, and scattering it in fine spray, that the boys were nearly drowned; although they kept their back to the wind, and held their breath as if diving, except when necessary to make a gasp for air. Gerald became weak and tired, at the end of the hour; but Ned kept up his courage, and aided him by swimming by his side, and letting Gerald put his hand upon his shoulder, every time that they were in the hollows of the waves, so that he got a complete rest at these periods. At last, Ned thought he saw a passage between two of the big rocks, through which it might be possible, he thought, that they might swim, and so avoid the certain death which seemed to await them at every other spot. The passage was about 40 feet wide, and it was no easy matter to calculate upon striking this, in so wild a sea. Side by side with Gerald, Ned made for the spot, and at last swam to the edge of the surf. Then a great wave came rolling in, and the boys, dizzy and confused, half smothered and choking, were hurled with tremendous force, through the great rocks, into comparatively calm water beyond. Ned now seized Gerald's hair, for his friend was nearly gone; and, turning aside from the direct line of the entrance, found himself speedily in calm water, behind the line of rocks. A few minutes' further struggle and the two boys lay on the beach, well-nigh insensible after their great exertions. After a while they recovered their strength and, with staggering feet, made their way further inland. "I owe you my life, Ned," Gerald said. "I never could have struggled ashore; nor, indeed, kept myself up for half that time, had it not been for your aid." "I am glad to have been able to help you," Ned said simply. "We may thank heaven that the storm had abated a little, in its force, before the vessel struck; for had it been blowing as it was yesterday, we could not have swum five minutes. It was just the lowering of the wind that enabled us to swim without being drowned by the spray. It was bad enough, as it was, on the top of the waves; but, yesterday, it would have been impossible." One of the first thoughts of the boys, upon fairly recovering themselves, was to kneel down and thank God for having preserved their lives; and then, having rested for upwards of an hour, to recover themselves, they made their way inland. "Our dangers are by no means over, Gerald," Ned said. "If this island is, as I believe, a thickly cultivated one, and in the hands of the Spaniards, it will go hard with us, if they find us, after all the damage to their commerce which we have been inflicting, for the last year." Upon getting to some rising ground, they saw, to their surprise, a large town lying on a bay in front of them. Instinctively they paused at the sight, and both sat down, so as to be out of view of any casual lookers on. "What are we to do, Ned?" Gerald said. "If we stay here, we shall be starved. If we go into the town, we shall have our throats cut. Which think you is the best?" "I do not like either alternative," Ned said. "See, inland there are many high mountains, and even close to the town there appear to be thickets and woods. There are houses, here and there, and no doubt plantations. It seems to me that if we get round to that side we may conceal ourselves; and it is hard, in a country like this, if we cannot, at any rate, find fruit enough to keep us for some time. And we had better wait till dark. Our white shoulders will be seen at too far a distance, by this light." Creeping into a thicket, the lads lay down and were soon sound asleep; and it was night before they awoke, and looked out. All signs of the storm had passed. The moon was shining calmly, the stars were brilliant, and seemed to hang like lamps in the sky, an effect which is only seen in tropical climes. There were lights in the town, and these served as a sort of guide to them. Skirting along at the top of the basin in which the town lay, they passed through cultivated estates, picking some ears of maize; thus satisfying their hunger, which was, when they started, ravenous; for, during the storm, they had been unable to open the hatchways, and had been supported only by a little biscuit, which happened to be in the caboose on deck. Towards morning they chose a spot in a thick plantation of trees, about a mile and a half from the town; and here they agreed to wait, for a while, until they could come to some decision as to their course. Three days passed without any change. Each night they stole out and picked maize, pineapple, and melons in the plantations for their subsistence; and as morning returned, went back to their hiding place. Close to it a road ran along to a noble house, which stood in some grounds at about a quarter of a mile from their grove. Every morning they saw the owner of this house, apparently a man of distinction, riding towards the town; and they concluded that he was one of the great merchants of the place. One day he came accompanied by a young lady, carried in a litter by four slaves. The boys, who were weary of their solitude, pressed to the edge of the thicket to obtain a clear view of this little procession, which broke the monotony of their day. "Gerald," Ned exclaimed, grasping him by the arm, "do you know, I believe that the lady is the girl I picked out of the water, the day we took that ship three months ago." "Do you think so?" Gerald said. "It is too far, surely, to see." "I do not know for certain," Ned answered, "but methinks that I cannot be mistaken." "Perhaps she would help us, or intercede for us," Gerald suggested. "Perhaps so," Ned said. "At any rate, we will try. Tonight we will make a move into the gardens of the house she came from, and will hide there till we see her alone in the garden. Then I will sally forth, and see how she takes it." Accordingly, that night, after obtaining their supply of fruit, the boys entered the enclosure When morning broke there was speedily a stir, negroes and negresses went out to the fields, servants moved hither and thither in the veranda outside the house, gardeners came out and set to work at their vocations. It was evident that the owner or his family was fond of gardening, for everything was kept with beautiful order and regularity. Mixed with the cactus, and other gaudy-flowering plants of Mexico and South America, were many European plants, brought out and acclimatized. Here fountains threw up dancing waters in the air, cool shady paths and bowers afforded protection from the heat of the day; and so carefully was it clipped, and kept, that a fallen leaf would have destroyed its perfection. The point which the boys had chosen was remote from the house, for it was of importance that there should be no witnesses of the meeting. Here, in a spacious arbor, were chairs, couches, and other signs that some of the family were in the habit of taking their seats there; and although the boys knew that it might be days before they succeeded in carrying out their object, yet they determined to wait, and watch patiently, however long it might be. Their success, however, surpassed their expectations; for it was but an hour or two after they had taken up their post, and soon after the sun had risen, that they saw, walking along the path, the young lady whom they so desired to meet. She was not alone, for a black girl walked a little behind her, chatting constantly to her, and carrying some books, a shawl, and various other articles. When they reached the arbor the attendant placed the things there, and then, as she took her seat, the young lady said to the girl: "Go in and fetch me my coffee here. Say I shall not come in until breakfast time, and that if any orders are required, they must come here for them." "Will you want me to read to you?" "No," the young lady said. "It is not hot. I shall take a turn round the garden, first, and then read to myself." The black girl went off at a trot towards the house, and the young lady strolled round and round that portion of the garden, until her black attendant returned, with a tray containing coffee, lemonade, and fruits. This she placed on the table, and then in answer to the "You need not wait," of the lady, again retired. Now was the time for the boys, who had watched these operations with keen interest, and anxiety. It was uncertain whether she would keep the black attendant by her side, and all depended upon that. As soon as she was alone, Ned advanced from their hiding place. The boys had agreed that it was better, at first, that he should approach alone; lest the sudden appearance of the two, especially as Gerald was nearly as tall as a man, might have caused alarm; and she might have flown away, before she had identified Ned as the lad who had jumped into the water to save her. Ned approached the arbor with hesitating steps, and felt that his appearance was, indeed, sorely against him. He had no covering to his head, had nothing on, indeed, but a pair of trousers. He was shoeless and stockingless, and presented the appearance of a beggar boy, rather than the smart young sailor whom she had seen on board the ship. The lady started up, with a short exclamation, on seeing a white, ragged boy standing before her. "Who are you?" she exclaimed, "and by what right do you enter these gardens? A white boy, and in rags, how comes this?" "Our ship has been wrecked," Ned said, using his best Spanish. "Do you not remember me? I am the boy who picked you up when you fell overboard, on the day when the English captured the ship you came out in, some four months ago." "Are you, indeed?" the young lady said, in surprise. "Yes, and now that I look close at you, I recognize your face. Poor boy, how have you got into a strait like this?" Ned understood but little of what she said, as he only knew a few words in Spanish. It was with difficulty that he could understand it, even when spoken slowly; while, spoken as a native would do, he scarce gathered a word. He saw, however, from her attitude, that her meaning was kind, and that she was disposed to do what she could for him. He therefore, in his broken Spanish, told her how a ship, on which he and five of his comrades were embarked, had been driven ashore in the hurricane; and all lost, with the exception of another boy, and himself. "It is lucky, indeed," the girl said to herself, when he had finished, "that I found that my father had left Nombre de Dios, and had come down to his house here; for, assuredly, the people would have made short work of these poor lads, had I not been here to aid them. But, after all, what can I do? My father would, I know, do anything for my sake; and I have told him how this lad jumped overboard, to save my life; but there is one here greater than he, that terrible Inquisition. These boys are heretics, and it will be impossible to conceal, for any time, from the priests that they are here. Still, at any rate, for a time we might hide them; and in gratitude only, I would do all in my power for them." Ned watched her face, as these thoughts passed through her mind. He saw at once that she was willing to do all in her power, but saw also that there were difficulties in the way. "Poor boy," she said, looking at him kindly; "you must be hungry, indeed," and, taking an ivory mallet, she struck a gong which hung in the arbor, and made signs to Ned to retire for the present. The little black girl came running out. "I have changed my mind," her mistress said. "Let my breakfast be sent out here to me, instead of indoors. And I am hungry. Tell the cook to be sure and let it be a good one, and as soon as possible." Much surprised by these orders, the black girl again left her. "My father has gone to town," she said to the boys, when they joined her. "When he comes back, I will ask him what can be done. It will not be easy to hide you, for these negroes chatter like so many parrots; and the news will spread all over the town that some English boys are here, and in that case they will take you away, and my father would be powerless as I to help you." The black cook was, indeed, astonished at the demolition of the breakfast effected by her young mistress; but she put it down to the fact that she must have given a large portion of it to her dogs, of which one or more were generally her companions, in the garden. Fortunately, on the present occasion, the great bloodhound Zeres had gone down into the town with his master. Of this, however, the cook knew nothing; and muttered to herself somewhat angrily, as she saw the empty dishes which were brought back to her, "that it was a sin to give, to that creature, a meal which was sufficient for five noblemen." When Senor Sagasta returned to his beautiful villa, in the afternoon, his daughter at once confided to him what had happened. He entered warmly into her scheme for the aid and protection of the lads, and expressed himself willing to do anything that she could suggest. "But," he said, "you know as well as I do that, if the news gets about that two boys of Captain Drake's band are here, nothing will save them from the rage of the population; and indeed, if the people and the military authorities were disposed to let them alone, the Inquisition would be too strong for them, and would claim its own; and against the Inquisition even governors are powerless. Therefore if they are to stop, and stop they must, at least for a time, it must be done in perfect secrecy. "There is no possibility of disguising two English boys to look like negroes. The only plan I can suggest is that they should have that gardeners' hut. I can remove the man who lives there at present, and will send him up the country to look after my place there. Then you must take old David into our confidence. He and his wife Floey are perfectly faithful, and can be trusted to the death. It is lucky that she is cook, for she will be able to prepare food for them. The hut must be kept, of course, locked up at all times; but as it is close to the fence, and the window indeed looks into the garden, you can go there of a day and speak to them, and take them books, and lighten their captivity. "When it gets dark I will go with you down the garden, and will see these brave lads. In the meantime, old David shall get some shirts, and shoes, and other necessaries for them. We have a plentiful store of things in the magazine, and he can rig them up there, perfectly. I will at once get the gardener out of the house, and will give David instructions to carry the things there, as soon as it is empty." That evening after it was dark the boys, who had been anxiously listening for every movement, saw in the dim light the white figure of the girl advancing, with her father beside her. When she came to the arbor, she raised her voice. "Are you here?" she cried. "You can come out without fear." And, as they advanced, "My father will do all in his power to protect the savior of his daughter." The merchant shook the hands of the boys, with the stately ceremony of the Spaniard, and assured them that he was their servant, indeed, for their treatment of his daughter; and that his house, and all that it contained, was at their disposal. Ned and Gerald understood little enough of what he was saying, but his manner and gestures were sufficient, and they thanked him heartily for his kindness. He now led the way, along many winding paths, till they reached a low fence forming the border of the garden, and distant a long way from the house. A light was already burning in it, and a black servant was at work within. There was a break in the fence, by which they passed through without difficulty; and on entering the hut, they found everything prepared for them. On a table stood a dainty supper. The rooms were swept, and fresh furniture had been placed in them. In these countries furniture is of the slightest kind. A hammock, to swing in by day or sleep in by night; a couple of cane chairs; and a mat, of beautifully woven straw, for the floor. This is nearly all the furniture which is required, in the tropics. First the negro beckoned the boys into an inner room, and there, to their intense delight, they saw a large tub full of water, and two piles of clothes lying beside it. Don Sagasta and his daughter, after a few more words, left them; assuring them that they would be safe from observation there, but that they must not stir out, during the day; and must keep the door securely fastened, and must give no answer to anyone who might come and knock, or call, unless to themselves, to the black who was now with them, or his wife, who would accompany him, perhaps, the next evening. Donna Anna herself promised that she would come and see them the next morning, and that she hoped to find that they were comfortable. When left alone, the boys luxuriated in the bath; and then, having put on fresh suits, they felt clean and comfortable once again. The clothes were those used by the upper class of slaves, employed as overseers. Don Sagasta had determined to get them some clothes of a superior class; but he felt that it was better that, so long as they were in hiding, they should be dressed in a costume which would, should anyone perchance get a distant look at them, excite no curiosity or surprise. The boys ate a hearty supper; and then, throwing themselves into the swinging hammocks, were soon fast asleep. They were up with dawn, next morning, tidied up their room, and made all ready for the visit of Donna Anna. She soon appeared, having got rid of her little black maid, as upon the morning before. She brought them a store of books, and among them a Spanish dictionary and grammar. She told them that she thought it would be of assistance, to pass away their time; and be of the greatest use, for them to learn to speak as much Spanish as possible; and that she was willing, when she could spare time, unobserved, to teach them the language. Very gratefully the boys accepted her offer; and, day by day for the next month, the young lady came every morning, and for an hour taught them the meaning and pronunciation of the words, which during the day they learnt by heart. They found that the island upon which they had been cast ashore was Porto Rico, an island of considerable size, not far from Hispaniola. Chapter 6: In the Woods. In the evening Senor Sagasta visited the lads, and had long conversations with them. He promised them that, upon the very first opportunity which should occur, he would aid them to escape; but pointed out that, at present, there was no possibility of their getting away. "Captain Drake," he said, "has left the seas and, until he comes back again, or some other of your English filibusters, I see no chance of your escape. As soon as I hear of an English ship in these waters I will have a small boat, well fitted up with sails and all necessaries, conveyed to a creek on the coast. To this you shall be taken down, and make your way to the point where we hear that the vessel is accustomed to rendezvous." This appeared to the boys to be the only possible plan, and they warmly expressed their gratitude to their host for his thoughtful kindness. Another month passed; and then, one evening, Don Sagasta came to the hut with a certain anxiety in his face. "Is there anything the matter?" Ned, who now began to speak Spanish with some fluency, asked. "I am much disturbed. Since you have been here, I am sure that no one has got a sight of you; and I can rely so implicitly upon David, and Flora, that I am sure the secret has not leaked out there. But from what I hear, it seems that you must have been seen, during the time that you were wrecked, and before you came here. I hear in the town today that a rumor is current, among the people, that two white men were seen, near the sea, upon the day after the great storm. Someone else, too, seems to have said that he caught sight of two white men, not far from this house, just before daybreak, two days afterwards. This report has, it seems, been going from mouth to mouth; and has at last reached the ears of the governor. The portions of a wreck, which were driven ashore, seem to confirm the story; and unfortunately, the board with the name of the ship was washed ashore, and it is known to be that of one of those captured by Captain Drake. Putting the two things together, it is supposed that misfortune overtook a portion of his fleet, and that two of his men managed to save their lives, and are now lurking somewhere about the neighborhood I hear that the governor has ordered a strict search to be set on foot, and that a large reward is to be offered for the discovery of any signs of the fugitives." The next day, the boys heard that the persons to whom the story had been traced had been taken before the governor, and strictly examined, and that he was fully convinced of the truth of the story. Three days afterwards, Don Sagasta brought them a copy of a notice which had been placed in the marketplace, offering a reward of 1000 dollars for any news which would lead to the capture of the English pirates, and announcing the severest punishment upon any who should dare to conceal, or to assist them. Gerald at once said that, rather than be a cause of anxiety to their kind host and his daughter, they would give themselves up. This offer was, however, indignantly refused by Don Sagasta. "No, no," he said; "this must not be. I might take you into the house, but I fear that with so many servants, some of whom are as bigoted as any of us whites, you would be sure to be discovered; and they would either reveal in confession, or disclose to the authorities, the fact of your concealment. The only plan which promises to offer safety, that I can suggest, is that you shall take to the mountains. There are many runaways there, and although sometimes they are hunted down and slain; yet they have caverns, and other places of concealment, where you might remain for years. I will speak to David about it, at once." David, on being questioned, said that there was an old native woman, living at a hut a little way off, who had the reputation of having the evil eye, and who was certainly acquainted with the doings of the runaways. If any slave wished to send a message, to one of his friends who had taken to the hills, the old woman would, for a present, always convey, or get it conveyed, to the man for whom it was intended. He thought that it would be absolutely necessary that some such means should be taken of introducing the boys to the runaways; otherwise, hunted as these were, they would either fly when they saw two whites approaching, or would surround and destroy them. Don Sagasta at once accepted the suggestion, and David was dispatched to the old woman, with offers of a handsome present, if she would give a guide to the boys, to the mountains. David was instructed, especially, to tell her that they were English, and the natural enemies of the Spaniards; that they had done them much harm at sea; and that, if caught by the Spaniards, they would be killed. He returned an hour later, with news that the old Indian woman had, at once upon hearing these facts, promised to get them passed up to the hiding places of the natives. "You think," Don Sagasta said, "that there is no fear of her mentioning the fact that she has seen my friends, to any of the searchers?" "Oh, no," David said. "She is as close as wax. Over and over again, when she has been suspected of assisting in the evasion of a slave, she has been beaten and put to torture; but nothing was ever extracted from her lips, and it is certain that she would die, rather than reveal a secret." Donna Anna was much moved, when she said adieu to the lads. She regarded Ned as the preserver of her life; and both had, during the two months of daily intercourse, much endeared themselves to her. Don Sagasta brought to them a handsome pair of pistols, each, and a sword; and then, giving them a basket of provisions and a purse containing money, which he thought might be useful even among runaway slaves, he and his daughter bade adieu to them, with many expressions of kindness and gratitude, on both sides. "Do not hesitate," Don Sagasta said, "to let me know if I can, at any time, do or send anything for you. Should it be possible, I will send a message to you, by the old woman, if any expedition on a grand scale is being got up against the runaways; and this may make your position more comfortable among them." Under the guidance of David, they then started for the Indian woman's hut; while Flora set to work to carry away and obliterate all signs, from the hut, of its late residents. After a few minutes' walking, the boys arrived at the Indian hut. It was constructed simply, of boughs of trees thickly worked together. On hearing their footsteps an old woman--the boys thought they had never seen anyone so old--with long white hair, and a face wrinkled till it hardly seemed like the face of a human being, came to the door, with a torch made of resinous wood held aloft. She peered under her hand at the boys, and said a few words to David, which he translated to the boys to be: "And these are English, the people of whom the Spaniards are as afraid as my people are of them? Two Spaniards can drive fifty Indians before them, but I hear that a dozen of these Englishmen can take a ship with a hundred Spaniards on board. It is wonderful. They look something like our oppressors, but they are fairer, and their eyes are blue; and they look honest, and have not that air of pride, and arrogance, which the Spaniard never lays aside. "I have a boy here." And as she spoke an Indian boy, of some thirteen years of age, slipped out from behind her. "He will show them to the refuge places of the last of my race. There they will be well received, for I have sent by him a message to their chiefs; and it may be that these lads, knowing the ways of white warfare, will be able to assist my countrymen, and to enable them to resist these dogs of Spaniards. "The blessing of an old woman be upon you. I have seen many changes. I have seen my people possessors of this island, save a small settlement which they had, even then, the folly to allow the Spaniards to possess. I have seen them swept away by the oppressor, my husband tortured and killed, my brothers burned alive, all that I loved slain by the Spaniards. Now, it does my old eyes good to see two of the race who will, in the future, drive those dogs from these fair lands, as they have driven my people." So saying, she returned into the hut. The boy prepared at once to start, and the lads, wringing the hand of the black who had been so kind to them, at once followed their guide into the darkness. For some hours they walked without intermission, sometimes going at a sling trot, and then easing down again. Dark as was the night, their guide trod the paths without hesitation or pause. The boys could scarce see the ground upon which they trod, but the eyes of the native were keener than theirs, and to him the way seemed as clear as in broad daylight. After traversing for some miles a flat, level country, they began to mount; and for about two hours ascended a mountain, thickly covered with forest. Then the guide stopped, and motioned to them that he could now go no further, and must rest for the present. The boys were surprised at this sudden stop, for their guide had gone along so quickly and easily that he taxed, to the utmost, their powers of progression; while he, himself, never breathed any harder than when walking upon the level ground. They had, however, no means of interrogating him, for he spoke no language which they understood. Without a word, the lad threw himself down at full length, an example which they followed without hesitation. "I wonder," Ned said, "why he stopped." "Because he is tired, I expect," Gerald replied; "or that he does not know the exact spot upon which he is likely to meet the band; and that he has taken us, so far, along the one path which was certain to lead in the right direction, but for the precise spot he must wait, till morning." It was not many minutes before the three lads were fast asleep, but with the first gleam of daylight the Indian boy awoke. Touching his companions, he sprang to his feet, and without hesitation turned off to the right, and climbed an even steeper path than any which they had followed in the darkness. The trees grew thinner as they advanced, and they were soon climbing over bare rock. They saw now that they were near the extreme summit of one of the hills. The boy, as they passed through the trees, had gathered some dry sticks, and a handful or two of green leaves. Upon reaching the top he placed these down upon the ground, and looked towards the east. The sun would not be up for another half hour, yet. The boy at once began, with steady earnestness, to rub two pieces of stick together, according to their way of kindling a fire. It was a quarter of an hour before the sparks began to drop from the wood. These, with some very dry leaves and tiny chips of wood, the Indian boy rapidly blew into life; and then, with a very small fire of dry wood, he sat patiently watching the east. At the moment that the sun showed above the sea, he placed the little fire in the heart of the pile of wood which he had collected, threw the green leaves upon it, and blew vigorously until the whole caught fire, and a wreath of smoke ascended above them. For five minutes only he allowed the fire to burn, and then at once extinguished it carefully, knocking the fire from each individual brand. When the last curl of white smoke had ceased to ascend, he stood up and eagerly looked round the country. It was a glorious view. On the one hand, the wood-clad hills sloped to the foot of the plain, covered with plantations, dotted here and there with the villages of the slaves, and the white houses of the overseers. At a distance could be faintly seen the towers of a city; while beyond, the sea stretched like a blue wall, far as the eye could see. Inland the country was broken and mountainous; the hills being, in all cases, thickly covered with trees. From two points, in the heart of these hills, white smoke curled up, as soon as the smoke of their fire died away. These, too, in a short time also ceased to rise; and the boys knew that they were signal fires, in response to that which their guide had made. The boy hesitated, for a minute or two, as to the direction which he should take. As, however, one of the fires appeared a good deal nearer than the other, this probably decided him in its favor; and he started, in a straight line, towards the spot where the smoke had curled up. Another two hours' walking, and they entered an open glade; where ten or twelve natives, and two or three negroes were gathered. They were greatly surprised at seeing two white men, but the presence of the native guide apparently vouched for these visitors; and although one or two of the men sprang up and, at a rapid pace, proceeded in the direction from which the newcomers had arrived, the rest simply rose to their feet and, grasping the spears, bows and arrows, and clubs which they carried, waited silently to hear what the Indian boy had to tell them. He poured forth an animated strain of words, for a few minutes, and the faces of the Indians lit up with pleasure. The one among them who appeared to be the chief of the party advanced at once to the boys, and made every sign of welcome. One of the negroes also approached, and in broken Spanish asked them if they could speak in that language. The boys were able, now, to reply in the affirmative; and quickly supplemented the account of them, which had been given by their guide, by their own description of the manner of their coming there. The negro, after explaining to the rest what the boys had said, then assured them, in the name of the chief, that every welcome was theirs; and that they hailed among them, as a happy incident, the arrival of two of the famous race who were the deadly enemies of the Spaniards. The boys, on their part, assured them that they would endeavor to repay the hospitality with which they were received by their assistance, should the Spaniards make any attacks upon the tribe during the time they were there; that the English, everywhere, were the friends of those who were oppressed by the Spaniards; and that their countrymen were moved, with horror and indignation, at the accounts which had reached them of the diabolical treatment to which the Indians were exposed. The party now pressed still further into the forest and, turning up a ravine, followed its windings for some distance; and then, passing through an exceedingly narrow gorge, reached a charming little valley; in which were some rough huts, showing that the residence of at least a portion of the runaways had been reached. Here, for some time, life passed uneventfully with the boys. Their first care was to study sufficient of the language of the natives to enable them to hold converse with them, for it was clear to them that they might have to stop there for some considerable time. Their food consisted of roots, of wild fruit, and of yams; which the natives cultivated in small, scattered plots of ground. Many birds, too, were brought in, the natives bringing them down with small darts. They were able to throw their light spears with extreme precision, and often pierced the larger kinds of birds, as they sat upon the boughs of trees, with these weapons, before they could open their wings for flight. With bows and arrows, too, they were able to shoot with great accuracy; and the boys felt sure that, if properly led, they would be able to make a stout resistance to the Spaniards. They heard, several times during the first three weeks of their sojourn there, of raids made by small parties of the Spaniards; but in none of these cases were the searchers successful in finding traces of the fugitive slaves, nor did they come into the part of the wood in which was the village which served as headquarters of the negroes. At the end of three weeks, the boys accompanied a party of their friends to other points at which the fugitives were gathered. Altogether they found that, in that part of the island, there were some hundreds of natives, with about forty or fifty runaway negroes. Through the latter, the boys explained to the natives that they ought to build strong places to which, in case of necessity, they could retreat, and where they could offer a desperate resistance to the enemy. The extreme roughness of the ground, the deep ravines and precipices, were all favorable for defense; and although they could not hope to make a permanent resistance to a large armed force, yet they might easily resist small parties, and then make good their retreat before large reinforcements could arrive. The negroes expressed their approval of the plans, but the Indians shook their heads over the proposition. "These men have no courage," the blacks said to the boys. "Their heart is broken. They fly at the sound of a Spaniard's voice. What good do you expect from them? But if the Spaniards come, we fight. Our people are brave, and we do not fear death. If the Spaniards come we fight with you, and die rather than be taken back as slaves." One morning, on rising, the boys heard some exclamations among their allies. "What is it?" they asked. The negroes pointed to films of smoke, rising from the summits of two hills, at a short distance from each other. "What is that a sign of?" they asked. "It is a sign that the Spaniards are coming. No doubt in pursuit of a runaway; perhaps with those terrible dogs. The Spaniards could do nothing among these mountains without them. They follow their game through the thickest woods." "But," said Ned, "why on earth do not the negroes take to the trees? Surely there could be no difficulty in getting from tree to tree by the branches, for a certain distance, so as to throw the hounds off the scent." "Many do escape in that way," the negro said; "but the pursuit is often so hot, and the dogs so close upon the trail, that there is little time for maneuvers of this sort; beside which, many of the fugitives are half mad with fear. I know, myself, that the baying of those horrible dogs seems to freeze the blood; and in my case, I only escaped by luckily striking a rivulet. Then my hopes rose again; and after following it, for a time, I had the happy thought of climbing into a tree which overhung it, and then dropping down at some little distance off, and so completely throwing the dogs off the trail." "Why do they not shoot the dogs?" Ned asked. "I do not mean the men whom they are scenting, but their friends." "We might shoot them," the negro said, "if they were allowed to run free; but here in the woods they are usually kept on the chain, so that their masters are close to them. "Listen," he said, "do you not hear the distant baying?" Listening attentively, however, the boys could hear nothing. Their ears were not trained so well as that of the negro, and it was some minutes before they heard a distant, faint sound of the deep bark of a dog. A few minutes later a negro, panting for breath, bathed in perspiration, and completely exhausted, staggered into the glade where they were standing. The other negroes gave a slight cry of alarm, at the proximity of so dangerous a comrade. "Save me," the man cried. "I am pursued." "How many men are after you?" Ned asked. The negro started in astonishment, at seeing a white face and being questioned in Spanish. Seeing, however, that his comrades were on good terms with his questioner, he answered at once: "There are some twenty of them, with two dogs." "Let us give them a sharp lesson," Ned said to the negroes standing round. "We have made preparations, and it is time that we began to show our teeth. If they find that they cannot come with impunity into our woods, they will not be so anxious to pursue single men; and will leave us alone, except they bring all the force of the island against us." The negroes looked doubtful as to the wisdom of taking the initiative, so great was their fear of the Spaniards. However, the cheerfulness with which the two English boys proposed resistance animated them; and, with sharp whistles, they called the whole of their comrades to the place. Ned briefly explained their intentions. "There is no time to be lost. We must take our places on the upper ground of that narrow valley, and tell the man to run straight through. We have plenty of stones piled there, and may give the Spaniards a warmer reception than they expect. We could not have a better opportunity; for, with such small numbers as they have, they certainly would not be able to attack us, with any hope of success, up so steep a hillside." The valley which Ned indicated was not one of those which led in the direction of their stronghold; but it was a very steep gorge, which they had remarked as being particularly well fitted for checking a pursuing party; and for that end had prepared piles of stones on the upper heights. The negroes, taking with them the sharpened poles which they used as spears, and their bows and arrows, started, under Ned and Gerald, to the indicated spot. Gerald had arranged to go with a party to one side of the gorge, Ned to the other; but they decided that it was better that they should keep together, the more to encourage the natives; and while a few negroes were sent to one side of the gorge, the main body, under the two English lads, kept together on the other. The fugitive had already gone ahead, with one of the negroes to show him the way. Scarcely had they taken their places, at the top of the gorge; when the baying of the hounds, which had been increasing every minute in volume, became so loud that the Spaniards were clearly close at hand. In another three or four minutes there issued from the wood a party of some twenty men, leading two dogs by chains. The creatures struggled to get forward, and their eyes seemed almost starting out of their heads with their eagerness to reach the object of their pursuit. Their speed was, however, moderated by the fact that the band, who were all on horseback, had to pick their way through the great boulders. The wood itself was difficult for horsemen, but here and there were spaces, and they had been able to ride at a fair pace. On entering the mouth of the gorge, however, they were obliged to fall into an order of two abreast, and sometimes even to go in Indian file. Huge boulders strewed the bottom of the chasm; where indeed a stream, in winter, poured through. The sides were by no means perpendicular, but were exceedingly precipitous. When the Spaniards had fairly got into the gorge Ned gave the signal, and a shower of great stones came leaping down the sides of the rocks upon the astonished foes. Several were struck from their horses; many of the horses, themselves, were knocked down; and a scene of confusion at once took place. The Spaniards, however, were accustomed to fighting; and the person in command, giving a few orders, led ten of his men up the rocks upon the side where the assailants were in strongest force; while the rest of the party, seizing the horses' heads, drove the frightened animals back through the ravine to the mouth. The instant that the Spaniards commenced their ascent, long habits of fear told upon some of the slaves, and these took to their heels at once. Many others stood more firmly, but were evidently wavering. Ned and Gerald, however, kept them at work hurling stones down, and more than one of the Spaniards was carried off his feet by these missiles. Still they bravely ascended. Then Ned, taking a deliberate aim with his pistol, brought down one of the leaders; and this greatly surprised and checked the advance. The pistol shot was followed by that of Gerald, and the Spaniards wavered at this unexpected addition to the forces of the natives. Then Ned in English shouted: "Now, my brave Britons, show these Spaniards you can fight as well, on land, as at sea." The words were probably not understood by any of the Spaniards, but they knew that the language was not Spanish or Indian; and the thought that a number of English were there completely paralyzed them. They hesitated, and then began slowly to fall back. This was all that was needed to encourage the negroes. With a shout, these now advanced to the attack, shooting their arrows and hurling stones, and the retreat of the enemy was rapidly converted into a flight. Their blood once thoroughly up, the negroes were ready for anything. Throwing aside their bows and arrows, they charged upon the Spaniards; and in spite of the superior arms and gallant defense of the latter, many of them were beaten down, and killed, by the heavy clubs and pointed starves of the negroes. More, indeed, would have perished; and indeed, all might have fallen had not, at this moment, a formidable reinforcement of strength reached them. The men from below, having got the horses fairly out of the gorge, left but two of their number with them, and advanced to the assistance of their friends, bringing with them the two bloodhounds. "Never fear the hounds," Ned shouted. "We can beat them to death, as easily as if they were pigs. Keep a bold front and attack them, and I warrant you they are no more formidable than their masters." Had these reinforcements arrived earlier, they might have changed the fight; but the Spaniards who survived were anxious only to be off, and the negroes' blood was so thoroughly up that, under the leadership of the boys, they were prepared to face even these terrible dogs. These threw themselves into the fray, with all the ferocity of their savage nature. Springing at the throats of two of the negroes, they brought them to the ground. One of the dogs was instantly disposed of by Gerald; who, placing his pistol to its ear, blew out its brains. Ned fell upon the other with his sword and, the negroes joining him, speedily beat it down and slew it. The diversion, however, had enabled the Spaniards to get upon their horses; and they now galloped off, at full speed, among the trees. Chapter 7: An Attack in Force. The negroes were delighted at the success of the conflict; as were the Indians, who soon joined them. But ten of the Spaniards had escaped, the rest having fallen; either in the gorge, killed by the rocks, or in the subsequent fight. Ned and Gerald, who were now looked upon as the leaders of the party, told the negroes to collect the arms of the fallen men, and to give a hasty burial to their bodies. The boys knew, too well, the savage nature of the war which raged, between the black and the white, to ask whether any of the Spaniards were only wounded. They knew that an instant death had awaited all who fell into the hands of their late slaves. "Now," Ned said, "my friends, you must not suppose that your fighting is over. The Spaniards will take the news back to the town, and it is likely enough that we shall have a large force upon us, in the course of a few days. I do not suspect that they will come before that time. Indeed, it may be far longer, for they know that it will require a very large force to search these woods; and that, now our blood is up, it will be no trifle to overcome us in our stronghold. If we are to succeed at last, labor, discipline, and courage will all be required." The negroes now besought the boys formally to take the command, and promised to obey their orders, implicitly. "Well," Ned said, "if you promise this, we will lead you. My friend is older than I; and he shall be captain, and I will be first lieutenant." "No, no," Gerald said. "This must not be, Ned. I am the oldest, it is true, by a few months; but you are far more active and quick than I, and you have been the leader, ever since we left the ship. I certainly will not take the command from you." "Well, we will be joint generals," Ned said, laughing; "and I do not think that our orders will clash." He then explained, to the negroes and natives, the course which he thought that they ought to pursue. First, every point at which the enemy could be harassed should be provided with missiles. In the second place, all signs of footsteps and paths leading to their accustomed dwelling places should be obliterated. Thirdly, they should fight as little as possible; it being their object to fight when pursued and interfered with by small parties of Spaniards, but to avoid conflict with large bodies. "Our object," he said, "is to live free and unmolested here; and if the Spanish find that, when they come in large numbers, they cannot overtake us; and that, when they come in small ones, they are defeated with loss; they will take to leaving us alone." All agreed to this policy; and it was arranged that the women, children, and most feeble of the natives should retire to almost inaccessible hiding places, far in the mountains; and that the more active spirits, with the negroes, and divided into five or six bands, acting to some extent independently of each other, but yet in accordance with a general plan, should remain to oppose the passage of the enemy. This, their first success over the Spaniards, caused a wild exultation among the negroes and natives; and Ned and Gerald were viewed as heroes. The lads took advantage of their popularity to impress upon the negroes the necessity of organizing themselves, and undergoing certain drill and discipline; without it, as they told them, although occasionally they might succeed in driving back the Spaniards, yet in the long run they must be defeated. It was only by fighting with regularity, like trained soldiers, that they would make themselves respected by the Spaniards; and the latter, instead of viewing them as wild beasts to be hunted, would regard them with respect. The negroes, fresh from a success gained by irregular means, were at first loath to undertake the trouble and pains which the boys desired; but the latter pointed out that it was not always that the enemy were to be caught napping, and that after such a check as had been put upon them, the Spaniards would be sure to come in greater numbers, and to be far more cautious how they trusted themselves into places where they might be caught in a trap. The weapons thrown away or left upon the ground, by the Spaniards, were divided among the negroes; and these and the natives were now formed into companies, natives and negroes being mixed in each company, so that the latter might animate the former by their example. Four companies, of forty men, each were formed; and for the next fortnight incessant drill went on, by which time the forest fugitives began to have a fair notion of the rudimentary elements of drill. When the boys were not engaged upon this, in company with one of the native chiefs they examined the mountains, and at last fixed upon a place which should serve as the last stronghold, should they be driven to bay by the enemy. It was three weeks before there were any signs of the Spaniards. At the end of that time a great smoke, rising from the signal hill, proclaimed that a large body of the enemy were approaching the forest. This was expected; for, two days before, three negro runaways had taken shelter with them. The negroes had been armed with long pikes of tough wood, sharpened in the fire, and capable of inflicting fully as deadly a wound as those carried by the Spaniards. Each carried a club, the leaders being armed with the swords taken from the Spaniards; while there were also eight arquebuses, which had been gained from the same source. All the natives bore bows and arrows, with which they were able to shoot with great accuracy. The negroes were not skilled with these weapons; but were more useful, from their greater strength, for hurling down rocks and missiles upon the Spaniards, when below. A consultation had been previously held, as to the course to be taken in case of the approach of the enemy. It was determined as far as possible to avoid fighting, to allow the Spaniards to tramp from place to place, and then to harass them by falling upon them in the night, disturbing their sleep, cutting down sentries; and harassing them until they were forced, by pure exhaustion, to leave the forest. These tactics were admirably adapted to the nature of the contest. The only thing which threatened to render them nugatory was the presence of the fierce dogs of the Spaniards. Preparations had already been made for checking the bloodhounds in pursuit of fugitive slaves. In a narrow place, in one of the valleys at the entrance of the forest, a somewhat heavy gallery had been erected. This was made of wood heaped with great stones, and was so arranged that any animal running through it would push aside a stick, which acted as a trigger. This would release a lever, and the heavy logs above would fall, crushing to death anything beneath it. A lookout was always placed to intercept any fugitive slaves who might enter the forest, and to guide them through this trap; which was, of course, not set until after they had passed. This had been done in the case of the two negroes who had arrived the previous day, and the boys felt that any pursuit of them by bloodhounds would at once be cut short, and the Spaniards left to their own devices. This anticipation proved correct. The scouts reported that they could hear, in the distance, the baying of dogs; and that, undoubtedly, the enemy were proceeding on the track of the slaves. The four companies were each told off, to positions considerably apart from each other; while Ned and Gerald, with the cacique, or chief, of the Indians, one negro, and four or five fleet-footed young men, remained to watch the success of the trap. This was all that they had hoped. The Spaniards were seen coming up the glade, a troop two hundred strong. The leaders were on horseback, some fifteen in number; and after them marched the pikemen, in steady array, having men moving at a distance on each flank, to prevent surprise. "This," said Ned, "is a regular military enterprise. The last was a mere pursuing party, gathered at random. It will not be so easy to deal with cautious men, like these." Three hounds ran ahead of the leaders, with their noses on the ground, giving now and then the deep bay peculiar to their kind. They reached the trap, and rushed into the gallery, which was some twelve feet in length, and of sufficient height to enable a man on foot to march through. The leaders, on seeing the trap, drew in their horses, in doubt what this structure could mean, and shouted to the hounds to stop. But the latter, having the scent strong in their nostrils, ran on without pausing. As the last hound disappeared in the gallery, a crash was heard, and the whole erection collapsed, crushing the hounds beneath it. A cry of consternation and surprise burst from the Spaniards. The artifice was a new one, and showed that the fugitives were assisted by men with intellect far in advance of their own. The pursuit was summarily checked, for the guides of the Spaniards were now gone. The enemy paused, and a consultation took place among the leaders. It was apparently determined to pursue their way alone, taking every precaution, in hopes that the natives would attack them as they had done the previous expedition; when they hoped to inflict a decisive blow upon them. That they would, themselves, be able to find the run-away negroes in the forest they had but small hope; but they thought it possible that these would again take the initiative. First, under the guidance of one who had evidently been in the last expedition, they took their way to the valley where the fight had taken place. Here all was still. There were no signs of their foes. They found, in the gorge, a great cairn of stones; with a wooden cross placed over it, and the words in Spanish cut upon it: "Here lie the bodies of ten Spaniards, who sought to attack harmless men in these woods. Let their fate be a lesson to those who may follow their example." This inscription caused great surprise among the Spaniards, who gathered round the mound and conversed earnestly upon it; looking round at the deep and silent woods, which might, for ought they knew, contain foes who had proved themselves formidable. It was evident that the soldiers, brave as they were, yet felt misgivings as to the task upon which they had entered. They knew that two Englishmen, a portion of the body which, under Drake, had rendered themselves so feared, were leaders of these men; and so great was the respect in which the English were at that time held, that this, alone, vastly added to the difficulties and dangers which the Spaniards saw awaiting them. However, after a few minutes' consultation the party moved forward. It was now formed in two bodies, about equally strong; one going a quarter of a mile ahead, the other following it. "What have these men divided their forces for?" the negro asked Ned. "It seems to me," he answered, "that they hope we shall fall upon the first body, thinking that there are no more behind; and that the others, coming up in the midst of the fight, will take us by surprise. However, we will let them march. "Send word, to the company which lies somewhat in the line which they have taken, of their approach; and let them at once retire. Tell them to make circuits in the hills, but to leave behind them sufficient traces for the Spaniards to follow. This will encourage them to keep on, and by nightfall they will be thoroughly tired out. "Whenever they get in valleys, or other places where advantage may be taken of them, two of the companies shall accompany them, at a good distance on their flanks; and pour in volleys of arrows, or roll stones down upon them. I will take command of one of these companies, Gerald of the other. "Do you," he said to the negro, "follow with the last. Keep out of their reach; but occasionally, after they have passed, fire arrows among the rear guard. "Do you, cacique, make your way to the leading column. See that they choose the most difficult gorges; and give, as far as possible, the appearance of hurry to their flight, so as to encourage the Spaniards to follow." These tactics were faithfully carried out. All day the Spaniards followed, as they believed, close upon the footsteps of the flying foe; but from time to time, from strong advantage spots, arrows were rained upon them, great rocks thundered down, and wild yells rang through the forest. Before, however, they could ascend the slopes and get hand to hand with their enemy, these had retreated, and all was silent as the grave in the woods. Perplexed, harassed, and somewhat awe-struck by these new and inexplicable tactics; and having lost many men, by the arrows and stones of the enemy, the two troops gathered at nightfall in an open glade. Here a bivouac was formed, branches of the trees cut down, and the provisions which each had brought with him produced. A rivulet ran through the glade, and the weary troops were soon lying on the grass, a strong line of sentries having been placed round. Already the appearance of the troop was greatly changed from that of the body which had entered the wood. Then all were eager for the fray; confident in the extreme of their power to crush, with ease, these unarmed negroes and natives, who had hitherto, except on the last occasion, fled like hunted deer at their approach. Now, however, this feeling was checked. They had learned that the enemy were well commanded, and prepared; and that so far, while they themselves had lost several men, not a native had been so much as seen by them. At nightfall the air became alive with mysterious noises; cries as of animals, occasionally Indian whoops, shouts from one voice to another were heard all around. The Spaniards stood to their arms, and gazed anxiously into the darkness. Soon the shouts of the sentries told that flights of arrows were being discharged at them, by invisible foes. Volley after volley were fired, from the musketoons and arquebuses, into the wood. These were answered by bursts of taunting laughter, and mocking yells, while the rain of arrows continued. The Spanish troops, whose position and figures could be seen by the blaze of the lighted fires, while a dense darkness reigned within the forest, began to suffer severely from the arrows of these unseen foes. Bodies, fifty strong, advanced into the dark forest to search out their enemies; but they searched in vain. The Indians, better accustomed to the darkness, and knowing the forest well, easily retreated as they advanced; and the Spaniards dared not venture far from their fires, for they feared being lost in the forest. The officer commanding, an old and experienced soldier, soon ceased these useless sorties. Calling his men into the center of the glade; he ordered them to stand in readiness to repel an assault, extinguished every fire, and allowed half the troop at once to lie down, to endeavor to snatch some sleep. This, however, was impossible; for although the Indians did not venture upon an attack, the chorus of shouts and yells was so terrible and continuous, and the flights of arrows at times fell so fast, that not one of the troop ventured to close an eye. From time to time volleys were fired into the darkness; and once or twice a loud cry told that some, at least, of the balls had taken effect; but the opponents, sheltered each behind the trunk of a tree, suffered comparatively slightly, while many of the Spaniards were struck by their missiles. Morning dawned upon a worn-out and dispirited band, but with daylight their hopes revived. Vigorous sorties were made into the wood; and though these discovered, in a few places, marks of blood where some of their enemies had fallen, and signs of a party being carried away, the woods were now as deserted as they had appeared to be on the previous evening, when they first halted. There was a consultation among the leaders, and it was determined to abandon the pursuit of these invisible foes, as it was agreed that nothing, short of a great effort by the whole available force of the island, would be sufficient to cope with a foe whose tactics were so bewildering and formidable. Upon their march out from the wood, the troop was pursued with the same persistence with which it had been dogged on the preceding day; and when at length it emerged, and the captain counted the numbers of his men, it was found that there were no less than thirty wounded, and that twenty had been left behind, dead. The dwellers of the wood were overjoyed with their success, and felt that a new existence had opened before them. Hitherto they had been fugitives only, and no thought of resistance to the Spaniards had ever entered their minds. They felt now that, so long as they remained in the woods, and maintained their drill and discipline, and persisted in the tactics which they had adopted, they could defy the Spaniards; unless, indeed, the latter came in overwhelming strength. Some time elapsed before any fresh effort was made by the Spaniards. The affair caused intense excitement in the city, and it is difficult to say whether alarm, or rage, most predominated. It was felt that a great effort must be made, to crush the men of the forest; for unless this were done, a vast number of the negro slaves would escape and join them, and the movement would become more formidable, every day. Upon the part of those in the forest, great consultations took place. Some of the negroes were for sending messages to the slaves to rise and join them, but Ned and Gerald strongly opposed this course. There were, as they pointed out, no means whatever in the forest for supporting a larger body of men than those gathered there. The tree-clad hills which constituted their stronghold were some thirty miles in diameter; and the supply of fruits, of roots, and of birds were sufficient for their wants; but it would be very different, were their numbers largely increased. Then they would be forced to make raids upon the cultivated ground beyond; and here, however strong, they would be no match for the Spaniards, whose superior arms and discipline would be certain to give them victory. The Indians strongly supported the reasoning of the boys, and the negroes, when they fully understood the difficulties which would arise, finally acquiesced in their arguments. Schemes were broached for making sallies from the forest, at night, and falling upon the plantations of the Spaniards. This offered greater chances of success, but the boys foresaw that all sorts of atrocities would be sure to take place, and that no quarter would be given to Spaniards of either age or sex. They therefore combated vigorously this proposal, also. They pointed out that, so long as they remained quiet in the forest, and were not joined by large numbers of fugitive negroes, the Spaniards might be content to let them remain unmolested; but upon the contrary, were they to adopt offensive tactics, not only would every Spaniard in the island take up arms against them, but if necessary they would send for help to the neighboring islands, and would assemble a force sufficient thoroughly to search the woods, and to annihilate them. The only case in which the boys considered that an attack upon the Spaniards would be lawful, would be in the event of fresh expeditions being organized. In that case, they were of opinion that it would be useful to destroy one or two large mansions and plantations, as near as possible to the town; sending at the same time a message to the Spaniards that, if they persisted in disturbing them in the forest, a similar fate would befall every Spanish plantation situated beyond the town. It was not long before these tactics were called into play. One of the negroes had, as was their custom, gone down to the town, to purchase such articles as were indispensable. Upon these occasions, as usual, he went down to the hut of the old woman who acted as their intermediary; and remained concealed there, during the day, while she went into the town, to buy cotton for dresses, and other things. This she could only do in small quantities at a time, using various shops for the purpose; returning each time, with her parcel, to the hut. The suspicion of the Spaniards had, however, been aroused; and orders had been given to watch her closely. The consequence was that, after purchasing a few articles, she was followed; and a band of soldiers surrounded the hut, after she had entered. The fugitive was there found concealed, and he and the old woman were at once fastened in the hut. This was then set alight, and they were burned to death, upon the spot. When the news reached the mountains, Ned at once determined upon a reprisal. The negroes and natives were alike ready to follow him, and the next night the whole party, a hundred and fifty strong, marched down from the forest. The object of their attack was a handsome palace, belonging to the military governor of the island, situated at a short distance from the town. Passing through the cultivated country, noiselessly and without detection, they reached the mansion and surrounded it. There were, here, a guard of some thirty soldiers, and sentries were placed at the entrance. At the signal, given by the blowing of a conch shell, the attack commenced on all sides. The sentries were at once shot down, and the negroes and their allies speedily penetrated into the building. The Spanish guard fought with great bravery, but they were overpowered by the infuriated negroes. Yells, shrieks, and shouts of all kinds resounded through the palace. Before starting on their adventure, Ned and Gerald had exacted a solemn oath, from each of the men who were to take part in it, that on no account would he lift his hand against a defenseless person; and also that he spare everybody who surrendered. The negroes were greatly loath to take this promise, and had Ned urged them to do so purely for the sake of humanity, the oath would unquestionably have been refused; for in those days of savage warfare, there was little or no mercy shown on either side. It was only on the ground of expediency, and the extreme necessity of not irritating the Spaniards beyond a certain point, that he succeeded in obtaining their promise. In the principal room of the palace they found the governor, himself. His sword was in his hand, and he was prepared to defend his life to the last. The boys, however, rushed forward; and cried to him to throw his sword down, as the only plan by which his life could be saved. The brave officer refused, answering by a vigorous thrust. In a moment the two lads had sprung upon him, one from each side, and wrested his sword from his hand. The negroes, with yells of triumph, were rushing upon him with drawn swords; but the boys sternly motioned them back, keeping well in front of their prisoner. "You have sworn," they said, "and the first man who breaks his oath we will shoot through the head." Then, turning to the governor they said: "Sir, you see what these men, whom you have so long hunted as wild beasts, can do. Take warning from this, and let all in the town know the determination to which we have arrived. If we are let alone, we will let others alone. We promise that no serious depredations, of any kind, shall be performed by any of our party in the forest; but if we are molested, or if any of our band who may fall into your hands are ill treated, we swear that, for each drop of blood slain, we will ravage a plantation and destroy a house. "On this occasion, as you see, the negroes have abstained from shedding blood; but our influence over them may not avail, in future. Now that you see that we too can attack, you may think fit to leave us alone. In case of serious interference with us, we will lay waste the land, up to the houses of the city; and destroy every plantation, and hacienda." Then they hurried the governor to a back entrance, gave him his sword again and, having seen him in safety, fairly beyond the reach of any of their party who might be wandering about, dismissed him. Returning to the palace, they had to exert themselves to the utmost to prevail on the negroes to spare all who were there. Indeed, one man, who refused to obey Ned's orders and to lower his club, he shot down at once. This vigorous act excited, for a moment, yells of indignation among the rest; but the firm bearing of the two young Englishmen, and the knowledge that they were acting as they themselves had given them leave to act, should any of the party break their oaths, subdued them into silence. The palace was now stripped of all portable and useful articles. Ned would not permit anything to be carried away of a merely ornamental or valuable character; but only such as kitchen utensils, crockery, stoves, arms, hangings, and articles of a description that would be useful to them, in their wild life in the forest. The quantity of arms taken was considerable as, in addition to those belonging to the guard, there were a considerable number piled in the armory, in readiness for any occasion when they might be required. When all that could be useful to them was removed, lights were applied to the hangings and wooden lattice work; and, before they retired, they saw the flames take sufficient possession of the building to ensure its destruction. Many of the negroes had at first laden themselves with wine, but this Ned peremptorily refused to allow them to carry away. He knew that it was of the most supreme necessity that good fellowship, and amity, should run between the members of the bands; and that, were wine to be introduced, quarrels might arise which would, in the end, prove fatal to all. He allowed, however, sufficient to be taken away to furnish a reasonable share for each man, at the feast which it was only natural they would wish to hold, in commemoration of their victory. Chapter 8: The Forest Fastness. It was with a feeling of triumph, indeed, that the negroes, after gaining their own fastness, looked back at the sky, lighted by the distant conflagration. They had now, for the first time, inflicted such a lesson upon their oppressors as would make a deep mark. They felt themselves to be really free; and knew that they, in their turn, had struck terror into the hearts of the Spaniards. Retiring to the depths of the forest, great fires were made. Sheep, fowls, and other articles of provision, which had been brought back, were killed and prepared. Huge bonfires were lit, and the party, secure that, for twenty-four hours at least, the Spaniards could attempt no retributive measures, sat down to enjoy the banquet. They had driven with them a few small bullocks, and also some scores of sheep. These, however, were not destined for the spit. They were to be placed in the heart of their country; so that, unless disturbed by the Spaniards, they might prove a source of future sustenance to them. There was wild feasting that night, with dances, and songs of triumph in the negro and native dialects; and Ned and Gerald were lauded and praised, as the authors of the change which had taken place in the condition of the fugitives. Even the stern severity of Ned's act was thoroughly approved; and it was agreed, again, that anyone refusing to obey the orders of the white chiefs should forfeit his life. The blow which the negroes had struck caused intense consternation throughout Hispaniola. The younger, and more warlike spirits were in favor of organizing an instant crusade, for sending to the other islands for more troops, for surrounding the forest country, and for putting the last of the negroes to the sword. More peaceful counsels, however, prevailed; for it was felt that the whole open country was, as Ned had told the governor, at their mercy; that the damage which could be inflicted would be enormous; and the satisfaction of putting the fugitives to death, even if they were finally conquered, would be but a poor recompense for the blow which might be given to the prosperity and wealth of the island. All sorts of schemes were mooted, by which the runaways could be beguiled into laying down their arms, but no practicable plan could be hit upon. In the meantime, in the mountains, the bands improved in drill and discipline. They had now gained some confidence in themselves, and gave themselves up heartily to the work. Portions of land, too, were turned up; and yams and other fruits, on a larger scale than had hitherto been attempted, were planted. A good supply of goats was obtained, huts were erected, and the lads determined that, at least as long as the Spaniards allowed it, their lives should be made as comfortable as possible. Fugitive slaves from time to time joined the party; but Ned strongly discouraged any increase, at present, from this cause. He was sure that, were the Spaniards to find that their runaways were sheltered there, and that a general desertion of their slaves might take place; they would be obliged, in self defense, to root out this formidable organization in their midst. Therefore, emissaries were sent out among the negroes, stating that none would be received, in the mountains, save those who had previously asked permission; this being only accorded in cases where such extreme brutality and cruelty had been exercised, by the masters, as would wholly justify the flight of the slave. For some months, a sort of truce was maintained between the Spaniards and this little army in the woods. The blacks observed the promises, which Ned had made, with great fidelity. The planters found that no depredations took place, and that the desertions among their slaves were no more numerous than before; and had it depended solely upon them, no further measures would have been taken. The case, however, was different among the military party in the island. To them, the failure of the expedition into the forest, and the burning of the governor's house, were matters which seriously affected their pride. Defeat by English buccaneers they were accustomed to; and regarding the English, at sea, as a species of demon against whom human bravery availed little. They were slightly touched by it; but that they should be defied by a set of runaway slaves; and of natives, whom they had formerly regarded with contempt; was a blow to their pride. Quietly, and without ostentation, troops were drafted into the island from the neighboring posts, until a formidable force had been gathered there. The foresters had now plenty of means of communication with the negroes, who regarded them as saviors, to whom they could look for rescue and shelter, in case of their masters' cruelty; and were always ready to send messengers up into the forest, with news of every occurrence which took place under their observation. The grown-up slaves, of course, could not leave the plantation; but there were numbers of fleet-footed lads who, after nightfall, could be dispatched from the huts into the mountains, and return before daylight; while, even should they remain until the next night, they would attract no attention by their absence. Thus, then, Ned and Gerald learned that a formidable body of Spaniards were being collected, quietly, in the town; and every effort was made to meet the coming storm. The various gorges were blocked with high barricades; difficult parts of the mountain were, with great labor, scarped so as to render the advance of an armed force difficult in the extreme; great piles of stones were collected, to roll down into the ravines; and provisions of yams, sweet potatoes, and other food were stored up. The last stronghold had, after a great debate, been fixed upon at a point in the heart of one of the hills. This was singularly well adapted for defense The hill itself was extremely precipitous on all sides. On one side, it fell sheer down. A goat track ran along the face of this precipice, to a point where the hill fell back, forming a sort of semicircular arena on the very face of the precipice. This plateau was some two acres in extent. Here quantities of forage were heaped up in readiness, for the food of such animals as might be driven in there. The track itself was, with great labor, widened; platforms of wood being placed at the narrow points; and steps were cut in the hill behind the plateau to enable them, should their stronghold be stormed, to escape at the last moment up to the hilltop above. In most places the cliff behind the plateau rose so steeply as to almost overhang the foot; and in these were many gaps and crevices, in which a considerable number of people could take shelter, so as to avoid stones and other missiles hurled down from above. At one point in particular the precipice overhung, and under this a strong erection of the trunks of trees was made. This was for the animals to be placed in. The heavy roof was amply sufficient to keep out any bullet shots; while, from its position, no masses of rock could be dropped upon it. It was not thought probable that the Spaniards would harass them much from above, for the ascent to the summit was everywhere extremely difficult; and the hillside was perfectly bare, and sloped so sharply upward, from the edge of the precipitous cliff, that it would be a difficult and dangerous task to descend, so as to fire down into the arena; and, although every precaution had been taken, it was felt that there was little fear of any attack from above. At last all was in readiness, as far as the efforts of those in the forest could avail. A message was then sent in to the governor, to the effect that the men of the forest desired to know for what purpose so many soldiers were being assembled in the island; and that, on a given day, unless some of these were embarked and sent off, they would consider that a war was being prepared against them, and that the agreement that the outlying settlements should be left intact was therefore invalid. As the boys had anticipated, the Spaniards answered this missive by an instant movement forward; and some four hundred men were reported as moving out towards the hills. This the boys were prepared for, and simultaneously with the movement the whole band--divided into parties of six, each of which had its fixed destination and instructions, all being alike solemnly pledged to take no life in cold blood, and to abstain from all unnecessary cruelties--started quickly from the forest. That night the Spanish force halted near the edge of the forest; but at midnight a general consternation seized the camp when, from fifty different points, flames were seen suddenly to rise on the plain. Furious at this misfortune, the general in command put his cavalry in motion, and scoured the country; only to find, however, that the whole of the haciendas of the Spanish proprietors were in flames, and that fire had been applied to all the standing crops. Everywhere he heard the same tale; that those who had resisted had been killed, but that no harm had been inflicted upon defenseless persons. This was so new a feature, in troubles with the negroes, that the Spaniards could not but be surprised, and filled with admiration at conduct so different to that to which they were accustomed. The sight of the tremendous destruction of property, however, roused them to fury; and this was still further heightened when, towards morning, a great burst of flame in the city proclaimed that the negroes had fallen upon the town, while the greater portion of its defenders were withdrawn. This was, indeed, a masterly stroke on the part of the boys. They knew that, even deducting those who had set forth, there would still be an amply sufficient force in the city to defeat and crush their band; but they thought that, by a quick stroke, they might succeed in inflicting a heavy blow upon them. Each of the bands therefore had instructions, after doing its allotted share of incendiarism, to make for the town, and to meet at a certain point outside it. Then, quietly and noiselessly, they had entered. One party fell upon the armory, and another attacked with fury the governor's house. The guards there were, as had happened with his residence in the country, cut down. Fire was applied in a dozen places and, before the astonished troops and inhabitants could rally, from the different parts of the town, the negroes were again in the country; having fulfilled their object, and carried off with them a large additional stock of arms. Before the cavalry from the front could arrive, they were again far in the country; and, making a long detour, gained their fastness, having struck a terrible blow, with the cost to themselves of only some eight or ten lives. It was a singular sight, as they looked out in the morning from their hilltops. Great masses of smoke extended over the whole country; for although most of the dwellings were, by this time, leveled to the ground--for, built of the lightest construction, they offered but little resistance to the flames--from the fields of maize and cane, clouds of smoke were still rising, as the conflagration spread; and at one stroke the whole agricultural wealth of the island was destroyed. The boys regretted that this should necessarily be the case; but they felt that it was now war, to the knife, between the Spaniards and them, and that such a defeat would be beneficial. This, indeed, was the case; for the commander drew back his troops to the town, in order to make fresh arrangements, before venturing upon an attack on foes who showed themselves possessed of such desperate determination. Another six weeks elapsed, indeed, before a forward movement was again commenced; and in that time considerable acquisitions of force were obtained. Strong as the bands felt themselves, they could not but be alarmed at the thought of the tremendous storm gathering to burst over their heads. The women had long since been sent away, to small native villages existing on the other side of the island, and living at peace with their neighbors Thither Ned also dispatched several of the party whom he believed to be either wanting in courage, or whose constancy he somewhat doubted. A traitor now would be the destruction of the party; and it was certain that any negro deserting to the enemy, and offering to act as their guide to the various strongholds of the defenders, would receive immense rewards. Thus it was imperative that every man, of whose fidelity and constancy the least doubt was entertained, should be carefully sent out of the way of temptation. All the band were, indeed, pledged by a most solemn oath; and death, by torture, was the penalty awarded for any act of treachery. The greater portion of the force were now provided with European arms. The negroes had musketoons or arquebuses, the natives still retained the bow, while all had pikes and spears. They were undefended by protective amour, and in this respect the Spaniards had a great advantage in the fight; but, as the boys pointed out, this advantage was more than counterbalanced by the extra facility of movement, on the part of the natives, who could scale rocks and climb hills absolutely inaccessible to their heavily armed and weighty opponents. The scouts, who had been stationed on the lookout at the edge of the forest, brought word that the Spaniards, nigh 1500 strong, had divided in six bodies; and were marching so as to enter the forest from six different, and nearly equidistant, points. Each band was accompanied by bloodhounds, and a large number of other fierce dogs of the wolfhound breed, which the Spaniards had imported for the purpose of attacking negroes in their hiding places. Of these animals the negroes had the greatest dread; and even the bravest, who were ready to match themselves against armed Spaniards, yet trembled at the thought of the encounter with these ferocious animals. It was clear that no repetition of the tactics formerly pursued would be possible; for if any attempt at night attacks were made, the dogs would rush out and attack them; and not only prove formidable enemies themselves, but guide the Spaniards to the places where they were stationed. Ned and Gerald would fain have persuaded the natives that dogs, after all, however formidable they might appear, were easily mastered by well-armed men; and that any dog rushing to attack them would be pierced with spears and arrows, to say nothing of being shot by the arquebuses, before he could seize any of them. The negroes, however, had known so many cases in which fugitives had been horribly torn, and indeed, frequently killed, by these ferocious animals, that the dread of them was too great for them to listen to the boys' explanations. The latter, seeing that it would be useless to attempt to overcome their fears, on this ground, abstained from the attempt. It had been agreed that, in the event of the Spaniards advancing from different quarters, one column only should be selected for a main attack; and that, while the others should be harassed by small parties, who should cast down rocks upon them while passing through the gorges, and so inflict as much damage as possible, no attempt would be made to strike any serious blow upon them. The column selected for attack was, naturally, that whose path led through the points which had been most strongly prepared and fortified. This band mustered about three hundred; and was clearly too strong to be attacked, in open fight, by the forest bands. Gerald and Ned had already talked the matter over in every light, and decided that a purely defensive fight must be maintained; each place where preparations had been made being held to the last, and a rapid retreat beaten to the next barricade. The Spaniards advanced in heavy column. At a distance of a hundred yards, on each side, marched a body of fifty in compact mass, thereby sheltering the main body from any sudden attack. The first point at which the lads had determined to make a stand was the mouth of a gorge. Here steep rocks rose perpendicularly from the ground, running almost like a wall along that portion of the forest. In the midst of this was a cleft, through which a little stream ran. It was here that the boys had made preparations. The point could not be turned, without a long and difficult march along the face of the cliff; and on the summit of this sixty men, divided into two parties, one on each side of the fissure, were stationed. The Spaniards advanced until they nearly reached the mouth of the ravine. It must be remembered that, although the forest was very thick, and the vegetation luxuriant; yet there were paths here and there, made by the constant passing, to and fro, of the occupants of the wood. Their main direction acted as a guide to the Spaniards; and the hounds, by their sniffing and eagerness, acted as a guide to the advancing force. They paused when they saw, opening before them, this entrance to the rocky gorge. While they halted, the increased eagerness of the dogs told them that they were now approaching the point where their foes were concealed; and the prospect of an attack, on so strong a position, was formidable even to such a body. A small party, of thirty men, was told off to advance and reconnoiter the position. These were allowed to enter the gorge, and to follow it for a distance of a hundred yards, to a point where the sides were approached to their nearest point. Then, from a parapet of rock piled across the ravine came a volley of musketry; and, simultaneously, from the heights of either side great stones came crashing down. Such of the party as did not fall at the first discharge fired a volley at their invisible assailants, and then hurried back to the main body. It was now clear that fighting, and that of a serious character, was to be undertaken. The Spanish commander rapidly reconnoitered the position; and saw that here, at least, no flanking movement was possible. He therefore ordered his men to advance, for a direct attack. Being more afraid of the stones from above than of the defenders in the ravine, the Spaniards prepared to advance in skirmishing order; in that way they would be able to creep up to the barricade of rocks with the least loss, to themselves, from the fire of its defenders; while the stones from above would prove far less dangerous than would be the case upon a solid column. With great determination, the Spanish troops advanced to the attack. As they neared the mouth of the gorge, flights of arrows from above were poured down upon them; and these were answered by their own musketeers and bowmen, although the figures occasionally exposed above offered but a poor mark, in comparison to that afforded by the column below. The men on the ridge were entirely natives, the boys having selected the negroes, on whose courage at close quarters they could more thoroughly rely, for the defense of the ravine. The firearms in those days could scarcely be termed arms of precision. The bell-mouth arquebuses could carry a large and heavy charge, but there was nothing like accuracy in their fire; and although a steady fire was kept up from the barricade, and many Spaniards fell; yet a larger number succeeded in making their way through the zone of fire, by taking advantage of the rocks and bushes; and these gathered, near the foot of the barricade. The stones which came crashing from above did serious damage among them, but the real effect of these was more moral than physical. The sound of the great masses of stone, plunging down the hillside, setting in motion numbers of small rocks as they came, tearing down the bushes and small trees, was exceedingly terrifying at first; but as block after block dashed down, doing comparatively little harm, the Spaniards became accustomed to them; and, keeping under the shelter of masses of rock, to the last moment, prepared all their energies for the attack. The Spanish commander found that the greater portion of his troop were within striking distance, and he gave the command, to those gathered near the barricade, to spring forward to the attack. The gorge, at this point, was some fifteen yards wide. The barricade across it was thirty feet in height. It was formed of blocks of stone, of various sizes; intermingled with which were sharp stakes, with their points projecting; lines of bushes and arms of trees, piled outwards; and the whole was covered loosely with sharp prickly creepers, cut from the trees and heaped there. A more difficult place to climb, even without its being defended from above, would be difficult to find. The covering of thorny creepers hid the rocks below; and at each step the soldiers put their feet into deep holes between the masses of rock, and fell forward, lacerating themselves horribly with the thorns, or coming face downwards on one of the sharp-pointed stakes. But if, without any resistance from above, the feat of climbing this carefully prepared barricade was difficult; it was terrible when, from the ridge above, a storm of bullets swept down. It was only for a moment that the negroes exposed themselves, in the act of firing. Behind, the barricade was as level and smooth as it was difficult upon the outer side. Great steps, some three feet wide, had been prepared of wood; so that the defenders could easily mount and, standing in lines, relieve each other as they fired. The stones of the top series had been carefully chosen of a form so as to leave, between each, crevices through which the defenders could fire, while scarcely exposing themselves to the enemy. The Spaniards behind endeavored to cover the advance of their comrades, by keeping up a heavy fire at the summit of the barricade; and several of the negroes were shot through the head, in the act of firing. Their loss, however, was small in comparison to that of the assailants; who strove, in vain, to climb up the thorny ascent, their position being the more terrible inasmuch as the fire from the parties on the rocks above never ceased, and stones kept up a sort of bombardment on those in the ravine. Even the fierce dogs could with difficulty climb the thorn-covered barriers, and those who reached the top were instantly shot, or stabbed. At last, after suffering very considerable loss, the Spanish commander drew off his soldiers; and a wild yell of triumph rose from the negroes. The combat however had, as the boys were aware, scarcely begun; and they now waited, to see what the next effort of the Spaniards would be. It was an hour before the latter again advanced to the attack. This time the troops were carrying large bundles of dried grass and rushes; and although again suffering heavily in the attack, they piled these at the foot of the barricade, and in another minute a flash of fire ran up the side. The smoke and flame, for a time, separated the defenders from their foes; and the fire ceased on both sides, although those above never relaxed their efforts to harass the assailants. As the Spaniards had calculated, the flame of the great heap of straw communicated with the creepers, and burnt them up in its fiery tongue; and when the flames abated, the rocks lay open and uncovered. The Spaniards now, with renewed hopes, advanced again to the attack; and this time were able, although with heavy loss, to make their way up the barricade. When they arrived within three or four feet of the top, Ned gave the word; and a line of thirty powerful negroes, each armed with a long pike, suddenly arose and, with a yell, threw themselves over the edge and dashed down upon the Spaniards. The latter, struggling to ascend, with unsteady footing on the loose and uneven rocks, were unable for an instant to defend themselves against this assault. The negroes, barefooted, had no difficulty on the surface which proved so fatal to the Spaniards; and, like the crest of a wave, they swept their opponents headlong down the face of the barricade. The heavily armed Spaniards fell over each other, those in front hurling those behind backwards in wild confusion; and the first line of negroes being succeeded by another, armed with axes, who completed the work which the first line had begun; the slaughter, for a minute, was terrible. For some thirty paces, the negroes pursued their advantage; and then at a loud shout from Ned turned, and with a celerity equal to that of their advance, the whole were back over the barricade, before the Spaniards in rear could awaken from their surprise; and scarcely a shot was fired, as the dark figures bounded back into shelter. This time, the Spanish officer drew back his men sullenly. He felt that they had done all that could be expected of them. Upwards of sixty men had fallen. It would be vain to ask them to make the assault again. He knew, too, that by waiting, the other columns would be gradually approaching; and that, on the morrow, some method of getting in the enemy's rear would probably be discovered. In the meantime, he sent off fifty men on either flank, to discover how far its rocky wall extended; while trumpeters, under strong guards, were sent up to the hilltops in the rear, and sounded the call lustily. Musketoons, heavily charged so as to make as loud a report as possible, were also fired to attract the attention of the other columns. The boys were perfectly aware that they could not hope, finally, to defend this position. They had, however, given the Spaniards a very heavy lesson; and the success of the defense had immensely raised the spirit and courage of their men. The signal was therefore given for a retreat; and in half an hour both the Indians, on the summit of the hill, and the negroes, behind the barricade, had fallen back; leaving only some half dozen to keep up the appearance of defense, and to bring back tidings of the doings of the enemy; while the rest hurried off, to aid the detached parties to inflict heavy blows upon the other columns. It was found that these were steadily approaching, but had lost a good many men. The reinforcements enabled the natives to make a more determined resistance, and in one or two places the columns were effectually checked. The reports, when night fell, were that the Spaniards had altogether lost over two hundred men; but that all their columns had advanced a considerable distance towards the center of the forest; and had halted, each as they stood; and bivouacked, keeping up huge fires and careful watches. It formed no part, however, of the boys' plan to attack them thus; and when morning dawned the whole of the defenders, each taking different paths, as far as possible; some even making great circuits, so as to deceive the enemy, were directed to make for the central fortress. The intermediate positions, several of which were as strong as the barricade which they had so well defended, were abandoned; for the advance from other quarters rendered it impossible to hold these. Chapter 9: Baffled. By midday, all the defenders of the forest were assembled in the semi-circular plateau on the face of the hill; and, scouts having been placed near the entrance, they awaited the coming of the enemy. So far as possible, every means had been taken to prevent the access to their place of retreat being discovered. A stream had been turned, so as to run down a small ravine, leading to its approach. Trees which had been blown down by the wind had been previously brought, from a considerable distance; and these were piled in careless confusion across the gorge, so as to look as if they had fallen there, and give an idea that no one could have passed that way. For the next two days, all was quiet. A scout upon the hilltop, and others who were told off to watch the Spaniards, reported that the woods below were being thoroughly searched; that the enemy were acting in the most methodical way, the columns being now in close connection with each other, the intermediate forest being searched foot by foot; and that all were converging towards the central mountains of the position. The dogs had proved valuable assistants, and these were tracking the paths used by them, and steadily leading them towards the stronghold. That they would finally escape detection none of the defenders had much hope. The Spaniards would be sure that they must be somewhere within their line; and after the loss suffered, and the immense preparations made, it was certain that they would not retire until they had solved the mystery, and, if possible, annihilated the forest bands. On the fourth day after entering the wood, the Spaniards came to the point where the barricade of trees had been erected. So skilfully had this been constructed that they would have retired, believing that there was no path beyond this little gorge; however, the restlessness and anger of the dogs convinced them that there must be something behind. Slowly a passage was cut, with axes, through the virgin forest on either side; for the lesson they had received had checked their impetuosity. They came down at the side of the barricade, and thus having passed it, pressed forward in steady array until they came to the foot of the great cliff. Here the dogs were not long before they pointed out to the assailants the narrow path, scarce visible, running along its face; and a shout of satisfaction from the Spaniards testified that they now felt certain that they had caught their enemies in a trap. Parties were sent off to positions whence they could obtain a good view of the place, and these soon reported that the ledge continued to a great opening in the face of the precipice; that in some places logs had been fixed to widen the path; and that there was plenty of room, on the plateau formed by the retirement of the hill face, for a large body to have taken refuge. They also reported that the cliffs rose behind this amphitheater almost, if not quite perpendicularly for a great height; and that, still higher, the bare rock fell away at so steep an angle that it would be difficult, in the extreme, to take up such a position from above as would enable them to keep up a musquetry fire, or to hurl rocks upon the defenders of the amphitheater. When the reports were considered by the Spanish leader, he saw at once that this was not an enterprise to be undertaken rashly. Men were sent down to the plain below to reconnoiter; while others were dispatched round the mountain, to see whether the path extended across the whole face of the precipice, and also to discover, if possible, whether the recess was commanded from above. Both reports were unfavorable From the valley the great natural strength of the position was manifest, for half a dozen men could defend such a path as this against a thousand, by placing themselves behind an angle and shooting down all who turned the corner; while the men from above reported that the peak shelved so rapidly towards the top of the sheer precipice, that it would be impossible to get near enough to the edge to see down into the amphitheater They reported, however, that stones and rocks set going would dash down below, and that points could be gained from which these missiles could be dispatched on their errand. A council of war was held; and it was determined, in the first place, to endeavor to force the position by direct attack. Some men of approved courage were chosen to lead the forlorn hope; a number of marksmen, with arrows and firearms, were placed in the valley to keep up a fire upon any who might show themselves on the path, while above, several hundreds of men were sent up, with crowbars, to loosen and hurl down rocks. The defenders, on their part, were not idle. Two spots had been chosen in the pathway for the defense At each of these the face of the cliff extended sharply out in an angle, and it was on the side of this angle next to the amphitheater that the preparations were made. Here barricades of stones were heaped up on the path, which at this point was some three yards wide. Six of the steadiest and most courageous negroes were placed here, with muskets and pikes. Two of them were to lie with their guns pointed at the protecting angle so that, the instant anyone showed himself round the corner, they could open fire upon him. The others were lying in readiness to assist, or to relieve those on guard. Either Gerald or Ned remained with them, always. A few stones were thrown up on the outside edge of the path, to protect the defenders from the shots of those in the valley below; not indeed that the danger from this source was very great, for the face of the precipice was some eight hundred feet high, and the path ran along some four hundred from the bottom. With the clumsy arms in use, in those days, the fear of any one being struck from below was by no means great. A similar barricade was erected behind, and the negroes were, in case of extreme necessity, to fall back from their first position. At the second point an equal number of men were placed. Lastly, where the path ended at the amphitheater, strong barricades had been erected in a sort of semicircle; so that anyone, after having forced the first defenses, would, as he showed himself at the entrance to the amphitheater, be exposed to the fire of the whole of its defenders. The position was so strong that Ned and Gerald had no fear, whatever, of its being forced. As the time approached when Ned expected an attack, the defenders of the farthest barricade were strengthened by a considerable number, lying down upon the path; for it was certain that, for the first two or three assaults, the Spaniards would push matters to the utmost; and that they would not be repulsed, without severe fighting. So indeed it proved. Advancing with great caution along the narrow path, which was sometimes seven or eight feet wide, sometimes narrowing to a few inches, the leaders of the party of attack made their way along, until they turned the projecting point. Then the guns of the two men on guard spoke out, and the two leaders fell, shot through the body, over the precipice. Now that they knew the position of their enemy, the Spaniards prepared for a rush. Gathering themselves as closely as they could together, they pressed round the corner. Shot after shot rang out from the defenders, as they turned it; but although many fell, the others pressed forward so numerously, and bravely, that they could be said fairly to have established themselves round the corner. The barricade now, however, faced them; and behind this were gathered the bravest of the negroes, led by the boys. The barricade, too, had been covered with thorny branches, as had that which they had defended before; and the Spaniards, of whom only some ten or twelve could find fighting room round the corner, were shot down before they could make any impression, whatever. Bravely as they fought, it was impossible for men to maintain so unequal and difficult a fight as this; and after trying for an hour to storm the barricade, the Spaniards fell back, having lost over fifty of the best of their men. In the meantime, with a thundering sound, the rocks were rolling down from the summit of the mountain. The greater portion of them did not fall in the amphitheater at all; but, from the impetus of their descent down the sloping rocks above, shot far out beyond its edge. Others, however, crashed down on to the little plateau; but all who were there were lying so close to the face of the rock, that the missiles from above went far beyond them. From below in the valley a constant fire was kept up, but this was as innocuous as the bombardment from above; and when the Spaniards fell back, only three of the defenders had been in any way injured, and these were hit by the pistol balls, fired by the assailants of the barricade. When the Spaniards retired, all, except the men told off for the posts at the barricades, fell back to the amphitheater The negroes and natives were, both alike, delighted with the success of the defense; and were now perfectly confident of their ability to hold out, as long as their provisions lasted. There was no fear of want of water, for from the face of the hill a little stream trickled out. Piles of yams, bananas, sweet potatoes, and other tropical fruit had been collected, and a score of sheep; and with care, the boys calculated that for five weeks they could hold out. The Spaniards were furious at the non-success of their enterprise, but after reconnoitering the position in every way, the commanders came to the conclusion that it was absolutely impregnable, and that the only plan was to starve out the besieged. It did not appear that there could be any other way of retreat, and a small force could watch the path; as it would be as difficult for the besieged to force their way back by it, as for the besiegers to find an entry. The greater portion of the force was, therefore, marched home; a guard of two hundred men being set, to watch the point where the path along the precipice started. The incidents of the five weeks which elapsed after the siege began were not important. It was soon found that the Spaniards had abandoned the notion of attack; but the vigilance of the defenders was never relaxed, for it was possible, that at any moment the enemy, believing that they had been lulled into carelessness, might renew their attack. Twice, indeed, at nightfall the Spaniards advanced and crept round the point of defense; but were each time received so quickly, by the fire of the defenders of the barricade, that they were finally convinced that there was no hope, whatever, of catching them napping. At the end of five weeks it was determined that the time had arrived when they should leave their fortress. The Spaniards had placed a guard of fifty men near the foot of the precipice, to prevent any attempt of the besieged to descend its face by means of ropes; but above no precautions had been taken, as it appeared impossible, to anyone looking at the face of the cliff from a distance, that a human being could scale it. Thanks, however, to the pains which had been taken previously, the way was open. In most places, rough steps had been cut; in others, where this was impossible, short stakes had been driven into crevices of the rock to form steps; and although the ascent was difficult, it was quite possible, to lightly clad and active men. The time chosen for the attempt was just after dusk had fallen, when it was still light enough to see close at hand, but dark enough to prevent those in the valley observing what was passing. A young moon was already up, giving sufficient light to aid the enterprise. Some of the most active of the natives first ascended. These were provided with ropes which, at every bend and turn of the ascent, they lowered so as to give assistance to those mounting behind. The strictest silence was enforced, and the arms were all wrapped up, so as to avoid noise should they strike the rock. One by one the men mounted, in a steady stream. All were barefooted, for Ned and Gerald had imitated the example of the natives; and upon such a task as this, the bare foot has an infinitely safer hold than one shod with leather. Although the cliff looked quite precipitous, from a distance; in reality it sloped gently backwards, and the task was far less difficult than it appeared to be. The most dangerous part, indeed, was that which followed the arrival at the top. The mountain sloped so steeply back that it was like climbing the roof of a very steep house, and hand and foot were, alike, called into requisition to enable them to get forward; indeed, to many it would have been impossible, had not the leaders lowered their ropes down from above, affording an immense assistance to those following. At last, the whole body reached the top and, descending upon the other side, plunged into the forest. They directed their course to a valley, ten miles distant, where considerable supplies of provisions had been stored up; and where some of their crops had been planted, a few weeks before the arrival of the Spaniards. Here for two days they feasted, secure that a considerable time might elapse, before the Spaniards discovered that they had vanished from the fortress. Then they prepared to put into execution the plan upon which they had resolved. They knew that in the town, there would be no watch of any sort kept; for all believed them cooped up, without a chance of escape. The four troops then, commanded as before, issued from the forest as the sun went down, and marched towards the town. It was soon after midnight when they entered the streets and, proceeding noiselessly through them, advanced to the spot assigned to each. One was to attack the governor's house, and to make him a prisoner; two others were to fall upon the barracks, and to do as much harm as possible; while the fourth was to proceed to the government magazines of stores and munitions, to fire these at a great many places. This programme was carried out successfully. The guards at the governor's house were overpowered in an instant and, as it had been surrounded, all the inmates were captured. Those of the men who defended themselves were cut down, but Gerald and Ned had insisted that no unnecessary slaughter should take place. The party attacking the barracks had no such instructions. It was legitimate for them to inflict as much loss as possible upon the soldiers; and when, with terrible shouts, the negroes broke in upon them, the Spaniards, taken by surprise, offered but a feeble resistance. Large numbers of them were cut down, before they could rally or open fire upon their enemies. As soon as the resistance became serious, the negroes and Indians vanished, as quickly as they had come. In the meantime, the whole of the town was lit up by sheets of fire, rising from the government magazines. The alarm bells of the churches tolled out, the shouts of the frightened inhabitants mingled with the yells of the natives, and the report of firearms, from all parts of the town; and the townspeople thought that a general sack and slaughter was at hand. The negroes, however, entered no private house, but in an hour from their first appearance they had retired beyond the town; and were making their way, in a solid and well-ordered mass, for the forest, bearing in their center the governor and two of his sons. The success of the enterprise had been complete. They were now, Ned thought, in a position, if not to dictate terms to the enemy, at least to secure for themselves an immunity from attacks. Day was breaking when they entered the hills and, an hour later, one of the sons of the governor was sent to the party still besieging their former stronghold, to inform them that the besieged had all escaped, had made a raid upon the city, and had carried off the governor; whose instructions to them was that they were to at once fall back, to avoid being attacked by the negroes. The officer commanding the besiegers was glad enough to call his men together, and to retire unharmed from the forest; which now began to inspire an almost superstitious fear in the Spaniards, so unexpected and mysterious had been the defeats inflicted upon them there. The governor's son accompanied the troops back to the city, and was the bearer of a missive from Ned to the officer commanding the troops, and to the inhabitants. Ned offered, upon the part of the forest men, that if the Spaniards would consent to leave them unmolested in their forest; they upon their part would, in the first place, release the governor, and in the second, promise that no acts of violence, or raids of any kind, should be made beyond its boundaries. The question of fugitive slaves, who might seek refuge among them, was to be discussed at a meeting between the heads of each party, should the proposal be accepted. The governor sent a line, on his part, to say that he was well treated, that he authorized them to enter into any negotiations which they might think fit; adding that, in case they should decide to refuse the offer made them, no thought of his safety should be allowed, for an instant, to sway their notions. It was two days before the messenger returned. Several stormy meetings had taken place in the town. The officers were, for the most part, anxious to renew the fighting. They were intensely mortified at the idea of the forces of Spain being compelled to treat, upon something like even terms, with a handful of escaped slaves; and would have again marched the troops into the forest, and renewed the war. The townspeople, however, were strongly opposed to this. They had suffered immensely, already, by the destruction of the outlying plantations and haciendas; and the events of the attack upon the town showed that there was no little danger of the whole place being burnt to the ground. They were, therefore, eager in the extreme to make terms with this active and ubiquitous enemy. The troops, too, were by no means eager to attempt another entry into the forest. They had fared so ill, heretofore, that they shrank from another encounter. There was neither glory nor booty to be obtained, and warfare such as this was altogether unsuited to their habits. Their discipline was useless, and they were so bewildered, by the tactics of their active foes, that there was a very strong feeling among them in favor of making terms. The council sat the whole day, and finally the pacific party prevailed. The deputation, consisting of the officer commanding the troops, of the ecclesiastic of highest rank in the town, and of one of the principal merchants, proceeded to the forest. When they were seen by the lookout to be approaching, Ned and Gerald, with the leading native and negro, proceeded to meet them. The details were soon arranged, upon the basis which had been suggested. The forest men were to enjoy their freedom, unmolested. They were to be allowed to cultivate land on the edge of the forest, and it was forbidden to any Spaniard to enter their limits, without previously applying for a pass. They, on their part, promised to abstain from all aggression, in any shape. The question of runaways was then discussed. This was by far the most difficult part of the negotiations. The Spaniards urged that they could not tolerate that an asylum should be offered, to all who chose to desert from the plantations. The boys saw the justice of this, and finally it was arranged that the case of every slave who made for the forest should be investigated; that the owners should, themselves, come to lay a formal complaint of their case; that the slave should reply; and each might produce witnesses. The negro was to be given up, unless he could prove that he had been treated with gross cruelty, in which case he was to be allowed protection in the forest. These preliminaries settled, a short document embodying them was drawn up, in duplicate, and these treaties were signed, by the three Spaniards who formed the deputation and by the governor on the one side, and by the four representatives of the forest men on the other. Thus ended the first successful resistance, to Spanish power, among the islands of the western seas. The governor and his son then left for the city, and the forest men retired to what was now their country. Ned and Gerald impressed upon their allies the importance of observing, strictly, the conditions of peace; and at the same time of continuing their exercises in arms, and maintaining their discipline. They pointed out to them that a treaty of this kind, extorted as it were from one, and that the strongest of the contracting powers, was certain not to have long duration. The Spaniards would smart at the humiliation which had, in their opinion, befallen them; and although the fugitive clause might for some time act favorably, it was sure, sooner or later, to be a bone of contention. They impressed upon them also that although they might, as had been shown, achieve successes for a time, yet that in the long run the power of the Spaniards must prevail, and that nothing short of extermination awaited them; therefore he urged the strictest adherence to the treaty, and at the same time a preparedness for the recommencement of hostilities. Some months passed without incident, and the relations between the little community in the mountains and the Spaniards became more pacific. The latter found that the natives, if left alone, did them no damage. Bad masters learned that a course of ill treatment of their slaves was certain to be followed by their flight, and upon the bad treatment being proved, these found shelter among the mountains. Upon the other hand, the owners who treated their slaves with kindness and forbearance found that, if these took to the mountains in a fit of restlessness, a shelter there was refused them. Upon the edge of the forest, patches of plantation ground made their appearance; and the treaty was, upon the whole, well observed on both sides. It was about a year after they had taken to the hills that news reached the boys that an English ship had come into those waters. It was brought them across at an island?? by some Simeroons who had been where the English ship anchored. They said that it was commanded by Master John Oxenford. The boys knew him, as he had been on board Captain Francis Drake's ship during the last expedition, and they determined to make an effort to join him. He had, however, left the island before the natives started with the news; and they made an arrangement with them, to convey them across to that place, when it should be learned that the vessel was returning, or was again there. It was not long before they were filled with grief at the news that reached them, although they felt not a little thankful that they had not been able to join Captain Oxenford, when he first reached the islands. This adventurous seaman had, after the return to England of Captain Francis Drake's expedition, waited for some time on shore; and then, fretting under forced inactivity--for Captain Drake had, for the time, abandoned any project which he had entertained of a return to the Spanish seas, and had engaged in a war in Ireland--determined to equip an expedition of his own, with the assistance of several of those who had sailed in the last voyage with him, and of some Devonshire gentlemen who thought that a large booty might be made out of the venture. He equipped a sloop of 140 tons burden, and sailed for Darien. When he arrived at this isthmus, he laid up his ship and marched inland, guided by Indians. After traveling twelve leagues among the mountains, he came to a small river running down into the Pacific. Here he and his comrades built a boat, launched it in the stream, and dropped down into the bay of Panama. Then he rowed to the Isle of Pearls, and there captured a small barque, from Quito, with sixty pounds of gold. This raised the spirits of the adventurers, and six days later they took another barque, with a hundred and sixty pounds of silver. They then set off in quest of pearls. They searched for a few days, but did not find them in proportion to their expectations. They therefore determined to return, and re-entered the mouth of the river they had descended. Here they loosed the prizes they had taken, and let them go. The delay at Pearl Island was a mistake, and a misfortune. Captain Oxenford should have known that the Spanish authorities of the mainland would, when they heard that a single boat's load of Englishmen was ravaging their commerce, make a great effort to capture him; and his attack should have been swift and determined, and his retreat made without a halt. The fortnight which had been allowed to slip away caused his ruin. The news of their presence speedily arrived at Panama. Captain Ortuga was dispatched with four barques in search of them and, falling in with the liberated prizes, learned the course that the English had taken. The river had three branches, and the Spaniard would have been much puzzled to know which to ascend; but the carelessness of the adventurers gave him a clue; for, as he lay with his boats, wondering which river he should ascend, he saw floating on the water large quantities of feathers. These were sufficient indications of a camp on the banks, and he at once followed that branch of the stream. In four days he came upon the boat, which was hauled upon the sand, with only six men with her. They were lying asleep on the bank, and the coming of the Spaniards took them completely by surprise, and one of them was killed before he could make his escape into the woods. The rest got off. The Spaniards left twenty men to guard the boat, and with eighty others went up the country. Half a league away they found some huts, and in these the treasures of gold and silver which the English had captured were discovered. Satisfied with having recovered these, Captain Ortuga was about to return to the river with his men; when Oxenford, with the English and two hundred Simeroons, attacked them. The Spaniards fought bravely, and the Simeroons would not stand against their fire. The English struggled desperately. Eleven of these were killed, and the Simeroons took to their heels. Oxenford and a few of his companions escaped, and made their way back towards the spot where they had left their ship. News of what was going on had, however, been sent across from Panama to Nombre de Dios, and four barques from that port had put out, and had found and taken Oxenford's ship. A band of a hundred and fifty men scoured the mountains, and into the hands of these Captain Oxenford and his companions fell. All of them were executed on the spot; except Oxenford, the master, the pilot, and five boys. These were taken to Panama, where the three men were executed, the lives of the five boys being spared. This news was a sore blow to the lads, who had hoped much to be able to reach the ship, and to return to England in her. The delay, however, was not long, for a few weeks afterwards came the news that another English ship was in those waters. A party of Simeroons offered to take Ned and Gerald thither in their boat, and they determined to avail themselves of the offer. Great was the lamentation, among the community in the forest, when the news that their leaders were about to leave became known. The simple Indians assembled around them, and wept, and used every entreaty and prayer, to change their resolution. However, the boys pointed out to them that they had already been absent near three years from home; and that, as the settlers were now able to defend themselves, and had earned the respect of the Spaniards, they would, if they continued their present course of avoiding giving any cause of complaint to the whites, no doubt be allowed to live in peace. They had, too, now learned the tactics that should be pursued, in case of difficulty; and by adhering to these, the boys assured them that they might rely upon tiring out the Spaniards. Some of the negroes were in favor of retaining the English leaders by force, but this was objected to by the majority. Many of the Indians possessed gold, which had been the property of their ancestors before the arrival of the Spaniards; and some of these treasures were now dug up, and the boys were presented with a great store of pretty ornaments, and other workmanship of the natives. Much rough gold was also placed on board their canoe, and a great portion of the dwellers of the hills marched down at night with them to the point of embarkation, a lonely creek far from the settlement of the Spaniards, to bid them farewell. The boys, themselves, were affected by the sorrow of their friends, and by the confidence which these had placed in them; and they promised that, should they return to those parts, they would assuredly pay a visit to them, again, in the hills. Before leaving, they had seen that two of the worthiest and wisest of the natives were chosen as leaders, and to these all the rest had sworn an oath, promising to obey their orders in all respects. They had constantly acted with the boys; and had, indeed, been their chief advisers in the matters internal to the tribe; and the lads had little doubt that, for some time at least, things would go well in the mountains. As to the ultimate power of the refugees to maintain their independence, this must, they felt, depend upon events beyond them. If the Spaniards were left at peace, and undisturbed by English adventurers or other troubles, there was little doubt, sooner or later, they would destroy the whole of the natives of this island, as they had destroyed them in almost every place where they had come in contact with them. However, the boys had the satisfaction of knowing that they had been the means of, at least, prolonging the existence of this band, and of putting off the evil day, perhaps for years to come. The Simeroons paddled out from the creek and, hoisting the sail, the boat merrily danced over the water; and the boys felt their spirits rise, at the hope of seeing their countrymen, and hearing their native tongue again, after eighteen months passed, absolutely separate from all civilized communion. After two days sailing and paddling, they reached the bay where the natives had reported the English ship to be lying; and here, to their great delight, they found the Maria, Captain Cliff, lying at anchor. Ned and Gerald, when they explained who they were, were received with great joy and amazement. The story of their loss had been told, in England; and the captain, who came from the neighborhood where Gerald's father dwelt, reported that the family had long mourned him as dead. He himself was bent, not upon a buccaneering voyage--although, no doubt, if a rich ship had fallen into his hands he would have made no scruple in taking it--but his object was to trade with the natives, and to gather a store of such goods as the islands furnished, in exchange for those of English make. He had, too, fetched slaves from the western coast of Africa, and had disposed of them to much advantage; and the ship was now about to proceed on her way home, each man's share, of the profits of the expedition, amounting to a sum which quite answered his expectations. It was two months later before the boys, to their great delight, again saw the hills behind Plymouth. None who had seen them embark in the Swanne would have recognized, in the stalwart young fellows who now stepped ashore on the hove, the lads who then set sail. Nearly three years had passed. The sun of the tropics had burnt their faces almost to a mahogany color Their habit of command, among the natives, had given them an air and bearing beyond their years; and though Ned was but eighteen, and Gerald a little older, they carried themselves like men of mature years. It had been, indeed, no slight burden that they had endured. The fighting which had formed the first epoch of their stay in the island, serious as it had been, had been less wearing to them than the constant care and anxiety of the subsequent quiet time. The arrival of each fugitive slave was a source of fresh danger, and it had often needed all their authority to prevent the younger, and wilder, spirits of their little community from indulging in raids upon the crops of the Spaniards. Once in Plymouth, the lads said goodbye to each other, promising to meet again in a few days. Each then proceeded to his home. Ned, indeed, found that he had a home no longer; for on reaching the village he found that his father had died, a few months after his departure; and a new pedagogue had taken his place, and occupied the little cottage. The shock was a great one, although hardly unexpected, for his father's health had not been strong; and the thought that he would not be alive, when he returned, had often saddened Ned's mind during his absence. He found, however, no lack of welcome in the village. There were many of his school friends still there, and these looked with astonishment and admiration on the bronzed, military-looking man, and could scarce believe that he was their playmate, the Otter. Here Ned tarried a few days, and then, according to his promise to Gerald, started for the part of the country where he lived, and received a most cordial welcome from the father and family of his friend. Chapter 10: Southward Ho! Upon making inquiries, Ned Hearne found that Captain Drake had, upon the return of his expedition, set aside the shares of the prize money of Gerald Summers, himself, and the men who were lost in the wreck of the prize, in hopes that they would some day return to claim them. Upon the evidence given by Gerald and himself of the death of the others, their shares were paid, by the bankers at Plymouth who had charge of them, to their families; while Ned and Gerald received their portions. Owing to the great mortality which had taken place among the crews, each of the lads received a sum of nearly a thousand pounds, the total capture amounting to a value of over a million of money. As boys, they each received the half of a man's share. The officers, of course, had received larger shares; and the merchants who had lent money to get up the expedition gained large profits. Ned thought, at first, of embarking his money in the purchase of a share in a trading vessel, and of taking to that service; but, hearing that Captain Drake intended to fit out another expedition, he decided to wait for that event, and to make one more voyage to the Spanish main, before determining on his future course. Having, therefore, his time on his hands, he accepted the invitation of the parents of his three boy friends, Tom Tressilis, Gerald Summers, and Reuben Gail. He was most warmly welcomed, for both Tom and Gerald declared that they owed their lives to him. He spent several weeks at each of their homes, and then returned to Plymouth, where he put himself into the hands of a retired master mariner, to learn navigation and other matters connected with his profession, and occupied his spare time in studying the usual branches of a gentleman's education. It was some months before Captain Francis returned from Ireland, but when he did so, he at once began his preparations for his next voyage. The expedition was to be on a larger scale than that in which he had formerly embarked, for he had formed the resolve to sail round Cape Horn, to coast along north to the Spanish settlements upon the great ocean he had seen from the tree top in the Isthmus of Darien; and then, if all went well, to sail still further north, double the northern coasts of America, and to find some short way by which English ships might reach the Pacific. These projects were, however, known to but few, as it was considered of the utmost importance to prevent them from being noised abroad, lest they might come to the ears of the Spaniards, and so put them upon their guard. In spite of the great losses of men upon the former expedition, the number of volunteers who came forward, directly Captain Drake's intention to sail again to the Indies was known, was greatly in excess of the requirements. All, however, who had sailed upon the last voyage, and were willing again to venture, were enrolled, and Captain Drake expressed a lively pleasure at meeting Ned Hearne and Gerald Summers, whom he had given up as lost. The expenses of the expedition were defrayed partly from the funds of Captain Drake and his officers, partly by moneys subscribed by merchants and others who took shares in the speculation. These were termed adventurers. Ned embarked five hundred pounds of his prize money in the venture, as did each of his three friends. He was now nineteen, and a broad, strongly-built young fellow. His friends were all somewhat older, and all four were entered by Captain Francis as men, and ranked as "gentlemen adventurers," and would therefore receive their full share of prize money. On the 12th of November, 1577, the fleet sailed out of Plymouth Sound amid the salutes of the guns of the fort there. It consisted of five ships: the Pelican, of 100 tons, the flagship, commanded by Captain General Francis Drake; the Elizabeth, 80 tons, Captain John Winter; the Marigold, a barque of 30 tons, Captain John Thomas; the Swan, a flyboat of 50 tons, Captain John Chester; and the Christopher, a pinnace of 15 tons, Captain Thomas Moore. The voyage began unfortunately, for, meeting a headwind, they were forced to put into Falmouth, where a tempest ill-treated them sorely. Some of the ships had to cut away their masts, and the whole were obliged to put back into Plymouth, to refit, entering the harbor in a very different state to that in which they had left it, a fortnight before. Every exertion was made and, after a few days' delay, the fleet again set sail. They carried an abundance of stores, of all kinds, together with large quantities of fancy articles, as presents for the savage people whom they might meet in their voyaging. The second start was more prosperous than the first and, after touching at various points on the west coast of Africa, they shaped their way to the mouth of the La Plata, sailing through the Cape de Verde Islands, where their appearance caused no slight consternation among the Portuguese. However, as they had more important objects in view, they did not stop to molest any of the principal towns, only landing at quiet bays to procure a fresh supply of water, and to obtain fruit and vegetables, which in those days, when ships only carried salt provisions, were absolutely necessary to preserve the crews in health. All were charmed with the beauty and fertility of these islands, which were veritable gardens of tropical fruits, and they left these seas with regret. The fleet reached the La Plata in safety, but made no long stay there; for the extreme shallowness of the water, and the frequency and abundance of the shoals in the river, made the admiral fear for the safety of his ships; and accordingly, after a few days' rest, the anchors were weighed and the fleet proceeded down the coast. For some time they sailed without adventure, save that once or twice, in the storms they encountered, one or other of the ships were separated from the rest. After several weeks' sailing, they put into the Bay of Saint Julian, on the coast of Patagonia. Here the crews landed to obtain water. Soon the natives came down to meet them. These were tall, active men, but yet far from being the giants which the Spaniards had represented them, few of them being taller than a tall Englishman. They were dressed in the scantiest clothing--the men wearing a short apron made of skin, with another skin as a mantle over one shoulder; the women wearing a kind of petticoat, made of soft skin. The men carried bows and arrows and spears, and were painted strangely--one half the head and body being painted white, the other black. Their demeanor was perfectly friendly, and Captain Drake, fearing no harm, walked some distance inland, and many of those not engaged in getting water into the boats also strolled away from the shore. Among those who rambled farthest were Ned and Tom Tressilis, together with another gentleman adventurer, named Arbuckle. When they left Captain Francis, the armorer, who had brought a bow on shore with him, was showing the natives how much farther our English bow could carry than the native weapon. Wondering what the country was like beyond the hills, the little party ascended the slope. Just as they reached the top, they heard a shout. Looking back, they saw that all was confusion. The string of the armorer's bow had snapped, and the natives, knowing nothing of guns, believed that the party were now unarmed. As the armorer was restringing his bow, one of the natives shot an arrow at him, and he fell, mortally wounded. One standing near now raised his arquebus; but before he could fire, he too was pierced by two arrows, and fell dead. The admiral himself caught up the arquebus, and shot the man who had first fired. The little party on the hill had been struck with amazement and consternation at the sudden outburst, and were recalled to a sense of their danger by the whiz of an arrow, which struck Master Arbuckle in the heart; and at the same moment a dozen of the savages made their appearance, from among the trees below them. Seeing the deadliness of their aim, and that he and Tom would be shot down at once, before they could get to close quarters, Ned turned to fly. "Quick, Tom, for your life!" Fortunately, they stood on the very top of the ascent, so that a single bound backwards took them out of sight and range of their enemies. There was a wood a few hundred yards inland, apparently of great extent, and towards this the lads ran at the top of their speed. The savages had to climb the hill and, when they reached its crest, the fugitives were out of bow-shot range. A yell broke from them as they saw the lads, but these had made the best use of their time, and reached the wood some two hundred yards ahead of their pursuers. Ned dashed into the undergrowth and tore his way through it, Tom close at his heels. Sometimes they came to open spaces, and here each time Ned changed the direction of their flight, choosing spots where they could take to the underwood without showing any sign, such as broken boughs, of their entrance. After an hour's running the yells and shouts, which had at first seemed close behind, gradually lessened, and were now but faintly heard. Then, utterly exhausted, the lads threw themselves on the ground. In a few minutes, however, Ned rose again. "Come, Tom," he said, "we must keep on. These fellows will trace us with the sagacity of dogs; but, clever as they may be, it takes time to follow a track. We must keep on now. When it gets dark, which will be in another hour or so, they will be able to follow us no longer, and then we can take it easily." "Do as you think best, Ned. You are accustomed to this kind of thing." Without another word they started off at a run again, keeping as nearly as they could a straight course; for Ned's experience in forest life enabled him to do this, when one unused to woodcraft would have lost all idea of direction. The fact, however, that the mosses grew on the side of the trees looking east, was guide enough for him; for he knew that the warm breezes from the sea would attract them, while the colder inland winds would have an opposite effect. Just as it was getting dark they emerged from the wood, and could see, stretching far before them, an undulating and almost treeless country. "Fortunately there has been no rain for some time, and the ground is as hard as iron," Ned said. "On the damp soil under the trees they will track our steps, but we shall leave no marks here; and in the morning, when they trace us to this spot, they will be at fault." So saying, he struck off across the country. For some hours they walked, the moon being high and enabling them to make their way without difficulty. At last they came upon a clump of bushes, and here Ned proposed a halt. Tom was perfectly ready, for they had now walked and run for many hours, and both were thoroughly fatigued; for after so long a voyage, in a small ship, they were out of condition for a long journey on foot. "The first thing to do is to light a fire," Ned said; "for it is bitterly cold." "But how do you mean to light it?" "I have flint and steel in my pouch," Ned said, "and a flask of powder, for priming my pistols, in my sash here. It is a pity, indeed, we did not put our pistols into our belts when we came ashore. But even if I had not had the flint and steel, I could have made a fire by rubbing two dead sticks together. You forget, I have lived among savages for a year." "You don't think that it is dangerous to light a fire?" "Not in the least. It was dark when we left the wood, and they must have halted on our track, far back among the trees, to follow it up by daylight. Besides, we have walked five hours since then, and must be twenty miles away, and we have crossed five or six hills. Find a few dead sticks and I will pull a handful or two of dried grass. We will soon have a fire." Ned made a little pile of dried grass, scooped out a slight depression at the top, and placed a dead leaf in it. On this he poured a few grains of powder, added a few blades of dried grass, and then set to work with his flint and steel. After a blow or two, a spark fell into the powder. It blazed up, igniting the blades of grass and the leaf, and in a minute the little pile was in a blaze. Dried twigs, and then larger sticks were added, and soon a bright fire burned up. "Throw on some of the green bush," Ned said. "We do not want a blaze, for although we have thrown out the fellows in pursuit of us, there may be others about." "And now, Ned," Tom said, after sitting for some time gazing into the red fire, "what on earth are we to do next?" "That is a question more easily asked than answered," Ned said, cheerfully. "We have saved our skins for the present, now we have got to think out what is the best course to pursue." "I don't see any way to get back to the ship," Tom said, after a long pause. "Do you?" "No," Ned replied. "I don't, Tom. These savages know that they have cut us off, and will be on the watch, you may be sure. They shoot so straight, with those little bows and arrows of theirs, that we should be killed without the least chance of ever getting to close quarters. Besides, the admiral will doubtless believe that we have been slain, and will sail away. We may be sure that he beat off the fellows who were attacking him, but they will all take to the woods, and he would never be able to get any distance among the trees. Besides, he would give up all hope of finding us there. As to our getting back through the wood, swarming with savages, it seems to me hopeless." "Then whatever is to become of us?" Tom asked, hopelessly. "Well, the lookout is not bright," Ned said thoughtfully, "but there is a chance for us. We may keep ourselves by killing wild animals, and by pushing inland we may come upon some people less treacherous and bloody than those savages by the seashore. If so, we might hunt and live with them." Tom groaned. "I am not sure that I would not rather be killed at once, than go on living like a savage." "The life is not such a bad one," Ned said. "I tried it once, and although the negroes and Indians of Porto Rico were certainly a very different people to these savages, still the life led on these great plains and hills, abounding with game, is more lively than being cooped up in a wood, as I was then. Besides, I don't mean that we should be here always. I propose that we try and cross the continent. It is not so very wide here, and we are nearly in a line with Lima. The admiral means to go on there, and expects a rich booty. He may be months before he gets round the Horn, and if we could manage to be there when he arrives, we should be rescued. If not, and I own that I have not much hope of it, we could at least go down to Lima some time or other. I can talk Spanish now very fairly, and we shall have such a lot of adventures to tell that, even if they do not take us for Spanish sailors, as we can try to feign, they will not be likely to put us to death. They would do so if we were taken in arms as buccaneers; but, coming in peaceably, we might be kindly treated. At any rate, if we get on well with the Indians we shall have the choice of making, some day or other, for the Spanish settlements on the west coast; but that is all in the distance. The first thing will be to get our living, somehow; the second to get further inland; the third to make friends with the first band of natives we meet. And now, the best thing to do is to go off to sleep. I shall not be many minutes, I can tell you." Strange as was the situation, and many the perils that threatened them, both were in a few minutes fast asleep. The sun was rising above the hills when, with a start, they awoke and at once sprang to their feet, and instinctively looked round in search of approaching danger. All was, however, quiet. Some herds of deer grazed in the distance, but no other living creature was visible. Then they turned their eyes upon each other, and burst into a simultaneous shout of laughter. Their clothes were torn literally into rags, by the bushes through which they had forced their way; while their faces were scratched, and stained with blood, from the same cause. "The first thing to be done," Ned said, when the laugh was over, "is to look for a couple of long springy saplings, and to make bows and arrows. Of course they will not carry far, but we might knock down any small game we come across." Both lads were good shots with a bow, for in those days, although firearms were coming in, all Englishmen were still trained in the use of the bow. "But what about strings?" Tom asked. "I will cut four thin strips from my belt," Ned said. "Each pair, tied together, will make a string for a five-foot bow, and will be fully strong enough for any weapon we shall be able to make." After an hour's walk, they came to a small grove of trees growing in a hollow. These were of several species and, trying the branches, they found one kind which was at once strong and flexible. With their hangers, or short swords, they cut down a small sapling of some four inches in diameter, split it up, pared each half down, and manufactured two bows; which were rough, indeed, but sufficiently strong to send an arrow a considerable distance. They then made each a dozen shafts, pointed and notched them. Without feathers, or metal points, these could not fly straight to any distance; but they had no thought of long-range shooting. "Now," Ned said, "we will go back to that bare space of rock we passed, a hundred yards back. There were dozens of little lizards running about there, it will be hard if we cannot knock some over." "Are they good to eat?" Tom asked. "I have no doubt they are," Ned said. "As a rule, everything is more or less good to eat. Some things may be nicer than others, but hardly anything is poisonous. I have eaten snakes, over and over again, and very good they are. I have been keeping a lookout for them, ever since we started this morning." When they reached the rock, the lizards all darted off to their cracks and crevices; but Ned and Tom lay down, with their bows bent and arrows in place, and waited quietly. Ere long the lizards popped up their heads again, and began to move about, and the lads now let fly their arrows. Sometimes they hit, sometimes missed, and each shot was followed by the disappearance of the lizards; but with patience they found, by the end of an hour, that they had shot a dozen, which was sufficient for an ample meal for them. "How will you cook them, Ned?" "Skin them as if they were eels, and then roast them on a stick." "I am more thirsty than hungry," Tom said. "Yes, and from the look of the country, water must be scarce. However, as long as we can shoot lizards and birds, we can drink their blood." The fire was soon lighted, and the lizards cooked. They tasted like little birds, their flesh being tender and sweet. "Now we had better be proceeding," Ned said, when they had finished their meal. "We have an unknown country to explore and, if we ever get across, we shall have materials for yarns for the rest of our lives." "Well, Ned, I must say you are a capital fellow to get into a scrape with. You got Gerald and me out of one, and if anyone could get through this, I am sure you could do so. Gerald told me that he always relied upon you, and found you always right. You may be sure that I will do the same. So I appoint you captain general of this expedition, and promise to obey all orders, unquestioningly." "Well, my first order is," Ned said, laughing, "that we each make a good pike. The wood we made our bows from will do capitally, and we can harden the points in the fire. We may meet some wild beasts, and a good, strong six-foot pike would be better than our swords." Two hours' work completed the new weapons, and with their bows slung at their backs, and using their pikes as walking staves, they again set out on their journey across the continent. Chapter 11: The Marvel of Fire. "What are those--natives?" exclaimed Tom suddenly. Ned looked steadily at them for some time. "No, I think they are great birds. The ostrich abounds in these plains; no doubt they are ostriches." "I suppose it is of no use our chasing them?" "Not a bit. They can run faster than a horse can gallop." During the day's walk, they saw vast numbers of deer of various kinds; but as they were sure that these would not allow them to approach, they did not alter their course, which was, as nearly as they could calculate by the sun, due west. The sun was warm during the day, but all the higher hilltops were covered with snow. "If the worst comes to the worst," Ned said, "we must go up and get some snow. We can make a big ball of it, and bring it down with us in one of our sashes. But I should think there must be some stream, somewhere about. The snow must melt; besides, these great herds of deer must drink somewhere." Late in the afternoon they came on the crest of a ridge. "There," Ned said, pointing to a valley in which were a number of trees. "We shall find water there, or I am mistaken." An hour's tramp brought them to the valley. Through this a stream ran between steep banks. They followed it for half a mile, and then came to a spot where the banks sloped away. Here the ground was trampled with many feet, and the edge of the stream was trodden into mud. "Hurrah, Tom! Here is meat, and drink, too. It is hard if we do not kill something or other here. Look at that clump of bushes, where the bank rises. If we hide there, the deer will almost touch us as they pass to water; and we are sure to be able to shoot them, even with these bows and arrows. "But first of all, for a drink. Then we will cross the stream, and make a camping ground under the trees opposite." The stream was but waist deep, but very cold, for it was composed of snow water. "Shall we light a fire, Ned? It might frighten the deer." "No, I think it will attract them," Ned said. "They are most inquisitive creatures, and are always attracted by anything strange." A fire was soon lighted and, after it got quite dark, they piled up dry wood upon it, recrossed the river, and took their places in the bushes. An hour passed, and then they heard a deep sound. In a minute or two the leading ranks of a great herd of deer appeared on the rise, and stood looking wonderingly at the fire. For some little time they halted; and then, pushed forward by those behind, and urged by their own curiosity, they advanced step by step, with their eyes fixed on the strange sight. So crowded were they that as they advanced they seemed a compact mass, those outside coming along close to the bushes in which the boys lay. Silently these raised their bows, bent them to the full strain, and each launched an arrow. The deer were not five feet from them, and two stags fell, pierced through and through. They leaped to their feet again, but the boys had dashed out with their swords in hand, and in an instant had cut them down. There was a wild rush on the part of the herd, a sound of feet almost like thunder, and then the boys stood alone, by the side of the two deer they had killed. They were small, the two together not weighing more than a good-sized sheep. The boys lifted them on their shoulders, rejoicing, and waded across the stream. One they hung up to the branch of a tree. The other they skinned and cut up, and were soon busy roasting pieces of its flesh over the fire. They had just finished an abundant meal when they heard a roar at a short distance, which brought them to their feet in a moment. Ned seized his pike, and faced the direction from which the sound had come. "Throw on fresh sticks, Tom. All animals fear fire." A bright blaze soon lit up the wood. "Now, Tom, do you climb the tree. I will give you the pieces of meat up, and then do you lift the other stag to a higher branch. I don't suppose the brute can climb, but he may be able to do so. At any rate, we will sleep in the tree, and keep watch and ward." As soon as Tom had followed these instructions, Ned handed him up the bows and arrows and spears, and then clambered up beside him. As the fire again burned low, an animal was seen to approach, cautiously. "A lion!" whispered Tom. "I don't think that he is as big as a lion," Ned said, "but he certainly looks like one. A female, I suppose, as it has got no mane." Of course the lads did not know, nor indeed did anyone else, at that time, that the lion is not a native of America. The animal before them was what is now called the South American lion, or puma. The creature walked round and round the fire, snuffing; and then, with an angry roar, raised itself on its hind legs and scratched at the trunk of the tree. Several times it repeated this performance; and then, with another roar, walked away into the darkness. "Thank goodness it can't climb!" Ned said. "I expect, with our spears and swords, we could have beaten it back if it had tried; still, it is just as well not to have had to do it. Besides, now we can both go to sleep. Let us get well up the tree, so that if anything that can climb should come, it will fall to at the deer to begin with. That will be certain to wake us." They soon made themselves as comfortable as they could in crutches of the tree, tied themselves with their sashes to a bough to prevent a fall, and were soon asleep. The next day they rested in the wood, made fresh bowstrings from the twisted gut of the deer, cut the skins up into long strips, thereby obtaining a hundred feet of strong cord, which Ned thought might be useful for snares. Here, too, they shot several birds, which they roasted, and from whose feathers, tied on with a thread-like fiber, they further improved their arrows. They collected a good many pieces of fiber for further use; for, as Tom said, when they got on to rock again they would be sure to find some splinters of stone, which they could fasten to the arrows for points; and would be then able to do good execution, even at a distance. They cut a number of strips of flesh off the deer, and hung them in the smoke of the fire; by which means they calculated that they could keep for some days, and could be eaten without being cooked; which might be an advantage, as they feared that the odor of cooking might attract the attention of wandering Indians. The following morning they again started, keeping their backs, as before, to the sun. "Look at these creatures," Tom said suddenly, as a herd of animals dashed by at a short distance. "They do not look like deer." "No, they look more like sheep or goats, but they have much longer legs. I wonder what they can be!" During the day's journey they came across no water, and by the end of the tramp were much exhausted. "We will not make a fire tonight," Ned said. "We must be careful of our powder. I don't want to be driven to use sticks for getting fire. It is a long and tedious business. We will be up at daybreak tomorrow, and will push on till we find water. We will content ourselves, for tonight, with a bit of this smoked venison." They found it dry work, eating this without water; and soon desisted, gathered some grass to make a bed, and were asleep a short time after it became dark. They were now in an open district, not having seen a tree since they started in the morning, and they had therefore less fear of being disturbed by wild beasts. They had, indeed, talked of keeping watch by turns; but without a fire, they felt that this would be dull work; and would moreover be of little avail, as in the darkness the stealthy tread of a lion would not be heard, and they would therefore be attacked as suddenly as if no watch had been kept. If he should announce his coming by a roar, both would be sure to awake, quickly enough. So, lying down close together, with their spears at hand, they were soon asleep, with the happy carelessness of danger peculiar to youth. With the first streak of daybreak, they were up and on their way. Until midday they came upon no water, their only excitement being the killing of an armadillo. Then they saw a few bushes in a hollow and, making towards it, found a small pool of water. After a hearty drink, leaves and sticks were collected, a fire made, and slices of the smoked deer's meat were soon broiling over it. "This is jolly," Tom said. "I should not mind how long I tramped, if we could always find water." "And have venison to eat with it," Ned added, laughing. "We have got a stock to last a week, that is a comfort, and this armadillo will do for supper and breakfast. But I don't think we need fear starvation, for these plains swarm with animals; and it is hard if we can't manage to kill one occasionally, somehow or other." "How far do you think it is across to the other coast?" "I have not an idea," Ned said. "I don't suppose any Englishman knows, although the Spaniards can of course tell pretty closely. We know that, after rounding Cape Horn, they sail up the coast northwest, or in that direction, so that we have got the base of a triangle to cross; but beyond that, I have no idea whatever. "Hallo!" Simultaneously, the two lads caught up their spears and leaped to their feet. Well might they be alarmed, for close by were a party of some twenty Indians who had, quietly and unperceived, come down upon them. They were standing immovable, and their attitude did not betoken hostility. Their eyes were fixed upon them, but their expression betrayed wonder, rather than enmity. "Lay down your spear again, Tom," Ned said. "Let us receive them as friends." Dropping their spears, the lads advanced a pace or two, holding out their hands in token of amity. Then slowly, step by step, the Indians advanced. "They look almost frightened," Ned said. "What can they be staring so fixedly at?" "It is the fire!" Ned exclaimed. "It is the fire! I do believe they have never seen a fire before." It was so, as Sir Francis Drake afterwards discovered when landing on the coast. The Patagonian Indians, at that time, were wholly unacquainted with fire. When the Indians came down, they looked from the fire to the boys, and perceived for the first time that they were creatures of another color from themselves. Then, simultaneously, they threw themselves on their faces. "They believe that we are gods, or superior beings of some kind," Ned said. "They have clearly never heard of the Spaniards. What good fortune for us! Now, let us reassure them." So saying, he stooped over the prostrate Indians, patted them on the head and shoulders; and, after some trouble, he succeeded in getting them to rise. Then he motioned them to sit down round the fire, put on some more meat and, when this was cooked, offered a piece to each, Tom and himself setting the example of eating it. The astonishment of the natives was great. Many of them, with a cry, dropped the meat on finding it hot; and an excited talk went on between them. Presently, however, the man who appeared to be the chief set the example of carefully tasting a piece. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction, and soon all were engaged upon the food. When they had finished, Ned threw some more sticks on the fire, and as these burst into flames and then consumed away, the amazement of the natives was intense. Ned then made signs to them to pull up some bushes, and cast on the fire. They all set to work with energy, and soon a huge pile was raised on the fire. At first great volumes of white smoke only poured up, then the leaves crackled, and presently a tongue of flame shot up, rising higher and higher, till a great bonfire blazed away, far above their heads. This completed the wonder and awe of the natives, who again prostrated themselves, with every symptom of worship, before the boys. These again raised them, and by signs intimated their intention of accompanying them. With lively demonstrations of gladness and welcome, the Indians turned to go, pointing to the west as the place where their abode lay. "We may as well leave our bows and arrows," Ned said. "Their bows are so immensely superior to ours that it will make us sink in their estimation, if they see that our workmanship is so inferior to their own." The Indians, who were all very tall, splendidly made men, stepped out so rapidly that the lads had the greatest difficulty in keeping up with them, and were sometimes obliged to break into a half trot; seeing which the chief said a word to his followers, and they then proceeded at a more reasonable rate. It was late in the evening before they reached the village, which lay in a wooded hollow at the foot of some lofty hills. The natives gave a loud cry, which at once brought out the entire population, who ran up and gazed, astonished at the newcomers. The chief said a few words, when, with every mark of awe and surprise, all prostrated themselves as the men had before done. The village was composed of huts, made of sticks closely intertwined, and covered with the skins of animals. The chief led them to a large one, evidently his own, and invited them to enter. They found that it was also lined with skins, and others were laid upon the floor. A pile of skin served as a mat and bed. The chief made signs that he placed this at their disposal, and soon left them to themselves. In a short time he again drew aside the skin which hung across the entrance, and a squaw advanced, evidently in deep terror, bearing some raw meat. Ned received it graciously, and then said to Tom: "Now we will light a fire, and astonish them again." So saying, the boys went outside, picked up a dry stick or two, and motioned to the Indians who were gathered round that they needed more. The whole population at once scattered through the grove, and soon a huge pile of dead wood was collected. The boys now made a little heap of dried leaves, placed a few grains of powder in a hollow at the top and, the flint and steel being put into requisition, the flame soon leaped up, amid a cry of astonishment and awe from the women and children. Wood was now laid on, and soon a great fire was blazing. The men gathered round and sat down, and the women and children gradually approached, and took their places behind them. The evening was cold and, as the natives felt the grateful heat, fresh exclamations of pleasure broke from them; and gradually a complete babel of tongues broke out. Then the noise was hushed, and a silence of expectation and attention reigned, as the lads cut off slices of the meat and, spitting them on pieces of green wood, held them over the fire. Tom made signs to the chief and those sitting round to fetch meat, and follow their example. Some of the Indian women brought meat, and the men, with sharp stone knives, cut off pieces and stuck them on green sticks, as they had seen the boys do. Then very cautiously they approached the fire, shrinking back and exhibiting signs of alarm at the fierce heat it threw out, as they approached near to it. The boys, however, reassured them, and they presently set to work. When the meat was roasted, it was cut up and distributed in little bits to the crowd behind, all of whom were eager to taste this wonderful preparation. It was evident, by the exclamations of satisfaction, that the new viand was an immense success; and fresh supplies of meat were soon over the fire. An incident now occurred which threatened to mar the harmony of the proceedings. A stick breaking, some of the red-hot embers scattered round. One rolled close to Ned's leg, and the lad, with a quick snatch, caught it up and threw it back upon the fire. Seeing this, a native near grasped a glowing fragment which had fallen near him, but dropped it with a shriek of astonishment and pain. All leaped to their feet, as the man danced in his agony. Some ran away in terror, others instinctively made for their weapons, all gesticulated and yelled. Ned at once went to the man and patted him assuringly. Then he got him to open his hand, which was really severely burned. Then he got a piece of soft fat and rubbed it gently upon the sore, and then made signs that he wanted something to bandage it with. A woman brought some large fresh leaves, which were evidently good for hurts; and another a soft thong of deer hide. The hand was soon bandaged up and, although the man must still have been in severe pain, he again took his seat, this time at a certain distance from the fire. This incident greatly increased the awe with which the boys were viewed, as not only had they the power of producing this new and astonishing element, but they could, unhurt, take up pieces of wood turned red by it, which inflicted terrible agony on others. Before leaving the fire and retiring to their tent, the boys made signs to the chief that it was necessary that someone should be appointed to throw on fresh wood, from time to time, to keep the fire alight. This was hardly needed, as the whole population were far too excited to think of retiring to bed. After the lads had left they gathered round the fire, and each took delight in throwing on pieces of wood, and in watching them consume; and several times, when they woke during the night, the boys saw, by the bright light streaming in through the slits in the deerskin, that the bonfire was never allowed to wane. In the morning fresh meat was brought to the boys, together with raw yams and other vegetables. There were now other marvels to be shown. Ned had learned, when with the negroes, how to cook in calabashes; and he now got a gourd from the natives, cut it in half, scooped its contents out, and then filled it with water. From the stream he then got a number of stones, and put them into the fire until they became intensely hot. Then with two sticks he raked them out, and dropped them into the water. The natives yelled with astonishment as they saw the water fizz and bubble, as the stones were thrown in. More were added until the water boiled. Then the yams, cut into pieces, were dropped in, more hot stones added to keep the water boiling, and when cooked, the yams were taken out. When sufficiently cooled, the boys distributed the pieces among the chiefs, and again the signs of satisfaction showed that cooked vegetables were appreciated. Other yams were then cut up, and laid among the hot embers to bake. After this the boys took a few half-burned sticks, carried them to another spot, added fresh fuel, and made another fire; and then signed to the natives to do the same. In a short time a dozen fires were blazing, and the whole population were engaged in grilling venison, and in boiling and baking yams. The boys were both good trenchermen, but they were astounded at the quantity of food which the Patagonians disposed of. By night time the entire stock of meat in the village was exhausted, and the chief motioned to the boys that, in the morning, he should go out with a party to lay in a great stock of venison. To this they made signs that they would accompany the expedition. While the feasting had been going on, the lads had wandered away with two of the Indian bows and arrows. The bows were much shorter than those to which they were accustomed, and required far less strength to pull. The wood of which the bows were formed was tough and good, and as the boys had both the handiness of sailors and, like all lads of that period, had some knowledge of bow making, they returned to the camp, and obtained two more of the strongest bows in the possession of the natives. They then set to work with their knives and, each taking two bows, cut them up, fitted, and spliced them together. The originals were but four feet long, the new ones six. The halves of one bow formed the two ends, the middle being made of the other bow, doubled. The pieces were spliced together with deer sinews; and when, after some hours' work, they were completed, the boys found that they were as strong and tough as the best of their home-made bows, and required all their strength to draw them to the ear. The arrows were now too short, but upon making signs to the natives that they wanted wood for arrows, a stock of dried wood, carefully prepared, was at once given them, and of these they made some arrows of the regulation cloth-yard length. The feathers, fastened on with the sinews of some small animals, were stripped from the Indian arrows and fastened on, as were the sharp-pointed stones which formed their heads; and on making a trial, the lads found that they could shoot as far and as straight as with their own familiar weapons. "We can reckon on killing a stag, if he will stand still, at a hundred and fifty yards," Ned said, "or running, at a hundred. Don't you think so?" "Well, six times out of seven we ought to, at any rate," Tom replied; "or our Devonshire archership has deserted us." When they heard, therefore, that there was to be a hunt upon the following day, they felt that they had another surprise for the natives, whose short bows and arrows were of little use at a greater distance than fifty yards, although up to that distance deadly weapons in their hands. Chapter 12: Across a Continent. The work upon which the boys were engaged passed unnoticed by the Indians, who were too much absorbed by the enjoyment of the new discovery to pay any attention to other matters. The bows and arrows had been given to them, as anything else in camp for which they had a fancy would have been given; but beyond that, none had observed what was being done. There were, then, many exclamations of astonishment among them, when Ned and Tom issued from their hut in the morning to join the hunting party, carrying their new weapons. The bows were, of course, unstrung; and Ned handed his to the chief, who viewed it with great curiosity. It was passed from hand to hand, and then returned to the chief. One or two of the Indians said something, and the chief tried its strength. He shook his head. Ned signed to him to string it, but the chief tried in vain, as did several of the strongest of the Indians. Indeed, no man, however powerful, could string an old English bow, unless trained to its use. When the Indians had given up the attempt as hopeless, the two lads strung their bows without the slightest difficulty, to the intense surprise of the natives. These again took the bows, but failed to bend them even to the length of their own little arrows. The lads then took out their newly-made shafts, and took aim at a young tree, of a foot diameter, standing at about two hundred yards distance; and both sent their arrows quivering into the trunk. The Indians gave a perfect yell of astonishment. "It is not much of a mark," Tom said; "Hugh Willoughby, of our village, could hit a white glove at that distance every time; and the fingers of a glove five times out of six. It is the length of the shots, not the accuracy, which astounds these fellows. However, it is good enough to keep up our superiority." The party now started on their hunt. There was but little difficulty in finding game, for numerous herds could be seen grazing. The task was to get within shot. The boys watched anxiously, to see the course which the Indians would adopt. First ascertaining which way the wind was blowing, the chief, with ten others, accompanied by the boys, set off to make a circuit, so as to approach one of the herds upwind. When they had reached the point desired, all went down upon their bellies and crawled like snakes, until they reached a clump of low bushes, a quarter of a mile from the herd. Then they lay quiet, waiting for their comrades, whose turn it now was to act. These, also making a circuit, but in the opposite direction, placed themselves half a mile to windward of the deer, in a long line. Then they advanced toward the herd, making no effort to conceal themselves. Scarcely had they risen to their feet than the herd winded them. For a minute or two they stood motionless, watching the distant figures; and then, turning, bounded away. The chief uttered an exclamation of disgust, for it was evident at once that, from the direction that they were taking, the herd would not pass, as he hoped, close by the bushes. The lads, however, were well satisfied; for the line would take them within a hundred and fifty yards. As, in a closely-packed body, they came along, Ned and Tom rose suddenly to their feet, drew their bows to their ears, and launched their arrows. Each had, according to the custom of English archers, stuck two arrows into the ground by the spot where they would stand up; and these they also discharged, before the herd was out of shot. With fair shooting it was impossible to miss so large a mark, and five of the little deer rolled over, pierced through by the arrows; while another, hit in a less vital spot, carried off the weapon. The Indians raised a cry of joy and surprise, at shooting which to them appeared marvellous, indeed; and when the others came up showed them, with marks of astonishment, the distance at which the animals had fallen from the bush from which the arrows had been aimed. Two more beats were made. These were more successful, the herds passing close to the places of concealment, and upon each occasion ten stags fell. This was considered sufficient. The animals were not all of one kind. One herd was composed of deer far larger than, and as heavy as good-sized sheep; while the others were considerably smaller, and the party had as much as their united efforts--except those of Ned and Tom, whose offer to assist was peremptorily declined--could drag back to the village, where the feasting was at once renewed. The lads, when the natives had skinned the deer, took some of the smaller and finer skins, intending to dry them; but the natives, seeing their intention, brought them a number of the same kind, which were already well cured and beautifully supple. Fashioning needles from small pieces of bone, with sinews for thread, and using their own tattered clothes as patterns, the two lads set to work; and by the following evening had manufactured doublets and trunks of deerskin, which were a vast improvement upon their late ragged apparel; and had, at a short distance, the appearance of being made of a bright brownish-yellow cloth. By this time the Indians had become quite accustomed to them. The men, and sometimes even the women, came to the hut and sat down and tried to talk with them. The boys did their best to learn, asking the name of every article, and repeating it until they had thoroughly learned it, the Indians applauding like children when they attained the right pronunciation. The next morning they saw a young Indian starting alone, with his bow and arrow. Anxious to see how he was going to proceed, by himself, the boys asked if they might accompany him. He assented, and together they started off. After an hour's walking, they arrived at an eminence from which an extensive view could be obtained. Here their companion motioned to them to lie down and watch his proceedings. They did so, and saw him make a wide circuit, and work up towards the herd of deer. "They will be off long before he can get within bow shot," Tom said. "Look, they are getting fidgety already. They scent danger, and he is four hundred yards away. They will be off in a minute. "Look, what on earth is he doing?" The Indian was lying on his back, his body being almost concealed by the grass, which was a foot high. In the air he waved his legs to and fro, twisting and twining them. The boys could not help laughing at the curious appearance of the two black objects waving slowly about. The herd of deer stood staring stupidly at the spectacle. Then, as if moved by a common impulse of curiosity, they began slowly to approach, in order to investigate more closely this singular phenomenon. Frequently they stopped, but only to continue their advance, which was made with a sort of circling movement, as if to see the object from all sides. Nearer and nearer they approached, until the leaders were not more than fifty yards away; when the native leaped to his feet, and discharged his arrows with such rapidity, and accuracy, that two of the animals fell before they could dart away out of range. The lads soon joined the native, and expressed their approval of his skill. Then, while he threw one carcass over his shoulder, they divided the weight of the other between them, and so accompanied him into camp. The next day Ned and Tom, walking to an eminence near the camp, saw in the distance some ostriches feeding. Returning to the huts, they found the young hunter whom they had accompanied on the preceding day, and beckoned to him to accompany them. When they reached the spot from which the ostriches were visible, they motioned to him to come out and shoot them. He at once nodded. As they were about to follow him back to camp, for their bows and arrows, he shook his head and signed to them to stay where they were; and going off by himself, returned with his bow and arrow and, to the surprise of the boys, the skin of an ostrich. To show the lads what he intended to do, he put on the skin, sticking one arm up the long neck, his black legs alone showing. He now imitated the motions of the bird, now stalking along, now picking up bits of grass, and this with such an admirable imitation of nature that Ned and Tom shouted with laughter. The three then set off together, taking a line which hid them from the view of the ostriches. The Indian at last led them to a small eminence, and signed to them to ascend this, and there to lie down and watch the result. On arriving at their post, they found themselves about a quarter of a mile from the group of great birds. It seemed a long time before they could see any signs of the native, who had to make a long detour so as to approach the birds upwind. About a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where they were feeding was a clump of bushes, and presently the lads suddenly beheld an ostrich, feeding quietly beside this clump. "There was no bird near those bushes two minutes ago," Tom said. "It must be the Indian." Very quietly, and by degrees, the ostrich approached the group. When within four yards of them the ostrich, as if by magic, vanished; and an Indian stood in his place. In another moment his bow twanged, and the ostrich next to him fell over, pierced through with an arrow; while the rest of the flock scattered over the plain, at an immense speed. Ned and Tom now rose to their feet and ran down the slope to the Indian, who was standing by the dead bird. He pulled out the tail feathers and handed them to them; cut off the head and legs; opened and cleaned the body; and then, putting it on his shoulder, started again for the camp. For another week they remained in the Indian village, and in that time picked up a good many native words. They then determined that they must be starting on their westward journey. They therefore called upon the chief and explained to him by signs, eked out with a few words, that they must leave him and go towards the setting sun. The grief of the chief was great, as was that of the tribe, when he communicated the tidings to them. There was great talking among the groups round the fire that night, and Ned saw that some question was being debated, at great length. The next morning the chief and several of the leading men came into their hut, and the chief made a speech, accompanied with great gesticulation. The lads gathered that he was imploring them not to leave them, and pointing out that there would be hostile Indians on the road, who would attack them. Then the chief led them to the fires, and signed that if they went out the tribe would be cold again, and would be unable to cook their food. Already, indeed, on one occasion after a great feast, the tribe had slept so soundly that all the fires were out before morning, and Ned had been obliged to have recourse to his flint and steel. After this, two fires had been kept constantly burning, night and day. Others were lighted for cooking, but these were tended constantly, and Ned saw that there was little chance of their ever going out together, so long as the tribe remained in the village. Now, however, he proceeded to show them how to carry fire with them. Taking one blazing stick, and starting out as for a journey, he showed that the fire gradually went out. Then he returned to the fire and took two large pieces, and started, keeping them so crossed that the parts on fire were always in contact. In this way, as he showed them, fire could be kept in for a very long time; and that, if two brands were taken from each fire, there would be little difficulty in keeping fire perpetually. Finally he showed them how, in case of losing fire in spite of all these precautions, it could be recovered by means of friction. He took two pieces of dried wood; one being very hard grained, and the other much softer. Of the former he cut a stick of about a foot long and an inch round, and pointed at both ends. In the other he made a small hole. Then he unstrung one end of a bowstring, twisted it once round the stick, and strung it again. Then he put one point of the stick in the hole in the other piece of wood, which he laid upon the ground. Round the hole he crumbled into dust some dry fungus. On the upper end of the short stick he placed a flat stone, which he bade one of the natives press with moderate force. Now, working the bow rapidly backwards and forwards, the stick was spun round and round like a drill. The Indians, who were unable to make out what Ned was doing, watched these proceedings with great attention. When a little smoke began to curl up from the heated wood they understood at once, and shouted with wonder. In a few minutes sparks began to fly from the stick, and as these fell on the dried fungus they rapidly spread. Tom knelt down and blew gently upon them, adding a few dried leaves, and in another minute a bright flame sprang up. The natives were delighted. They had now means of making fire, and could in future enjoy warmth and cooked food, and their gratitude to the lads was unbounded. Hitherto they had feared that, when these strange white beings departed, they would lose their fires, and return to their former cheerless existence, when the long winter evenings had to be spent in cold and darkness. That evening the chief intimated to his visitors that he, and a portion of the men of the tribe, would accompany them for some distance; the women remaining behind, with the rest of the fighting men as their guard. This decision pleased the young men much, for they could not hope to go far without meeting other tribes; and although, as had been found in the present instance, the gift of fire would be sure to propitiate the Indians; it was probable that they might be attacked on the march, and killed without having an opportunity of explanation. Their friends, however, would have the power of at once explaining, to all comers, the valuable benefits which they could bestow. During the time that they had been staying in the village, they had further improved their bows by taking them to pieces, fitting the parts more accurately together, and gluing them with glue, prepared by boiling down sinews of animals in a gourd. Then, rebinding them with fine sinews, they found that they were, in all respects, equal to their English weapons. They had now no fear as to their power of maintaining themselves with food on the way, and felt that, even when their new friends should leave them, they would have a fair chance of defending themselves against attack, as their bows would carry more than thrice as far as those of the natives. The following morning the start was made. The chief and twenty picked warriors accompanied them, together with six young Indians, two of whom carried lighted brands. The others dragged light sleighs, upon which were piled skins and long poles, for making tents at night, for the temperature was exceedingly cold after sundown. The whole village turned out to see the party off, and shouts of farewell, and good wishes, rang in the air. For the first three days no adventures were met with. The party had no difficulty in killing game sufficient for their needs, and at night they halted at streams or pools. Ned observed, however, that at the last halting place the chief, who had hitherto taken no precaution at night, gave some orders to his followers; four of whom, when the rest laid down to rest, glided off in different directions into the darkness. Ned pointed to them inquiringly, and the chief intimated that they were now entering the hunting grounds of another tribe. The following day the band kept closely together. A vigilant lookout on the plains was kept up, and no straggling was allowed. They had sufficient meat left over, from their spoils of the day before, to last for the day; and no hunting was necessary. The next evening, just as they had retired to rest, one of the scouts came in and reported that he heard sounds around, which betokened the presence of man. The calls of animals were heard on the plain; and a herd of deer, which had evidently been disturbed, had darted past at full speed. The chief now ordered great quantities of dried wood to be thrown into the fire, and a vast blaze soon shot up high, illuminating a circle of a hundred yards in diameter. Advancing to the edge of this circle, the chief held out his arms, to show that he was unarmed; and then shouted, at the top of his voice, to the effect that he invited all within hearing to come forward, in peace. The strange appearance that they saw was a boon, given to the Indian people by two great white beings, who were in his camp; and that, by its aid, there would be no more cold. Three times he shouted out these words, and then retired to the fire and sat down. Presently from the circle of darkness a number of figures appeared, approaching timidly and with an awe-struck air, until within a short distance of the fire. Then the chief again rose, and bade them welcome. There were some fifty or sixty of them, but Ned and his friend had no fear of any treachery, for they were evidently under the spell of a sense of amazement greater than that which had been excited among those they first met; and this because they first saw this wonder by night. When the newcomers had taken their seats, the chief explained to them the qualities of their new discovery. That it made them warm and comfortable their own feelings told them; and on the morrow, when they had meat, he would show them how great were its effects. Then he told them of the dancing water, and how it softened and made delicious the vegetables placed in it. At his command one of his followers took two brands, carried them to a distance, and soon lighted another fire. During the narrative, the faces of the Indians lighted up with joy; and they cast glances of reverence and gratitude towards the young white men. These, finding that amity was now established, retired to sleep to the little skin tents which had been raised for them; while the Indians remained sitting round the fire, engrossed with its wonders. The young men slept late next morning, knowing that no move could be made that day. When they came out of the tents, they found that the natives had lost no time. Before daybreak hunting parties had gone out, and a store of game was piled near the fire; or rather fires, for a dozen were now burning, and the strangers were being initiated in the art of cooking by their hosts. Two days were spent here; and then, after much talk, the tribe at which they had now arrived arranged to escort and pass the boys on to their neighbors, while the first party returned to their village. Ned and Tom were consulted before this matter was settled, and approved of it. It was better that they should be passed on, from tribe to tribe, than that they should be escorted all the way by a guard who would be as strange as themselves to the country, and who would naturally be longing to return to their homes and families. For some weeks the life led by the travelers resembled that which has been described. Sometimes they waited for a few days at villages, where great festivities were held in their honor The news of their coming, in many cases, preceded them; and they and their convoy were often met at the stream, or other mark which formed the acknowledged boundary between the hunting grounds, by large bodies eager to receive and welcome them. They had, by this time, made considerable progress in the language, knew all the names of common objects, and could make themselves understood in simple matters. The language of savage people is always simple. Their range of ideas is narrow; their vocabulary very limited, and consequently easily mastered. Ned knew that, at any time, they might come across people in a state of active warfare with each other; and that his life might depend upon the ability to make himself understood. Consequently he lost no opportunity of picking up the language. On the march Tom and he, instead of walking and talking together, each went with a group of natives; and kept up a conversation, eked out with signs, with them; and consequently they made very considerable progress with the language. Chapter 13: Through the Cordilleras. After three months of steady travel, the country, which had become more and more hilly as they advanced toward the west, assumed a different character. The hills became mountains, and it was clear that they were arriving at a great range running north and south. They had for some time left the broad plains behind them, and game was very scarce. The Indians had of late been more and more disinclined to go far to the west, and the tribe with whom they were now traveling told them that they could go no farther. They signified that beyond the mountains dwelt tribes with whom they were unacquainted, but who were fierce and warlike. One of the party, who had once crossed, said that the people there had fires like those which the white men had taught them to make. "You see, Tom," Ned said, "they must have been in contact with the Spaniards, or at least with tribes who have learned something from the Spaniards. In that case our supernatural power will be at an end, and our color will be against us, as they will regard us as Spaniards, and so as enemies. At any rate, we must push on and take our chance." From the Indian they learned that the track lay up a valley before them, that after a day's walking they would have to begin the ascent. Another day's journey would take them to a neck between two peaks, and the passage of this would occupy at least a day. The native described the cold as great here, even in summer, and that in winter it was terrible. Once across the neck, the descent on the other side began. "There can be no snow in the pass now, Tom; it is late in December, and the hottest time of the year; and although we must be a very great height above the sea, for we have been rising ever since we left the coast, we are not so very far south, and I cannot believe the snow can now lie in the pass. Let us take a good stock of dried meat, a skin for water--we can fill it at the head of the valley--and make our way forward. I do not think the sea can lie very far on the other side of this range of mountains, but at any rate, we must wait no longer. Captain Drake may have passed already, but we may still be in time." The next morning they bade adieu to their companions, with whom they had been traveling for a fortnight. These, glad again to turn their faces homeward, set off at once; and the lads, shouldering their packs, started up the valley. The scenery was grand in the extreme, and Ned and Tom greatly enjoyed it. Sometimes the sides approached in perpendicular precipices, leaving barely room for the little stream to find its way between their feet; at others it was half a mile wide. When the rocks were not precipitous the sides were clothed with a luxuriant foliage, among which the birds maintained a concert of call and song. So sheltered were they that, high as it was above the sea, the heat was very oppressive; and when they reached the head of the valley, late in the afternoon, they were glad indeed of a bathe in a pool of the stream. Choosing a spot of ground near the stream, the lads soon made a fire, put their pieces of venison down to roast, and prepared for a quiet evening. "It seems strange to be alone again, Tom, after so many months with those Indians; who were ever on the watch for every movement and word, as if they were inspired. It is six months, now, since we left the western coast; and one almost seems to forget that one is English. We have picked up something of half a dozen Indian dialects; we can use their weapons almost as well as they can themselves; and as to our skins, they are as brown as that of the darkest of them. The difficulty will be to persuade the people on the other side that we are whites." "How far do you think the sea lies on the other side of this range of giant mountains?" Tom asked. "I have no idea," Ned replied, "and I do not suppose that anyone else has. The Spaniards keep all matters connected with this coast a mystery; but I believe that the sea cannot be many days' march beyond the mountains." For an hour or two they chatted quietly, their thoughts naturally turning again to England, and the scenes of their boyhood. "Will it be necessary to watch, think you?" Tom asked. "I think it would be safer, Tom. One never knows. I believe that we are now beyond the range of the natives of the Pampas. They evidently have a fear of approaching the hills; but that only shows that the natives from the other side come down over here. I believe that they were, when the Spaniards landed, peaceable people; quiet and gentle. So at least they are described. But those who take to the mountains must be either escaped slaves, or fugitives from the cruelty of the Spaniards; and even the gentlest man, when driven to desperation, becomes savage and cruel. To these men our white skins would be like a red rag to a bull. They can never have heard of any white people, save the Spaniards; and we need expect little mercy if we fall into their hands. I think we had better watch, turn about. I will take the first watch, for I am not at all sleepy, and my thoughts seem busy tonight, with home." Tom was soon fast asleep, and Ned sat quietly watching the embers of the fire, occasionally throwing on fresh sticks, until he deemed that nearly half the night was gone. Then he aroused his companion and lay down himself, and was soon fast asleep. The gray light was just beginning to break when he was aroused by a sudden yell, accompanied by a cry from Tom. He leaped to his feet, just in time to see a crowd of natives rush upon himself and his comrade, discharging as they did so numbers of small arrows, several of which pierced him as he rose to his feet. Before they could grasp their bows, or any other weapons, the natives were upon them. Blows were showered down with heavy clubs and, although the lads made a desperate resistance, they were beaten to the ground in a short time. The natives at once twisted strong thongs round their limbs; and then, dragging them from the fire, sat down themselves and proceeded to roast the remains of the boys' deer meat. "This is a bad business indeed, Tom," Ned said. "These men doubtless take us for Spaniards. They certainly must belong to the other side of the mountains, for their appearance and language are altogether different to those of the people we have been staying with. These men are much smaller, slighter, and fairer. Runaways though no doubt they are, they seem to have more care about their persons, and to be more civilized in their appearance and weapons, than the savages of the plains." "What do you think they will do with us, Ned?" "I have no doubt in the world, Tom, that their intention is either to put us to death with some horrible torture, or to roast us. The Spaniards have taught them these things, if they did not know them before; and in point of atrocities, nothing can possibly exceed those which the Spaniards have inflicted upon them and their fathers." Whatever were the intentions of the Indians, it was soon evident that there would be some delay in carrying them out. After they had finished their meal, they rose from the fire. Some amused themselves by making arrows from the straight reeds that grew by the stream. Others wandered listlessly about. Some threw themselves upon the ground and slept; while others, coming up to the boys, poured torrents of invective upon them, among which they could distinguish in Spanish the words "dog" and "Spaniard," varying their abuse by violent kicks. As, however, these were given by the naked feet, they did not seriously inconvenience the boys. "What can they be waiting for?" Tom said. "Why don't they do something if they are going to do it." "I expect," Ned answered, "that they are waiting for some chief, or for the arrival of some other band, and that we are to be kept for a grand exhibition." So it proved. Three days passed, and upon the fourth another band, smaller in numbers, joined them. Upon the evening of that day the lads saw that their fate was about to be brought to a crisis. The fire was made up with huge bundles of wood; the natives took their seats around it, with gravity and order; and the boys were led forward by four natives, armed with spears. Then began what was a regular trial. The boys, although they could not understand a word of the language, could yet follow the speeches of the excited orators. One after another arose and told the tale of the treatment that he had experienced. One showed the weals which covered his back. Another held up his arm, from which the hand had been lopped. A third pointed to the places where his ears once had been. Another showed the scar of a hot iron on his arms and legs. Some went through a pantomime, which told its tale of an attack upon some solitary hut, the slaughter of the old and infirm, and the dragging away of the men and women into slavery. Others spoke of long periods of labor, in a bent position, in a mine, under the cruel whip of the taskmaster. All had their tale of barbarity and cruelty to recite and, as each speaker contributed his quota, the anger and excitement of the rest rose. "Poor devils!" Ned said; "no wonder that they are savage against us. See what they have suffered at the hands of the white men. If we had gone through as much, you may be sure that we should spare none. Our only chance is to make them understand that we are not Spanish; and that, I fear, is beyond all hope." This speedily proved to be the case. Two or three of the natives who spoke a few words of Spanish came to them, calling them Spanish dogs. Ned shook his head and said, "Not Spanish." For all reply the natives pointed to the uncovered portions of their body, pulled back the skins which covered their arms and, pointing to the white flesh, laughed incredulously. "White men are Spaniards, and Spaniards are white men," Tom groaned, "and that we shall have to die, for the cruelty which the Spaniards have perpetrated, is clear enough. "Well, Ned, we have had more good fortune than we could have expected. We might have been killed on the day when we landed, and we have spent six jolly months in wandering together, as hunters, on the plain. If we must die, let us behave like Englishmen and Christians. It may be that our lives have not been as good as they should have been; but so far as we know, we have both done our duty; and it may be that, as we die for the faults of others, it may come to be considered as a balance against our own faults." "We must hope so, Tom. I think we have both done, I won't say our best, but as well as could be expected in so rough a life. We have followed the exhortations of the good chaplain, and have never joined in the riotous ways of the sailors in general. We must trust that the good God will forgive us our sins, and strengthen us to go through this last trial." While they had been speaking the natives had made an end of their deliberation. Tom was now conducted, by two natives with spears, to a tree; and was securely fastened. Ned, under the guard of the other two, was left by the fire. The tree was situated at a distance of some twenty yards from it, and the natives mostly took their place near the fire. Some scattered among the bushes, and presently reappeared bearing bundles of dry wood. These were laid in order round the tree, at such a distance that the flames would not touch the prisoner, but the heat would gradually roast him to death. As Ned observed the preparations for the execution of his friend, the sweat stood in great drops on his forehead; and he would have given anything to be able to rush to his assistance, and to die with him. Had his hands been free he would, without hesitation, have snatched up a bow and sent an arrow into Tom's heart, to release him from the lingering death which awaited him; and he would then have stabbed himself with a spear. But while his hands were sufficiently free to move a little, the fastenings were too tight to admit of his carrying out any plan of that sort. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he began nervously to tug at his fastenings. The natives, when they seized them, had bound them without examining their clothes. It was improbable that men in savage attire could have about them any articles worth appropriating. The knives, indeed, which hung from their belts had been cut off; but these were the only articles which had been touched. Just as a man approached the fire and, seizing a brand, stooped forward to light the pyre, Ned succeeded in freeing his hands sufficiently to seize the object which he sought. This was his powder flask, which was wrapped in the folds of the cloth round his waist. With little difficulty he succeeded in freeing it and, moving a step closer to the fire, he cast it into the midst of it, at the very moment the man with the lighted brand was approaching Tom. Then he stepped back as far as he could from the fire. The natives on guard over him, not understanding the movement, and thinking he meditated flight, closed around him. An instant later there was a tremendous explosion. The red hot embers were flaming in all directions, and both Ned and the savages who stood by him were, with many others, struck to the ground. As soon as he was able, Ned struggled up again. Not a native was in sight. A terrific yell had broken from them at the explosion, which sounded to them like one of the cannons of their Spanish oppressors; and, smarting with the wounds simultaneously made by the hot brands, each, without a moment's thought, had taken to his heels. Tom gave a shout of exultation, as Ned rose. The latter at once stooped and, with difficulty, picked up one of the still blazing brands, and hurried towards the tree. "If these fellows will remain away for a couple of minutes, Tom, you shall be free," he said, "and I don't think they will get over their scare as quickly as that." So saying, he applied the end of the burning brand to the dry withes with which Tom was bound to the tree. These at once took fire and flared up, and the bands fell to the ground. "Now, Tom, do me the same service." This was quickly rendered, and the lads stood free. "Now, let us get our weapons." A short search revealed to them their bows, laid carefully aside, while the ground was scattered with the arms which the natives, in their panic, had dropped. "Pick them all up, Tom, and toss them on the fire. We will take the sting out of the snake, in case it tries to attack us again." In a minute or two a score of bows, spears, and others weapons were thrown on the fire; and the boys then, leaving the place which had so nearly proved fatal to them, took their way up the mountain side. It was a long pull, the more so that they had the food, water, and large skins for protection from the night air to carry. Steadily as they kept on, with only an occasional halt for breath, it was late before they emerged from the forest and stood upon a plateau between two lofty hills. This was bare and treeless, and the keen wind made them shiver, as they met it. "We will creep among the trees, Tom; and be off at daybreak, tomorrow. However long the journey, we must get across the pass before we sleep, for the cold there would be terrible." A little way down the crest it was so warm that they needed no fire, while a hundred feet higher, exposed to the wind from the snow-covered peaks, the cold was intense. They kept careful watch, but the night passed quietly. The next morning they were on foot, as soon as the voices of the birds proclaimed the approach of day. As they emerged from the shelter of the trees they threw their deer skins round them, to act as cloaks, and stepped out at their best pace. The dawn of day was yet faint in the east; the stars burning bright as lamps overhead, in the clear thin air; and the cold was so great that it almost stopped their breathing. Half an hour later the scene had changed altogether. The sun had risen, and the air felt warm. The many peaks on either side glistened in the flood of bright light. The walking was easy, indeed, after the climb of the previous day; and their burdens were much lightened by their consumption of food and water. The pass was of irregular width, sometimes but a hundred yards, sometimes fully a mile across. Long habit and practice with the Indians had immensely improved their walking powers and, with long elastic strides, they put mile after mile behind them. Long before the sun was at its highest a little stream ran beside them, and they saw, by the course of its waters, that they had passed the highest part of the pass through the Cordilleras. Three hours later they suddenly emerged, from a part where the hills approached nearer on either side than they had done during the day's walk, and a mighty landscape opened before and below them. The boys gave, simultaneously, a loud shout of joy; and then dropped on their knees, in thanks to God, for far away in the distance was a dark level blue line, and they knew the ocean was before them. "How far off should you say it was, Ned?" Tom asked, when they had recovered a little from their first outburst of joy. "A long way off," Ned said. "I suppose we must be fifteen thousand feet above it, and even in this transparent air it looks an immense distance away. I should say it must be a hundred miles." "That's nothing!" Tom said. "We could do it in two days, in three easily." "Yes, supposing we had no interruption and a straight road," Ned said. "But we must not count our chickens yet. This vast forest which we see contains tribes of natives, bitterly hostile to the white man, maddened by the cruelties of the Spaniards, who enslave them and treat them worse than dogs. Even when we reach the sea, we may be a hundred or two hundred miles from a large Spanish town; and however great the distance, we must accomplish it, as it is only at large towns that Captain Drake is likely to touch." "Well, let us be moving," Tom said. "I am strong for some hours' walking yet, and every day will take us nearer to the sea." "We need not carry our deer skins any farther," Ned said, throwing his down. "We shall be sweltering under the heat tomorrow, below there." Even before they halted for the night, the vegetation had assumed a tropical character, for they had already descended some five thousand feet. "I wish we could contrive to make a fire tonight," Ned said. "Why?" Tom asked. "I am bathed in perspiration, now." "We shall not want it for heat, but the chances are that there are wild beasts of all sorts in this forest." Ned's premises turned out correct, for scarcely had night fallen when they heard deep roarings, and lost no time in ascending a tree, and making themselves fast there, before they went to sleep. In the morning they proceeded upon their journey. After walking a couple of hours, Ned laid his arm upon Tom's shoulder. "Hush!" he whispered. "Look there." Through the trees, at a short distance off, could be seen a stag. He was standing, gazing intently at a tree, and did not appear to have heard their approach. "What can he be up to?" Tom whispered. "He must have heard us." "He seems paralyzed," Ned said. "Don't you see how he is trembling? There must be some wild beast in the tree." Both gazed attentively at the tree, but could see nothing to account for the attitude of the deer. "Wild beast or no," Ned said, "he will do for our dinner." So saying, he unslung his bow, and fitted an arrow. There was a sharp twang, and the deer rolled over, struck to the heart. There was no movement in the tree, but Ned placed another arrow in place. Tom had done the same. They stood silent for a few minutes, but all was still. "Keep your eyes on the tree and advance slowly," Ned said. "Have your sword ready in case of need. I cannot help thinking there is something there, though what it is I can't make out." Slowly, and with the greatest caution, they approached the tree. All was perfectly still. "No beast big enough to hurt us can be up there," Ned said at last. "None of the branches are thick enough to hide him. "Now for the stag." Ned bent over the carcass of the deer, which lay a few feet only from the tree. Then suddenly there was a rapid movement among the creepers which embraced the trunk, something swept between Ned and Tom, knocking the latter to the ground, while a cry of alarm and astonishment rose from Ned. Confused and surprised, Tom sprang to his feet, instinctively drawing his sword as he did so. For a moment he stood, paralyzed with horror. A gigantic snake had wound its coils round Ned's body. Its head towered above his, while its eyes flashed menacingly, and its tongue vibrated with a hissing sound as it gazed at Tom. Its tail was wound round the trunk of the tree. Ned was powerless, for his arms were pinioned to his side by the coils of the reptile. It was but a moment that Tom stood appalled. He knew that, at any instant, by the tightening of its folds the great boa could crush every bone of Ned's body; while the very closeness of its embrace rendered it impossible for him to strike at it, for fear of injuring its captor. There was not an instant to be lost. Already the coils were tightening, and a hoarse cry broke from Ned. With a rapid spring Tom leaped beyond his friend, and with a blow, delivered with all his strength, severed the portion of the tail coiled round the tree from the rest of the body. Unknowingly, he had taken the only course to save Ned's life. Had he, as his first impulse had been, struck at the head as it raised itself above that of Ned, the convulsion of the rest of the body would probably have crushed the life out of him; but by cutting off the tail, he separated the body from the tree which formed the fulcrum upon which it acted. As swiftly as they had enclosed him the coils fell from Ned, a writhing mass upon the ground; and a second blow from Tom's sword severed the head from the body. Even now, the folds writhed and twisted like an injured worm; but Tom struck, and struck, until the fragments lay, with only a slight quivering motion in them, on the ground. Then Tom, throwing down his cutlass, raised Ned; who, upon being released from the embrace of the boa, had fallen senseless. Alarmed as Tom was at his comrade's insensibility, he yet felt that it was the shock, and the revulsion of feeling which caused it, and not any serious injury which he had received. No bones had been heard to crack and, although the compression had been severe, Tom did not think that any serious injury had been inflicted. He dashed some water from the skins over Ned's face, rubbed his hands, spoke to him in a loud voice, and ere long had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes. "Thank God!" Tom exclaimed fervently. "There, don't move, Ned. Take it quietly. It's all right now. There, drink a little water." He poured a few drops down Ned's throat, and the latter, whose eyes had before had a dazed and wondering expression, suddenly sat up and strove to draw his sword. "Gently, Ned, gently. The snake is dead, chopped up into pieces. It was a near shave, Ned." Chapter 14: On the Pacific Coast. "A close shave, indeed," Ned said, raising himself with difficulty from the ground. "Another moment, and I think my ribs would have given in. It seemed as if all the blood in my body had rushed to my head." "Do you feel badly hurt?" Tom asked, anxiously. "No," Ned said, feeling himself all over. "Horribly bruised, but nothing broken. To think of our not seeing that monstrous boa! "I don't think," he continued, "that I can walk any farther today. I feel shaken all over." "Then we will camp where we are," Tom said cheerfully. "We have got a stag, and he will last us for some days, if necessary. There is plenty of fruit to be picked in the forest, and on this mountain side we are sure to be able to find water, within a short distance." Lighting a fire, the deer was soon cut up, and the lads prepared to spend a quiet day; which was all the more welcome inasmuch as, for the last three weeks, they had traveled without intermission. The next day Ned declared himself well enough to proceed on his journey; but his friend persuaded him to stop for another day. Late in the evening Ned exclaimed, "What is that, Tom, behind that tree?" Tom seized his bow, and leaped to his feet. "I see nothing," he said. "It was either a native, or a gigantic monkey. I saw him, quite plainly, glide along behind the tree." Tom advanced cautiously, but on reaching the tree he found nothing. "You are sure you were not mistaken?" he asked. "Quite certain," Ned said. "We have seen enough of Indians, by this time, to know them. We must be on the lookout, tonight. The natives on this side are not like those beyond the mountains. They have been so horribly ill treated, by the Spaniards, that they must hate any white face; and would kill us without hesitation, if they got a chance. We shall have difficulty with the Spaniards, when we fall into their hands; but they will at least be more reasonable than these savages." All night they kept up their fire, and sat up by turns, on watch. Several times they thought that they heard slight movements, among the fallen leaves and twigs; but these might have been caused by any prowling beast. Once or twice they fancied that they detected forms, moving cautiously just beyond the range of the firelight; but they could not be certain that it was so. Just as morning was breaking, Ned sprang to his feet. "Wake up, Tom!" he exclaimed; "we are attacked;" and as he spoke, an arrow quivered in the tree just over his head. They had already discussed whether it would be better to remain, if attacked, in the light of the fire, or to retreat into the shadow; and concluding that the eyes of the natives would be more accustomed to see in darkness than their own, they had determined to stay by the fire, throwing themselves down on their faces; and to keep the natives at bay beyond the circle of the light of the flames, till daylight. They had, in readiness, heaped a great pile of brushwood; and this they now threw upon the fire, making a huge pyramid of flame, which lit the wood around for a circle of sixty yards. As the light leaped up, Ned discharged an arrow at a native, whom he saw within the circle of light; and a shrill cry proclaimed that it had reached its mark. There was silence for a while in the dark forest and, each moment that passed, the daylight became stronger and stronger. "In ten minutes we shall be able to move on," Ned said; "and in the daylight, I think that the longer range of our bows will enable us to keep them off. The question is, how many of them are there?" A very short time sufficed to show that the number of the savages was large; for shrill cries were heard, answering each other, in the circle around them; and numbers of black figures could be seen, hanging about the trees in the distance. "I don't like the look of things, Ned," Tom said. "It is all very well. We may shoot a good many before they reach us, and in the open no doubt we might keep them off. But by taking advantage of the trees, they will be able to get within range of their weapons; and at short distances, they are just as effective as are our bows." As soon as it was broad daylight, the lads started through the forest, keeping up a running fight with the natives. "It is clear," Tom said, "we cannot stand this much longer. We must take to a tree." They were on the point of climbing, when Ned exclaimed: "Listen! I can hear the sound of bells." Listening intently, they could make out the sound of little bells, such as are carried by horses or mules. "It must be a train to one of the mines. If we can reach that, we shall be safe." Laying aside all further thought of fighting, the boys now ran, at headlong pace, in the direction of the sounds. The natives, who were far fleeter of foot, gained fast upon them; and the arrows were flying round them, and several had inflicted slight wounds, when they heard ahead of them the cry of: "Soldiers on guard. The natives are at hand. Fire in the bushes." The boys threw themselves upon their faces as, from the thickets ahead, a volley of musketry was heard. "Load again," was the order, in Spanish. "These black rascals must be strong, indeed, to advance to attack us with so much noise." Crawling forward cautiously, Ned exclaimed, in Spanish: "Do not fire, senors. We are two Spaniards who have been carried away from the settlements, and have for long been prisoners among the natives." A cry of surprise was heard, and then the Spaniard in command called them to advance, fearlessly. This they did. Fortunately they had, long before, settled upon the story that they would tell, when they arrived among the Spaniards. To have owned themselves Englishmen, and as belonging to the dreaded buccaneers, would have been to ensure their imprisonment, if not execution. The imperfection of Ned's Spanish, and the fact that Tom was quite ignorant of the language, rendered it difficult for them to pass as Spaniards. But they thought that, by giving out that they had been carried away in childhood--Tom at an earlier age than Ned--their ignorance of the language would be accounted for. It had been a struggle, with both of them, to decide upon telling an untruth. This is a point upon which differences of opinion must always arise. Some will assert that under no circumstances can a falsehood be justified. Others will say that to deceive an enemy in war, or to save life, deceit is justifiable, especially when that deceit injures no one. It was only after very great hesitation that the boys had overcome their natural instincts and teaching, and agreed to conceal their nationality under false colors Ned, indeed, held out for a long time; but Tom had cited many examples, from ancient and modern history, showing that people of all nations had, to deceive an enemy, adopted such a course; and that to throw away their lives, rather than tell a falsehood which could hurt no one, would be an act of folly. Both, however, determined that, should it become necessary to keep up their character as Spaniards by pretending to be true Catholics, they would disclose the truth. The first sight of the young men struck the captain of the Spanish escort with astonishment. Bronzed to the darkest brown by the sun of the plains and by the hardships they had undergone, dressed in the skins of animals, and carrying weapons altogether uncouth and savage to the Spanish eye, he found it difficult to believe that these figures were those of his countrymen. His first question, however, concerned the savages who had, as he supposed, attacked his escort. A few words from Ned, however, explained the circumstances; and that the yells he had heard had been uttered by the Indians pursuing them, and had no reference, whatever, to the convoy. This consisted of some two hundred mules, laden with provisions and implements on its way to the mines. Guarded by a hundred soldiers were a large number of natives; who, fastened together as slaves, were on their way up to work for their cruel taskmasters. When the curiosity of the captain concerning the natives was allayed, he asked Ned where he and his comrade had sprung from. Ned assured him that the story was a very long one; and that, at a convenient opportunity, he would enter into all details. In the first place he asked that civilized clothes might be given to them; for, as he said, they looked and felt, at present, rather as wild men of the woods than as subjects of the King of Spain. "You speak a very strange Spanish," the captain said. "I only wonder," Ned replied, "that I speak in Spanish at all. I was but a child, when I was carried away; and since that time I have scarcely spoken a word of my native tongue. When I reached the village to which my captors conveyed me, I found my companion here; who was, as I could see, a Spaniard, but who must have been carried off as an infant, as he even then could speak no Spanish, whatever. He has learned now from me a few words; but beyond that, is wholly ignorant." "This is a strange story, indeed," the captain said. "Where was it that your parents lived?" "I know not the place," Ned said. "But it was far to the rising sun, across on the other ocean." As it seemed perfectly possible that the boys might have been carried away, as children, from the settlements near Vera Cruz, the captain accepted the story without the slightest doubt, and at once gave a warm welcome to the lads; who had, as he supposed, escaped after so many weary years of captivity. "I am going up now," he said, "to the mines, and there must remain on duty for a fortnight, when I shall return in charge of treasure. It will be dangerous, indeed, for you to attempt to find your way to the coast without escort. Therefore you had better come on with me, and return under my protection to the coast." "We should be glad of a stay with you in the mountains," Ned said. "We feel so ignorant of everything European that we should be glad to learn, from you, a little of the ways of our countrymen before we venture down among them. What is the nearest town on the coast?" "Arica," the captain said, "is the port from which we have come. It is distant a hundred and thirty miles from here, and we have had ten days' hard journeying through the forest." For the next fortnight, the lads remained at the mines. These were worked by the Spaniards entirely by slave labor Nominal wages were, indeed, given to the unfortunates who labored there. But they were as much slaves as if they had been sold. The Spaniards, indeed, treated the whole of the natives in the provinces occupied by them as creatures to be used mercilessly for labor, and as having no more feeling than the lower animals. The number of these unfortunates who perished in the mines, from hard work and cruel treatment, is beyond all calculation. But it may be said that, of the enormous treasures drawn by Spain from her South American possessions, during the early days of her occupation, every doubloon was watered with blood. The boys, who had for nearly six months lived among the Indians, and had seen their many fine qualities, were horrified at the sights which they witnessed; and, several times, had the greatest difficulty to restrain their feelings of indignation and horror. They agreed, however, that it would be worse than useless to give vent to such opinions. It would only draw upon them the suspicion of the Spaniards, and would set the authorities at the mine and the captain of the escort against them, and might prejudice the first report that would be sent down to Arica, concerning them. During the first few days of their stay, the boys acted their parts with much internal amusement. They pretended to be absolutely ignorant of civilized feeding, seized the meat raw and tore it with their fingers, sat upon the ground in preference to chairs, and in every way behaved as persons altogether ignorant of civilization. Gradually, however, they permitted themselves to be taught, and delighted their entertainers by their docility and willingness. The Spaniards were, indeed, somewhat surprised by the whiteness of their skin, where sheltered from the sun; and by the lightness of their hair and eyes. The boys could hear many comments upon them, and wondering remarks why they should be so much fairer than their countrymen in general. As, however, it was clearly useless to ask them, none of the Spaniards thought of doing so. The end of the fortnight arrived and, under the charge of the escort, the lads set out, together with twenty mules laden with silver, for the coast. They had no longer any fear of the attacks of the natives, or any trouble connected with their food supply; an ample stock of provisions being carried upon spare mules. They themselves were mounted, and greatly enjoyed the journey through the magnificent forests. They were, indeed, a little uneasy as to the examination which they were sure to have to undergo at Arica, and which was likely to be very much more severe and searching than that to which the good-natured captain had subjected them. They longed to ask him whether any news had been heard of the arrival of an English squadron upon the western coast. But it was impossible to do this, without giving rise to suspicion; and they had the consolation, at least, of having heard no single word concerning their countrymen uttered in the conversations at the mine. Had Captain Francis Drake and his companions arrived upon the coast, it was almost certain that their presence there would be the all-absorbing topic among the Spanish colonists. Upon their arrival at Arica, the boys were conducted at once to the governor--a stern and haughty-looking Spaniard, who received the account given by the captain with an air of incredulity. "This is a strange tale, indeed," he said, "and passes all probability. Why should these children have been kidnapped on the eastern coast, and brought across the continent? It is more likely that they belong to this side. However, they could not be malefactors who have escaped into the forest, for their age forbids any idea of that kind. They must have been stolen. But I do not recall any such event as the carrying off of the sons of Spaniards, here, for many years back. "However, this can be inquired into when they learn to speak our language well. In the meantime, they had better be assigned quarters in the barracks. Let them be instructed in military exercises, and in our language." "And," said an ecclesiastic who was sitting at the table, "in our holy religion; for methinks, stolen away as they were in their youth, they can be no better than pagans." Tom had difficulty in repressing a desire to glance at Ned, as these words were spoken. But the eyes of the governor were fixed so intently upon them, that he feared to exhibit any emotion, whatever. He resolved mentally, however, that his progress in Spanish should be exceedingly small; and that many months should elapse, before he could possibly receive even rudimentary instruction in religious matters. The life in the barracks at Arica resembled, pretty closely, that which they had led so long on board ship. The soldiers received them with good feeling and camaraderie, and they were soon completely at home with them. They practiced drill, the use of the pike and rapier; taking very great care, in all these exercises, to betray exceeding clumsiness. With the bow, alone, they were able to show how expert they were. Indeed, the Spaniards were, in no slight degree, astonished by the extraordinary power and accuracy of their shooting. This Ned accounted for, to them, by the long practice that he had had among the Indians; declaring that, among the tribes beyond the mountains, he was by no means an exceptionally good shot--which, indeed, was true enough at short distances, for at these the Indians could shoot with marvellous dexterity. "By San Josef!" exclaimed one of the Spanish officers, after watching the boys shooting at a target, two hundred yards distant, with their powerful bows; "it reminds me of the way that those accursed English archers draw their bows, and send their arrows singing through the air. In faith, too, these men, with their blue eyes and their light hair, remind one of these heretic dogs." "Who are these English?" Ned asked, carelessly. "I have heard of no such tribe. Do they live near the seacoast, or among the mountains?" "They are no tribe, but a white people, like ourselves," the captain said. "Of course, you will not have heard of them. And, fortunately, you are not likely ever to see them on this coast; but if you had remained where you were born, on the other side, you would have heard little else talked of than the doings of these pirates and scoundrels; who scour the seas, defy the authority of his sacred majesty, carry off our treasures under our noses, burn our towns, and keep the whole coast in an uproar." "But," said Ned, in assumed astonishment, "how is it that so great a monarch as the King of Spain, and Emperor of the Indies, does not annihilate these ferocious sea robbers? Surely so mighty a king could have no difficulty in overcoming them." "They live in an island," the officer said, "and are half fish, half men." "What monsters!" Ned exclaimed. "Half fish and half men! How then do they walk?" "Not really; but in their habits. They are born sailors, and are so ferocious and bloodthirsty that, at sea, they overcome even the soldiers of Spain; who are known," he said, drawing himself up, "to be the bravest in the world. On land, however, we should teach them a very different lesson; but on the sea it must be owned that, somehow, we are less valiant than on shore." Every day a priest came down to the barracks, and for an hour endeavored to instill the elements of his religion into the minds of the now civilized wild men. Ned, although progressing rapidly in other branches of his Spanish education, appeared abnormally dull to the explanations of the good father; while Tom's small stock of Spanish was quite insufficient to enable him to comprehend more than a word, here and there. So matters might have remained, for months, had not an event occurred which disclosed the true nationality of the lads. One day the ordinarily placid blue sky was over-clouded. The wind rose rapidly and, in a few hours, a tremendous storm was blowing on the coast. Most of the vessels in the harbor succeeded in running into shelter. But, later in the day, a cry arose that a ship had just rounded the point of the bay, and that she would not be able to make the port. The whole population speedily gathered upon the mole, and the vessel, a small one employed in the coasting trade, was seen struggling with the waves, which were rapidly bearing her towards a reef, lying a quarter of a mile from the shore. The sea was, at this time, running with tremendous force. The wind was howling in a fierce gale, and when the vessel struck upon the rocks, and her masts at once went by the board, all hope of safety for the crew appeared at an end. "Cannot a boat be launched," said Ned to the soldiers standing round, "to effect the rescue of these poor fellows in that wreck?" "Impossible!" they all said. "No boat could live in that sea." After chatting for a time, Tom and Ned drew a little apart from the rest of the crowd, and watched the ill-fated vessel. "It is a rough sea, certainly," Ned said; "but it is all nonsense to say that a boat could not live. Come along, Tom. Let us push that shallop down. There is a sheltered spot behind that rock where we may launch her, and methinks that our arms can row her out to yonder ship." Throwing off their doublets, the young men put their shoulders to the boat, and soon forced it into the water. Then, taking their seats and putting out the oars, they rowed round the corner of the sheltering rock, and breasted the sea which was rolling in. A cry of astonishment broke from the crowd on the mole as the boat made its appearance, and the astonishment was heightened when it was declared, by the soldiers, that the two men on board were the wild men of the wood, as they were familiarly called among themselves. It was a long struggle before the boys reached the wreck, and it needed all their strength and seamanship to avoid being swamped by the tremendous seas. At last, however, they neared it and, catching a line thrown to them by the sailors, brought the boat up under the lee of the ship; and as the captain, the four men who composed his crew, and a passenger, leaped one by one from the ship into the sea, they dragged them on board the boat, and then turned her head to shore. Chapter 15: The Prison of the Inquisition. Among the spectators on the mole were the governor and other principal officers of Arica. "It seems almost like a miracle from heaven," the priest, who was standing next the governor, exclaimed. The governor was scowling angrily at the boat. "If there be a miracle," he said, "good father, it is that our eyes have been blinded so long. Think you, for a moment, that two lads who have been brought up among the Indians, from their childhood, could manage a boat in such a sea as this? Why, if their story were true they could, neither of them, ever have handled an oar; and these are sailors, skillful and daring beyond the common, and have ventured a feat that none of our people here on shore were willing to undertake. How they got here I know not, but assuredly they are English sailors. This will account for their blue eyes and light hair, which have so puzzled us; and for that ignorance of Spanish, which they so craftily accounted for." Although the assembled mass of people on the beach had not arrived at the conclusions to which the governor had jumped, they were filled with astonishment and admiration at the daring deed which had been accomplished; and when the boat was safely brought round behind the shelter of the rock, and its occupants landed on the shore, loud cheers broke from the crowd; and the lads received a perfect ovation, their comrades of the barracks being especially enthusiastic. Presently the crowd were severed by two soldiers, who made their way through it and, approaching Ned and Tom, said: "We have the orders of the governor to bring you to him." The lads supposed that the governor desired to thank them, for saving the lives of the shipwrecked men; for in the excitement of the rescue, the thought that they had exposed themselves by their knowledge of seamanship had never crossed their minds. The crowd followed tumultuously, expecting to hear a flattering tribute paid to the young men who had behaved so well. But the aspect of the governor as, surrounded by his officers, he stood in one of the batteries on the mole, excited a vague feeling of astonishment and surprise. "You are two English seamen," he said, when the lads approached. "It is useless lying any longer. Your knowledge of seamanship, and your appearance, alike convict you." For an instant the boys were too surprised to reply, and then Tom said, boldly: "We are, sir. We have done no wrong to any man, and we are not ashamed, now, to say we are Englishmen. Under the same circumstances, I doubt not that any Spaniard would have similarly tried to escape recognition. But as chance has betrayed us, any further concealment were unnecessary." "Take them to the guard house," the governor said, "and keep a close watch over them. Later, I will interrogate them myself, in the palace." The feelings of the crowd, on hearing this unexpected colloquy, were very mixed. In many, the admiration which the boys' conduct had excited swallowed up all other feeling. But among the less enthusiastic minds, a vague distrust and terror was at once excited by the news that English sailors were among them. No Englishman had ever been seen on that coast, and they had inflicted such terrible losses, on the West Indian Islands and on the neighboring coast, that it is no matter for surprise that their first appearance on the western shores of South America was deemed an omen of terrible import. The news rapidly spread from mouth to mouth, and a large crowd followed in the rear of the little party, and assembled around the governor's house. The sailors who had been rescued had many friends in the port, and these took up the cause of the boys, and shouted that men who had done so gallant a deed should be pardoned, whatever their offense Perhaps, on the whole, this party were in the majority. But the sinister whisper that circulated among the crowd, that they were spies who had been landed from English ships on the coast, gradually cooled even the most enthusiastic of their partisans; and what at one time appeared likely to become a formidable popular movement, gradually calmed down, and the crowd dispersed. When brought before the governor, the boys affected no more concealment; but the only point upon which they refused to give information was respecting the ships on which they had sailed, and the time at which they had been left upon the eastern coast of America. Without absolutely affirming the fact, they led to the belief that they had passed some years since they left their vessels. The governor presently gazed sharply upon them, and demanded: "Are you the two whites who headed the negro revolt in Porto Rico, and did so much damage to our possessions in that island?" Ned would have hesitated as to the answer, but Tom at once said, firmly: "We are not those two white men, sir, but we know them well; and they were two gallant and loyal Englishmen who, as we know, did much to restrain the atrocities of the Indians. We saw them, when they regained their ships." It was lucky, indeed, that the governor did not put the question separately, instead of saying, "Were you two the leaders?" for in that case Ned would have been forced to acknowledge that he was one of them. The outspokenness of Tom's answer allayed the governor's suspicions. A great portion of his questioning was directed to discovering whether they really had crossed the continent; for he, as well as the populace outside, had at first conceived the idea that they might have been landed on the coast as spies. The fact, however, that they were captured far up among the Cordilleras; their dress and their appearance; and their knowledge of the native tongues--which he tested by bringing in some natives, who entered into conversation with them--convinced him that all this portion of their story was true. As he had no fear of their escaping he said that, at present, he should not treat them as prisoners; and that their gallant conduct, in rowing out to save the lives of Spaniards in danger, entitled them to every good treatment; but that he must report their case to the authorities at Lima, who would of course decide upon it. The priest, however, urged upon the governor that he should continue his instructions to them in the Catholic religion; and the governor then pointed out to Ned, who alone was able to converse fluently in Spanish, that they had now been so long separated from their countrymen that they might, with advantage to themselves, become naturalized as Spaniards; in which case he would push their fortunes to the utmost and, with his report in their favor, they might rise to positions of credit and honor; whereas, if they insisted upon maintaining their nationality as Englishmen, it was but too probable that the authorities at Lima would consider it necessary to send them, as prisoners, to Spain. He said, however, that he would not press them for an answer, at once. Greatly rejoiced at finding that they were not, at present, to be thrown into prison; but were to be allowed to continue their independent life, in the barracks; the lads took their departure from the governor's house, and were most cordially received by their comrades. For a short time everything went smoothly. The suspicion that they were spies had now passed away, and the remembrance of their courageous action made them popular among all classes in the town. A cloud, however, began to gather slowly round them. Now that they had declared their nationality, they felt that they could no longer even pretend that it was likely that they might be induced to forsake their religion; and they accordingly refused, positively, to submit any longer to the teaching of the priests. Arguments were spent upon them in vain and, after resorting to these, threats were not obscurely uttered. They were told, and with truth that, only two or three months before, six persons had been burned alive, at Lima, for defying the authority of the church; and that, if they persisted in their heretical opinions, a similar fate might fall upon them. English boys are accustomed to think with feelings of unmitigated horror, and indignation, of the days of the Inquisition; and in times like these, when a general toleration of religious opinion prevails, it appears to us almost incredible that men should have put others to death, in the name of religion. But it is only by placing ourselves in the position of the persecutors, of the middle ages, that we can see that what appears to us cruelty and barbarity, of the worst kind, was really the result of a zeal; in its way as earnest, if not as praiseworthy, as that which now impels missionaries to go, with their lives in their hands, to regions where little but a martyr's grave can be expected. Nowadays we believe--at least all right-minded men believe--that there is good in all creeds; and that it would be rash, indeed, to condemn men who act up to the best of their lights, even though those lights may not be our own. In the middle ages there was no idea of tolerance such as this. Men believed, fiercely and earnestly, that any deviation from the creed to which they, themselves, belonged meant an eternity of unhappiness. Such being the case, the more earnestly religious a man was, the more he desired to save those around him from this fate. The inquisitors, and those who supported them, cannot be charged with wanton cruelty. They killed partly to save those who defied the power of the church, and partly to prevent the spread of their doctrines. Their belief was that it was better that one man should die, even by the death of fire, than that hundreds should stray from the pale of the church, and so incur the loss of eternal happiness. In the Indies, where the priests in many cases showed a devotion, and heroic qualities, equal to anything which has ever been displayed by missionaries, in any part of the world, persecution was yet hotter than it ever was in civilized Europe. These men believed firmly that it was their bounden duty, at any cost, to force the natives to become Christians; and however we may think that they were mistaken and wrong, however we may abhor the acts of cruelty which they committed, it would be a mistake, indeed, to suppose that these were perpetrated from mere lightness of heart, and wanton bloodthirstiness. The laws of those days were, in all countries, brutally severe. In England, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, the loss of an ear was the punishment inflicted upon a man who begged. The second time he offended, his other ear was cut off. A third repetition of the offense, and he was sold into slavery; and if he ran away from his master, he was liable to be put to death by the first person who met him. The theft of any article above the value of three shillings was punishable by death, and a similar code of punishment prevailed for all kinds of offenses Human life was then held in such slight regard that we must remember that, terrible as the doings of the Inquisition were, they were not so utterly foreign, to the age in which they were perpetrated, as would appear to us, living in these days of moderate punishment and general humanity. By the boys, however, brought up in England, which at that time was bitterly and even fiercely anti-Catholic--a state of things which naturally followed the doings in the reign of Queen Mary, and the threatening aspect maintained by Spain towards this country--popery was held in utter abhorrence, and the Inquisition was the bugbear with which mothers frightened their children, when disobedient. The thought, therefore, of falling into the hands of this dreaded tribunal was very terrible to the boys. They debated, between themselves, whether it would not be better for them to leave Arica secretly, to make for the mountains, and to take up their lot, for life, among the natives of the plains, who had so hospitably received them. They had, indeed, almost arrived at the conclusion that this would be their best plan of procedure. They lingered, however, in the hope, daily becoming fainter, of the arrival of Drake's fleet; but it seemed that, by this time, it must have failed in its object of doubling the Horn. Nearly six months had elapsed, since they had been left on the eastern coast; and, according to their calculation of distance, two months should have amply sufficed to enable them to make the circuit of Southern America. They could not tell that the fleet had been delayed by extraordinary accidents. When off the Cape they had met with storms, which continued from the 7th of September to the 28th of October, without intermission; and which the old chronicler of the expedition describes as being "more violent, and of longer continuance, than anything since Noah's flood." They had to waste much time, owing to the fact that Captain Winter with one of the ships had, missing his consorts in the storm, sailed back to England, that two other ships were lost, and that Captain Drake with his flagship, which alone remained, had spent much time in searching for his consorts, in every inlet and island. Among those saved, in the boat from the Spanish ship, was a young gentleman of rank and fortune, and owner of large estates near Lima, who had come down upon some business. He took a great affection for the young Englishmen, and came each day to visit them, there being no let or hindrance on the part of the governor. This gentleman assured them that he possessed great influence at Lima; and that, although he doubted not that the military authorities would treat them with all courtesy, after the manner in which they had risked their lives to save subjects of his majesty; yet that, should it be otherwise, he would move heaven and earth in their favor. "There is but one thing I dread," he said, and a cloud came over his handsome face. "You need hardly say what it is," Ned said, gravely. "You mean, of course, the Inquisition." The Spaniard signified his assent by a silent movement of the head. "We dare not speak, above our breath, of that dreaded tribunal," he said. "The very walls appear to have ears; and it is better to face a tiger, in his den, than to say ought against the Inquisition. There are many Spaniards who, like myself, loathe and abhor it; but we are powerless. Their agents are everywhere, and one knows not in whom he dare confide. Even in our families there are spies, and this tyranny, which is carried on in the name of religion, is past all supporting. "But, even should the 'holy office' lay its hands upon you, keep up heart. Be assured that I will risk all that I am worth, and my life, to boot, to save you from it." "Would you advise us to fly?" Ned said. "We can without doubt escape from here, for we are but lightly guarded; and the governor, I am sure, is friendly towards us." "Whither would you fly?" asked the young Spaniard. "We would cross the mountains to the plains, and join the Indians there." "It would be a wretched life," the Spaniard said, "and would cut you off from all kindred, and friends. I can give you no advice. To me, I confess, death would be preferable, even in its worst forms. But to you, fond of exercise, and able to cause yourself to be respected, and feared, by the wild Indians of the Pampas, it might be different. "However, you need not decide, yet. I trust that, even should the worst befall you, I may be able, at the last moment, to give you the opportunity of choosing that life, in preference to death in the dungeons of the Inquisition." It was about ten days from the date of the governor's writing that a ship came in from Lima, and the same evening the governor came in to them, with a grave face. He was attended by two officials, dressed in the deepest black. "Senors," he said, "it is my duty, in the first place, to inform you that the governor of Lima, acting upon the report, which I sent him, of the bravery which you manifested in the matter of the wreck here, has agreed to withdraw all question against you, touching your past connection with the English freebooters; and to allow you freedom, without let or hindrance, and to further your passage to such place as opportunity may afford, and where you may be able to meet with a ship from your own country. That is all I have to say to you." Then the men in black stepped forward and said, "We arrest you, in the name of the holy Inquisition, on the charge of heresy." The young men glanced at the governor, believing that he was sufficiently their friend to give them a sign, if resistance would be of any avail. He replied to the unspoken question by an almost imperceptible shake of the head; and it was well that the boys abandoned the idea, for the door opened and a guard of six men, armed to the teeth, although in plain dark clothes, entered. These were the alguazils of the holy office, the birds of night, whose appearance was dreaded even by the most bigoted Spaniards; and at whose approach mothers clasped their children closer to their breast, and men crossed themselves, at the thought that their passage boded death to some unhappy victim. For it must be remembered that the Inquisition, framed at first only for the discovery and punishment of heresy, later became an instrument of private vengeance. Men denounced wives of whom they wished to be rid, wives husbands; no relations of kin were sufficient to ensure safety. The evidence, sometimes true, was more often manufactured by malice and hate; until at last even the most earnest and sincere Catholics trembled when they thought that, at any moment, they might be denounced and flung into the dungeons of the Inquisition. Brave as the lads were, they could not avoid a thrill of horror, at the presence of the familiars of this dreaded body. They were, however, cheered by the thought of the promises of the young Spaniard, in whose honesty and honor they had great faith; and with a few words of adieu to the governor, and thanks to him for what he had done in their behalf, they followed the officers of the Inquisition along the streets of Arica, and suffered themselves to be placed on board the boat, which lay alongside the mole. Although it was late in the evening, their passage was not unobserved. Many of the soldiers recognized, in the two men marching, surrounded by the black guard of the Inquisition, their late comrades; and, confident in their numbers, these did not hesitate to lift their voices, in loud protest, against this seizure of men who had behaved so gallantly. In the darkness, too, they feared not that their faces would be recognized, and their curses and threats rose loud in the air. People looking out from their doors, to hear the cause of the uproar, were variously affected. Some joined in the movement of the soldiers; but more shrank back with dread into their houses, rather than be compromised with so dreaded a body. The threats, however, did not proceed to open violence; and as the young men, themselves, gave no sign of attempting an effort for freedom, their comrades contented themselves with many shouts of good wishes, mingled with curses upon their captors; and the lads were embarked, without the alguazils having to use the swords which they had drawn in readiness for the expected fray. "You are witness, senor officer," Ned said, "that we came without resistance; and that, had we chosen, we could, with the assistance of the soldiers, have easily broken from the hold of your men. We are willing, however, to proceed with you to Lima; where we doubt not that the justice of our judges will result in our acquittal. No one can blame us that we are of the religion of our fathers. Had we been born Catholics, and then relapsed into heresy, it would have been reasonable for you to have considered our case; but as we but hold the religion which we have been taught, and know indeed of no other, we see not how, in any man's eyes, blame can rest upon us." "I take note," the officer said, "of the docility with which you have remained in our hands; and will so far testify in your favor Touching the other matter, it is beyond my jurisdiction." The vessel in which the boys were embarked was a slow one and, two days after leaving Arica, they saw a small sailing craft pass them, at no great distance, sailing far more rapidly than they themselves were going. The boys gave no thought to this occurrence, until they arrived at the harbor of Lima. A large number of ships were here anchored and, after the solitude of the sea, which they had endured during their voyage from England, this collection of fine galleons greatly pleased the boys, who had never seen so large a number of ships collected together, there being nigh forty sail then in harbor. As the officers of the Inquisition scarcely ever pass through the streets in the daytime, owing to the known hostility of the mass of the population, no attempt at a landing was made, until nightfall. The officer in charge was however surprised, upon reaching the landing place, to find a large crowd assembled, who saluted his party with hisses and groans, and loud cries of "shame!" Those behind pressed forward, and those in front were forced into the ranks of the alguazils; and it seemed, at one time, as if the prisoners would be separated from their guards. A man in a rough peasant's dress was forced in contact with Ned, and said hastily, in a low voice to him: "Keep up your heart. When preparations are made, I will act." Ned recognized the voice of the young Spanish gentleman, whom he had left at Arica; and guessed immediately that he had taken passage in the swift-sailing caravel, in order to be able to reach Lima before the vessel containing the prisoners. Ned had, in confidence, in his talks with him, informed him that he still hoped, although his hopes had now fallen almost to zero from the long tarrying of the fleet, that the English admiral would arrive; and that he should be able to go on board, and so rejoin his countrymen. This expectation, indeed, it was which had prevented Ned and Tom making their escape, when they could have done so, and taking to the mountains; for it was certain that some time, at least, would elapse before stringent measures would be taken against them. Another effort would, without doubt, be made to persuade them to abandon their religion; and every day might bring with it the arrival of the English vessels. The young men were conducted to a dark and sombre building, which bore the appearance of a vast monastery. The interior was even more dismal in its appearance than the walls without. A solitary figure met them at the doorway. Their guards entered, and the gates were closed behind. The officer in charge handed to the newcomer a paper; and the latter, receiving it, said, "I accept the charge of the prisoners, and your duties are at an end, concerning them." Motioning them to follow, he led them through some long dark corridors, into a room much better furnished and provided than they had expected. Here, placing a lamp upon the table, and pointing to two manchets of bread and a vessel of water, which stood on the table; and to two truckle beds, in the corner of the room, he left them without a word. Ned had already agreed with his companion that they would not, when once within the building, say a word, to each other, which they would not have heard by their jailors; for they were well aware that these buildings were furnished with listening places, and that every word which prisoners said would be overheard, and used against them. They comforted themselves, therefore, with general observations as to their voyage, and to the room in which they now were; and to the hopes, which they entertained, that their judges would take a favorable view of their conduct. Then, with a sincere prayer to God, to spare them through the dangers and trials which they might have to undergo, they lay down for the night; and, such is the elasticity and strength of youth, they were, in spite of the terrible position in which they were placed, in a few minutes fast asleep. The next day the door of the apartment opened, and two attendants, dressed in black from head to foot, and bearing white wands, entered, and motioned to them to follow them. Through more long corridors and passages they went, until they stopped at some thick curtains, overhanging a door. These were drawn aside, the door behind them was opened, other curtains hanging on the inside were separated, and they entered a large apartment, lighted artificially by lamps from above. At a table at the end of the room were seated three men, also in black. They were writing, and for some time did not look up from their work. The attendants stood motionless by the side of the lads; who, in spite of their courage, could not but shudder at the grim silence of this secret tribunal. At last the chief inquisitor laid down his pen and, lifting his eyes towards them, said: "Your names are Edward Hearne and Thomas Tressilis. You are English sailors who, having crossed from the other side of the continent, made your way to Arica; where you did, as I am told, a brave action, in saving the lives of some Spanish sailors." Tom assented gravely to the address. "You are accused," the inquisitor went on, "of being steeped in the errors of heresy; and of refusing to listen to the ministrations of the holy father, who tried to instruct you in the doctrines of the true church. What have you to say to this?" "It is true, sir," Ned said, "every word. We were born Protestants, and were brought up in that church. Had we been born in Spain we should, no doubt, have been true members of your church. But it is hard that men, once ingrained in a faith, should change it for another. It were like asking a tiger to become a leopard. We are unlearned men, and in no way skilled in the exercises of theology. We accepted what we were taught, and would fain die in the same belief. Doubtless your priests could give us arguments which we should be unable to refute, whatever might be done by learned men of our church; and we would pray you to suffer us to hold to the creed in which we have been reared." "It is impossible," the inquisitor said, "that we should permit you to go on, straightway, in the way of damnation. Your bodies are as nothing to the welfare of your souls; and to save the one it were, indeed, for your good that the other were tormented. We will not, however, press you now to recant your errors. You shall be attended by a minister of the true religion, who will point out to you the error of your courses; and in three days we shall expect an answer from you. If you embrace the faith of the Holy Church you may, if you choose to remain here, rise to posts of honor and wealth; for we have heard good things of your courage and prudence. If, however, you remain stubborn, we shall find means to compel you to do that which we would fain that you should do of your free will; and if you still defy, at once, the kindness and the chastisement of the church, you will receive that doom which awaits all who defy its authority." The attendants now touched the lads on the arm, in token that the audience was over, and led them back to the room in which they had first been confined. When left alone the boys examined this closely, although seeming to be looking without motive at the walls. The windows were placed high up from the ground, far beyond their reach, and were thickly barred. The door was of massive oak; and the room, although in appearance but an ordinary apartment, was truly a dungeon as safe, and as difficult to break out of, as if far below the surface of the earth. Later on, when an attendant came in with the bread and water, which formed the substance of each meal, as he placed it on the table he said, in a low muttered whisper: "Hope always. Friends are working." This intimation greatly raised the spirits of the prisoners, as they felt that their friend the Spaniard had already succeeded in corrupting some, at least, of the familiars of the Inquisition; and that no means would be spared to secure their escape, should the worst occur. For three days they were visited for many hours daily by a priest, who endeavored to explain to Ned the points of difference between the two religions, and to convince him of the errors of that of England. Ned, however, although but a poor theologist, gave answer, to all his arguments, that he could in no way reply to the reasonings of the priest; but that he was, nevertheless, convinced of their error, and sure that a divine of his church would have found replies to difficulties to which he could see no outlet. The priest strove earnestly with him, but at the end of the third day he retired, exasperated, saying angrily that he now left them to other hands. Chapter 16: The Rescue. The next day they were again brought before the tribunal, and the grand inquisitor, without this time entering into any length of speech, informed them briefly that he gave them another three days; and that if, at the end of the third day, their obstinacy did not yield, he would use the means at his disposal--and he pointed to various instruments, hanging on the walls or ranged on the table. Of these, although the lads were ignorant of their uses, they entertained no doubt, whatever, that they were the instruments of torture of which they had heard--thumb screws, iron gags, the boot, the rack, and other devilish inventions. They made no reply to the address, and were taken away, this time, down several winding stairs to a black and noxious dungeon, far below the general level of the earth. No ray of light entered this cell. The walls were damp with moisture. In the corner the boys discovered, by the sense of feeling, a small pile of rotten straw; which had, without doubt, formed the bed of some other unfortunate, who had before tenanted the prison. Here, at least, they had no fear of being overheard; but as the ingenuity of the inquisitors was well known, they agreed to say no word of the hopes they still cherished; but to talk of other matters, purely personal to themselves. Here, as hour after hour passed, they strengthened each other in their resolutions, by an agreement that no torture should wring from them a recantation of their faith, and by many prayers for strength and support from above. Once a day the door opened, and an attendant brought in bread and water, which he placed in silence on the ground. The second day, as he did so, he placed a bundle by the side of the bread, and whispering, "Be prudent. Use these only as the last resource. Friends are preparing to help you," retired as noiselessly as usual. When left in darkness again, the lads seized upon the parcel. It was large and heavy and, to their great delight, they found that it contained two daggers and two brace of heavy pistols. "I wonder," Ned said, in a whisper to Tom, "that our friend does not contrive to get us passed through the prison. But I suppose that he finds that only one or two, perhaps, of the attendants are corruptible; and that our jailor, although he might free us from this cell, could not pass us through the corridors and out of the building." "Let us see," Tom said, "if we can make our way into any cell which may adjoin this. If it is empty we might, perchance, make our escape." All night the boys labored with their daggers, having first tapped the wall all round, to hear if any difference of sound gave an intimation that a hollow space was behind. They could not perceive this; but fancying that, upon the one side, there was some very slight difference, they attempted to remove the stones there. All through the night and next day they continued their labor; and succeeded, with great difficulty, in removing two of the stones of the wall. Behind these, however, was a mass of rubble, formed of cement so hard that the daggers failed to make any impression, whatever, upon it; and after laboring through the whole day, they were forced to abandon the design, and replace the stones as they had before been; filling up the interstices with the mortar which they had dug out, so that no trace of the task upon which they were employed should remain. That night, when the door opened, two figures, as before, presented themselves; and they knew that their summons before the dreaded court was at hand. With their daggers and pistols concealed within their vests, they followed their guides; each, with a grasp of his hand, assuring the other of his steadfastness and faith. They had resolved that, sooner than submit to torture, which would cripple them for life, they would fight to the last, and die resisting. This time they found in the audience hall, in addition to the three judges, four men; clothed also in black, but evidently of an inferior order. These were standing, ranged along by the wall, in readiness to obey the orders of the judges. Their attendants fell back to the door, and the prisoners remained, standing alone, in the center of the room. "Acting in all kindness," the judge said, "we have given you ample time to retract, and to consider your position; and we now call upon you to consent, formally, to abandon your accursed heresies, and to embrace the offer which the holy church kindly makes to you; or to endure the pains which it will be necessary that we should inflict, in order to soften your hardness of heart." "We are perfectly resolved," Ned said, "to maintain the religion of our fathers. As Englishmen, we protest against this outrage. When your countrymen fall into our hands, no man dreams of endeavoring to compel them to abandon their faith. They are treated as honorable prisoners; and if any outrage be attempted upon our bodies, sooner or later, be assured, the news of it will come to the ears of our English captains; and for every drop of blood of ours shed, a Spanish life will answer." "You are insolent," the inquisitor said, coldly. "It is rash to threaten men in whose power you are. These walls reveal no secrets, and though the town were full of your English pirates, yet would your doom be accomplished; without a possibility of rescue, and without your fate ever becoming known, beyond these four walls. "Bethink you," he said, "before you compel me to use the means at my disposal; for men have spoken as bravely and as obstinately as you, but they have changed their minds, when they felt their bones cracking under the torture. We would fain abstain from injuring figures as manly as yours; but, if needs be, we will so reduce them to wrecks that you will envy the veriest cripple who crawls for alms, on the steps of the cathedral here." The boys remained silent, and the inquisitor, with an air of angry impatience, motioned to the men ranged along by the wall to seize their prisoners. The lads saw that the time for action was come. Each produced his pistol from his breast, the one leveling his at the head of the grand inquisitor, while the other faced the foremost of those advancing towards them. "One step nearer," Ned said, "and the two of you are dead men." A silence as of death fell in the chamber. The judges were too astonished even to rise from their seats, and the familiars paused in their advance. "You see," Ned said to the grand inquisitor, "that you are not masters of the situation. One touch upon my trigger, and the death with which you threaten me is yours. Now write, as I order you, a pass by which we may be allowed to quit these accursed walls, without molestation." Without hesitation, the judge wrote on a piece of paper the required order. "Now," Ned said, "you must come with us; for I put no faith, whatever, in your promises; for I know the ways of your kind, that promises made to heretics are not considered sacred. You are, yourself, my best safeguard; for be assured that the slightest interruption to us, upon our way, and I draw my trigger, and send you to that eternity to which you have dispatched so many victims." The judge rose to his feet, and Ned could see that, quiet as he appeared, he was trembling with passion. Tom had, at the first alarm, retreated to the door; so as to prevent the escape of the attendants stationed there, or of any of the others, to give the alarm. He now opened it, and Ned was about to pass out with the inquisitor when, glancing round, he saw that one of the other judges had disappeared, doubtless by some door placed behind the arras, at the end of the room. "Treachery is intended," he muttered to the inquisitor; "but remember that you will be the first victim." Slowly Ned passed along the corridors, the inquisitor between the two Englishmen, the attendants following in a group behind, uncertain what course to pursue, and without orders from their superior, when at last they came to a door. This was locked, and Ned ordered the inquisitor to have it opened. "I have not the keys," he said. "They are in the hands of the attendant whose duty it is to attend to this portion of the building." "Call them," Ned said impatiently. The inquisitor struck on the closed door with his hands, and called aloud, but no answer was returned. "Bid these men behind you force it in," Ned said. The men advanced, but as they did so a small side door in the passage, behind Ned, opened noiselessly, and suddenly a thick blanket was thrown over his head, while an arm struck up the hand which had the pistol. He drew the trigger, however; and the grand inquisitor, with a groan, sank to the ground. At the same instant a number of men rushed through the door, and threw themselves upon the lads, and were joined by the attendants standing behind. A desperate struggle ensued. Tom shot the two first men who sprang upon him, and for some minutes the lads maintained a desperate struggle. Again and again, the crowd of their assailants pulled one or other of them to the ground; but it was not until their strength was utterly exhausted, by their struggles, that both were secured, and bound hand and foot. Then, at the order of one of the other judges; who, now that all danger was over, appeared upon the scene, they were lifted bodily, carried back to their dungeon, and cast upon the ground. Panting and breathless, the lads lay for some time, too exhausted to speak. "I am afraid that I missed that rascally chief inquisitor," Ned said. "Did you notice, Tom?" "I scarcely saw, for at the same moment I was struck from behind; but I fancy that he fell, when your pistol exploded." "In that case," Ned said, "we may have a respite, for a day or two. He will feel inclined to be present at the ceremony of torturing, himself. "On one thing I am determined. We will not be taken by the men in black, and submit to having our limbs wrenched, without an effort. I should think that, if we snatch up some of the iron instruments lying about, we can manage to make such a resistance that they will have to kill us, before we are overcome. If I could kill myself, I certainly would do so. I do not think I am a coward, Tom, but I confess that the sight of those horrible instruments makes my blood run cold." "I feel with you, Ned. Death itself were nothing; but to be torn, limb from limb, is something horrible." The day passed, without any visit being paid to them. No food was brought in, and they were left, as if forgotten, by their jailors. Thus they were unable to tell the hour and, as it was perfectly dark, it was by guesswork that they at last lay down to sleep on the damp stones. Presently they were awoke by the tramp of numerous footsteps. Then there was a tremendous battering at the door. "What on earth are they doing?" Ned exclaimed. "Have they lost the key, and are they going to break open the door, and finish with us, now? Get ready. We will make a fight at once, and try and end it." Presently the door gave way before the heavy blows which were struck upon it; and, to the astonishment of the lads, a band of Indians, naked to the waist and holding torches, burst into the cell. "Here they are!" exclaimed one of them, in Spanish. "Quick, there is not a moment to be lost. Follow us;" and, stooping down, he cut the cords which bound them. Bewildered and confused with the sudden light, and by the unexpected irruption, the boys followed the speaker; and, closely surrounded by the Indians, made their way down the passages and out into the courtyard. There was no resistance, or interference. The familiars had, apparently, fled at the sudden attack upon the jail, and no one appeared to bar their exit. The great gates of the courtyard stood uninjured, but the postern door had been battered in. Another body of natives, armed with spears and bows and arrows, were standing round the entrance; and a good many of the people of the neighborhood, roused by the sudden tumult, were standing at the doors. These looked on, apparently, with mere curiosity, and with no desire to interfere with what was going on. Indeed, the Inquisition was never popular with the great body of the Spaniards; over whom its secret proceedings, and terrible cruelties, hung like a dark cloud, as none could ever say that they might not be the objects of denunciation. It was clear that the Indians were acting upon a fixed plan; for, the moment that those from within the prison sallied out, all formed in a compact body, and at a brisk slinging trot started down the street; the lads being kept well in the center, so as to conceal them from the gaze of the public. Not a word was spoken, till they had issued from the town. For another quarter of a mile their hurried march continued; and then, without a word, the whole of the escort, with the exception of one man, turned up a crossroad and vanished into the darkness. "Heaven be praised that I have saved you, senors!" said the Indian who remained. "Do you not recognize me? I am Don Estevan, whose life you saved at Arica. I feared that I might be too late to find you unharmed; but it required time to get the necessary force together. "You recognized me, of course, on the pier when you landed. The instant I heard of your arrest, I chartered a swift-sailing country craft, and arrived here the day before you. I was the bearer of a letter, signed by many of the soldiers in garrison at Arica, to their comrades here; saying how bravely you had behaved, and that you had become good comrades in the regiment, and urging them to do anything in their power to save you from the Inquisition. This I thought might be useful, as they would be sure to be called out, in case of an attack upon the Inquisition; and I prayed them to be as slow as possible in their movements, in case of any sudden alarm. This will account for the fact that none of them arrived upon the spot before we had finished our business, just now. "But there is not a moment to delay. I have horses two miles away in readiness, and we must make for there. They will be sure to put on bloodhounds in pursuit, and we may have to ride for it." The boys briefly expressed their intense gratitude to their preserver, for his efforts in their behalf, Ned adding, "I fear, Don Estevan, that your generous deed of tonight will involve you in fearful danger." "I have taken every precaution," the young Spaniard said. "I did not charter the vessel in my own name, and came up in disguise. All my friends believe me to be still at Arica, and no one, so far as I know, has recognized me here. I was obliged to go to my estate, which lies a hundred miles up the country. There I armed my peons and vaqueros, and a number of Indians who were living near, to whom I have always shown kindness. None of them knew that it was the dungeon of the Inquisition which they were to attack, but believed that it was merely a prison they were about to force; for the power of superstition is very great in this country, and although a great many of the men may lead wild and godless lives, they tremble at the thought of lifting their hands against that mysterious and awful body, the Inquisition. "News travels slowly, indeed, in this country; and it is not likely that the fact that the prison of the Inquisition has been broken open will ever reach the men on my estate. The priest of the village is a worthy man; and he has, I know, no sympathy with bigotry and cruelty. Consequently, if any of them should, in their confession, tell him that they have been engaged in breaking a prison, he will perchance guess what prison it was, and may imagine that I had a hand in it. But I feel sure that the knowledge so gained would go no further. "I might, had I chosen, have had the horses brought to the point where we separated from my men. But in that case the hounds might have followed upon the main body, and so some clue would have been gained as to the direction from which they came. As it is, they will follow us up, at any rate until we take horses. We will make our track visible, for some distance, so that the pursuit may be carried on. Before it is over, they will have lost all track of the rest of their assailants; and will not, indeed, be able to trace the direction in which they went. They, too, have horses at a short distance, and will speedily regain the estate." "How did you know in which cell we were confined?" "Through the jailor. The man who attended you was once employed by my father. I met him, the day I arrived from Arica, and bribed him to convey the arms to you; with which I thought that, should they bring you to trial and torture before I could collect my force, you might make a resistance; for I judged that you would rather die than suffer mutilation and agony. When you disclosed your arms, today, he slipped at once from the building, as he knew that he would be suspected. Changing his clothes in a house near, he mounted his horse and rode to meet us, conveying the news that the crisis had arrived. How it ended he could not tell; but he hoped that some delay might occur, in resuming proceedings against you." By this time they had reached their horses, which were tied in a clump of trees, at a short distance from the road. "They are fine animals," Don Estevan said, "and we may reckon upon showing our heels to any of those who pursue us; for I can assure you that the chase is likely to be a hot one." "Whither do you intend to go?" "I am thinking of making for Arica. Before we reach that town you can, if you choose, strike to the hills and join the natives beyond, as you proposed when at Arica; or, should you prefer it, you can, in disguises, enter Arica and remain there, for a time, until all possibility of your friends appearing before that place be at an end. "My absence will not have been noticed, for I mentioned to friends there that I was going into the interior, to investigate a mine, of whose existence I had heard from some Indians. When I return, therefore, I shall say that the mine was not sufficiently promising, in appearance, for me to care about asking for a concession from the government. I shall, of course, pretend to be extremely vexed at the time that has been wasted; and I do not see that any suspicion can fall upon me, as having been concerned in the affair at Lima. "We will walk our horses at a slow pace, in order to save them, as far as possible; and to ascertain whether our pursuers have correctly followed our steps. When we once hear them, we can then put on our best speed; and as they will not know that we are but a short distance ahead, they will go at a moderate pace. Besides, the speed of bloodhounds, when tracking, is by no means great." An hour later, they heard a faint sound in the distance. Instinctively they checked their horses, and again, in the darkness of the night, the deep distant bay of a hound was heard. "Just as I thought!" Don Estevan exclaimed. "They have got the bloodhounds, and I should think, by the sound, that they must have just reached the spot where we mounted. The hounds will be puzzled now; but the sagacity of these creatures is so great that I am by no means sure that they will be unable to follow us by the track of the horses. Now let us set spur." For the next four or five hours they proceeded, at a steady gallop, towards the south. The country was flat; the road sandy, but even; and the cool night air was exhilarating, indeed, after the confinement in the dark and noisome dungeon at Lima. So rejoiced were the boys, with their newly-recovered freedom, that it was with difficulty they restrained themselves from bursting into shouts of joy. But they were anxious that no sounds should be heard, by the villagers of the little hamlets lying along the road. The sound of the horses' hoofs on the sandy track would scarcely arouse a sleeping man; and the fact that their tracks would be plainly visible in the sand, when daylight came, caused them no concern; as, so far, they had made no effort to deceive their pursuers. Soon after daylight arrived they found themselves upon a stream, which ran down from the mountains and crossed the road. "Now," Don Estevan said, "it is time to begin to throw them off our track. They will believe that the party consist solely of Indians, and our turning east will seem as if we intended to take refuge in the mountains. Let us then strike up the river for awhile, land at a spot where the horses' hoofs will be clearly visible, and then pursue a course to the southeast, taking us nearer and nearer to the hills. "Three leagues hence is another stream. This we will enter, and they will make sure that we have pursued our former tactics--that we have followed it up, and again struck for the hills. Instead of doing this, we will follow it down for a mile or two; and quit it at some spot where the bank is firm, and will leave no marks of our footsteps. Then we will strike across the country, and regain the road some seven or eight leagues further south." The plan appeared a capital one, and was followed out as arranged. Late in the evening, they were again in the vicinity of the southern road. In their wallets was a plentiful supply of provisions, and they had filled their water bottles at the last stream which they had crossed. Entering a grove of trees, they unsaddled their horses and allowed them to crop the foliage and shrubs; while they threw themselves down upon the soft earth, stiff and wearied with their long journey. "We will travel by night, always," Don Estevan said. "I do not think that any suspicion, whatever, will arise that we have again struck south; but should any inquiry be made, it is as well that no one along the road shall have seen three mounted men." For another two days they journeyed, as proposed, by night; resting by day in quiet places and, so far as they knew, without having been seen by any of the scattered population. It was in the middle of the third night, as they were cantering slowly along, that they heard the tread of a horse, at full gallop, approaching from the south. "You had better withdraw from the road," Don Estevan said, "so that but one horseman will be met. I will stop the rider, and hear why he gallops so fast. It may be that news has preceded us, and it is as well to gather what intelligence we can." The boys withdrew from the road, Don Estevan proceeding ahead. They heard the sound of the galloping hoofs pause, as their rider met the Spaniard. There was a talk for a few minutes, and then the horseman again rode forward at full speed. Don Estevan paused for a little while, to allow him to get beyond earshot, and then rejoined his companions. "I have great news," he said, "and it is for you to decide whether it will alter your plan of proceeding. The man whom I have just met is a messenger, dispatched by the governor of Arica to Lima, to warn the governor there that an English ship, under the noted freebooter Francis Drake, has put into that harbor; and has started again, sailing for the north, after exacting certain contributions, but otherwise refraining from injuring the town." The boys gave a shout of joy, for they had begun to fear that the expedition must have met with some disaster, in doubling Cape Horn, and been compelled to return. "What will you do?" the Spaniard asked. "Return to Lima!" the boys exclaimed, simultaneously. "We shall be there before the admiral can arrive, and can then rejoin our comrades." "That will indeed be your best plan," Don Estevan said; "but you must be disguised thoroughly. However, you are not likely to be so closely investigated as you otherwise would be, at Lima; for you may be sure that, when the messenger arrives there, the town will be in such a ferment of excitement, at the approach of your countrymen, that our little affair will, for the time, be entirely forgotten." "I trust," Ned said, "that we shall be able to do something to render your security more perfect; for, if I mistake not, when the admiral hears of the doings of the officials of the Inquisition, how many people they have burned to death lately at Lima, and what frightful cruelties they have perpetrated in that ghastly prison, he will burn the place to the ground and hang up the judges; in which case we may be sure that no further inquiry will ever be thought of, concerning the attack on the prison. What do you advise us to do, senor? For it is clear that your best course is to return to Arica, direct." "I cannot think of doing that," the generous young Spaniard replied. "A few days' longer absence will pass unnoticed, especially as people will have plenty of other matters to think, and talk, about. I do not see how you can possibly obtain disguises without my assistance; and as our pursuers will long since have been thrown off our track, and will probably have given up the search and have returned to Lima, convinced that we already have crossed the mountains and are beyond their reach. I think that there is little danger in my nearing the city. "Come, let us turn our horses' heads, at once." In a few minutes, they were returning by the route they had hitherto traveled They were already dressed as young Spaniards. The disguises had been brought by their rescuer, and assumed at the first halt. He himself had also washed the paint from his face and hands, and had assumed European garb, in order that any inquiry about three mounted Indians might be baffled. "There is now," he said, "no longer any occasion for us to ride by night. We are journeying north, and any inquiries which may ever be set on foot will certainly point only to men going south; and whereas our Indian disguises might have been suspected, I am now in my proper character, and my passing through can excite no rumor or comment." Don Estevan had, indeed, assumed the garb of a Spanish proprietor of rank, while the boys were dressed as vaqueros; and as they passed through villages, in the daytime, kept their horses half a length behind that of their leader. They avoided, on their ride back, putting up at any of the posadas, or village inns, on their road; sleeping, as before, in the woods. Their marches were long, but were performed at a much slower rate of speed, as they were certain that they would reach Lima long before the admiral's ship, even should he not pause at any place on the way. It was upon the sixth day after their rescue from prison that they again approached Lima. After much consultation, they had agreed to continue in their Spanish dresses, taking only the precaution of somewhat staining their faces and hands, to give them the color natural to men who spend their lives on the plains. Don Estevan, himself, determined to enter the city with them after nightfall; and to take them to the house of a trusty friend, where they should lie, concealed, until the news arrived that the English ship was off the port. He himself would at once mount his horse, and retrace his steps to Arica. The programme was carried out successfully. No one glanced at the hidalgo as, with his vaqueros, he rode through the streets of Lima. There were no lights, in those days, save those which hung before shrines by the roadside; or occasionally a dim oil lamp, suspended before the portico of some mansion of importance. The friend to whom Don Estevan assigned them was a young man, of his own age; a cousin, and one, like himself, liberal in his opinions, free from bigotry, and hating the cruelties perpetrated in the name of religion by the Inquisition. He heard with surprise the narrative which Don Estevan related; for the latter had not visited him during his short stay in the city, and was supposed still to be at Arica. Great was his astonishment, indeed, when he found that the attack upon the prison of the Inquisition, which had caused such intense excitement in the city, had been planned and executed by his cousin; and his expressions of approval of the deed were warm and frequent. He assured the boys that he would do everything in his power to make them comfortable until the arrival of the English ship. A discussion took place as to whether it was better that they should appear as friends of his, who had come in from their country estate; or whether they should continue their disguise as vaqueros. There were objections to either plan. In the first place, the attendants in waiting would detect the shortcomings in Ned's Spanish, and would be astonished at the silence of his companion. Upon the other hand, it would seem strange that they should be kept apart from the servitors of the house. Finally, it was agreed that they should appear as men of rank, but that Tom should feign sickness, and therefore keep his room; Ned for the most part remaining shut up with him, and taking his meals there. This course was followed out, and when the arrangement was complete they took a hearty leave of the noble young Spaniard, who at once remounted his horse and started on his weary ride back again to Arica. Chapter 17: The Golden Hind. The lads were all anxiety to know what course had been determined upon, with reference to the arrival of the English vessel. They were told that a large fleet was assembled in the harbor, but that great dissension existed, among the authorities, as to whether resistance should be offered or not. "Surely," Ned said, "they will never allow one vessel to enter a harbor, thronged with shipping, and with a strong garrison on shore ready to take part in the defense!" Their host flushed a little, and said: "You English must form but a poor opinion of Spanish courage. On shore, however, we have proved, on the battlefields of the Continent, that we can hold our own against all comers. But I own to you that your sea dogs have caused such a panic, among our sailors of the western isles, that they are looked upon as invincible, and our men appear to be paralyzed at the very name of the English buccaneers." "Why we are particularly anxious to know," Ned said, "is that, if resistance is to be offered, it is clear that we must be ready to embark in a canoe, and to join the ship before she arrives off the harbor; as otherwise, if she is beaten off we may have no opportunity, whatever, of regaining her." "I think," the Spaniard said, "that when the time comes, it is probable that no resistance may be offered; and that the valor of those who, so long as the ship is at a distance, are anxious to fight, will evaporate very rapidly. The citizens, too, are for the most part opposed to resistance; for they argue that, if the English conquer, they are likely to lay the town in ruins; whereas, if unopposed, they may content themselves with certain exactions upon the richer citizens, as has been their custom in the west." During the days that elapsed, many arguments took place, between the Spaniard and Ned, as to the lawfulness of the war which the English buccaneers carried on with the colonies of a nation at peace with their own, the Spaniard saying that they approached very nearly to the verge of piracy. Ned had never given the subject much consideration before. He had done as others did, and had regarded the Spaniards as lawful prey, their cruelty towards the natives forming, in the eyes of the English sailors, a justification for any treatment which they might inflict upon them. He was, however, forced to confess that, now the other side was presented to him, the conduct of his countrymen was really indefensible; and he blushed as he thought of the various acts of sacrilege in churches, and other deeds of plunder, in which he had taken part. He assured his friend that, in the future, neither he nor his companion would ever share in such deeds again. It was upon the evening of the 15th of February, two days after their return to Lima, that their host entered with the news that a ship was seen in the distance approaching the port, and that it was the general opinion of the mariners that she was the dreaded English pirate. He had already made arrangements that a small boat should be lying at one end of the mole. He told them that he could not venture to engage rowers, as the fact of the escape of two white men from the town might be noticed, and inquiries made. The boys assured him, however, that they were perfectly able to row themselves; and that the smaller the number in the boat, the less chances there would be of their being received by a random shot from their friends. It was just nightfall when the English ship entered the harbor, where thirty Spanish vessels were lying, all prepared for defense The Golden Hind entered the port and dropped her anchor in the midst; and the quiet resolution and confidence, which this act betrayed, struck such a panic into the minds of the Spanish captains, that not one dared be the first to fire a gun at the intruder. Half an hour after the Golden Hind came to anchor, a boat was seen approaching, and was met by the hail, "Who goes there?" The joyful shout of "Friends, your comrades, Ned Hearne and Tom Tressilis," was received by a cry of incredulity, and astonishment, by those on board the English vessel. Two minutes later, the lads were on deck receiving the hearty embraces and congratulations of all the messmates; Reuben Gale and Gerald Summers being almost beside themselves with joy, at the return to them of the comrades they believed to be so long ago dead. The admiral himself was greatly moved at seeing them; for their gallantry during the preceding voyage, and their eager zeal to do all in their power for the expedition, had greatly raised them in his affections. They were soon seated in the cabin, which was thronged by as many of the officers and gentlemen adventurers as could find room there. A brief narrative was given of their adventures, since leaving the fleet upon the other side of the continent; and loud were the expressions of surprise, and approval, at the manner in which they had gone through the various dangers and difficulties which they had encountered; Tom insisting, generously, that the credit was entirely due to the sagacity and coolness of his friend. When the story of the scene in the dungeons of the Inquisition was told, and Captain Drake was informed that large numbers of persons had been burned alive in Lima, by the Inquisition, he was filled with fury; and at once dispatched two boat loads of men, armed to the teeth, to the shore, with orders to burn down the prison, to release any prisoners found there, and to offer them a safe passage to Europe; and also to hang all officials who might be found within the walls. Ned acted as guide. The streets of Lima were deserted, as the news of the landing of a party from the English ship spread through the town; shops were closed and windows barred, and it was as through a city of the dead that the band passed rapidly along, until they reached the prison of the Inquisition. Here the doors were broken down, and the English sailors entered the ghastly prison. The cells were found to be tenanted only by natives, most of them men who had been captured in the hills, and who had refused to accept the Catholic religion. These were all loosed, and allowed to depart in freedom for the mountains, taking with them a store of such provisions for the way as could be found within the walls. The sight of the torture room roused the fury of the sailors to the utmost pitch and, breaking into the part wherein dwelt the principal inquisitors, these were seized and hung from their windows. The contents of the various rooms were then heaped together, a light applied, and in a few minutes a glow of flame told the people of Lima that the dreaded prison of the Inquisition was no more. The party then returned through the streets to the ship, and took part in the further operations commanded by the admiral. Proceeding from vessel to vessel, they took out all goods which they fancied, and which were either valuable, or might be useful to them in their further voyaging. They hewed down the masts of all the largest ships and, cutting their cables, allowed them to drift on shore. No more astonishing scene was ever witnessed than that of thirty ships, backed by a garrison and considerable population on shore, allowing themselves to be thus despoiled and wrecked by the crew of one; and this a vessel inferior in size, and in the numerical strength of her crew, to many of those within the harbor. The next day a party landed and stripped many of the churches of their valuables, and also levied a contribution upon the principal inhabitants. Ned and Tom, not thinking it worth while at this time to enter into a controversy, with the comrades to whom they had been so recently restored, as to the legality of their acts, simply declined to make part of the party who landed; alleging that they had had enough of the shore of the South American continent for the rest of their lives. The 15th of February, the date upon which the Golden Hind arrived at the port of Lima, was indeed one to be remembered throughout the lives of the rescued seamen. Their future had appeared well-nigh hopeless. On the one side, the dungeon of the Inquisition and probably a death by fire. On the other, a life passed in the midst of savages, away from all possibility of ever rejoining their friends, or returning to their country. Now they were once again among those delighted to see them, and proudly trod the decks of the Golden Hind as gentlemen adventurers, having a good share in the booty, as well as in the honor, which would accrue to all on board. So far, indeed, the plunder had been but small. Upon their way down to the Cape they had gleaned nothing, and since rounding it they had only touched at Valparaiso, where they had taken all that they required in the way of wines, stores, and provisions of all kinds, besides much gold and, it is sad to say, the rich plunder of the churches, including golden crosses, silver chalices, and altar cloths. Nowadays it gives one a positive shock to hear of English sailors rifling churches; but in those rough times, acts of sacrilege of this kind awakened but little reprobation. The following day they hove the anchor and sailed northwards. In the port they had obtained news that, on the evening before they arrived, a ship laden with much treasure from Panama had appeared, but receiving news of the approach of the English, had again set sail. All determined that, if possible, the treasures on board the Cacafuego should pass into the hold of the Golden Hind. Spreading all sail, they pressed northward. On the 20th of February they touched at the port of Paita, but did not find her there. On the 24th they passed the port of Guayaquil, and on the 28th crossed the line. On the 1st of March a sail was descried ahead and, sailing towards her, they found that she was indeed the vessel of which they were in search; and of which they had heard not only at Lima, but from a ship which they took at Paita, laden with wine; and from another, on board of which they found eighty pounds weight in gold, in Guayaquil. The Cacafuego had no thought that the solitary ship which was seen approaching was that of Captain Drake; but taking her for a Spaniard, made no effort to fly. When, upon her coming close and hailing her to surrender, they discovered their mistake, the captain made a bold fight. Hastily loading his carronades, he poured a volley into the Golden Hind, and did not surrender his ship until one of his masts had fallen by the board, and he himself was wounded. Then, finding further resistance useless, he hauled down his flag. The booty taken was even greater than had been expected. Of gold and silver, alone, there was on board her to the value of 750,000 pounds, equal to a vastly larger sum in these days; besides immense quantities of precious stones, silver vessels, and other valuables. For six days they lay alongside the Cacafuego, transferring her cargo to the Golden Hind; and at parting, Captain Drake was considerate enough to give the captain a letter to Captain Winter, or any of the other captains of the fleet, should they come north and meet her, begging that she should be allowed to pass without interruption; or that, should they have need of any of the few articles left on board her, they would pay double the value. He also, in exchange for the valuables transferred, was good enough to bestow upon the master a little linen, and some other commodities. As it was now certain that the whole coast would be thoroughly alarmed, and the Governor General at Panama would be prepared, with a powerful fleet, to resist the Golden Hind should she stir in that direction, Captain Francis determined to sail boldly out to sea, and then to shape his course so as to strike the coast again, far north of the Spanish possessions. His object, in thus undertaking a voyage which would seem likely to yield but little profit, was that he hoped he might find a passage round the north of America, and so not only shorten his own return journey home, but open a most valuable country for trade, for his own countrymen. On the 7th of March, before putting out to sea, he touched at the Island of Cano, off the coast of Nicaragua. Here they had an alarm which startled even the boldest. As they lay at anchor they felt the shock of a terrible earthquake, which almost brought down the masts of the ship; and for a moment all thought that she had been struck by some hostile machine, or had fallen down on a rock. The pumps were manned, and it was happily found that she made no water. Here they made their last prize on the American coast--a ship which had come across from China. She was laden with linen, China silk, and China dishes. Among the spoil is enumerated a falcon made of gold, with a great emerald set in his breast. It was not until the 15th of April that they again touched the land, and landed at Guatulco; whence, after a stay of a few hours, they departed; "not forgetting," the chronicler says, "to take with them a certain pot, of about a bushel in bigness, full of royals of plate, together with a chain of gold, and some other jewels; which we entreated a gentleman Spaniard to leave behind him, as he was flying out of town." They then steered out to sea, and did not see the land again until, after sailing 1400 leagues, they came, on June 3rd, in sight of land in 42 degrees north latitude. Before going further, the adventures of the fleet must be briefly related from the day, being the 21st of June, when the attack was made upon them by the Patagonians, and the boys were driven into the wood. Captain Francis, and those of the crew on shore with him, soon beat off the natives; inflicting some loss upon them. These took to the woods, in which they could not be followed; and Captain Francis, mourning for the loss of his three adventurers, and of the gunner killed by his side; and despairing of ever recovering the bodies of those who were, as he believed, cut off and murdered; embarked on board ship, and sailed down the coast. A few days later he put in to another bay, and there remained some time. Here a strange scene was enacted, which has cast a shadow over the reputation of the great sea captain. Calling his officers together, he accused one of them, Captain Doughty, of treachery. He alleged that the plots against him were commenced before leaving Plymouth; and yet, as he had promoted Captain Doughty to the command of one of the ships, when upon the voyage, it is difficult to understand how he can, at that time, have believed that he was unfaithful. Nor, again, does it appear in what way his treachery could have injured the admiral, for as all the officers and crew were devoted to him, Captain Doughty might have tried, in vain, to lead them aside from his authority. He professed, indeed, the highest regard for the man he accused, and spoke to the captains of the great goodwill and inward affection, even more than brotherly, which he held towards him. And yet, he averred that it was absolutely necessary that Captain Doughty should be put upon his trial. Captain Doughty, it is said, stricken with remorse at his conduct, acknowledged himself to have deserved death; for that he had conspired not only for the overthrow of the expedition, but for the death of the admiral, who was not a stranger, but a dear and true friend to him; and he besought the assembly to take justice into their hands, in order to save him from committing suicide. The forty officers and gentlemen who formed the court, after examining the proofs, judged that "he had deserved death, and that it stood by no means with their safety to let him live, and therefore they remitted the matter thereof, with the rest of the circumstances, to the general." Then Captain Drake offered to the prisoner either that he should be executed there and then, or that he should be left alone when the fleet sailed away, or that he should be sent back to England, there to answer his deeds before the lords of her majesty's council. Captain Doughty asked for twenty-four hours to consider his decision, and then announced his preference for instant execution, saying that death were better than being left alone in this savage land, and that the dishonor of being sent back to England would be greater than he could survive. The next day Mr. Francis Fletcher, the pastor and preacher of the fleet, held a solemn service. The general and the condemned man received the sacrament together, after which they dined "also at the same table together, as cheerful in sobriety as ever in their lives they had done afore time, each cheering the other up, and taking their leave by drinking each to other, as if some journey only had been in hand." After dinner, Captain Doughty came forth, kneeled down at the block, and was at once beheaded by the provost marshal. Such is the story of this curious affair, as told by the chroniclers. But it must be remembered that these were favorable to Captain Drake, and it certainly seems extraordinary that, upon such a voyage as this, Captain Doughty could not have been deprived of his command and reduced to the rank of a simple adventurer; in which he could, one would think, have done no harm whatever to the expedition. At the island where this execution took place the fleet abode two months, resting the crews, wooding, watering, and trimming the ships, and bringing the fleet into a more compact compass; destroying the Mary, a Portuguese prize, and arranging the whole of the crews in three ships, so that they might the more easily keep together. On August the 17th they set sail, and on the 20th reached the entrance to the Straits, Cape Virgins. Here the admiral caused his fleet, in homage to the Queen, to strike their foresails, acknowledging her to have the full interest and honor in the enterprise; and further, in remembrance of his honored patron, Sir Christopher Hatton, he changed the name of the ship in which he himself sailed from the Pelican to the Golden Hind, this animal forming part of the chancellor's armorial bearings. They now entered the narrow Straits of Magellan, which are in many places no wider than a river; and in the night passed a burning mountain, which caused no little surprise to those who had never beheld anything of the kind. Here all were astonished by the sight of huge numbers of penguins, which were then for the first time discovered by Englishmen. These strange birds, with their long bodies, short necks, and absence of wings, greatly astonished them; and were so tame that, in the course of an hour or two, they killed no less than three thousand of them, and found them to be excellent food. One of these islands the admiral christened Saint George. Sailing on for some days, they came to a bay in which they found many natives, who came out in a canoe whose beauty and form were considered, by all, to be far superior to anything that they had hitherto beheld; which was the more singular, inasmuch as these people were of a very low type. However, they appear in those days to have been more advanced in civilization than their descendants now are. On the 6th of September they entered the South Sea, Drake having been the fourth commander who had sailed through the Straits. The first passage was made by Magellan in 1520, the second by Loyasa in 1526, the third by Juan de Ladrilleros from the Pacific side. In this voyage the English commander had far better weather than had been experienced by his predecessors, accomplishing in a fortnight a voyage which had taken them some months. His good fortune, however, here deserted them; for upon the very day after they entered the South Sea, a contrary wind fell upon them, and increased to a powerful hurricane. This augmented rather than decreased in force, and on the night of September the 30th the Marigold, Captain John Thomas, was separated from the rest of the fleet, and was never heard of, after. Until the 7th of October they did not again see land, being driven far to the south. They then discovered an island, and entering a harbor came to anchor. The shelter, however, was a poor one, and the gale blew so furiously that, in the night, the Elizabeth was blown from her anchors, and lost sight of the Golden Hind. It is a question whether this event was not partly caused by the captain, Winter, who certainly behaved as if he had the fixed intention of returning to England. He never made any serious effort to rejoin the Golden Hind; but, after remaining for some little time in those quarters, he sailed for England, reaching home in safety some months afterwards. They christened the bay "The Parting of Friends," and the Golden Hind was driven down again into 55 degrees south latitude. Fresh gales fell upon them and, as has been said, it was not till October the 28th, after fifty-two days of almost unexampled bad weather, that the sky cleared, and they were able to renew their journey. They searched the islands in all directions for their missing friends, and in remembrance of them the admiral gave them the name of the Elizabethedes. Hoping that Captain Winter had sailed north, the Golden Hind's head was turned in that direction, with great hope that they might meet her in latitude 30 degrees; which had been before appointed as a place of rendezvous, should the fleet happen to be separated. Touching at many points, they inquired everywhere of the natives, but could hear no word of any ship having been seen before. At the island of Mocha they had a misadventure. The island was thickly inhabited by many Indians, whom the cruel conduct of the Spaniards had driven from the mainland. With these people the admiral hoped to have traffic, and the day after his landing they brought down fruit and vegetables and two fat sheep, receiving in return many little presents. They seemed to be well content, and the next morning early, all being ready for a general traffic, the admiral repaired to the shore again, with two-thirds of his men, with water barrels to fill up the ship. As they were peaceably engaged in this task the natives, to the number of five hundred, suddenly sprang from an ambush, and with their arrows shot very grievously at the English. The general himself was struck in the face, under his right eye and close by his nose. Nine other persons of the party were all wounded grievously. The rest gained the boats, and all put off. None of the wounded died; which, considering that there was no surgeon on board the ship, was looked upon by the mariners as a special miracle in their favor. There was a great talk of returning to shore, to punish the men who had so treacherously attacked them. But the admiral, seeing that many of the men were hurt, and believing that the attack had been the result of the cruel treatment bestowed upon the natives by the Spaniards, with whom they had naturally confounded our men, determined to leave them alone; and the same night sailed north, seeking some convenient spot where the men could land, and obtain a supply of fresh provisions. Such a place they found at Philip's Bay, in latitude 32 degrees. Here they came to an anchor; and an Indian, described as a comely personage of a goodly stature, his apparel being a white garment reaching scarcely to his knees, came on board in a canoe. His arms and legs were naked; his hair upon his head very long, and without a beard; of very gentle, mild, and humble nature, and tractable to learn the use of everything. He was courteously entertained and, receiving gifts, returned to the shore; where his companions, being much pleased with his reception, at once did all that they could for the fleet, and brought down provisions and other things desired. The natives also offered to guide them to a better harbor where, the people being more numerous, they could obtain a greater store of the things desired. The offer was accepted, and on the 4th of December, piloted by him, they came to a harbor in such a place as was wished for. This was the Spanish harbor of Valparaiso, and here, indeed, they found all that they desired, and that without payment. The Spaniards, having no idea of the English being in the vicinity, received them with all honor; but as soon as the mistake was discovered they fled, and the town fell into their hands. In a ship in the harbor, called the Grand Captain, 1800 jars of wine and a large quantity of gold were found. The churches were plundered of their ornaments and relics, and the storehouses of the city laid under contribution of all things desired. Sailing again on the 19th of December, they touched to the southward of the town of Coquimbo, where fourteen of them landed. The Spaniards here, however, appeared to be bolder than their comrades in other towns; for a hundred of them, all well mounted, with three hundred natives, came up against them. This force being descried, the English retreated, first from the mainland to a rock within the sea, and thence to their boat. One man, however, Richard Minnioy, refused to retire before the Spaniards; and remained, defying the advancing body, until they arrived. He, of course, fell a victim to his obstinacy; and the Spaniards, having beheaded the body, placed it against a post, and used it as a target for the Indians. At nightfall they left it, and the English returned to shore in their boat, and buried it. The next day, finding a convenient place, they remained for a month; refitting the ships and resting the crews, obtaining an abundance of fish and other provisions such as they required; fresh water, however, being absent. Sailing along, they came to Iquique and, landing here, they lighted upon a Spaniard who lay asleep, and had lying by him thirteen bars of silver. Thinking it cruel to awaken him, they removed the money, and allowed him to take his sleep out in security. Continuing their search for water they landed again, and near the shore met a Spaniard, with an Indian boy, driving eight "Peruvian sheep," as the chronicler calls them; these being, of course, the llamas, which were used as beasts of burden. Each sheep bore two leathern bags, in each of which was fifty pounds weight of refined silver. The chronicler says: "We could not endure to see a gentleman Spaniard turned carrier so; and therefore, without entreaty, we offered our services, and became drivers; only his directions were not so perfect that we could keep the way which he intended, for almost as soon as he was parted from us we, with our new kind of carriages, were come unto our boats." Beyond this Cape lay certain Indian towns, and with the natives of these, who came out on frail rafts, they trafficked knives, beads, and glasses, for dried fish. Here they saw more of the llamas, which are described at great length by the historians of the expedition; who considered, and rightly, that they were extraordinary and most useful animals. If however this assertion, that upon one of their backs "did sit at one time three well-grown and tall men, and one boy" be true, they must have been considerably larger in those days than at present. It was but a few days later that they arrived at Arica, at which place also they gleaned considerable booty, and thence proceeded to Lima, which they reached seven days after leaving Arica. After their long voyage out to sea they again bore north, and reached the land at the Bay of San Francisco. Here they complained bitterly of the cold; which is not a little singular, inasmuch as the time of the year was June, a period at which the heat at San Francisco is, at present, excessive. It must be assumed, therefore, that some altogether exceptional season prevailed during this portion of the voyage. Here they were well north of the Spanish possessions, and fell among a people who knew nothing of the white man. A native in a canoe speedily came out to the ship, as soon as she cast anchor; and, standing at a long distance, made delivery of a very prolix oration, with many gestures and signs, moving his hand, turning and twisting his head and body, and ending with a great show of reverence and submission. He returned to shore. Again, and for a third time, he came out and went through the same ceremony; after which he brought a little basket of rushes, filled with an herb which is called there tambac, which he threw into the boat. Then he again returned to shore. The people came out, many of them in boats, but would not approach the vessel; and upon the third day the vessel, having received a leak at sea, was brought to anchor nearer the shore, and preparations were made to land her stores. Chapter 18: San Francisco Bay. After his experience of the treachery of the native, the admiral determined to build a fort to protect the party on shore. The people, seeing these preparations, appeared in large numbers and approached, but their attitude expressed astonishment rather than hostility. They then, laying down their arms, gathered round the little party of white men; but as they brought their women with them, the admiral concluded that no hostility was intended, and allowed them freely to mix with the whites. Their attitude and deportment showed that they looked upon them as gods, paying worship in the most abject manner. In order to show them that his men were but human, the admiral ordered them to eat and drink, that the people might observe that they were but men, as they. Even this failed to convince them and, during the whole time that they remained there, they were treated as being creatures of celestial origin. Two days later, the natives returned in great numbers. A leader at their head again delivered a long and tedious oration, "to which," according to the chronicler, "these people appear to be much addicted." This oration was delivered with strange and violent gestures, the speaker's voice being extended to the uttermost strength of nature, and his words falling so thick, one in the neck of another, that he could hardly fetch his breath again. When he had concluded, the people bowed to the earth, giving a long cry of "Oh," which appears to have answered to our "Amen." Then the men came forward, and the women went through a number of exercises, which appear to have shocked and appalled our seamen. "As if they had been desperate, they used violence against themselves, crying and shrieking piteously, tearing their flesh with their nails from their cheeks in a monstrous manner, the blood streaming down over their bodies. Then, holding their hands above their heads so that they might not save their bodies from harm, they would with fury cast themselves upon the ground; never respecting whether it were clean or soft, but dash themselves in this manner on hard stones, knobby hillocks, stocks of wood, and prickly bushes, or whatever else were in their way; iterating the same course again and again, some nine or ten times each, others holding out for fifteen or sixteen times, till their strength failed them." The admiral, horrified by this cruel exhibition of reverence, ordered his men to fall to prayers; and signified to them that the God whom we did serve did not approve of such measures as they had taken. Three days later the king himself came down, and the ceremonies were repeated. The king then offered to the admiral the monarchy of that land, and perceiving that this would please them, and having in mind the honor and glory of her majesty, Captain Francis accepted the crown, and with many ceremonies was installed king of that country, taking possession of the land in the name of the Queen. It is not a little singular that this, one of the richest and most valuable portions of the United States, should thus have become by right, alike, of discovery and of free gift of the people, a possession of England. For some days the people continued their cruel exercises upon themselves, and so fixed were they in their idolatry that, even when forcibly prevented acting this way, they would, immediately they were released, set to with even redoubled fury to cut and injure themselves. After a time, their worship took a new form. All the people of the country having wounds, shrunken limbs, or diseases of any kind were brought down to be cured; and the people were much grieved that an instantaneous cure could not be effected, but that our men proceeded, by the application of lotions, plasters, and unguents, to benefit those who had anticipated immediate remedy. Altogether, the account given by the voyagers of the people of this part of America is most favorable They appear to have been of a tractable, free, and loving nature, without guile or treachery. They were finely built men, and one of them could carry easily, uphill and down, a weight which two or three Englishmen could scarcely lift. They were swift at running, and could catch a fish in the sea, if it were in water within their depth. When the ship was repaired, the admiral, with many of his officers, made a journey into the interior, and found that it was a goodly country, with a very fruitful soil. There were many thousands of large and fair deer, grazing in herds. This country was christened, by the admiral, Albion; partly from the color of its cliffs, partly in remembrance of his country. On the shore a monument was set up, and on it a plate of brass was affixed, engraven with the Queen's name, the date of the arrival of the ship, and of the free giving up of the province and kingdom into her majesty's hand; and a piece of current English money was fastened beneath a hole made in the brass plate, so that it might remain as a proof that the English had taken possession of this land, to which the Spaniards had never approached. As the stores were being taken on board again, and the natives saw the preparations for embarkation, the joy with which the arrival of these white beings had been received was changed into sorrow, and all the people went about mourning and crying. For many days this continued, and the parting, when the ship set sail on the 23rd of July, was a very sorrowful one, the people climbing to the top of the hills, so as to keep the ship in sight as long as they could, and making great fires and burning thereon sacrifices to the departing gods. The admiral had now made up his mind to abandon the search for a passage round the north of America. The cold had become even greater, while they remained in the bay. The natives themselves were wrapped in black cloths, and huddled together for warmth; and those in the ship suffered exceedingly. Moreover, the shores of the country trended far more to the west than had been expected, and the admiral concluded that, far to the north, the shores of America and Asia must unite. He thought, too, that in that country must be very lofty mountains, covered with snow; for so alone could he account for the exceeding coldness of the wind. Believing, therefore, that no passage could be made in that way, and seeing that the ship had already gone through heavy tempests, and the men, although still of good heart, yet were longing for a return home after their great labors, he steered to the west, making the Moluccas his aim. During the voyage from Lima along the coast of South America, the boys had met with no special adventures. Upon the day after they came on board ship, Ned and Tom were called by the admiral into his cabin, and there recounted to him, at great length, all the adventures that they had gone through. He wondered greatly at their recital, and commended them exceedingly for the prudence and courage which they had shown. The account of the strange places, never before trodden by the foot of white men, which they had seen, he ordered his secretary to write down, at full length, that it might be delivered to her gracious majesty, together with the record of the voyage of the Golden Hind; and he predicted that the Queen would take great pleasure in this record of the first journey across the continent. "As to you," he said, turning to Ned, "you seem to be fated to get into adventures, and to find your way out of them. I have not forgotten the strange passage in the Island of Puerta Rico; and I predict that, if you go on as you have begun, you will come to great things." Warmly, also, did he praise Ned's companion on the journey; but the latter modestly ascribed all the success, which had attended their journey, to the knowledge of native life which Ned had gained among the negroes, and to his courage and prudence. "Nevertheless," said the admiral, "there is praise due also to you, for you have known when to subordinate yourself to one younger in years, although older in experience. This virtue is rare, and very commendable; and I doubt not that, had you not so freely given up your own wishes and inclinations to those of your comrade, you might both have perished miserably." He further expressed his high opinion of Ned's bravery, and discretion, by giving him a command in the ship as third officer; finding, on inquiry, that he had learned how to take the altitude of the sun, and to do other things necessary for the discovery of the position of the ship. These signs of goodwill on the part of the admiral caused, as might have been expected, some jealousy among a considerable portion of the equipage. Many, indeed, were glad at the position which Ned had gained by his enterprise and courage. Others, however, grumbled, and said that it was hard that those who had done their duty on board the ship should be passed over, in favor of mere youngsters, who had been wandering on their own account on land. Ned himself felt that there was some reason for this jealousy, upon the part of those who had borne the burden of all the great labors, which those on board the Golden Hind had undergone; and he spoke to the admiral and expressed his willingness, nay more, his desire, to remain as a private gentleman and adventurer on board the ship. This, however, Captain Francis would not hear of. "Merit has to be rewarded," he said, "wheresoever it is found. These men have done their duty. All indeed on board the ship have wrought nobly, for their own safety and for the honor of her majesty the Queen. But you have gone beyond this; and have, by your journey across the continent, brought fame and credit to the country. It is right that men who discover strange lands into which, some day, the power of Christianity and civilization may enter, should receive honor and credit of their countrymen. Of those who seek to do these things many perish, and those who survive should be held in honor" Most of all delighted, at the success and honor which had befallen Ned, were his three friends. Two of them considered that they owed their lives to him. All regarded him as their leader, as well as their comrade. But Reuben Gale grumbled much that he had had no share in the adventures which had befallen his three friends. "You have all three strange histories to tell. You have seen wonderful things, and have journeyed and fought with wild men and Spaniards; while I, with equal goodwill, have never had the chance of doing more than join in the taking of Spanish caravels, where the resistance was so poor that children might have done the business." Ned laughed, and promised him that the next adventure he got into he would, if possible, have him as his comrade. "We have a long voyage yet," he said. "We have not gone much more than a third of the circumference of the world and, before we reach England, strange things may happen yet. We left Plymouth with a noble fleet of six ships. Now there remains but one, and fifty-eight men. At the same rate we shall be reduced to a cock boat, and four men, before we reach England. So keep up your heart, there is plenty of time before us." So great was the confidence which they felt in Ned that Reuben was cheered with this promise; although he knew, in his heart, that these adventures fell upon Ned not from any effort of his own, but by the effect of accident; or, as we may say, Providence. The young men liked not their stay in San Francisco Bay. Those who were best-looking and youngest were especially chosen out by the women as objects of their adoration, and the lads were horrified at the way in which these poor creatures beat and tore themselves, and groveled upon the ground; and so, being sick at heart at these mummeries, and at receiving a worship fit only for the Creator of the world, they remained on board ship, as much as possible, during the time that they tarried there. Except for a group of islands which they passed the day after sailing west, the Golden Hind saw no more land from the 23rd of July until September 30th, sixty-eight days in all, when they fell in sight of some islands, lying about eight degrees to the northward of the line. As soon as the ship was seen a great number of canoes came out, having in them some four, some six, some fourteen, or even twenty men, paddling rapidly and bringing cocoas, fish, and fruits. The beauty and workmanship of these canoes astonished the voyagers. They were made out of one tree of great length, hollowed with fire and axe; and being so smooth, both without and within, that they shone like polished wood. The bow and stern were alike in shape, rising high and falling inwards almost in a semicircle, and being covered with white and glistening shells, for ornament. These canoes had upon either side outriggers--that is, pieces of cane extending six or seven feet beyond the side, and to which were fixed spars of very light wood, so that the boat could in no wise overturn. These people evinced no fear of the English, and it was clear that, although they might not themselves have seen a ship before, the presence of the Portuguese in these seas was known to the islanders, and the manner of their vessels. The nature of these people was very different from that of the gentle savages on the western coast of America. They did not trade honestly, as these had done; but obtained as much as they could, and then pushed off from the side of the ship, without handing up the goods which they had bargained to give; and behaved so rascally that the admiral, seeing that their intentions were altogether evil, ordered a gun to be fired, not with the intent of hurting any, but of frightening them. The roar of the cannon was followed by the instant disappearance of every native from the fleet of canoes, amid the laughter of those on board ship. For a long time none could be seen, each as he came above water keeping on the further side of his canoe, and then paddling with it astern, so that the ship, as she floated on, left them gradually behind. When they thought that they were in safety they again took their places in the canoes, and finding that none were hurt, again paddled alongside the ship, and made pretense to barter. Some of them indeed came on board with their wares, but while pretending to be engaged in honest trade, they stole the daggers and knives from the men's girdles, and pillaged whatever they could lay their hands upon. The admiral, being wroth at this conduct, had some of these men seized and flogged; and then, driving the rest into their canoes, hoisted sail and went onwards, christening the place the "Island of Thieves," so as to deter all passengers, hereafter, from ever visiting it. Passing through many other islands they made for Tidore, the principal place in the Moluccas. But as they passed the Island of Motir, which was then called Ternate, a deputy, or viceroy, of the king of that island came off to the ship in a great canoe, and entreated the admiral to anchor at that island, and not at Tidore; assuring him, in the name of the king, that he would be wondrous glad to see him, and to do all that the admiral could require. He himself promised to return to the king at once, who would get all in readiness; whereas, if they went on to Tidore, where the Portuguese held sway, they would find in them deceit and treachery. On these persuasions Captain Drake resolved to run into Ternate; where, next morning, he came to anchor. The admiral then sent a party, consisting of Ned and three other adventurers, to the king; bearing the present of a velvet cloak, as a testimony of his desire for friendship and goodwill; with the message that he should require no other thing at his hands but that he might be allowed, by traffic and exchange of merchandise, to obtain provisions; of which, after his long voyage across the seas, he had now but small store. As the boat rowed to shore, it was met by a large canoe coming out with a message, from the king, that he had heard from his viceroy how great was the nobleness of the captain, and of the Queen whom he served; and that he, who was the enemy of the Portuguese, whom he had expelled from his dominions, would gladly agree to aid him, and to enter into treaties by which all ships of his nation might come to Ternate, and trade for such things as they required, all other white men being excluded. On arriving at the shore, the deputation were met by many personages. They were dressed in white cloths of Indian manufacture, and the party marveled much at the difference between their stately manners and ways, and those of the people whom they had lately left. Accompanied by these personages, and with great honor, they were conducted to the interior of the island; where, in a house surprisingly large for a people so far removed from civilization, and which, indeed, they afterwards learned had been built by the Portuguese, they found the king, who received them with much honor He was a tall and stout man, with much dignity in his manner. It was clear that his authority among his people was very great, for even the nobles and councilors whom he had sent to greet them bowed to the dust in his presence. Ned had consulted with his comrades on the way, and had agreed that, as the messengers of the admiral, and therefore in some way as the representatives of the Queen, it was their duty to comport themselves as equal, at least, in dignity to this island monarch. Therefore while all the people knelt in the dust in humility, they walked straight to his majesty, and held out their hands in English fashion. His majesty was in no whit offended at this: and indeed, by his manner, strove to express his respect. A certain amount of conversation was carried on with him, for in the island were an Italian and a Spaniard; who, having been made prisoners by the Portuguese, had escaped to Ternate. These men, acting as interpreters, conveyed to the king the messages sent by the admiral; and in return informed Ned that the king was, in all ways, most anxious to express his pleasure to the admiral; and that, on the morrow, he would himself visit him on board ship. He also, as a pledge, delivered his own signet ring to Ned, to carry on board. Having returned on board ship with these messages, they waited for the morrow, when three large canoes put off from the shore. In these were the greatest personages on the island. They sat in the canoes in accordance with their rank, the old men in the stern. Next to these were divers others, also attired in white, but with differences in the way in which the clothes were worn. These also had their places under the awning of reeds. The rest of the men were soldiers, who stood ranged on each side. On the outside of these, again, sat the rowers. These canoes must have in some way resembled the old Roman triremes, for it is said that "there were three galleries on either side of the canoe, one being builded above the other; and in each of these galleries were an equal number of benches, whereon did sit the rowers, about the number of fourscore in each canoe." In the fore part of each canoe sat two men, one holding a drum and the other a piece of brass; whereon both at once struck, marking the time for each stroke. The rowers, on their part, ended each stroke with a song, giving warning to those on the prow to strike again; and so, rowing evenly, they came across the sea at great speed. Each of these canoes carried a small cannon, of about a yard in length. All the men, except the rowers, had swords, daggers, and shields, lances, bows, and arrows, and some had guns. These canoes came up to the ship and rowed round her in solemn procession, to the great admiration of all on board, who had never beheld a sight like this. But the admiral said that the vessels reminded him of the descriptions which he had read of the great barges of Venice. As they rowed they did homage to the admiral, the greatest personages beginning, first standing up and bowing their bodies to the ground, the others following in order of rank. Then a messenger came on board, signifying that they had come before the king, who had sent them to conduct our ship into a better anchorage, and desiring that a rope might be given them out that they might, as their king commanded, tow the ship to the place assigned. Very shortly the king himself came out, having with him in his canoe six grave and ancient fathers, and did himself at once make a reverent kind of obeisance. He was received in the best manner possible. The great guns thundered, and as these had been filled with a large quantity of small shot, they tore up the water in the distance, and made a fine show for these people. The trumpets also, and other instruments of music, sounded loudly, whereat the king was much delighted, and requested that the music might come into a boat. The musicians, at Captain Francis' orders, so did, and laying alongside the king's canoe, were towed behind the ship by the rowers in the three first canoes. The king and many others came on board, and were bountifully entertained, many presents being given to them. When the anchorage was reached the king asked leave to go on shore, promising that next day he would again come on board, and in the meantime send such victuals as were requested. Accordingly, at night and the next morning large quantities of hens, sugarcanes, rice, figos--which are supposed to have been plantains--cocoas, and sago were sent on board. Also some cloves for traffic; but of these the admiral did not buy many, as he did not wish the ship to be crowded with goods. At the time appointed, all things being set in readiness, the admiral looked for the king's return; but he failed to keep his promise, to the great discontent and doubt on the part of the crew. The king's brother came off, to invite Captain Drake to land and visit him; but this brother, who seemed to be an honest gentleman, himself, whispered a few words in confidence to the admiral, warning him that it would be better that he should not go on shore. With his free consent the admiral retained this nobleman as a pledge, and then although, in consequence of the king's bad faith, he resolved not to land himself, he sent many of his officers, who were conducted with great honor to the large and fair house inhabited by the king, where at least a thousand people were gathered. The king was seated in a great chair of state, and many compliments were exchanged between him and the English. The king was now attired in his full state; having, from the waist to the ground, a robe of cloth of gold; with many rings of plated gold on his head, making a show something like a crown. On his neck he had a chain of perfect gold, the links very large. On his left hand were a diamond, an emerald, a ruby, and a turquoise, and on his right hand many beautiful gems. Thus it will be seen that the king of these islands was a potentate of no mean grandeur. Most of the furniture and decorations of the court were obtained from the Portuguese, during the time that they inhabited the island. Had they not followed the tyrannous ways of their people, they might have remained there in fair comfort; but, desiring to obtain the entire authority, they had killed the late king. This cruelty, however, had brought about a different end to that which they had expected; for the people, headed by the king's eldest son, had risen against them in great force, had killed many, and had driven the rest from the island; placing the king's son upon the throne, who had become the deadly enemy of the Portuguese, and was now preparing an expedition to drive them from Tidore. The religion of these people was that of the Mussulmans, and the rigor with which they fasted--it being, at the time of the English visit, one of their festivals--greatly astonished those who saw them; for, during the whole time, they would eat nothing between morning and night; but the appetite with which they devoured many meals, throughout the night, almost equally astonished the British. While the Golden Hind lay in the harbor of Ternate, they received a visit from a Chinese gentlemen of high station, and who was assuredly the first Chinaman who ever came in contact with one of our race. His reason for being at the Moluccas was singular. He had been a man of great rank in his own country, but was accused of a capital crime; of which, though innocent, he was unable to free himself. He then implored the emperor to allow him to leave the country, placing the proof of his innocence in the hands of Providence; it being a bargain that, if he could bring back to the emperor strange and wonderful tidings of things new to him, such as he had never heard of, he should be restored to his place and honors, and held to be acquitted of that crime. If such news could not be gained by him he was to remain in exile, and to be accounted guilty of that of which he was accused. Coming on board, he very earnestly entreated the admiral to give him the account of his adventures, from the time of leaving his country. This Captain Drake willingly did; and the Chinaman, in great delight, exclaimed that this was fully sufficient for him to bear back to the emperor. He gave a very warm and pressing invitation to Sir Francis to bring the ship to China, where he assured him of a welcome at the hands of the emperor. Had Captain Drake been able to accede to this proposition, it is probable that our dealings with the East, on a large scale, might have begun some centuries earlier than they did; but the Golden Hind was much battered by the voyage she had gone through, being, indeed, not a new ship when she started. The crew, too, were all longing to get home, and the treasure which had been gathered from the Spaniards was ample for all their desires. The admiral, therefore, although truly he longed to see this country, and to open relations between it and the Queen, was yet forced to decline the invitation, and so to depart on his westward voyage. The Golden Hind now made slow progress through the water, her bottom being foul with weeds and other things which had attached themselves to it during its long voyage. The captain therefore determined to enter the first harbor in an uninhabited island that he came to, for at none of the places at which he had hitherto touched had he ventured to take this step. However friendly the inhabitants might have appeared, some causes of quarrel might have arisen; and with the ship hauled up and bent over, it might have fallen into the hands of the natives, and so been destroyed, and all return to England cut off from him. Five days after leaving Ternate he found such a place and, fetching up in a small harbor, the whole party landed, pitched tents, and entrenched themselves. Then they took the casks and water vessels ashore and thoroughly repaired them, trimmed the ship and scraped her bottom, and so put her in a state to perform the rest of the voyage. Greatly here were the crew astonished by the first sight of fireflies, creatures which were new to them all. This island swarmed with crayfish, of a size sufficient to satisfy four hungry men at dinner. These creatures never went into the sea, but kept themselves on land, digging holes in the roots of the trees, and there lodging, numbers together. Strangely enough, too, these crayfish, when they found themselves cut off from their natural retreats, climbed up trees, and there concealed themselves in the branches. On December the 12th they again set sail, being now among the Celebes, where they found the water shoal and coasting very dangerous. The wind, too, was high and contrary, and their difficulties greater than anything they had found. On January the 9th the wind, however, came aft, and they appeared to have found a passage out of these dangers, sailing then at full speed. They were, at the first watch at night, filled with consternation at a crash, followed by silence; and the vessel was found to have run high upon a reef, of which the surface had presented no indication. Not since the Golden Hind had left England had her strait been as sore as this. The force with which she had run upon the reef seemed to have carried her beyond all hope of extrication. All considered that death was at hand, for they hardly hoped that the ship could hold long together. The admiral at once, to still the confusion which reigned, ordered all to prayers; and the whole, kneeling on the deck, prayed for mercy, preparing themselves for imminent death. Presently, having finished praying, the admiral addressed them in a consoling speech; and then, their courage being much raised, all bestirred themselves to regard the position. The pumps were first tried and the ship freed of water, and to their great joy they found that the leakage was no greater than before, and that the rocks had not penetrated through the planks. This appeared to all on board to be an absolute miracle, wrought in their favor; for it seemed impossible to them that, running at so high a rate of speed, the vessel could have failed to break herself against the rocks. It is probable that, in fact, the ship had struck upon a newly-formed coral reef; and that the coral--which, when first made, is not very hard--had crashed to pieces under the shock, and so she lay in safety upon the bed of pounded fragments. Chapter 19: South Sea Idols. When order and tranquility were perfectly restored, the admiral ordered a boat to be lowered and soundings to be taken, intending to put out the anchors ahead, and to get her off by working upon them with the windlass. It was found, however, that under the forefoot of the vessel the water deepened so rapidly that, at a distance of a few fathoms, no soundings could be obtained. This plan, therefore, was abandoned. The prospect seemed dark, indeed. The ship's boats would, at most, only carry half the men on board; and if the ship had to be abandoned, the whole of her treasures must be lost, as well as many lives. "There is an island far away to the south," the admiral said. "If the worst come, we must seek refuge on that. It will be well to send a boat to examine it, and see what capabilities it offers for the purpose. Then if the weather holds fair we can make several trips, and land our men, and a portion at least of our valuables." "Will you let me go, sir, with my three friends?" Ned asked. "The canoe which we took from our last halting place will carry the four of us and, as she paddles swiftly, we may be back before many hours." "The idea is a good one," Captain Drake said. "Make for the island. It is, I should say, fifteen miles off. When you have reached it, see if there be water, fuel, and other necessaries, and whether the landing be good. If you should come upon any natives, parley with them. Take a few articles as presents, and explain to them, if they will come out here with their canoes and aid to bring the things ashore, we will give them presents, which will make them wealthy beyond their grandest dreams. "Be careful, my boys. I know that you will be brave, if necessary; but care and caution are the great things, and remember that our safety depends upon yours." The young men speedily lowered the canoe, under the shelter of the lee side of the ship, took some beads, calicoes, and other articles, and then, seating themselves in the boat, paddled rapidly away. At first they felt a little awkward in using the paddles, in which they had had no practice, whatever. But being powerful men, and accustomed to the use of oars, they soon fell into regular stroke, and the light boat danced rapidly over the waters. The distance was further than Captain Drake had imagined, the clearness of the air making the land appear nearer than it really was; and it was only after three hours of hard work that they neared it. It turned out to be an island of about a mile in length, so far as they could judge. A reef of coral ran round it. The center of the island was somewhat elevated, and was covered with coconut trees; and it was this, alone, which had enabled it to be seen, from so great a distance, from the deck of the Golden Hind. Paddling round the reef, they came to an opening and, entering this, found themselves in perfectly smooth water, and were soon on shore. "Our best way to look for water," Ned said, "will be to follow the beach all round the island. If there is any stream, we must then come upon it. We had better take our arms, and haul up the canoe." Ned, although the youngest of the party, being an officer of the ship, was naturally in command. "It will be hard," Reuben said, "if we do not meet with some adventure. This is the first time that I have been out with you, Ned. The others have had their share, and it will be hard upon me if, when I get home, I have not some tale to tell my friends." "I hope that it will not be so," Ned said, "for more than story telling depends upon our success. I fear the Golden Hind is fixed fast, and that all the fruits of our expedition are lost, even if our lives be saved. Everything depends upon the report we may make when we return; and anything that should occur to delay us, or to prevent our bearing back tidings of this place to the admiral, would be bad fortune, indeed." "I don't mean," Reuben said, "anything that would prevent our returning. But we might do something, and yet return safely." A walk round the island showed no signs of water; nor, although they searched for some hours, walking backwards and forwards across it, could they find any sign of a pool. It was clear that there were no fresh-water springs on the island, and that the vegetation depended entirely upon the rain that fell in the regular season. But they discovered, from the top of the island, another and much larger one; lying, still again, some fifteen miles to the south. After much deliberation, they determined to make for this; as it was of importance that they should have some news, of a place to which the goods could be transported, to carry back to the ship. This island was much higher, and there appeared every probability that water, and all they required, would be found there. Accordingly, taking their place in the canoe, they again paddled out through the entrance to the reef, and steered their course for their new discovery. This was a large island, measuring at least, as they judged from the view of the one side, twenty miles round. The shores were steep, and they rowed for some time before they succeeded in finding a place where a landing could be effected. Then a deep bay suddenly opened out, and into this they rowed. Scarcely had they fairly entered it when, from some bushes near the shore, two large war canoes, crowded with natives, shot out and made towards them. The lads at first grasped their muskets, but Ned said: "Let the arms be. We are here to make peace with the natives, and must take our chance." They stood up in the canoe, holding up their arms in token of amity. The canoes came alongside at racing pace, the natives uttering yells of joy. The canoe had evidently been seen approaching the island, and preparations had been made to seize it, immediately on its arrival. Ned held up in his hands the beads and pieces of cloth. But the natives were too excited for pause or negotiation. In an instant the boys were seized and placed on board the canoes, two in each. They were tenderly handled, and were clearly objects of veneration rather than of hostility. The moment that they were on board, the contents of the canoe were transferred to the large boat; and it was then cast adrift, and the two war boats, at full speed, made out through the passage. Ned endeavored, in vain, to attract the attention of the leaders of the savages to his gestures; and to explain to them that there was a vessel, from which he had come, at a short distance off; and that, if they would accompany him thither, they would obtain large quantities of the beads and cloth which he showed them. The natives, however, were too much excited to pay any attention to his efforts; and with a sigh of despair he sat down by the side of Reuben, who was in the same boat with him; as the canoes, on emerging from the bay, turned their heads to the southwest, and paddled steadily and rapidly away from the island. "Whither can they be going to take us?" Reuben said. "They must belong to some other island," Ned answered, "and be a war party, which has come on plundering purposes here. What a misfortune! What terribly bad luck! They have clearly never seen white men before, and regard us as superior beings; and so far as we are concerned, it is probable that our lives are safe. But what will the admiral think, when night comes on and we do not return? What will become of our comrades?" And at the thought of their messmates, left without help in so perilous a position, Ned fairly broke down and cried. For some hours the natives continued their course without intermission, and gradually an island, which had at first seemed like a low cloud on the horizon, loomed up nearer and nearer; and at last, just as night fell, they landed upon its shores. Here in a bay a village of huts, constructed of the boughs of trees, had been raised; and the arrival of the war canoes was greeted, with wild and prolonged cries, by the women and children. All prostrated themselves in wonder and astonishment when the white men, in their strange attire, were brought on shore; and Ned saw that his suspicions were correct, and that they were regarded by their captors as gods. Further proof was given of this when they were escorted to a large shed, composed of a roof of thatch supported on four upright posts, which stood in the center of the village. Under this were placed some of the hideous effigies which the South Sea Islanders worship, and which are affixed to the prow of their boats; and may be seen in the British Museum, and in other places where collections of Indian curiosities are exhibited. These effigies were carved in the shape of human beings, with enormous goggle eyes, splashes of bright paint, and strange and immense headdresses of brilliant colors. Here the lads were motioned to sit down, and the natives brought them offerings of cocoas, and other fruits. The boys could hardly help laughing at their strange position, surrounded by these hideous idols. "You wanted an adventure, Reuben, and you have got one, indeed," Ned said. "You are translated into a heathen god and, if you ever get home, will have your story to tell, which will astonish the quiet firesides in Devonshire." "Ought we not to refuse to accept this horrid worship?" Gerald said. "I think not," Ned replied. "It can do no harm; and we are, at least, better than these wooden idols. So long at least as we are taken for gods, our lives are safe. But I would not say as much if they once became convinced, by our actions, that we are men like themselves." "But we cannot sit here, all our lives, among these idols," Reuben said. "I agree with you there, Reuben; but patience does wonders, and I am not troubled in the least about ourselves. Sooner or later, a way of escape will present itself; and when it does, be assured that we will use it. Patience is all that we require, now. It is of our poor shipmates that I am thinking." As night fell, great bonfires were lighted. The natives indulged in wild dances round them, and feasting and festivities were kept up all through the night. Four watches were stationed, one at each post of the temple; and the boys saw that, for the present, at least, all thought of escape was out of the question. And therefore, stretching themselves at full length on the sand, they were speedily asleep. For some days, the position remained unchanged. The boys were well fed, and cared for. Offerings of fruit, fish, and other eatables were duly presented. A perfumed wood which, according to the native ideas, personified incense, was burned in large quantities round the temple, and nearly choked the boys with its smoke. Upon the fifth day, it was clear that some expedition was being prepared. Four large war canoes were dragged down and placed in the water; and the great idols, which stood in the bow of each, were removed and carried up to the temple, and placed there in position. Then the boys were motioned to come down to the beach. "I do believe," said Tom, bursting into a shout of laughter, "that they are going to put us in the bows of their canoes, in place of their old gods." The others joined in the laughter, for to act as the figurehead of a canoe was indeed a comical, if an unpleasant situation. When they reached the boats, the boys saw that their suspicions were correct, and that the natives were preparing to lash them to the lofty prows; which rose, some twelve feet above the water, in a sweep inwards. "This will never do," Tom said. "If we are fastened like that, our weight will cut us horribly. Let us show them how to do it." Whereupon, with great gravity he took a large piece of flat wood, and motioned to the savages to lash this in front of the bow of one of the boats, at a height of three feet above the water, so as to afford a little platform upon which he could stand. The natives at once perceived the drift of what he was doing, and were delighted that their new deities should evince such readiness to fall in with their plans. The additions were made at once to the four canoes; but while this was being done, some of the leading chiefs, with every mark of deference, approached the boys with colored paints; and motioned, to them, that they would permit them to deck them in this way. Again the boys indulged in a hearty laugh and, stripping off their upper garments, to the immense admiration of the natives. They themselves applied paint in rings, zigzags, and other forms to their white shirts; painted a large saucer-like circle round the eyes with vermilion, so as to give themselves something the appearance of the great idols; and having thus transmogrified themselves, each gravely took his place upon his perch; where, leaning back against the prow behind them, they were by no means uncomfortable. "If these fellows are going, as I expect, upon a war expedition," Ned shouted to his friends, as the boats, keeping regularly abreast, rowed off from the island; amidst a perfect chaos of sounds, of yells, beatings of rough drums made of skins stretched across hollow trunks of trees, and of the blowing of conch shells; "our position will be an unpleasant one. But we must trust to circumstances to do the best. At any rate, we must wish that our friends conquer; for the next party, if we fall into their hands, might take it into their heads that we are devils instead of gods, and it might fare worse with us." It was manifest, as soon as they started, that the object of the expedition was not the island upon which they had been captured, but one lying away to the south. It was a row of several hours before they approached it. As they did so, they saw columns of smoke rise from several points of the shore, and knew that their coming there was observed by the islanders. Presently six canoes, equally large with their own and crowded with men, were observed pulling out, and yells of defiance came across the water. "It is clear," Tom said, "that this island is stronger than our own; and that it is only on the strength of our miraculous presence that the islanders expect to conquer their foes; for they would never, with four canoes, venture to attack a place of superior force, unless they deemed that their victory was certain." With wild yells, which were answered boldly from their own canoes, the enemy approached, and the combat began with a general discharge of arrows. Then the canoes rowed into each other, and a general and desperate hand-to-hand combat commenced. The enthusiasm with which the inmates of the boys' canoes were animated at first gave them the superiority, and they not only beat back the attacks of their foes but, leaping into their enemy's boats, succeeded in clearing two of them of their occupants. Numbers, however, told; and the enemy were, with very heavy clubs and spears, pointed with sharp shells, gradually forcing the adventurers back; when Ned saw that a little supernatural interference was desirable, to bring matters straight again. Giving the word to his friends, he stood up on his perch and, swinging himself round, alighted in the boat; giving as he did so a loud British cheer, which was answered by that of his comrades. Then, with his arms erect, he began to move along the benches of the canoe, towards the conflict which was raging on either side. The sudden interference of the four deities, at the head of the boat, was received with a yell of terror by the natives who were attacking them; which was increased when the boys, each seizing a club from the hands of a native, jumped into the enemy's canoes, and began to lay about them with all their strength. This was, however, required but for a moment. The sight of so terrible and unexampled an apparition appalled the islanders; who, springing overboard with yells of despair, swam rapidly towards land, leaving their boats in the hands of the victors. These indulged in wild yells of triumph, knelt before their good geniuses, and then, taking their places, paddled towards the shore. Before they had reached it, however, the defeated savages had landed and, running up to their village, had borne the news of the terrible apparitions which had taken part against them. The conquerors, on reaching the village, found it deserted; plundered it of a few valuables; carried down all their enemy's gods in triumph into the canoes; and then, having fired the huts, started again, with the ten canoes, towards their own island. Their triumphant arrival at the village was received with frantic excitement and enthusiasm. The sight of six canoes towed in, by the four belonging to the place, was greeted with something of the same feeling which, in Nelson's time, Portsmouth more than once experienced upon an English vessel arriving with two captured French frigates, of size superior to herself. And when the warriors informed their relatives of the interposition of the white gods in their favor, the latter rose to an even higher estimation in public opinion than before. They were escorted to their shrine with wild dancing and gesticulation, and great heaps of fruit, fish, and other luxuries were offered to them, in token of the gratitude of the people. But this was not all. A few hours later a solemn council was held on the seashore, and after a time a great hurrying to and fro was visible in the village. Then, to the sound of their wild music, with dancing, brandishing of spears, and the emission of many wild yells, the whole population moved up towards the shrine. "What can they be going to do now?" Tom said. "Some fresh piece of homage, I should guess. I do wish they would leave us alone. It is annoying enough to be treated as a god, without being disturbed by these constant worshippings." When the crowd arrived before the shed they separated, and in the midst were discovered four girls. On their heads were wreaths of flowers, and their necks and arms were loaded with necklaces, and shells, and other ornaments. "Don't laugh, you fellows," said Ned. "I do believe that they have brought us four wives, in token of their gratitude." The lads had the greatest difficulty in restraining themselves from marring the effect of the solemnity by ill-timed laughter. But they put a great restraint upon themselves, and listened gravely while the chief made them a long harangue, and pointed to the four damsels; who, elated at the honor of being selected, but somewhat shy at being the center of the public gaze, evidently understood that the village had chosen them to be the wives of the gods. Although the boys could not understand the words of the speaker, there was no question as to his meaning, and they consulted together as to the best steps to be taken, under the circumstances. "We must temporize," said Tom. "It would never do for them to consider themselves slighted." After a short consultation, they again took their places in a solemn row, in front of the shed. Reuben, who was the tallest and most imposing of the set, and who was evidently considered by the villagers to be the leading deity, then addressed a long harangue to the chief and villagers. He beckoned to the four girls, who timidly advanced, and one knelt at the feet of each of the whites. Then Reuben motioned that a hut must be built, close to the shrine; and, pointing to the sun, he traced its way across the sky, and made a mark upon the ground. This he repeated fourteen times, signifying that the girls must be shut up in the hut and guarded safely for that time, after which the nuptials would take place. "You are quite sure, Ned," he said, pausing and turning round to his friend, "that we shall be able to make our attempt to escape before the end of the fourteen days? Because it would be fearful, indeed, if we were to fail, and to find ourselves compelled to marry these four heathen women." "We will certainly try before the fourteen days are up, Reuben; but with what success, of course we cannot say. But if we lay our plans well, we ought to manage to get off." The villagers readily understood the harangue of Reuben, and without delay the whole scattered into the wood and, returning with bundles of palm leaves and some strong posts, at once began to erect the hut. Fires were lighted as the evening came on, and before they ceased their labor the hut was finished. During this time the girls had remained sitting patiently in front of the shrine. The lads now offered them their hand, and escorted them with grave ceremony to the hut. The palm leaves which did service as a door were placed before it, and the boys proceeded to dance, one after the other in solemn order, fourteen times round the hut. They then signified to the natives that provisions, fruit, and water must be daily brought for the use of their future wives; and having made another harangue, thanking the natives for their exertions, and signifying future protection and benefits, they retired under the shelter of the shed, and the village subsided to its ordinary state of tranquility. "There are two difficulties in the way of making our escape," Ned said. "In the first place, it is useless to think of leaving this island, until we have a sufficient stock, of provisions and water to put in a canoe, to last us until we can get back to Ternate. Did we put into any island on the way, our position might be ten times as bad as it now is. Here at least we are well treated and honored and, did we choose, could no doubt live here in a sort of heathen comfort, for the rest of our lives; just as many white sailors on the western isles have turned natives, and given up all thought of ever returning to their own country. "The Golden Hind was four days on her journey from Ternate to the place where she refitted; another two to the spot where she went on the reef. The wind was very light, and her speed was not above five knots an hour. We should be able to paddle back in the course of ten days, and must take provisions sufficient for that time. "The first point, of course, will be to find whether the old ship is still on the reef. If she is not there she may have succeeded in getting off, or she may have gone to pieces. I trust however that the admiral, who is full of resource, has managed to get her off in safety. He will, no doubt, have spent a day or two in looking for us; but finding no signs of us, in the island to which we were sent, or in the other lying in sight to the southward, he will have shaped his way for the Cape. "The first difficulty, then, is to procure sufficient provisions. The next is to make our escape unseen. The four natives who, night and day, watch at the corners of this shed, mean it as a great honor, no doubt; but, like many other honors, it is an unpleasant one. Our only plan will be to seize and gag them suddenly, each pouncing upon one. "Then there is the fear that the natives, who are, I must say, the most restless sleepers I ever saw, may in their wanderings up to look at us find that we have gone, before we are fairly beyond reach of pursuit; for one of their great canoes will travel at least two feet to our one. "Hitherto we have only taken such provisions, from the piles they have offered us, as were sufficient for our day's wants, and left the rest for them to take away again next morning. In future we had best, each day, abstract a considerable quantity; and place it conspicuously in the center of this shed. The people will perhaps wonder, but will probably conclude that we are laying it by, to make a great feast upon our wedding day. "As to water, we must do with the calabashes which they bring the day before, and with the milk which the cocoas contain, and which is to the full as quenching as water. With a good number of cocoas, we ought to be able to shift for some days without other food; and there is, indeed, an abundance of juice in many of the other fruits which they offer us." This programme was carried out. Every morning the lads danced in solemn procession round the hut, lessening their rounds by one each day. Daily the heap of fruit, dried fish, and vegetables under the shed increased; and the natives, who believed that their new deities were intent upon the thoughts of marriage, had no suspicion whatever of any desire, on their part, to escape. Having settled how to prevent their escape being detected before morning, they accustomed themselves to go to sleep with the cloths, woven of the fiber of the palm with which the natives had supplied them, pulled over their heads. Seven days after the fight with the other islanders, the lads judged that the pile of provisions was sufficiently large for their purpose, and determined upon making the attempt that night. A canoe of about the size that they desired, which had been used during the day for fishing, lay on the shore close to the water's edge. They waited until the village was fairly hushed in sleep. An hour later they believed that the four guards--or worshipers, for it struck them that their attendants partook partly of both characters--were beginning to feel drowsy; and each of the boys, having furnished himself with a rope of twisted coconut fiber, stole quietly up to one of these men. To place their hands over their mouths, to seize and throw them upon their faces, was but the work of a moment; and was accomplished without the least noise, the natives being paralyzed by the sudden and unexpected assault. A piece of wood was shoved into the mouth of each, as a gag; and secured by a string, passing round the back of the head, and holding it in its place. Their arms and legs were tied, and they were set up against the posts, in the same position they had before occupied. Four of the great effigies were then taken from their places, and laid down upon the ground and covered over with the mats, so that to any casual observer they presented exactly the same appearance as the boys, sleeping there. Then, loading themselves with provisions, the boys stole backwards and forwards, quietly, to the boat. Once they had to pause, as a sleepless native came out from his hut, walked up to the shrine, and bowed himself repeatedly before the supposed deities. Fortunately he perceived nothing suspicious, and did not notice the constrained attitude of the four guardians. When he retired the boys continued their work, and soon had the whole of the store of cocoas and other provisions in the canoe, together with some calabashes of water. Then with some difficulty they launched the boat and, taking their places, paddled quietly away from the island. Once fairly beyond the bay, they laid themselves to their work, and the light boat sped rapidly across the waters. In order that they might be sure of striking the point where they had left the ship, they made first for the island where they had been captured, and when day broke were close beside it. They then shaped their course northwards, and after two hours' paddling were in sight of the low island, which they had first visited. By noon they reached the spot where, as they judged, the Golden Hind had gone on the reef; but no sign whatever of her was to be discovered. By the position in which the island they had left lay they were sure that, although they might be two or three miles out in their direction, they must be within sight of the vessel, were she still remaining as they had left her. There had been no great storm since she had grounded; and it was unlikely, therefore, that she could have gone entirely to pieces. This afforded them great ground for hope that she had beaten off the reef, and proceeded on her voyage. Hitherto they had been buoyed up with the expectation of again meeting their friends; but they now felt a truly unselfish pleasure, at the thought that their comrades and admiral had escaped the peril which threatened the downfall of their hopes, and the termination of an enterprise fairly and successfully carried out, so far. There was nothing now for them but to make for Ternate. They found no difficulty whatever in doing without water, their thirst being amply quenched by the milk of the cocoas, and the juice of the guavas and other fruits. They paddled for two days longer, working steadily all day and far into the night, and passed one or two islands. In the course of the next day's passage they went within a short distance of another, and were horrified at seeing, from the narrow bay, a large war canoe put out, and make rapidly towards them. They had already talked over what would be their best course in such a contingency, and proceeded at once to put their plans into execution. They had, at starting, taken with them a supply of the paints used in their decoration; and with these they proceeded to touch up the coloring on their faces and white shirts, and on the strange ornaments which had been affixed to their heads. Two of them now took their place, one at the stern and the other at the bow of the canoe. The other two stood up, and paddled very quietly and slowly along; and as the canoe approached rapidly, the four broke into a song--one of the old Devonshire catches, which they had often sung together on board ship. The war canoe, as it approached, gradually ceased paddling. The aspect of this small boat, paddling quietly along and taking no heed of their presence, filled its occupants with surprise. But when the way on their canoe drifted them close to it, and they were enabled to see the strange character of the freight, a panic of astonishment and alarm seized them. That a boat, navigated by four gods, should be seen proceeding calmly along the ocean, alone, was a sight for which Indian legend gave them no precedent whatever; and after gazing for a while, in superstitious dread at the strange spectacle, they turned their boats' head and paddled rapidly back to shore. For an hour or two the boys continued their course, in the same leisurely manner; but when once convinced that they were out of sight of their late visitors, they again sat down, and the four stretched themselves to their work. On the evening of that day there was a heavy mist upon the water. The stars were with difficulty seen through it, and the lads were all convinced that a change of weather was at hand. Before nightfall had set in, an island had been seen at a short distance to the north, and they decided at once to make for this; as, if caught in mid ocean by a storm, they had little hope of weathering it in a craft like that in which they were placed; although the natives, habituated to them, were able to keep the sea in very rough weather in these little craft; which, to an English eye, appeared no safer than cockleshells. The boys rowed with all their strength in the direction in which the island lay, but before they reached it sharp puffs of wind struck the water, and the steerage of the canoe became extremely difficult. Presently, however, they heard the sound of a dull roar, and knew that this was caused by the slow heaving swell, of which they were already sensible, breaking upon a beach. Ten minutes later they were close to the shore. Had it been daylight, they would have coasted round the island to search for a convenient spot for landing; but the wind was already rising, so fast that they deemed it better to risk breaking up their canoe, than to run the hazard of being longer upon the sea. Waiting, therefore, for a wave, they sped forward, with all their strength. There was a crash, and then they all leaped out together and, seizing the canoe, ran her up on the beach, before the next wave arrived. "I fear she has knocked a great hole in her bottom," Reuben said. "Never mind," Ned replied. "We shall be able to make a shift to mend it. The great point, now, is to drag it up so high among the bushes, that it will not be noticed in the morning by any natives who may happen to be about. Until this storm is over, at any rate, we have got to shelter here." The canoe, laden as she still was with provisions, was too heavy to drag up; but the boys, emptying her out, lifted her on their shoulders and carried her inland; until, at a distance of some sixty or seventy yards, they entered a grove of coconut trees. Here they laid her down, and made two journeys back to the beach to fetch up their provisions, and then took refuge in the grove; thankful that they had escaped on shore in time, for scarcely had they landed when the hurricane, which had been brewing, burst with terrific force. Seas of immense height came rolling in upon the shore. The trees of the grove waved to and fro before it, and shook the heavy nuts down, with such force that the boys were glad to leave it and to lie down on the open beach, rather than to run the risk of having their skulls fractured by these missiles from above. The sound of the wind deadened their voices, and even by shouting they could not make themselves heard. Now and then, above the din of the storm, was heard the crash of some falling tree; and even as they lay, they were sometimes almost lifted from the ground by the force of the wind. For twenty-four hours the hurricane continued, and then cleared as suddenly as it had commenced. The lads crept back to the grove, refreshed themselves with the contents of two or three cocoas apiece, and then, lying down under the canoe, which they had taken the precaution of turning bottom upwards, enjoyed a peaceful sleep till morning. Chapter 20: A Portuguese Settlement. The day broke bright and sunny. The first care of the boys was to examine their canoe; and they found, as they had feared, that a huge hole had been made, in her bottom, by the crash against the rocks on landing. They looked for some time with rueful countenances at it; and then, as usual, turned to Ned, to ask him what he thought had best be done. "There can be no doubt," he said, "that the natives make a sort of glue out of some trees or shrubs growing in these islands, and we shall have to endeavor to discover the tree from which they obtain it. We can, of course, easily pull off the bark from some tree, which will do to cover the hole. The great point is to find some substance which will make it water tight." The grove was a very large one, and appeared to extend along the whole coast. Seaward, it was formed entirely of cocoa trees, but inland a large number of other trees were mingled with the palms. All day the boys attempted to find some semblance of gum oozing from these trees. With sharp pieces of shell they made incisions in the bark of each variety that they met with, to see if any fluid exuded which might be useful for this purpose, but in vain. "If we can kill some animal or other," Ned said, "we might boil down its sinews and skin and make glue; as Tom and myself did, to mend our bows with, among the Indians on the pampas. But even then, I question whether the glue would stand the action of the water." As to their subsistence they had no uneasiness. Besides the cocoas, fruit of all sorts abounded. In the woods parrots and other birds flew screaming among the branches at their approach, and although at present they had no means of shooting or snaring these creatures, they agreed that it would be easy to construct bows and arrows, should their stay be prolonged. This, however, they shrank from doing, as long as any possible method of escape presented itself. Were it absolutely necessary, they agreed that they could burn down a tree and construct a fresh canoe; but they were by no means sanguine as to their boat-building capabilities, and were reluctant to give up the idea of continuing their voyage in their present craft, as long as a possibility of so doing remained. So they passed four days; but succeeded in finding no gum, or other substance, which appeared likely to suit their purpose. "I should think," Reuben said one day, "that it would be possible to make the canoe so buoyant that she would not sink, even if filled with water." "How would you do that?" Tom asked. "There are many light woods, no doubt, among the trees that we see; but they would have to remain a long time to dry, to be light enough to be of any use." "I was thinking," Reuben said, "that we might use coconuts. There are immense quantities upon the trees, and the ground is covered with them, from the effects of the late gale. If we strip off the whole of the outside husk, and then make holes in the little eyes at the top and let out the milk, using young ones in which the flesh has not yet formed, and cutting sticks to fit tightly into the holes, they would support a considerable weight in the water. I should think that if we treated several hundred nuts in this way, put them in the bottom of the canoe, and keep them in their places by a sort of net, which we might easily make from the fibers of the cocoas, the boat would be buoyant enough to carry us." The idea struck all as being feasible, and Reuben was much congratulated upon his inventive powers. Without delay, they set to work to carry out the plan. A piece of thin bark was first taken and, by means of a long thorn used as a needle, was sewn over the hole in the canoe, with the fibers of the cocoa. Then a large pile of nuts was collected, and the boys set to work at the task of emptying them of their contents. It took them some hours' work to make and fit the pegs. Another two days were spent in manufacturing a net, to stretch across the boat above them. The nuts were then placed in the boat, the net put into shape and, choosing a calm night for their trial--for they feared, during the daytime, to show themselves beyond the margin of the forest--they placed it in the water, and paddled a short distance out. They found that their anticipations were justified, and that the flotation of the cocoas was amply sufficient to keep the boat afloat. She was, of course, far lower in the water than she had before been, and her pace was greatly deteriorated. This, however, they had expected and, returning to shore, they watched for the next night. Then, taking in a load of provisions, they started at once upon their way. It was weary work now, for the water-logged canoe was a very different boat to the light bark, which had yielded so easily to their strokes. Fortunately, however, they met with no misadventure. The weather continued calm. They were unseen, or at least not followed, from any of the islands that they passed on their way. But it was ten days after their final start before a large island, which they all recognized as Ternate, was seen rising above the water. "Easy all," Ned said. "We may be thankful, indeed, that we have arrived safely in sight of the island. But now that we are close, and there is no fear of tempests, had we not better talk over whether, after all, we shall land at Ternate?" "Not land at Ternate?" the others exclaimed in consternation; for indeed, the work during the last few days had been very heavy, and they were rejoicing at the thought of an end to their labors "Why, we thought it was arranged, all along, we should stop at Ternate." "Yes, but we arranged that because at Ternate, alone, there seemed a certainty of a welcome. But, as you know, Tidore only lies twelve miles away from Ternate; and from the position we are now in, it will not be more than five or six miles farther. "You see, when we were there, the king was preparing for a war with the Portuguese in Tidore, and he would certainly expect us to assist him, and probably to lead his fighting men." "But we should have no objection to that," Reuben said. "Not in the least," Ned replied. "But you see, if we are ever to get back to England, it must be through the Portuguese. Their ships alone are to be found in these seas, and were we to join the King of Ternate in an attack upon them, whether successful or not, we could never hope to be received in Portuguese ships; and should probably, indeed, be taken to Goa, and perhaps burned there as heretics, if we were to seek an asylum on board. "What do you think?" Viewed in this light, it certainly appeared more prudent to go to Tidore, and after some little discussion the boat's head was turned more to the west, and the lads continued their weary work in paddling the water-logged canoe. So slowly did she move that it was late at night before they approached the island. They determined not to land till morning, as they might be mistaken for natives, and attacked. They therefore lay down in the canoe and went to sleep, when within about a mile of the island; and the next morning paddled along its shore until they saw some canoes hauled up, together with an English boat, and supposed that they were at the principal landing place of the island. On either side of the landing place the cliffs rose steeply up, at a short distance from the beach. But at this point a sort of natural gap existed, up which the road ascended into the interior of the island. There were several natives moving about on the beach as the boys approached, and one of these was seen, at once, to start at a run up the road. The lads had carefully removed all vestige of the paint from their faces and hands and, having put on their doublets, concealed the strange appearance presented before by their white shirts. No resistance was opposed to their landing; but the natives motioned to them that they must not advance inland, until a messenger returned from the governor. The boys were only too glad to throw themselves down full length on the soft sand of the beach, and to dry their clothes in the sun; as for ten days they had been constantly wet, and were stiff and tired. Presently a native came down at a run, and announced that the governor was at hand. Rising to their feet, and making the best show they could in their faded garments, the lads soon saw a Portuguese gentleman, attended by four soldiers, coming down the road between the cliffs. "Who are you?" he asked in Portuguese, as he reached them, "and whence come you?" "We are Englishmen," Ned said in Spanish. "We belong to the ship of Captain Drake, which passed by here in its voyage of circumnavigation. By an accident, we in the canoe were separated from the ship and left behind. We have come to seek your hospitality, and protection." "We heard of an English vessel at Ternate," the governor said, sternly, "some weeks since; and heard also that its captain was making an alliance with the king there, against us." "It was not so," Ned said. "The admiral stopped there for a few days to obtain supplies such as he needed; but we are not here either to make alliances or to trade. Captain Drake, on starting, intended to voyage round the coast of America; and to return, if possible, by the north. After coasting up the western shores of that continent, he found that it would be impossible to pass round the north, as the coast extended so rapidly toward the north of Asia. He therefore started to return by the Cape, and on his way passed through these islands. "Had it been part of his plan to make alliances with the King of Ternate, or any other potentate, he would have stopped and done so; and would have given his armed assistance to the king. But his object was simply to return, as quickly as possible. Had there been any alliance made, we should naturally have made for Ternate, instead of this island. But as we have no relations with the king, and seek only means of returning to Europe, we preferred, of course, to come here, where we knew that we should find Christians; and, we hoped, friends." There was palpable truth in what Ned said; and the governor, unbending, expressed his readiness to receive and help them. He then asked a few more questions about the manner in which they had become separated from their friends; and seeing no advantage in concealing the truth, and thinking perhaps that it would be well, if an opportunity should offer, that the governor should send a vessel to search among the islands near where the wreck took place, and see if any of the crew had sought refuge there, they told him frankly the circumstances under which they had left the Golden Hind. "It would be sad, indeed," said the Portuguese, "if so grand an expedition, under so noble a commander, should have been wrecked after accomplishing such a work. We in these parts are not friendly to any European meddling. His Holiness the pope granted us all discoveries on this side of the Cape, and we would fain trade in peace and quiet, without interference. But we can admire the great deeds and enterprise of your countrymen; and indeed," he said smiling--for the Portuguese are, as a rule, a very small race--and looking at the bulk of the four young men, which was, indeed, almost gigantic by the side of himself and his soldiers, "I am scarcely surprised, now I see you, at the almost legendary deeds which I hear that your countrymen have performed on the Spanish main. "But now, follow me to my castle, and I will there provide you with proper appliances. What position did you hold in the ship?" "We are gentlemen of Devonshire," Ned said, "and bore a share in the enterprise, sailing as gentlemen adventurers under Captain Drake. I myself held the rank of third officer in the ship." "Then, senors," the Portuguese said, bowing, "I am happy to place myself and my house at your disposal. It may be that you will be able to render me services which will far more than repay any slight inconvenience or trouble to which I may be put, for we hear that the King of Ternate is preparing a formidable expedition against us; and as my garrison is a very small one, and the natives are not to be relied upon to fight against those of the other island, the addition of four such experienced soldiers as yourself will, in no slight degree, strengthen us." The boys replied that their swords were at the service of their host; and, well content with the turn things had taken, they proceeded with him up the road into the interior of the island. Upon gaining the higher land, they were surprised at the aspect of the island. In place of the almost unbroken forest which they had beheld, in other spots at which they had landed, here was fair cultivated land. Large groves of spice trees grew here and there, and the natives were working in the fields with the regularity of Europeans. The Portuguese method of cultivating the islands which they took differed widely from that of the English. Their first step was to compel the natives to embrace Christianity. Their second to make of them docile and obedient laborers, raising spice and other products, for which they received in payment calico, beads, and European goods. The castle, which stood in the center of a small plain, was built of stone roughly hewn; and was of no strength which would have resisted any European attack, but was well calculated for the purpose for which it was designed. It consisted of a pleasant house standing in an enclosure, round which was a wall, some fifteen feet in height, with a platform running behind it, to enable its garrison to shoot over the top. A ditch of some ten feet in depth and fifteen feet wide surrounded it; so that, without scaling ladders to ascend the walls, or cannon to batter holes in them, the place could be well held against any attack that the natives might make upon it. The garrison was not a formidable one, consisting only of some thirty Portuguese soldiers, whose appearance did not speak much for the discipline maintained. Their uniforms were worn and rusty in the extreme. They were slovenly in appearance, and wore a look of discontent and hopelessness. A large portion of them, indeed, had been criminals, and had been offered the choice of death or of serving for ten years, which generally meant for life, in the eastern seas. Ned judged that no great reliance could be placed upon this army of scarecrows, in the event of an attack of a serious character. "My men would scarcely show to advantage at home," the governor said, noting the glance of surprise with which the boys had viewed them. "But in a country like this, with such great heat and no real occasion for more than appearances, it is hopeless to expect them to keep up the smartness which would, at home, be necessary. The natives are very docile and quiet, and give us no trouble whatever; and were it not for interference from Ternate, where the people are of a much more warlike nature, the guard which I have would be ample for any purposes. I am expecting a vessel which calls here about once in six months, very shortly, and anticipate that she will bring me some twenty more soldiers, for whom I wrote to the viceroy at Goa when she last called here." "What is your latest news from Ternate?" Ned asked. "I have no direct news," he said. "What we know we gather from the natives, who, by means of canoes and fishing boats, are often in communication with those of the opposite island. They tell me that great preparations are being made, that several of the largest-sized canoes have been built, and that they believe, when it is full moon, which is generally the era at which they commence their adventures, there will be a descent upon this island." "Then you have seven days in which to prepare," Ned said. "Have you been doing anything to enable you to receive them hotly?" "I have not," the governor said. "But now that you gentlemen have come, I doubt not that your experience in warfare will enable you to advise me as to what steps I had better take. I stand at present alone here. The officer who, under me, commanded the garrison died two months since; and I myself, who was brought up in a civil rather than a military capacity, am, I own to you, strange altogether to these matters." Ned expressed the willingness of himself and his friends to do all in their power to advise and assist the governor; and with many mutual compliments they now entered the house, where a goodly room was assigned to them; some natives told off as their servants; and the governor at once set two native seamsters to work, to manufacture garments of a proper cut for them, from materials which he had in a storehouse for trading with the neighboring chiefs; who, like all savages, were greatly given to finery. Thus, by the end of the week, the boys were able once more to make a show which would have passed muster in a European capital. At the governor's request, they had at once proceeded to drill the soldiers, Ned and Gerald taking each the command of a company of fifteen men, as they understood Spanish and could readily make themselves understood in Portuguese, whereas Tom and Reuben knew but little of the Spanish tongue. "I think," Tom said the first morning to the governor, after the friends had discussed the prospect together, "it would be well to throw up some protection at the top of the road leading from the shore. I should order some large trees to be cut down, and dragged by a strong force of natives to the spot, and there so arranged that their branches will point downward and form a chevaux de frise in the hollow way; leaving until the last moment a passage between them, but having at hand a number of young saplings, to fill up the gap. There are, I suppose, other places at which the enemy could land?" "Oh, yes," the governor said. "On the other side of the island the land slopes gradually down to the shore, and indeed it is only for a few miles, at this point, that the cliffs rise so abruptly that they could not be ascended. Yet even here there are many points which a native could easily scale; although we, in our accoutrements, would find it impossible." While Ned and Gerald drilled their men with great assiduity, astonishing the Portuguese soldiers with their energy and authoritative manner, Tom and Reuben occupied themselves in superintending the felling of the trees; and their carriage, by means of a large number of natives, to the top of the road. Preparations were also made for blocking up the lower windows of the house so that, in case of the enemy succeeding in carrying the outer wall, a stout resistance could be made within. Large piles of provisions were stored in the building, and great jars of water placed there. "Are you sure," Ned asked the governor one evening, "of the natives here? For I own that there appears to me to be a sullen defiance in their manner, and I should not be surprised to see them turn upon us, immediately those from the other island arrive. If they did so, of course our position at the top of the road would be untenable, as they would take us in the rear. However, if they do so, I doubt not that we shall be able to cut our way back to the castle, without difficulty. "I think that it would be, in any case, advisable to leave at least ten men to hold the castle, while the rest of us oppose the landing." There were in store four small culverins and several light wall pieces. Two of the culverins were placed on the cliff, one at each side of the path, so as to command the landing. Two others were placed on the roof of the castle, which was flat and terraced. The wall pieces were also cleaned, and placed in position at the corners of the walls; and the boys, having seen that the musketoons and arquebuses of the garrison were in excellent order, and ready for service, felt that all had been done that was possible to prepare for an attack. The day before the full moon a sentinel was placed at the cliff, with orders to bring word instantly to the castle, in case any craft were seen coming from Ternate, the distance from the cliff to the house being about a mile. A short time after daybreak, next morning, the sentry arrived at full speed, saying that a great fleet of canoes was visible. Hurrying to the spot with the governor, the lads made out that the approaching flotilla consisted of eighteen great war canoes, each of which, crowded as it was, might contain a hundred men; and in addition to these were a large number of smaller craft. The invading force, therefore, would considerably exceed two thousand men. Reuben had the command of a gun at one side, Tom at the other, and these now loaded and sighted their pieces, so as to pour a volley of case shot into the canoes when they arrived within a quarter of a mile from shore. The canoes came along in a dense body, as close together as they could paddle, their rowers filling the air with defiant yells. When they reached the spot upon which the guns had been trained Tom fired his piece, and its roar was answered by wild screams and yells from the crowded fleet. Reuben followed suit, and the destruction wrought by the gnus was at once manifest. Three of the great canoes were broken to pieces, and their occupants swimming in the water climbed into the others, among which also a great many men had been wounded. The effect of this reception upon the valor of the natives was very speedy. Without a moment's delay they backed off, and were soon seen making out of range of the guns, like a troop of wild fowl scattered by the shot of a fowler. "They have a horror of cannon," the governor said, exultingly, as he witnessed their departure. "If we had a few more pieces, I should have no fear of the result." The dispersal of the canoes continued only until they thought that they were out of range; for although the lads now sent several round shot at them, these did not produce any effect, the canoes being but small objects to hit at a distance, when on the move, and the culverins being old pieces, and but little adapted for accurate shooting. The fleet were soon seen to gather again, and after a little pause they started in a body, as before, along the coast. "They are going to make a landing elsewhere," Ned said, "and we shall have to meet them in the open. It is a pity that we have no beasts of burden to which to harness our pieces; for as these are only ships' guns, it is impossible for us to drag them at a speed which would enable us to oppose their landing. Where are all the natives?" At the first alarm a large body of the islanders had assembled upon the cliff, but in the excitement of watching the approaching enemy, their movements had not been noticed. It was now seen that the whole of them had left the spot, and not a single native was in sight. "I think," Ned said, "we had better fall back and take up a position near the house, and repel their attack with the assistance of the guns mounted there. With muskets only, we should not have much chance of preventing their landing; and indeed they will row much faster along the coast than we could run to keep up with them." The governor agreed in the justice of Ned's view, and the whole force were now ordered to fall back towards the castle. As they proceeded they saw large bodies of the natives. These, however, kept at a distance; but their exultant shouts showed that they must be considered to have gone over to the enemy. "I will make you pay for this," the governor said, stamping his foot and shaking his fist angrily in their direction. "Each man shall have to furnish double the amount of spice for half the amount of calico, for the next five years. Ungrateful dogs! When we have done so much for them!" Ned could scarcely help smiling to himself, at the thought of the many benefits which the Portuguese had bestowed upon these unfortunate islanders, whom they had reduced from a state of happy freedom to one which, whatever it might be called, was but little short of slavery. It was late in the evening before great numbers of the enemy were seen approaching, and these, swelled as they were by the population of the island, appeared a formidable body, indeed, by the side of the handful of white men who were drawn up to defend the place. The enemy, numerous as he was, appeared indisposed to commence a fight at once, but began, to the fierce indignation of the governor, to cut down the groves of spice trees, and to build great fires with them. "I don't think that they will attack until tomorrow," Ned said, "and it would be well, therefore, to withdraw within the walls, to plant sentries, and to allow the men to rest. We shall want all our strength when the battle begins." "Do you think," the governor asked, when they were seated in his room, and had finished the repast which had been prepared, "that it will be well to sally out to meet them in the open? Thirty white men ought to be able to defeat almost any number of these naked savages." "If we had horses I should say yes," Ned said, "because then, by our speed, we could make up for our lack of numbers; and, wheeling about, could charge through and through them. But they are so light and active in comparison to ourselves that we should find it difficult, if not impossible, to bring them to a hand-to-hand conflict. We have, indeed, the advantage of our musketoons; but I observed at Ternate that many of the men have muskets, and the sound of firearms would therefore in no way alarm them. With their bows and arrows they can shoot more steadily at short distances than we can, and we should be overwhelmed with a cloud of missiles, while unable to bring to bear the strength of our arms and the keenness of our swords against their clubs and rough spears. I think that we could hold the house for a year against them; but if we lost many men in a fight outside, it might go hard with us afterwards." When morning dawned the garrison beheld, to their dismay, that the Indians had in the night erected a battery at a quarter of a mile in front of the gate, and that in this they had placed the culverins left on the cliff, and a score of the small pieces carried in their war canoes. "This is the work of the two white men we saw at Ternate," Gerald exclaimed. "No Indian could have built a battery according to this fashion." As soon as it was fairly light the enemies' fire opened, and was answered by the culverins on the roof of the house. The latter were much more quickly and better directed than those of the Indians, but many of the balls of the latter crashed through the great gates. "Shall we make a sortie?" the governor asked Ned. "I think that we had better wait for nightfall," he replied. "In passing across this open ground we should lose many men from the cannon shots, and with so small a force remaining, might not be able to resist the onrush of so great numbers. Let us prepare, however, to prop up the gates should they fall, and tonight we will silence their guns." At nightfall the gates, although sorely bruised and battered, and pierced in many places, still stood; being shored up with beams from behind. At ten o'clock twenty of the garrison were let down by ropes at the back of the castle, for Ned thought that scouts might be lurking near the gates, to give notice of any sortie. With great precaution and in perfect silence they made a way round, and were within a hundred yards of the battery before their approach was discovered. Then, headed by the governor, who was a valiant man by nature, and the four English, they ran at great speed forward, and were inside the battery before the enemy could gather to resist them. The battle was indeed a hard one; for the Indians, with their clubs, fought valorously. Reuben and Tom, having been furnished with hammer and long nails, proceeded to spike the guns; which they did with great quickness, their doings being covered, alike, by their friends and by darkness. When they had finished their task they gave the signal, and the Portuguese, being sorely pressed, fell back fighting strongly to the castle, where the gates were opened to receive them. In this sortie they lost eight men. The next morning at dawn the natives, being gathered in large numbers, came on to the assault, uttering loud and fierce cries. The cannon on the roof, which were under the charge of Tom and Reuben, at once opened fire upon them, while the soldiers upon the walls shot briskly with their musketoons. The natives, however, appeared determined to succeed and, firing a cloud of arrows, pushed forward towards the gate. Among them were borne, each by some thirty natives, long trees; and this party, surrounded by the main body, proceeded rapidly towards the gate, which, damaged as it was, they hoped easily to overthrow. The fire of the two culverins was, however, so deadly, and the concentrated discharge of the musketoons upon them as they advanced so fatal that, after trying several times to approach close to the gate, the natives dropped the great logs and fled. Chapter 21: Wholesale Conversion. That day and the three which followed passed without adventure. The natives were seen ravaging the fields, destroying the plantations, and doing terrible damage, to the intense exasperation of the Portuguese governor. But they did not show any signs of an intention to attack the castle. "I believe," Ned said on the fourth day, "that they have determined to starve us out. They must know that, however large our stock of provisions, they will not last forever; and indeed they will have learned, from the men who bore them in, something of the amount of stock which we have. It will last, you say, for two months; which would be little enough, were it not that we are expecting the ship you spoke of. If that comes shortly we shall, with the additional force which it is bringing; and the crew, who will no doubt aid; be able to attack them in the open. But were it not for that, our position would be a bad one." "I fear," Tom said, "that even when the ship arrives, evil may come of it." "How is that, Tom?" Ned asked. "The captain will know nothing of what is passing on shore; and if he lands his men incautiously upon the beach, and advances in this direction, the natives will fall upon them and, taking them by surprise, cut them to pieces; and our last hope will then be gone." "But we might sally out and effect a diversion," Reuben said. "Yes," Tom replied; "but, unfortunately, we should not know of the arrival of the ship until all is over." It was clear to all that Tom's view was the correct one, and that the position was much more serious than they had anticipated. For some time the governor and the four young men looked at each other, blankly. The destruction of the reinforcements, which would be followed no doubt by the capture of the ship by the war canoes, and the massacre of all on board, would indeed be fatal to their hopes. After what they had seen of the determination with which the enemy had come up to attack the gate, they were sure that they would fight valiantly, outside. The question of sallying forth was again discussed, and all were of opinion that, unequal as the fight would be, it were better to attempt to defeat the enemy than to remain quiet, and allow them to triumph over the coming reinforcements. "Upon what day do you think the ship will arrive?" Ned said, after considerable thought. "I cannot say to a day," the governor replied; "but she should be here this week. There is no exact time, because she has to touch at several other islands. She leaves Goa always on a certain day; but she takes many weeks on her voyage, even if the wind be favorable She might have been here a week since. She may not be here for another fortnight. But unless something unforeseen has occurred, she should be here by that time; for the winds are steady in these regions, and the rate of sailing regular." "The one chance appears to me," Ned said, after thinking for some time, "is to give them warning of what is happening here." "But how is that to be done?" asked the governor. "The only possible plan," Ned said, "would be for one of us--and I should be ready to accept the duty, knowing more perhaps of the ways of natives than the others--to steal forth from the castle, to make for the shore, and to lie concealed among the woods until the vessel is in sight. If then I could find a canoe, to seize it and paddle off to the ship; if not, to swim." The other lads eagerly volunteered to undertake the work; but Ned insisted that he was better suited to it, not only from his knowledge of the natives, but from his superior powers in swimming. "I may have," he said, "to keep myself up in the water for a long time, and perhaps to swim for my life, if the natives see me. It is even desirable, above all things, that whosoever undertakes the work should be a good swimmer; and although you have long ago given up calling me The Otter, I do not suppose that my powers in the water have diminished." After long consultation, it was agreed that this plan offered more chances of success than any other. "It would be most desirable," Gerald said, "that we should have some notice, here, of the ship being in sight; in order that we might sally out, and lend a hand to our friends on their arrival. I will, therefore, if you will allow me, go with Ned; and when the ship is in sight, I will make my way back here, while he goes off to the vessel." "But it will be impossible," Ned said, "to make your way back here in the daytime. I can steal out at night, but to return unnoticed would be difficult, indeed." "But when you see the ship, Ned, and get on board, you might warn them to delay their landing until the next morning; and in the night I might enter here with the news, and we might sally out at daybreak." This plan appeared to offer more advantages than any other; and it was agreed, at last, that the two lads should, having darkened their skins and put on Indian dress, steal out that night from the castle and make for the shore. Tom and Reuben regretted much that they could not take part in the enterprise; but the governor assured them that, even were it desirable that four should undertake the mission, they could not be spared, since their presence would be greatly needed in the castle should the natives, before the arrival of the ship, make an attack upon it. That night Ned and Gerald, according to the arrangement, stole out from the castle. Their skins had been darkened from head to foot. Round their waists they wore short petticoats, reaching to their knees, of native stuff. They had sandals on their feet; for, as Ned said, if they were seen close by the natives they were sure to be detected in any case, and sandals would not show at a short distance, while they would enable them to run at full speed, which they certainly could not do barefooted. They took with them a bag of provisions, and each carried a sword. Reuben had pressed upon them to take pistols also; but Ned said that, if cut off and detected, pistols would be of no use, as nothing but running would carry them through; while should a pistol be fired inadvertently, it would call such a number of assailants upon them that their escape would be impossible. A thrust with a sword did its work silently, and just as well as a pistol bullet. The natives apparently had no fear of any attempt at a sally from the castle, for there was nothing like a watch set round it; although near the entrance a few men were stationed, to give warning should the garrison sally out to make a sudden attack upon the invaders. The natives were, for the most part, scattered about in small parties, and once or twice the lads nearly fell in with these; but by dint of keeping their ears and eyes open they steered through the dangers, and arrived safely upon the coast, at a point two miles to the west of the landing place. Here the cliff had nearly sloped away, the height being only some twenty or thirty feet above the water, and being practicable in many cases for descent; while behind lay a large wood in which concealment was easy, except in the case of an organized search, of which they had no fear, whatever. The next morning they made along the shore as far as the point where the native war canoes had been pulled up, in hopes of finding some canoe small enough for Ned to use for rowing off to the ship. But none of them rowed less than twelve or fourteen paddles, and so cumbrous a boat as this would be overtaken in a very short time, should it be seen making out from shore. Ned therefore determined to swim out, especially as they observed that a watch was kept, both day and night, near the canoes. Five days passed in concealment. The coconuts afforded them both food and drink. Occasionally they heard the boom of the culverins at the castle, and knew that the natives were showing within range; but as these shots were only heard at times, they were assured that no persistent attack was being made. It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day that the lads observed a sail in the distance. It was indeed so far away that, as the light was fading, they could not say with absolute certainty that it was the longed-for ship. They both felt convinced, however, that they had seen a sail; and watched intently, as night darkened, for some sign of its passage. It was four hours later when they saw, passing along at a distance of about half a mile, a light on the ocean which could be no other than that on board a ship. "Now is the time," Ned said. "I will keep along the shore, under the cliff, until I get nearly to the landing; and will then strike out. Do you make for the castle, and tell them that the ship has arrived, and that we will attack tomorrow; but not at daybreak, as we proposed, but at noon." As Ned proceeded on his way along the shore, he saw suddenly blaze up, far ahead at the landing place, a small bonfire. "Ah!" he muttered to himself. "The natives have seen the ship, too; and are following the usual custom, here, of making a fire to show them where to land. I trust that they will not fall into the snare." When, however, he had reached within a quarter of a mile of the landing, he saw a small boat come suddenly within its range of light, and two white men step out of it. They were received, apparently, with much respect by the natives assembled there, and at once advanced up the road; while the boat, putting off, disappeared in the darkness. "They will be murdered," Ned said to himself, "before they have gone a hundred yards. The natives were crafty enough to allow them to land without hindrance, in order that no suspicion might arise among those on board ship." In the stillness of the night he thought that he heard a distant cry. But he was not sure that his ears had not deceived him. Far out he could see a faint light and, knowing that this marked the place where the ship was moored, he prepared to strike out for it. It was a long swim, and further than he had expected; for in the darkness the captain, unable to see the land, had prudently anchored at a considerable distance from it. Even, however, had it been several times as far, Ned could have swum the distance without difficulty; but the whole way he could not forget that those seas swarmed with sharks, and that any moment he might have to encounter one of those hideous monsters. He had left his sword behind him, but carried a dagger and, as he swam, kept his eyes in all directions, in order that he should not be attacked unprepared. The ocean was however, fortunately, at that time deserted by these beasts; or if they were in the neighborhood, the quiet, steady, noiseless stroke of the swimmer did not reach their ears. As he neared the ship his heart rose, and he sang out blithely, "Ship ahoy!" "Hullo!" was the reply. "Where are you? I cannot see your boat." "I am swimming," Ned answered. "Throw me a rope, to climb up the side. I have a message from the governor for the captain of the ship." A minute later Ned stood upon the deck of the Portuguese vessel, the soldiers and sailors looking on wonderingly at him, his body being white, but his face still colored by the preparation. The captain himself soon appeared. "I am the bearer of a message to you, senor, from the governor," Ned said. "It is here in this hollow reed. He gives you but few particulars, but I believe tells you that you may place every confidence in me, and that I have detailed instructions from him." The captain split open the little reed which Ned handed to him, and taking out a paper coiled within it, opened it, and by the light of a lantern read: "We are in a very critical position, and it will need at once courage and prudence to come out of it. I have sent my friend Don Eduardo Hearne, an English gentleman of repute, to warn you against the danger which threatens, and to advise you on your further proceedings. He will give you all particulars." The captain invited Ned to follow him to his cabin and, calling in the officers, asked for an explanation of this singular visit. Ned briefly entered into an account of the landing of the natives of Ternate, and of the present situation; and the captain rejoiced at the escape, which he had had, from falling into an ambuscade. This he would assuredly have done, had he landed the troops in the morning as he had intended, and marched them inland, fearing no danger, and unprepared for attack. Ned explained that the plan was that the troops on board the ship should land, and fight their way into the interior; and that, simultaneously, the garrison should sally out and attack the natives in the rear; and fight their way towards each other, until they effected a junction. They could then retire into the castle, where their future plans could be arranged. "I have, however," Ned said, "ventured to modify that plan, and have sent word to the governor that we shall not attack until noon, instead of landing at daybreak, as before arranged. We have been examining the position where the canoes are lying. They are all hauled up on the beach, in a compact body. It is in a quiet creek, whose mouth you would sail past without suspecting its existence. I cannot say, of course, the depth of water; but these creeks are generally deep, and I should think that there would be enough water for the ship to float. At any rate, should you not like to venture this, your pinnace might row in, carrying a gun in her bow, and might play havoc among the canoes. Or, better still, if you could send two boat loads of men there, tonight, and could manage to land and destroy a portion of the canoes, and launch and tow out the others, I think that we should have a fair chance of getting peace. The natives would be terrified at the loss of their canoes, and would be likely to make any terms which would ensure their return to their island." The captain at once agreed to the proposition. The three boats of the ship were lowered, and the sailors and soldiers took their places; only two or three being left on board ship, as there was no fear, whatever, of an attack from the shore during the night. Ned took his place in the leading boat of the captain, and acted as guide. They coasted along at a short distance from the land, until Ned told them to cease rowing. "We must," he said, "be close to the spot now; but it is needful that one boat should go forward, and find the exact entrance to the creek." Rowing very quietly, the boat in which he was advanced, until within a few yards of the shore; and then proceeded quietly along, for a distance of a few hundred yards, when the black line of shore disappeared, and a streak of water was seen stretching inland. Quietly they rowed back to the other two boats, and the three advancing, entered the creek together. Before starting, each officer had been assigned his work. The crew of one of the boats, consisting principally of soldiers, were to land, to advance a short distance inland, and to repulse any attacks that the natives might make upon them. Another party were to stave in all the small canoes and, this done, they were to assist the third boat's crew in launching the war canoes into the water. As they approached the spot they were hailed, in the Indian tongue, by someone on shore. No reply was given, and the hail was repeated louder. Then, as the boats rowed rapidly up to the place where the canoes were hauled up, a shrill yell of alarm was given, which was re-echoed in several directions near; and could be heard, growing fainter and fainter, as it was caught up by men inland. The moment the boats touched the shore the men leaped out. The soldiers advanced, and took up the position assigned to them to defend the working parties; while the rest set to, vigorously, to carry out their portion of the work. The war canoes were heavy, and each required the efforts of the whole of the crew to launch her into the water. It was, therefore, a work of considerable time to get fifteen of them afloat; and long ere this had been done, the natives, called together by the alarm, were flocking down in great numbers. They were, however, in entire ignorance as to the number of their assailants; and the fire which the soldiers opened, with their arquebuses, checked them in their advance. Feeling sure that their canoes were being destroyed, they filled the air with yells of lamentation and rage; discharging such volleys of arrows at random, in the direction of the Portuguese, that a great number of these were wounded. Indeed, the natives pressed on with such audacity that a considerable portion of the workers had to go forward, to assist the soldiers in holding them at bay. At last, however, the whole of the canoes were in the water, and every other boat disabled. The canoes were tied together, five abreast, and one of the boats towed these out of the harbor, while the crews of the others remained, keeping the natives at bay; for it was felt that if the whole were to embark at once, while still encumbered with the canoes, they would be able to get out of the creek but slowly; and would, for the most part, be destroyed by the arrows of the natives. When the boat had towed the canoes well out to sea, it cast them adrift and returned up the creek. Then, covered by the muskets of the soldiers, the others took their places, in good order and regularity, until at last all were in the boats. The soldiers were ordered to stand up, and to keep up a steady fire upon the shore; while the sailors laid to, with a hearty goodwill. The natives rushed down to the shore in great numbers, and although many of them must have fallen under the fire of the soldiers, they yet waded into the water, in their anxiety to seize the boats, and poured large numbers of arrows into them. When the three boats gained the open sea there were few, indeed, of the Portuguese who had not received wounds, more or less severe, by the arrows; and several had been killed, in addition to others who had fallen on shore. The soldiers had suffered much less severely than the sailors; for although they had been more hotly engaged, their breast pieces and steel caps had protected them, and they were principally wounded in the limbs. The canoes were now picked up, and with these in tow the party returned to the ship. Here their wounds were dressed, by a priest who accompanied the vessel in her voyages, landing at the different stations, and ministering to the garrisons of the islands. He had some knowledge of the healing art, and poured soothing oils into the wounds inflicted by the arrows. The men were much alarmed lest these arrows should be poisoned, but Ned assured them that none of those who had been wounded, during the attacks on shore, had died from the effects; and that, although it was the custom in many of these islands to use poisoned weapons, the people of Ternate, at least, did not practice this barbarous usage. Morning was just breaking as the party gained the ship, and the captain was glad that Ned had postponed the landing until midday; as it gave the tired men time to rest, and prepare themselves for fresh labors. As soon as the shore could be seen, it was evident that the destruction and carrying off of the canoes had created an immense impression. The cliff was lined with natives, whose gesticulations, as they saw their canoes fastened to the stern of the ship, were wild and vehement. A little before noon the boats were hauled up alongside, the soldiers took their places in them with loaded arquebuses, and as many sailors as could be spared also entered, to assist in their advance. The ship carried several pieces of artillery, and these were loaded, so as to open fire before the landing was effected, in order to clear the shore of the enemy. This was soon accomplished, and the natives who had assembled on the beach were seen, streaming up the road through the cliff. This was the most dangerous part that the advancing party would have to traverse, as they would be exposed to a heavy fire, from those standing above them, on both flanks. They would have suffered, indeed, very severely, had not the captain turned his guns upon the masses gathered on the high ground and, by one or two lucky shots plumped into the middle of them, created such an effect that the fire of arrows kept up upon the troops, as they advanced, was wild and confused. Several of the sailors were severely wounded, but the soldiers, well sheltered by their mail, pressed on and gained the level ground; their blood being fired, as they went, by the spectacle of the dead bodies of their first officer and supercargo, who had landed the night before. Here the natives were assembled in great force and, as they were now out of sight of those on board ship, the guns could no longer render assistance to the little party. These showed a good front as the masses of the enemy approached them, and charged boldly at them. The natives, however, maddened by the loss of their canoes, and feeling that their only hope was in annihilating their enemies, came on with such force, wielding heavy clubs, that the array of the Portuguese was broken, and in a short time each was fighting desperately for himself. Several had been stricken down and, although large numbers of the natives had been killed, it was plain that the victory would in a few minutes be decided; when suddenly a great shout was heard, and a volley of musketry was poured into the rear of the natives. The hard-pressed whites gave a cheer, for they knew that assistance had arrived from the castle. The natives, whose attention had been directed to the attack in front, were taken completely by surprise; and as both the parties of whites simultaneously charged, large numbers were unable to escape and were cut down, while the rest fled precipitately from the spot. Very hearty were the congratulations of the Portuguese, as the forces came together. Gerald had safely reached the castle, after some narrow escapes. He, having fallen among some sleeping natives, had been attacked and forced to trust to his speed. After a short consultation it was decided to press the enemy, and to leave them no time to recover from the demoralization caused by the loss of their boats, and the junction of the two parties of white men. The forces were, therefore, divided into two equal parts, and these started in different directions. Clump after clump of trees was searched, and the enemy driven from them. At first some resistance was made; but gradually the natives became completely panic stricken, and fled without striking a blow. Until nightfall the two parties continued to hunt, and shoot down, a large number of the natives. Then they returned to the castle. They now had a consultation as to the terms which they should grant the natives; for they had no doubt that victory had declared itself, finally, in their favor Some were for continuing the strife until the enemy were exterminated; but the governor of the island was opposed to this. "In the first place," he said, "mixed up with the Ternate people are all the natives of this island, and to exterminate them would be to leave us without labor, and to ruin the island. In the next place, the havoc which has been already wrought in our plantations is such that it will take years to repair; and the longer this fighting goes on, the more complete will be the destruction. I think, then, that we should grant them the easiest terms possible. They will be only too glad to escape, and to get back to their own land, and will be long before they invade us again." "I think," the officer who had arrived with the reinforcements of soldiers said, "it would be well, senor, if you were to consult with the priest who is on board. He is a man who has the ear of the council at Goa. He was but recently arrived, and knows but little of the natives; but he is full of zeal, and it would be well, I think, were we to make an arrangement of which he would perfectly approve; so that his report, when he reached Goa, should be altogether favorable" The governor agreed to this proposal, and decided to send a party down to the shore, in the morning, to bring the priest up to the castle. Early in the morning, a large crowd of natives were seen at a short distance. In their hands they held boughs of trees, and waved them to express their desire to enter into negotiations. The governor, however, fired two or three shots over their heads, as a signal to them to keep farther away, as their advances would not be received. Then, while a party went down to the shore to fetch the priest, he again sallied out and drove the natives before him. When the holy father arrived another council was held, and he was informed that the people were ready to treat, and asked what, in his opinion, should be the terms imposed upon them. He heard the arguments of the governor, in favor of allowing them to return to their island, but he said: "In my opinion it is essential, above all things, that they should be forced to accept Christianity." At this the Englishmen, and indeed the two Portuguese officers, could with difficulty repress a smile; but the governor at once saw that a wholesale conversion of this sort would do him much good with the authorities at Goa, and he therefore willingly fell into the priest's views. The next morning the natives again appeared with their green boughs; and the governor, with the officer, the priest, and a body of ten soldiers, went out to meet them. The King of Ternate advanced, and bowed himself submissively to the ground, and expressed his submission; and craved for pardon, and for permission to return with his people to Ternate, promising solemnly that never again would they meddle with the Portuguese settlement. The governor, who spoke the language fluently, having been there for some years, uttered an harangue reproaching him with his folly, and wickedness, in wantonly declaring war against the Portuguese. He pointed to the destroyed plantations, and asked if any punishment could be too great for the ruin caused. The king and his councilors offered to pay large tributes, annually, of spice and other products, until the ruined plantations were again in bearing. "This will not repay us for the losses we have suffered, and for the evil spirit which you have introduced into this island. "We have, however," the governor said, "only your interests at heart; and therefore we have decided to pardon you, and to allow you to return to your island, upon the condition that you and all your people embrace Christianity, and pay such a tribute as we may impose." The king had no understanding of the meaning of what was proposed to him, and the governor said that he and his people were, in the morning, to assemble before the castle, and that the holy father, who had been sent on purpose to turn them from the wickedness of their ways, would then explain the doctrines of Christianity to them; that if they accepted and believed what he said, pardon would be theirs; if not, they would be hunted down until all were destroyed. Next morning the assembly took place in front of the castle gate. The King of Ternate, surrounded by all his principal councilors and warriors, took his place, while the fighting men stood around him. The priest mounted on the platform of the wall, the governor standing beside him to interpret. The Englishmen, much amused at the ceremony, stood at a short distance off. They did not wish to be recognized by any of the people of Ternate, as it was possible that some English vessels might again come into these seas, and they did not desire that the pleasant remembrance of the visit of the Golden Hind should be obliterated, by the sight of some of its crew in alliance with the Portuguese. The priest began an elaborate explanation of the Christian religion, which he continued for the space of two hours; to the surprise and astonishment of the natives, who could not, of course, comprehend a single word that he said. Then he paused, and turning to the governor said: "Will you translate this, for the benefit of these benighted heathens?" "I fear," said the governor, "that it will be impossible for me to do full justice to your eloquent words; and, indeed, that these poor wretches would scarcely take in so much learning and wisdom all at once; but in a few words I will give them the sense of what you have been telling them." Then, lifting up his voice, he addressed the king. "There is only one God. These idols of yours are helpless, and useless. We have brought ashore those from your war canoes, which my men will now proceed to burn, and you will see that your gods will be unable to help themselves. Indeed, they are not gods, and have no power. God is good, and hates wickedness. All men are wicked. Therefore He would hate all men; but He has sent His Son down, and for His sake pardons all who believe in Him. "Now, if you believe in Him, as I tell you, you will be pardoned both by us and by God. If you do not believe, we shall kill you all, and you will be punished eternally. Now you have the choice what to do." The matter, thus pithily put, did not require much consideration. After a short consultation between the chiefs, the king demanded what ceremonies would have to be gone through, to become Christians; and was informed, by the governor, that the only ceremony would be that he would have to declare himself a Christian; that the priest would make upon him the sign of a cross with his finger, and would sprinkle him with water; and that, when this was done, he would be a Christian. Much relieved to find that the entry into this new religion was so easy, the king and his people at once agreed to accept Christianity. The governor informed them that the priest thought that they were hardly yet prepared, but that on the morrow the ceremony should take place, after a further explanation. The next day a great altar was erected outside the walls of the castle, gay with banners and wax lights. Before this the King of Ternate and his people assembled, the gunners on the walls standing, with lighted matches, by their cannon in case of trouble. The priest then made another long oration, which was again briefly and emphatically translated by the governor. The king and all his people then knelt and, according to the instruction of the priest, made the sign of the cross. The priest then went along between the lines of the people, sprinkling them with holy water, and this being done the ceremony was declared complete, and the King of Ternate and his people were received into the bosom of the Church. Then, escorted by the soldier, they were taken down to the seashore. The two white men were permitted to depart with them. The governor had, at first, insisted that these should be put to death. They pleaded, however, that they had acted under force; and, Ned interceding for them, their lives were granted on the condition that they should, on reaching Ternate, at once embark for some other island, and never return to Ternate. The canoes were brought alongside and, there being now no fear of any attempt at resistance, as the entire body of invaders had given up their arms, they were allowed to enter the canoes, and to paddle away to their own island; with numbers greatly diminished from those which had landed, to the attack of Tidore, a week before. The governor and the priest were, alike, delighted at the termination of the war; the former because he was really anxious for the good of the colony which had been entrusted to him, and believed that it would now progress peaceably, and without disturbance. He believed, too, that his successful resistance, to so large a body of enemies, would insure him the approval of the viceroy at Goa; and that the report of the priest would also obtain for him the valuable protection and patronage of the ecclesiastics, whose power in the eastern seas was even greater than it was at home. Tidore was the furthest of the Portuguese settlements, and the ship, having now made her round, was to return direct to Goa. The priest hesitated whether to remain, or to return in her. He had made it one of the conditions of peace with Ternate that a missionary should be received there, a place of worship erected, and that he should be allowed to open schools, and to teach the tenets of his religion to all; and he hesitated whether he would, himself, at once take up that post, or whether he would report the matter at Goa, where perhaps it might be decided to send a priest who had acquired something of the language of the Southern Seas. He finally decided upon the latter course. The governor furnished the lads with letters, recommending them most warmly to the viceroy, and stating the great services which they had rendered to him in the defense of the island; saying, indeed, that had it not been for their prudence, and valor, it was probable that the natives would have succeeded in destroying the small body of Portuguese, and in massacring the reinforcements landed from the vessel. The priest also, while viewing the young men with the natural horror of a Portuguese ecclesiastic for heretics, was yet impressed with the services that they had rendered; and considered their own shortcomings to be, in a great measure, atoned for by the wholesale conversion which had, to some extent, been effected by their means. Bidding a hearty adieu to the governor, they took their places on board ship and sailed for Goa. It was a six weeks' voyage, but the vessel was well furnished with provisions and, after their hardships, the boys greatly enjoyed the rest and tranquility on board. In due time they found themselves lying off the mouth of the river up which, at a short distance from its mouth, the capital of Portuguese India was situated. Chapter 22: Home. The captain, who was accompanied by the priest, rowed up the river to report the arrival of the ship and the events of his voyage to the authorities, and to place in their hands the letter of the governor of Tidore. Twenty-four hours later the captain returned, with orders for the ship to sail up the river; and that, on their arrival, the young Englishmen were to be landed and conducted to the presence of the viceroy himself. The young adventurers, much as they had traveled, were greatly struck with the appearance of Goa. It was, indeed, a city of palaces, most solidly built of stone, and possessing an amount of magnificence and luxury which surpassed anything they had ever seen. In the streets a few Portuguese, magnificently dressed and escorted by guards, moved among a throng of gaily attired natives; whose slight figures, upright carriage, and intelligent faces struck the boys as most pleasing, after their experience of the islanders of the South Seas. The immense variety of turbans and headgear greatly astonished them, as well as the magnificence of the dresses of some of these, who appeared to be men of importance and who were attended by a retinue of armed followers. The young men were escorted by two officers of the viceroy, who had come on board ship as soon as she dropped anchor, to conduct them to his presence. At the sight of these officials the natives hastily cleared the way, and made every demonstration of respect, as the party passed through them. The vice-regal palace was a magnificent building, surpassing any edifice the boys had ever seen, and they were still more struck by the luxury of the interior. They were led through several vestibules, until at last they arrived in a large chamber. At a table here the viceroy was seated, while around him were a large number of the councilors and leading men of the place. The viceroy rose as the young men advanced, and bowed profoundly. "You are, I hear, Englishmen; and I am told, but I can scarcely believe it, that you belong to the ship of the Captain Drake whose exploits in the West Indies, against the Spaniards, have made him so famous. But how, belonging to him, you came to be cast on an island in the South Seas is more than we are able to understand." No news of the expedition had reached the Portuguese, and the surprise of the viceroy was only natural. "The Golden Hind, sir, the vessel in which we were gentlemen adventurers, rounded Cape Horn, sailed up the American coast, and then, keeping west, crossed through the islands; and has, we trust, long since rounded the Cape of Good Hope and arrived in England, having circumnavigated the globe." An expression of surprise broke from the assembled Portuguese. But a frown passed over the face of the viceroy. "What was the object of your captain, in visiting these seas?" he asked "They are the property of Portugal, and without the permission of his majesty, no ship of any other nation may pass through our waters." "I can assure you," Ned said, "that there was no object, either of conquest or of trade, on the part of our admiral in visiting these seas. When he rounded the Cape his object was to discover, if possible, a passage round the northern coast of America back to England. But when we went north we found the cold was great, and that the land stretched away so that it would join with Asia to the north. Being convinced, then, that no passage could be obtained in that way, he sailed for England round the Cape of Good Hope, fearing the dangers of a passage round the Horn, by which he lost on our passage out two of his ships, and was well-nigh wrecked himself. He only abode in the islands of the South Seas for a few days, to get provisions and water, and then sailed straight for home." Assured by this explanation, the viceroy now begged the boys to sit down, and he and his council listened with admiration and astonishment to the records of the expedition, and especially to the passage across America of two of the young men before him. The depredations which had been committed upon the Spaniards excited no indignation among the Portuguese; for these nations were rivals, and although they did not put their contentions to the test of the sword, each was glad enough to hear of any misfortune befalling the other. The viceroy now assured the young men that he was proud to welcome the members of so gallant a crew as that of the great English navigator. "England and Portugal," he said, "did not clash, and were always natural allies." He trusted they would always remain so, and in the meantime he should be glad to treat the boys with all honor, and to forward them home by the first ship which might be sailing. Apartments were now assigned to them in the palace, and here they were delighted to find a stock of clothes suited for them. For the next fortnight they passed a pleasant time at Goa. They were the objects of much attention on the part of the Portuguese, and all vied in the attempt to make their stay pleasant to them. They found that the town of Goa occupied but a small space, and that it was strongly fortified, and the Portuguese made no attempt to conceal their very high estimate of the fighting power of the natives. One young officer, who was specially told off to accompany the lads, and who spoke Spanish fluently, was particularly frank in his description of the state of affairs. "All these gaily dressed natives that one sees in the streets are, I suppose, Christians?" Ned asked. "No, indeed," the other said surprised. "What should make you think so?" Ned replied that, in America, he had found that the Spaniards insisted on all the natives at once embracing Christianity, on pain of death. "The Spaniards," the young Portuguese said, "are lords and masters there. The natives are weak and timid, and able to offer no resistance, whatever. That is very far from being our position here. We are, I can assure you, only here on sufferance. You can have no idea of the power of some of these native sovereigns of India. The Mahrattas, who live beyond the mountains you see on the horizon, could pour down such hosts of armed men that, if they combined against us, no resistance that we could offer would be likely to be successful. And yet they are but one among a score of warlike peoples. "So long as we do not attempt to proselytize, and are content to appear as merchants and traders, no general feeling exists against our residence here. But I can assure you that, if it became known in India that we were forcing the natives to accept Christianity, the footing which we have obtained here would be speedily lost. These people have regular armies. They may not, indeed, be trained as are ours at home but individually they are very brave. They have artillery of heavy caliber. "In the South Seas, as you know, we endeavor to convert the heathen. The people there are degraded savages by the side of these Indians. But we do not adopt the strong methods which the Spaniards have done. We have, in Portugal, a good deal of your English freedom of opinion, and the Inquisition has never gained any firm footing amongst us." Upon one occasion the boys had the satisfaction of seeing a grand Indian durbar; for the chief, on the corner of whose territory the Portuguese had built their town with his permission, came in to see the viceroy. The boys were surprised at the magnificence of his cavalcade, in which elephants, camels, and other animals took part, and in which the trappings and appointments were gorgeous, indeed, while the dresses of the chiefs absolutely shone with jewels. The attendants, however, made but a poor show, according to European ideas. There was at this time, in European armies, no attempt at regular uniform, but there was a certain resemblance between the attire and arms of the men who fought side by side. When upon the march regularity and order were maintained, and the men kept together in step. Nothing of this kind was apparent among the troops who accompanied the Indian chief. They marched along by the side of the elephants, and in groups ahead and in rear of them, in a confused disorder; and it seemed to the lads that a mere handful of European troops would rout such a rabble as this. They said as much to their Portuguese friend, but he told them that the people on the coast could scarcely be considered as a fair sample of those who dwelt in the hill country behind. "The climate here," he said, "is much more relaxing. Vegetation is extremely abundant, and all the necessities of life can be obtained in the easiest manner. Consequently the people here are enervated, and cannot be compared to the horsemen of the plains. The seat of the Indian power lies at Agra and Delhi--sometimes one and sometimes the other. The emperors there can take the field with two hundred thousand men, if necessary; and even these, with all their power, have difficulty in maintaining their authority throughout India. You may judge, therefore, of the power of the various territorial chiefs." A fortnight later, to their great delight, the lads heard that a vessel would start in three days for Lisbon. She was taking home a large cargo of spice, and articles of Indian manufacture, and a number of invalided soldiers. She was said to be a slow sailer, but as no other was likely to start for some months, the lads did not hesitate to avail themselves of the offer of the viceroy. At parting he presented them each with a sword set with diamonds, and also purses of money, in token of his appreciation of the valor displayed by them in the defense of Tidore. "It is," the viceroy said, "an honor to us to honor the members of the greatest marine expedition which has yet been made. We Portuguese may boast that we have been among the foremost in maritime discovery, and we can therefore the more admire the feats of your valiant Captain Drake." The ship, the Maria Pia, was a large one, far greater, indeed, than the Golden Hind, and the boys felt that in a floating castle of this description, their voyage ought to be a safe and pleasant one. The captain had received instructions to do all in his power to make the voyage agreeable to them. A handsome cabin had been placed at their disposal, and their position on board was altogether an honorable one. The result justified their expectations. The voyage, although long, passed without incident. The Maria Pia experienced fine weather round the Cape and, catching the trade winds, made her course northward, and arrived off the mouth of the Tagus without accident or adventure of any kind. Sailing up the river, she fired a salute with her guns, which was answered by those of the fort at the entrance. The news had been signaled to the capital of the arrival of a ship from the Indies, and officials boarded her, as soon as she cast anchor. The captain at once went on shore, and reported to the minister of the Indies the news which he had brought from Goa, and gave an account of his voyage. He delivered a letter from the viceroy, stating that he had given a passage to four English gentlemen, who had formed part of Captain Drake's equipage, and who had rendered very great services in defeating an attack upon the island of Tidore by the people of Ternate, of which matters, the viceroy added, the gentlemen would themselves give a full account. The minister at once sent on board an official, to request the young men to land; and upon their so doing, he received them with great courtesy, and gave a grand banquet the next day, at which the British minister was present. The lads were delighted, upon landing, to receive the news that the Golden Hind had arrived safely in England four months before, and that all Europe was ringing with the great feat which she had accomplished. The lads found that they were received, by the distinguished company which met them at the table of the minister, with much honor and respect, and this was heightened upon their giving a detailed account of the adventures which had befallen them since leaving England. The British minister offered them a passage to England in one of the Queen's ships; and having provided them amply with money, they were enabled to make a good appearance, and to enter with zest into the round of festivities of which they were made the objects during their stay. They were presented to the king, who received them most graciously, and presented each with a sword of honor. Three weeks later they sailed up the Thames, and upon landing in London at once inquired for the residence of Captain Drake. This they had no difficulty in discovering, as he was the hero of the hour. It was with great pleasure that they were received by the commander. He expressed but little surprise at seeing them; for, as he told them, he made sure that sooner or later they would arrive, and had given orders that, upon the division of the great sums which had been gained by the Golden Hind on her voyage, their shares should be scrupulously set aside. "You had twice before," he said to Ned, "appeared after we had all given you up as dead; and I could not believe that the four of you, together, could all have succumbed. "We got off the reef the next day, shifting her cargo all upon one side and hoisting some sail, so that the wind bore her down, her keel lifted from the reef upon which she had fastened, and without damage she went into deep water. We spent four days in looking for you. We landed at the island to which you had been directed, and searched it thoroughly. We then went to an island further to the south, and spent three days in cruising round its shores. We landed and captured some natives, but could not learn from them that they had seen any traces of you, whatever. Most on board conceived that the canoe must have upset, and that you must have been drowned; but I never believed this, and felt convinced that, from some unknown reason, you had been unable to return to the ship, but that sooner or later you would arrive. "From that point all went well with us. We had a rapid voyage down to the Cape, and coasted along it at a short distance. The weather was fair, and we turned our head north without loss of time; and so, by the help of Providence, and a fair wind, we made our course to England, where our gracious sovereign has been pleased to express her approval of our doings. "I told her something of your journey across the south of the American continent, and she was pleased to express her sorrow at the loss of such gallant and promising gentlemen. I am sure that her majesty will receive, with pleasure, the news of your return. "Now, tell me all that has happened since I last saw you." Ned recited the history of their adventures, and Captain Francis approved of the course which they had taken, in making for Tidore instead of Ternate. He was greatly amused at their experiences as South Sea deities, and said that henceforth, let them be lost where they would, or for as long as they might be, he would never again feel any uneasiness as to their fate. He invited them to take up their abode with him, while they stayed in London; and although they were eager to return to Devonshire, he told them that he thought they ought to wait until he had communicated with the Queen, and had seen whether she would wish to see the gentlemen in whom she had kindly expressed interest. Captain Drake had received the honor of knighthood from the Queen's hand on his return from his voyage, and was now Sir Francis Drake, and was for the time the popular idol of the people, whose national pride was deeply gratified at the feat of circumnavigation, now for the first time performed by one of their countrymen. Captain Drake dispatched a letter to her majesty at Westminster, and the following day a royal messenger arrived, with an order that he should bring the four gentlemen adventurers with him, and present them to her majesty. The young men felt not a little awed at the thought of being received by Queen Elizabeth. But upon their presentation by Sir Francis, the Queen received them with so much condescension and grace that their fears were speedily removed. "I thought," she said to Captain Drake, "that I should see four huge and bearded paladins. You told me indeed that they were young, but I had not pictured to myself that they were still beardless striplings, although in point of size they do credit to their native country. "I love to listen to tales of adventure," she continued, "and beg that you will now recite to me the story of those portions of your voyage, and journeyings, of which I have not heard from the lips of Sir Francis." Then, modestly, Ned recited the story of their journey across America, and afterwards took up the narrative at the point when they left the ship, and her majesty was pleased to laugh hugely at the story of their masquerading as gods. When they had finished she invited them to a banquet, to be given at Greenwich on the following day, gave them her hand to kiss, and presented each with a diamond ring, in token of her royal favor. The following day they went down in the barge of Sir Francis Drake, which formed part of the grand cortege which accompanied her majesty on her water passage to Greenwich. There a royal banquet was held, with much splendor and display; after which a masque, prepared by those ingenious authors Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher, was enacted before her. Three days later they embarked upon a country ship, bound for Plymouth, and after a rough tossing in the Channel, landed there. They were received with much honor by the mayor and dignitaries of Plymouth, for Sir Francis had already written down, giving a brief account of their adventures, and of the marks of esteem which the Queen had been pleased to bestow upon them; and Plymouth, as the representative of the county of Devon, rejoiced in giving a hearty welcome to her sons, who had brought so much credit upon them. After a stay of a few hours the lads separated, Tom and Reuben each starting for their respective homes, while Ned, who had no family of his own, accompanied Gerald, in whose home he was looked upon almost as a son, and where the welcome which awaited him was as cordial as that given to Gerald. The share of each of the adventurers in the Golden Hind was a very large one, and Ned purchased a nice little property and settled down upon it, having had enough of the dangers of the seas, and resolving no more to leave his native country, unless his duty to his Queen should demand his services. That time was not long in arriving, for towards the end of 1586 all Europe rang with the preparations which Philip of Spain was making to invade England. The Devonshire gentlemen who had fought on the Spanish Main, and who but lightly esteemed Spanish valor at sea, at first scoffed at the news, but soon no doubt could be entertained. Early in 1587 Sir Francis Drake wrote, to his friends who had fought under him, that her majesty had honored him with a commission to beat up the Spanish coast, and invited them to accompany him. The four friends hastened, with many others, to obey the summons; and on joining him at Plymouth, he was pleased to appoint each to the command of a ship. Some weeks were spent in earnest preparation, and in March a fleet of thirty vessels set forth, full manned and equipped. Accustomed as the young men were to see great Spanish ships taken by single boats, and a whole fleet submissive before one ship, it seemed to them that with such an armament they could destroy the whole navies of Spain, and even then that little glory would be divided between each vessel. Upon the 18th of April the fleet was off Cadiz, and Sir Francis made the signal for the captains of the fleet to go on board the flagship. There he unfolded to them his plan of forcing the entrance to the port, and destroying the Spanish fleet gathered there. Cadiz was one of the strongest places of Spain, and the enterprise would, to most men, have seemed a desperate one. But to men who had fought in the Spanish Main it seemed but a light thing. As they left the admiral's cabin, Ned invited his three friends to dine on board his ship, the Sovereign; and a right merry gathering it was, as they talked over their past adventures, and marveled to find themselves each commanding a ship, about to attack the fleet of Spain in its own harbor. Upon the following day the fleet sailed boldly towards the port of Cadiz, where the people could scarce believe that the British intended to force the entrance to the fort. When they saw that such was indeed their purpose, they opened fire with all their batteries, great and small. The English ships sailed on, unheeding their reception, and delivering their broadsides as they neared the port. Although they had been in many fights, this was the first great battle at which the friends had been present; and the roar and din of the combat, the sound of their own guns and of those of the enemy, the crash and rending of wood, and the cheers of the sailors in no little surprised them. The Spanish gunners in their haste shot but badly, and with Sir Francis Drake's ship leading the way, the fleet forced the entrance into the port. As they entered they were saluted by the cannon of the Spanish vessels within, but without more ado they lay these aboard. So mightily were the Spaniards amazed by the valor, and boldness of the English that they fought but feebly, jumping over for the most part, or making their way in their boats to shore. Then Sir Francis caused fire to be applied to the Spanish ships, and thirty great war vessels were destroyed before the eyes of the townspeople, while the English fleet sailed triumphantly away. Then, following the line of coast as far as Saint Vincent, the admiral captured and burned a hundred other ships, and destroyed four great land forts. Looking into the Tagus, the King of Portugal having been forced by Spain to aid her, Captain Drake captured the Saint Philip, the largest ship of their navy; which was, to the gratification of the sailors, laden with a precious cargo. After these exploits the fleet returned to England in triumph, having for the time crippled the forces of Spain. Philip, however, redoubled his preparations. The fleets of Naples and Sicily, of Venice and Genoa, were added to those of Spain. The dockyards worked night and day, and by the end of the year all was in readiness. In England men had not been idle. A great army was raised of people of every rank and condition, Catholics as well as Protestants uniting in the defense of the country; while in every port round, the din of preparation was heard. The army was destined to combat the thirty thousand Spanish soldiers commanded by the Duke of Parma in the Netherlands, where a fleet of transports had been prepared to bring them across, when the great armada should have cleared the sea of English ships. By dint of great efforts, 191 English ships of various sizes, these mostly being small merchantmen--mere pygmies in comparison with the great Spanish galleons--were collected, while the Dutch dispatched sixty others to aid in the struggle against Spain. On the 29th of May the Spanish armada sailed from the Tagus but, being delayed by a storm, it was not till the 19th of June that its advance was first signaled by the lookout near Plymouth. Then from every hill throughout England beacon fires blazed to carry the tidings, and every Englishman betook himself to his arms, and prepared to repel the invaders. Instead, however, of attempting to land at once, as had been expected, the Spanish fleet kept up channel; the orders of the king being that it should make first for Flanders, there form junction with the fleet of the Duke of Parma, and so effect a landing upon the English coast. As the great fleet, numbering a hundred and thirty large war vessels, and extending in the form of a crescent nine miles in length from horn to horn, sailed up channel, the spectacle, although terrible, was magnificent indeed. The ships at Plymouth at once slipped anchor and set out in pursuit. Sir Francis Drake led, and close by him were the vessels commanded by the four friends. Paltry, indeed, did the squadron appear by the side of the great fleet, but from every port as they passed along came reinforcements, until in numbers they equaled those of the great ships of Spain. These reinforcements were commanded by Admirals Hawkins, Frobisher, and other gallant seamen; while Lord Howard, lord high admiral of England, was in chief command. There was no general action attempted, for the floating Spanish castles could have ridden over the light ships of England; but each commander fell upon the enemy, like dogs upon the flank of an array of lions. Sir Francis threw himself into the center of the Spanish lines, followed by many other English ships, and thus separated several of the great galleons from their consorts, and then fell to work battering them. The Spaniards fought valiantly, but at a disadvantage, for the smaller ships of the English were so quickly handled that they were able to take up positions to rake their enemy, without exposing themselves to the broadsides which would have sunk them. When at last they had crippled their foes, they would either close upon them and carry them by boarding, or, leaving them helpless wrecks upon the water, would hoist all sail and again overtake the Spanish fleet. The battle continued day and night for five days, with scarce an intermission, the various English admirals sometimes attacking all together, sometimes separately. The same tactics ever prevailed, the Spaniards sailing on and striving to keep in a compact body, the English hovering round them, cutting off every ship which lagged behind, breaking the ranks of the enemy, and separating vessels from their consorts. Hard was it to say that, in that long struggle, one man showed more valor than another, but the deeds of the ships commanded by the Devonshire gentlemen were second to none. On the 27th their ships were signaled to sail to join those assembled near Dunkirk, to check the progress of the Duke of Parma's fleet. They reached the English fleet in time, and soon the Spaniards were seen approaching. They kept in a compact mass, which the English ships could not break. For a while the fight went badly, and then a number of fire ships were launched at the Spaniards. Seized with panic, these at once scattered and, the English falling upon them, a series of desperate conflicts ensued, ending almost always in the capture or destruction of the enemy. The Duke of Medina-Sidonia, who commanded the main Spanish fleet, sailed north, intending to coast round the north of Scotland and so return to Spain. The English ships followed for a while, but were, from the shortness of the supplies which had been placed on board, forced to put into harbor; and a great storm scattering the Spanish fleet, and wrecking many, only 60 vessels, and these with their crews disabled by hardship and fatigue, ever returned to Spain. As a consequence of their gallantry in these battles, and upon the urgent recommendations of Sir Francis Drake, her majesty was pleased to bestow the honor of knighthood upon each of the four young Devonshire gentlemen, as upon many other brave captains. After this they went no more to sea, nor took any part in the disastrous expedition which Admirals Drake and Hawkins, together, made to the Spanish Main, when the brave Sir Francis lost his life, from fever and disappointment. Soon after their return from the defeat of the armada, Sir Edward Hearne married the only sister of his friend Gerald, and lived with her happily to a green old age. The friendship between the four friends never diminished, but rather increased as they grew in years, and many marriages took place between their children and grandchildren. Four times a year, upon the occasion of special events in their lives, great family gatherings were held at the house of one or other. Sir Gerald generally held festival on the anniversary of the defeat of the Spanish attack on the forest fortress in Porto Rico; Tom upon that of his escape from the prison of the Inquisition; Reuben generally celebrated the day when, in the character of a South Sea idol, he aided to defeat the hostile islanders; while Ned kept up the anniversary of their return to England. As to the victory over the armada, they always had to draw lots as to the house in which that great event should be celebrated. Upon all these occasions stories were told at great length, and their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, for all lived to see these growing up, were never tired of listening to tales of the Spanish Main. 
26862	----	[Illustration: The Challenge Studio April 7 1903. H. Pyle. del.] [Illustration: Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates Ye Pirate Bold, as imagined by a Quaker Gentleman in the-- Farm Lands of Pennsylvania-- Howard Pyle--Chadds Ford September 13th 1903--] [Illustration: AN ATTACK ON A GALLEON] Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates Fiction, Fact & Fancy concerning the Buccaneers & Marooners of the Spanish Main: _From the_ writing & Pictures _of_ Howard Pyle: _Compiled by_ Merle Johnson Harper & Brothers _Publishers_ New York & London * * * * * CONTENTS PAGE FOREWORD BY MERLE JOHNSON xi PREFACE xiii I. BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN 3 II. THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND 39 III. WITH THE BUCCANEERS 75 IV. TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX 99 V. JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES 129 VI. BLUESKIN, THE PIRATE 150 VII. CAPTAIN SCARFIELD 187 VIII. THE RUBY OF KISHMOOR 210 [Illustration] * * * * * [Illustration] ILLUSTRATIONS AN ATTACK ON A GALLEON _Frontispiece_ ON THE TOTUGAS _Facing p._ 6 CAPTURE OF THE GALLEON " 10 HENRY MORGAN RECRUITING FOR THE ATTACK " 14 MORGAN AT PORTO BELLO " 16 THE SACKING OF PANAMA " 20 MAROONED " 26 BLACKBEARD BURIES HIS TREASURE " 32 WALKING THE PLANK " 36 "CAPTAIN MALYOE SHOT CAPTAIN BRAND THROUGH THE HEAD" " 40 "SHE WOULD SIT QUITE STILL, PERMITTING BARNABY TO GAZE" " 68 BURIED TREASURE " 76 KIDD ON THE DECK OF THE "ADVENTURE GALLEY" " 85 BURNING THE SHIP " 92 WHO SHALL BE CAPTAIN? " 104 KIDD AT GARDINER'S ISLAND " 108 EXTORTING TRIBUTE FROM THE CITIZENS " 116 "PIRATES USED TO DO THAT TO THEIR CAPTAINS NOW AND THEN" " 124 "JACK FOLLOWED THE CAPTAIN AND THE YOUNG LADY UP THE CROOKED PATH TO THE HOUSE" " 132 "HE LED JACK UP TO A MAN WHO SAT UPON A BARREL" " 136 "THE BULLETS WERE HUMMING AND SINGING, CLIPPING ALONG THE TOP OF THE WATER" " 142 "THE COMBATANTS CUT AND SLASHED WITH SAVAGE FURY" " 146 SO THE TREASURE WAS DIVIDED " 154 COLONEL RHETT AND THE PIRATE " 162 THE PIRATE'S CHRISTMAS " 174 "HE LAY SILENT AND STILL, WITH HIS FACE HALF BURIED IN THE SAND" " 182 "THERE CAP'N GOLDSACK GOES, CREEPING, CREEPING, CREEPING, LOOKING FOR HIS TREASURE DOWN BELOW!" " 186 "HE HAD FOUND THE CAPTAIN AGREEABLE AND COMPANIONABLE" " 190 THE BUCCANEER WAS A PICTURESQUE FELLOW " 196 THEN THE REAL FIGHT BEGAN " 200 "HE STRUCK ONCE AND AGAIN AT THE BALD, NARROW FOREHEAD BENEATH HIM" " 206 CAPTAIN KEITT " 212 HOW THE BUCCANEERS KEPT CHRISTMAS " 224 THE BURNING SHIP " 236 DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES " 240 "I AM THE DAUGHTER OF THAT UNFORTUNATE CAPTAIN KEITT" " 244 * * * * * FOREWORD Pirates, Buccaneers, Marooners, those cruel but picturesque sea wolves who once infested the Spanish Main, all live in present-day conceptions in great degree as drawn by the pen and pencil of Howard Pyle. Pyle, artist-author, living in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth, had the fine faculty of transposing himself into any chosen period of history and making its people flesh and blood again--not just historical puppets. His characters were sketched with both words and picture; with both words and picture he ranks as a master, with a rich personality which makes his work individual and attractive in either medium. He was one of the founders of present-day American illustration, and his pupils and grand-pupils pervade that field to-day. While he bore no such important part in the world of letters, his stories are modern in treatment, and yet widely read. His range included historical treatises concerning his favorite Pirates (Quaker though he was); fiction, with the same Pirates as principals; Americanized version of Old World fairy tales; boy stories of the Middle Ages, still best sellers to growing lads; stories of the occult, such as _In Tenebras_ and _To the Soil of the Earth_, which, if newly published, would be hailed as contributions to our latest cult. In all these fields Pyle's work may be equaled, surpassed, save in one. It is improbable that anyone else will ever bring his combination of interest and talent to the depiction of these old-time Pirates, any more than there could be a second Remington to paint the now extinct Indians and gun-fighters of the Great West. Important and interesting to the student of history, the adventure-lover, and the artist, as they are, these Pirate stories and pictures have been scattered through many magazines and books. Here, in this volume, they are gathered together for the first time, perhaps not just as Mr. Pyle would have done, but with a completeness and appreciation of the real value of the material which the author's modesty might not have permitted. MERLE JOHNSON. [Illustration] [Illustration] PREFACE Why is it that a little spice of deviltry lends not an unpleasantly titillating twang to the great mass of respectable flour that goes to make up the pudding of our modern civilization? And pertinent to this question another--Why is it that the pirate has, and always has had, a certain lurid glamour of the heroical enveloping him round about? Is there, deep under the accumulated debris of culture, a hidden groundwork of the old-time savage? Is there even in these well-regulated times an unsubdued nature in the respectable mental household of every one of us that still kicks against the pricks of law and order? To make my meaning more clear, would not every boy, for instance--that is, every boy of any account--rather be a pirate captain than a Member of Parliament? And we ourselves--would we not rather read such a story as that of Captain Avery's capture of the East Indian treasure ship, with its beautiful princess and load of jewels (which gems he sold by the handful, history sayeth, to a Bristol merchant), than, say, one of Bishop Atterbury's sermons, or the goodly Master Robert Boyle's religious romance of "Theodora and Didymus"? It is to be apprehended that to the unregenerate nature of most of us there can be but one answer to such a query. In the pleasurable warmth the heart feels in answer to tales of derring-do Nelson's battles are all mightily interesting, but, even in spite of their romance of splendid courage, I fancy that the majority of us would rather turn back over the leaves of history to read how Drake captured the Spanish treasure ship in the South Sea, and of how he divided such a quantity of booty in the Island of Plate (so named because of the tremendous dividend there declared) that it had to be measured in quart bowls, being too considerable to be counted. Courage and daring, no matter how mad and ungodly, have always a redundancy of _vim_ and life to recommend them to the nether man that lies within us, and no doubt his desperate courage, his battle against the tremendous odds of all the civilized world of law and order, have had much to do in making a popular hero of our friend of the black flag. But it is not altogether courage and daring that endear him to our hearts. There is another and perhaps a greater kinship in that lust for wealth that makes one's fancy revel more pleasantly in the story of the division of treasure in the pirate's island retreat, the hiding of his godless gains somewhere in the sandy stretch of tropic beach, there to remain hidden until the time should come to rake the doubloons up again and to spend them like a lord in polite society, than in the most thrilling tales of his wonderful escapes from commissioned cruisers through tortuous channels between the coral reefs. And what a life of adventure is his, to be sure! A life of constant alertness, constant danger, constant escape! An ocean Ishmaelite, he wanders forever aimlessly, homelessly; now unheard of for months, now careening his boat on some lonely uninhabited shore, now appearing suddenly to swoop down on some merchant vessel with rattle of musketry, shouting, yells, and a hell of unbridled passions let loose to rend and tear. What a Carlislean hero! What a setting of blood and lust and flame and rapine for such a hero! Piracy, such as was practiced in the flower of its days--that is, during the early eighteenth century--was no sudden growth. It was an evolution, from the semilawful buccaneering of the sixteenth century, just as buccaneering was upon its part, in a certain sense, an evolution from the unorganized, unauthorized warfare of the Tudor period. For there was a deal of piratical smack in the anti-Spanish ventures of Elizabethan days. Many of the adventurers--of the Sir Francis Drake school, for instance--actually overstepped again and again the bounds of international law, entering into the realms of _de facto_ piracy. Nevertheless, while their doings were not recognized officially by the government, the perpetrators were neither punished nor reprimanded for their excursions against Spanish commerce at home or in the West Indies; rather were they commended, and it was considered not altogether a discreditable thing for men to get rich upon the spoils taken from Spanish galleons in times of nominal peace. Many of the most reputable citizens and merchants of London, when they felt that the queen failed in her duty of pushing the fight against the great Catholic Power, fitted out fleets upon their own account and sent them to levy good Protestant war of a private nature upon the Pope's anointed. Some of the treasures captured in such ventures were immense, stupendous, unbelievable. For an example, one can hardly credit the truth of the "purchase" gained by Drake in the famous capture of the plate ship in the South Sea. One of the old buccaneer writers of a century later says: "The Spaniards affirm to this day that he took at that time twelvescore tons of plate and sixteen bowls of coined money a man (his number being then forty-five men in all), insomuch that they were forced to heave much of it overboard, because his ship could not carry it all." Maybe this was a very greatly exaggerated statement put by the author and his Spanish authorities, nevertheless there was enough truth in it to prove very conclusively to the bold minds of the age that tremendous profits--"purchases" they called them--were to be made from piracy. The Western World is filled with the names of daring mariners of those old days, who came flitting across the great trackless ocean in their little tublike boats of a few hundred tons burden, partly to explore unknown seas, partly--largely, perhaps--in pursuit of Spanish treasure: Frobisher, Davis, Drake, and a score of others. In this left-handed war against Catholic Spain many of the adventurers were, no doubt, stirred and incited by a grim, Calvinistic, puritanical zeal for Protestantism. But equally beyond doubt the gold and silver and plate of the "Scarlet Woman" had much to do with the persistent energy with which these hardy mariners braved the mysterious, unknown terrors of the great unknown ocean that stretched away to the sunset, there in far-away waters to attack the huge, unwieldy, treasure-laden galleons that sailed up and down the Caribbean Sea and through the Bahama Channel. Of all ghastly and terrible things old-time religious war was the most ghastly and terrible. One can hardly credit nowadays the cold, callous cruelty of those times. Generally death was the least penalty that capture entailed. When the Spaniards made prisoners of the English, the Inquisition took them in hand, and what that meant all the world knows. When the English captured a Spanish vessel the prisoners were tortured, either for the sake of revenge or to compel them to disclose where treasure lay hidden. Cruelty begat cruelty, and it would be hard to say whether the Anglo-Saxon or the Latin showed himself to be most proficient in torturing his victim. When Cobham, for instance, captured the Spanish ship in the Bay of Biscay, after all resistance was over and the heat of the battle had cooled, he ordered his crew to bind the captain and all of the crew and every Spaniard aboard--whether in arms or not--to sew them up in the mainsail and to fling them overboard. There were some twenty dead bodies in the sail when a few days later it was washed up on the shore. Of course such acts were not likely to go unavenged, and many an innocent life was sacrificed to pay the debt of Cobham's cruelty. Nothing could be more piratical than all this. Nevertheless, as was said, it was winked at, condoned, if not sanctioned, by the law; and it was not beneath people of family and respectability to take part in it. But by and by Protestantism and Catholicism began to be at somewhat less deadly enmity with each other; religious wars were still far enough from being ended, but the scabbard of the sword was no longer flung away when the blade was drawn. And so followed a time of nominal peace, and a generation arose with whom it was no longer respectable and worthy--one might say a matter of duty--to fight a country with which one's own land was not at war. Nevertheless, the seed had been sown; it had been demonstrated that it was feasible to practice piracy against Spain and not to suffer therefor. Blood had been shed and cruelty practiced, and, once indulged, no lust seems stronger than that of shedding blood and practicing cruelty. Though Spain might be ever so well grounded in peace at home, in the West Indies she was always at war with the whole world--English, French, Dutch. It was almost a matter of life or death with her to keep her hold upon the New World. At home she was bankrupt and, upon the earthquake of the Reformation, her power was already beginning to totter and to crumble to pieces. America was her treasure house, and from it alone could she hope to keep her leaking purse full of gold and silver. So it was that she strove strenuously, desperately, to keep out the world from her American possessions--a bootless task, for the old order upon which her power rested was broken and crumbled forever. But still she strove, fighting against fate, and so it was that in the tropical America it was one continual war between her and all the world. Thus it came that, long after piracy ceased to be allowed at home, it continued in those far-away seas with unabated vigor, recruiting to its service all that lawless malign element which gathers together in every newly opened country where the only law is lawlessness, where might is right and where a living is to be gained with no more trouble than cutting a throat. [Illustration: Howard Pyle, His mark] Howard Pyle's Book of Pirates [Illustration] Ye Pirate Bold. It is not because of his life of adventure and daring that I admire this one of my favorite heroes; nor is it because of blowing winds nor blue ocean nor balmy islands which he knew so well; nor is it because of gold he spent nor treasure he hid. He was a man who knew his own mind and what he wanted. Howard Pyle [Illustration] Chapter I BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN Just above the northwestern shore of the old island of Hispaniola--the Santo Domingo of our day--and separated from it only by a narrow channel of some five or six miles in width, lies a queer little hunch of an island, known, because of a distant resemblance to that animal, as the Tortuga de Mar, or sea turtle. It is not more than twenty miles in length by perhaps seven or eight in breadth; it is only a little spot of land, and as you look at it upon the map a pin's head would almost cover it; yet from that spot, as from a center of inflammation, a burning fire of human wickedness and ruthlessness and lust overran the world, and spread terror and death throughout the Spanish West Indies, from St. Augustine to the island of Trinidad, and from Panama to the coasts of Peru. About the middle of the seventeenth century certain French adventurers set out from the fortified island of St. Christopher in longboats and hoys, directing their course to the westward, there to discover new islands. Sighting Hispaniola "with abundance of joy," they landed, and went into the country, where they found great quantities of wild cattle, horses, and swine. Now vessels on the return voyage to Europe from the West Indies needed revictualing, and food, especially flesh, was at a premium in the islands of the Spanish Main; wherefore a great profit was to be turned in preserving beef and pork, and selling the flesh to homeward-bound vessels. The northwestern shore of Hispaniola, lying as it does at the eastern outlet of the old Bahama Channel, running between the island of Cuba and the great Bahama Banks, lay almost in the very main stream of travel. The pioneer Frenchmen were not slow to discover the double advantage to be reaped from the wild cattle that cost them nothing to procure, and a market for the flesh ready found for them. So down upon Hispaniola they came by boatloads and shiploads, gathering like a swarm of mosquitoes, and overrunning the whole western end of the island. There they established themselves, spending the time alternately in hunting the wild cattle and buccanning[1] the meat, and squandering their hardly earned gains in wild debauchery, the opportunities for which were never lacking in the Spanish West Indies. [Footnote 1: Buccanning, by which the "buccaneers" gained their name, was a process of curing thin strips of meat by salting, smoking, and drying in the sun.] At first the Spaniards thought nothing of the few travel-worn Frenchmen who dragged their longboats and hoys up on the beach, and shot a wild bullock or two to keep body and soul together; but when the few grew to dozens, and the dozens to scores, and the scores to hundreds, it was a very different matter, and wrathful grumblings and mutterings began to be heard among the original settlers. But of this the careless buccaneers thought never a whit, the only thing that troubled them being the lack of a more convenient shipping point than the main island afforded them. This lack was at last filled by a party of hunters who ventured across the narrow channel that separated the main island from Tortuga. Here they found exactly what they needed--a good harbor, just at the junction of the Windward Channel with the old Bahama Channel--a spot where four-fifths of the Spanish-Indian trade would pass by their very wharves. There were a few Spaniards upon the island, but they were a quiet folk, and well disposed to make friends with the strangers; but when more Frenchmen and still more Frenchmen crossed the narrow channel, until they overran the Tortuga and turned it into one great curing house for the beef which they shot upon the neighboring island, the Spaniards grew restive over the matter, just as they had done upon the larger island. Accordingly, one fine day there came half a dozen great boatloads of armed Spaniards, who landed upon the Turtle's Back and sent the Frenchmen flying to the woods and fastnesses of rocks as the chaff flies before the thunder gust. That night the Spaniards drank themselves mad and shouted themselves hoarse over their victory, while the beaten Frenchmen sullenly paddled their canoes back to the main island again, and the Sea Turtle was Spanish once more. But the Spaniards were not contented with such a petty triumph as that of sweeping the island of Tortuga free from the obnoxious strangers; down upon Hispaniola they came, flushed with their easy victory, and determined to root out every Frenchman, until not one single buccaneer remained. For a time they had an easy thing of it, for each French hunter roamed the woods by himself, with no better company than his half-wild dogs, so that when two or three Spaniards would meet such a one, he seldom if ever came out of the woods again, for even his resting place was lost. But the very success of the Spaniards brought their ruin along with it, for the buccaneers began to combine together for self-protection, and out of that combination arose a strange union of lawless man with lawless man, so near, so close, that it can scarce be compared to any other than that of husband and wife. When two entered upon this comradeship, articles were drawn up and signed by both parties, a common stock was made of all their possessions, and out into the woods they went to seek their fortunes; thenceforth they were as one man; they lived together by day, they slept together by night; what one suffered, the other suffered; what one gained, the other gained. The only separation that came betwixt them was death, and then the survivor inherited all that the other left. And now it was another thing with Spanish buccaneer hunting, for two buccaneers, reckless of life, quick of eye, and true of aim, were worth any half dozen of Spanish islanders. By and by, as the French became more strongly organized for mutual self-protection, they assumed the offensive. Then down they came upon Tortuga, and now it was the turn of the Spanish to be hunted off the island like vermin, and the turn of the French to shout their victory. Having firmly established themselves, a governor was sent to the French of Tortuga, one M. le Passeur, from the island of St. Christopher; the Sea Turtle was fortified, and colonists, consisting of men of doubtful character and women of whose character there could be no doubt whatever, began pouring in upon the island, for it was said that the buccaneers thought no more of a doubloon than of a Lima bean, so that this was the place for the brothel and the brandy shop to reap their golden harvest, and the island remained French. [Illustration: On the Tortugas _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September_, 1887] Hitherto the Tortugans had been content to gain as much as possible from the homeward-bound vessels through the orderly channels of legitimate trade. It was reserved for Pierre le Grand to introduce piracy as a quicker and more easy road to wealth than the semihonest exchange they had been used to practice. Gathering together eight-and-twenty other spirits as hardy and reckless as himself, he put boldly out to sea in a boat hardly large enough to hold his crew, and running down the Windward Channel and out into the Caribbean Sea, he lay in wait for such a prize as might be worth the risks of winning. For a while their luck was steadily against them; their provisions and water began to fail, and they saw nothing before them but starvation or a humiliating return. In this extremity they sighted a Spanish ship belonging to a "flota" which had become separated from her consorts. The boat in which the buccaneers sailed might, perhaps, have served for the great ship's longboat; the Spaniards outnumbered them three to one, and Pierre and his men were armed only with pistols and cutlasses; nevertheless this was their one and their only chance, and they determined to take the Spanish ship or to die in the attempt. Down upon the Spaniard they bore through the dusk of the night, and giving orders to the "chirurgeon" to scuttle their craft under them as they were leaving it, they swarmed up the side of the unsuspecting ship and upon its decks in a torrent--pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other. A part of them ran to the gun room and secured the arms and ammunition, pistoling or cutting down all such as stood in their way or offered opposition; the other party burst into the great cabin at the heels of Pierre le Grand, found the captain and a party of his friends at cards, set a pistol to his breast, and demanded him to deliver up the ship. Nothing remained for the Spaniard but to yield, for there was no alternative between surrender and death. And so the great prize was won. It was not long before the news of this great exploit and of the vast treasure gained reached the ears of the buccaneers of Tortuga and Hispaniola. Then what a hubbub and an uproar and a tumult there was! Hunting wild cattle and buccanning the meat was at a discount, and the one and only thing to do was to go a-pirating; for where one such prize had been won, others were to be had. In a short time freebooting assumed all of the routine of a regular business. Articles were drawn up betwixt captain and crew, compacts were sealed, and agreements entered into by the one party and the other. In all professions there are those who make their mark, those who succeed only moderately well, and those who fail more or less entirely. Nor did pirating differ from this general rule, for in it were men who rose to distinction, men whose names, something tarnished and rusted by the lapse of years, have come down even to us of the present day. Pierre François, who, with his boatload of six-and-twenty desperadoes, ran boldly into the midst of the pearl fleet off the coast of South America, attacked the vice admiral under the very guns of two men-of-war, captured his ship, though she was armed with eight guns and manned with threescore men, and would have got her safely away, only that having to put on sail, their main-mast went by the board, whereupon the men-of-war came up with them, and the prize was lost. But even though there were two men-of-war against all that remained of six-and-twenty buccaneers, the Spaniards were glad enough to make terms with them for the surrender of the vessel, whereby Pierre François and his men came off scot-free. Bartholomew Portuguese was a worthy of even more note. In a boat manned with thirty fellow adventurers he fell upon a great ship off Cape Corrientes, manned with threescore and ten men, all told. Her he assaulted again and again, beaten off with the very pressure of numbers only to renew the assault, until the Spaniards who survived, some fifty in all, surrendered to twenty living pirates, who poured upon their decks like a score of blood-stained, powder-grimed devils. They lost their vessel by recapture, and Bartholomew Portuguese barely escaped with his life through a series of almost unbelievable adventures. But no sooner had he fairly escaped from the clutches of the Spaniards than, gathering together another band of adventurers, he fell upon the very same vessel in the gloom of the night, recaptured her when she rode at anchor in the harbor of Campeche under the guns of the fort, slipped the cable, and was away without the loss of a single man. He lost her in a hurricane soon afterward, just off the Isle of Pines; but the deed was none the less daring for all that. Another notable no less famous than these two worthies was Roch Braziliano, the truculent Dutchman who came up from the coast of Brazil to the Spanish Main with a name ready-made for him. Upon the very first adventure which he undertook he captured a plate ship of fabulous value, and brought her safely into Jamaica; and when at last captured by the Spaniards, he fairly frightened them into letting him go by truculent threats of vengeance from his followers. Such were three of the pirate buccaneers who infested the Spanish Main. There were hundreds no less desperate, no less reckless, no less insatiate in their lust for plunder, than they. The effects of this freebooting soon became apparent. The risks to be assumed by the owners of vessels and the shippers of merchandise became so enormous that Spanish commerce was practically swept away from these waters. No vessel dared to venture out of port excepting under escort of powerful men-of-war, and even then they were not always secure from molestation. Exports from Central and South America were sent to Europe by way of the Strait of Magellan, and little or none went through the passes between the Bahamas and the Caribbees. So at last "buccaneering," as it had come to be generically called, ceased to pay the vast dividends that it had done at first. The cream was skimmed off, and only very thin milk was left in the dish. Fabulous fortunes were no longer earned in a ten days' cruise, but what money was won hardly paid for the risks of the winning. There must be a new departure, or buccaneering would cease to exist. Then arose one who showed the buccaneers a new way to squeeze money out of the Spaniards. This man was an Englishman--Lewis Scot. The stoppage of commerce on the Spanish Main had naturally tended to accumulate all the wealth gathered and produced into the chief fortified cities and towns of the West Indies. As there no longer existed prizes upon the sea, they must be gained upon the land, if they were to be gained at all. Lewis Scot was the first to appreciate this fact. Gathering together a large and powerful body of men as hungry for plunder and as desperate as himself, he descended upon the town of Campeche, which he captured and sacked, stripping it of everything that could possibly be carried away. When the town was cleared to the bare walls Scot threatened to set the torch to every house in the place if it was not ransomed by a large sum of money which he demanded. With this booty he set sail for Tortuga, where he arrived safely--and the problem was solved. After him came one Mansvelt, a buccaneer of lesser note, who first made a descent upon the isle of Saint Catharine, now Old Providence, which he took, and, with this as a base, made an unsuccessful descent upon Neuva Granada and Cartagena. His name might not have been handed down to us along with others of greater fame had he not been the master of that most apt of pupils, the great Captain Henry Morgan, most famous of all the buccaneers, one time governor of Jamaica, and knighted by King Charles II. [Illustration: Capture of the Galleon _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September_, 1887] After Mansvelt followed the bold John Davis, native of Jamaica, where he sucked in the lust of piracy with his mother's milk. With only fourscore men, he swooped down upon the great city of Nicaragua in the darkness of the night, silenced the sentry with the thrust of a knife, and then fell to pillaging the churches and houses "without any respect or veneration." Of course it was but a short time until the whole town was in an uproar of alarm, and there was nothing left for the little handful of men to do but to make the best of their way to their boats. They were in the town but a short time, but in that time they were able to gather together and to carry away money and jewels to the value of fifty thousand pieces of eight, besides dragging off with them a dozen or more notable prisoners, whom they held for ransom. And now one appeared upon the scene who reached a far greater height than any had arisen to before. This was François l'Olonoise, who sacked the great city of Maracaibo and the town of Gibraltar. Cold, unimpassioned, pitiless, his sluggish blood was never moved by one single pulse of human warmth, his icy heart was never touched by one ray of mercy or one spark of pity for the hapless wretches who chanced to fall into his bloody hands. Against him the governor of Havana sent out a great war vessel, and with it a negro executioner, so that there might be no inconvenient delays of law after the pirates had been captured. But l'Olonoise did not wait for the coming of the war vessel; he went out to meet it, and he found it where it lay riding at anchor in the mouth of the river Estra. At the dawn of the morning he made his attack--sharp, unexpected, decisive. In a little while the Spaniards were forced below the hatches, and the vessel was taken. Then came the end. One by one the poor shrieking wretches were dragged up from below, and one by one they were butchered in cold blood, while l'Olonoise stood upon the poop deck and looked coldly down upon what was being done. Among the rest the negro was dragged upon the deck. He begged and implored that his life might be spared, promising to tell all that might be asked of him. L'Olonoise questioned him, and when he had squeezed him dry, waved his hand coldly, and the poor black went with the rest. Only one man was spared; him he sent to the governor of Havana with a message that henceforth he would give no quarter to any Spaniard whom he might meet in arms--a message which was not an empty threat. The rise of l'Olonoise was by no means rapid. He worked his way up by dint of hard labor and through much ill fortune. But by and by, after many reverses, the tide turned, and carried him with it from one success to another, without let or stay, to the bitter end. Cruising off Maracaibo, he captured a rich prize laden with a vast amount of plate and ready money, and there conceived the design of descending upon the powerful town of Maracaibo itself. Without loss of time he gathered together five hundred picked scoundrels from Tortuga, and taking with him one Michael de Basco as land captain, and two hundred more buccaneers whom he commanded, down he came into the Gulf of Venezuela and upon the doomed city like a blast of the plague. Leaving their vessels, the buccaneers made a land attack upon the fort that stood at the mouth of the inlet that led into Lake Maracaibo and guarded the city. The Spaniards held out well, and fought with all the might that Spaniards possess; but after a fight of three hours all was given up and the garrison fled, spreading terror and confusion before them. As many of the inhabitants of the city as could do so escaped in boats to Gibraltar, which lies to the southward, on the shores of Lake Maracaibo, at the distance of some forty leagues or more. Then the pirates marched into the town, and what followed may be conceived. It was a holocaust of lust, of passion, and of blood such as even the Spanish West Indies had never seen before. Houses and churches were sacked until nothing was left but the bare walls; men and women were tortured to compel them to disclose where more treasure lay hidden. Then, having wrenched all that they could from Maracaibo, they entered the lake and descended upon Gibraltar, where the rest of the panic-stricken inhabitants were huddled together in a blind terror. The governor of Merida, a brave soldier who had served his king in Flanders, had gathered together a troop of eight hundred men, had fortified the town, and now lay in wait for the coming of the pirates. The pirates came all in good time, and then, in spite of the brave defense, Gibraltar also fell. Then followed a repetition of the scenes that had been enacted in Maracaibo for the past fifteen days, only here they remained for four horrible weeks, extorting money--money! ever money!--from the poor poverty-stricken, pest-ridden souls crowded into that fever hole of a town. Then they left, but before they went they demanded still more money--ten thousand pieces of eight--as a ransom for the town, which otherwise should be given to the flames. There was some hesitation on the part of the Spaniards, some disposition to haggle, but there was no hesitation on the part of l'Olonoise. The torch was set to the town as he had promised, whereupon the money was promptly paid, and the pirates were piteously begged to help quench the spreading flames. This they were pleased to do, but in spite of all their efforts nearly half of the town was consumed. After that they returned to Maracaibo again, where they demanded a ransom of thirty thousand pieces of eight for the city. There was no haggling here, thanks to the fate of Gibraltar; only it was utterly impossible to raise that much money in all of the poverty-stricken region. But at last the matter was compromised, and the town was redeemed for twenty thousand pieces of eight and five hundred head of cattle, and tortured Maracaibo was quit of them. In the Ile de la Vache the buccaneers shared among themselves two hundred and sixty thousand pieces of eight, besides jewels and bales of silk and linen and miscellaneous plunder to a vast amount. Such was the one great deed of l'Olonoise; from that time his star steadily declined--for even nature seemed fighting against such a monster--until at last he died a miserable, nameless death at the hands of an unknown tribe of Indians upon the Isthmus of Darien. * * * * * And now we come to the greatest of all the buccaneers, he who stands pre-eminent among them, and whose name even to this day is a charm to call up his deeds of daring, his dauntless courage, his truculent cruelty, and his insatiate and unappeasable lust for gold--Capt. Henry Morgan, the bold Welshman, who brought buccaneering to the height and flower of its glory. Having sold himself, after the manner of the times, for his passage across the seas, he worked out his time of servitude at the Barbados. As soon as he had regained his liberty he entered upon the trade of piracy, wherein he soon reached a position of considerable prominence. He was associated with Mansvelt at the time of the latter's descent upon Saint Catharine's Isle, the importance of which spot, as a center of operations against the neighboring coasts, Morgan never lost sight of. The first attempt that Capt. Henry Morgan ever made against any town in the Spanish Indies was the bold descent upon the city of Puerto del Principe in the island of Cuba, with a mere handful of men. It was a deed the boldness of which has never been outdone by any of a like nature--not even the famous attack upon Panama itself. Thence they returned to their boats in the very face of the whole island of Cuba, aroused and determined upon their extermination. Not only did they make good their escape, but they brought away with them a vast amount of plunder, computed at three hundred thousand pieces of eight, besides five hundred head of cattle and many prisoners held for ransom. [Illustration: Henry Morgan Recruiting for the Attack _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September_, 1887] But when the division of all this wealth came to be made, lo! there were only fifty thousand pieces of eight to be found. What had become of the rest no man could tell but Capt. Henry Morgan himself. Honesty among thieves was never an axiom with him. Rude, truculent, and dishonest as Captain Morgan was, he seems to have had a wonderful power of persuading the wild buccaneers under him to submit everything to his judgment, and to rely entirely upon his word. In spite of the vast sum of money that he had very evidently made away with, recruits poured in upon him, until his band was larger and better equipped than ever. And now it was determined that the plunder harvest was ripe at Porto Bello, and that city's doom was sealed. The town was defended by two strong castles thoroughly manned, and officered by as gallant a soldier as ever carried Toledo steel at his side. But strong castles and gallant soldiers weighed not a barleycorn with the buccaneers when their blood was stirred by the lust of gold. Landing at Puerto Naso, a town some ten leagues westward of Porto Bello, they marched to the latter town, and coming before the castle, boldly demanded its surrender. It was refused, whereupon Morgan threatened that no quarter should be given. Still surrender was refused; and then the castle was attacked, and after a bitter struggle was captured. Morgan was as good as his word: every man in the castle was shut in the guard room, the match was set to the powder magazine, and soldiers, castle, and all were blown into the air, while through all the smoke and the dust the buccaneers poured into the town. Still the governor held out in the other castle, and might have made good his defense, but that he was betrayed by the soldiers under him. Into the castle poured the howling buccaneers. But still the governor fought on, with his wife and daughter clinging to his knees and beseeching him to surrender, and the blood from his wounded forehead trickling down over his white collar, until a merciful bullet put an end to the vain struggle. Here were enacted the old scenes. Everything plundered that could be taken, and then a ransom set upon the town itself. This time an honest, or an apparently honest, division was made of the spoils, which amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand pieces of eight, besides merchandise and jewels. The next towns to suffer were poor Maracaibo and Gibraltar, now just beginning to recover from the desolation wrought by l'Olonoise. Once more both towns were plundered of every bale of merchandise and of every piaster, and once more both were ransomed until everything was squeezed from the wretched inhabitants. Here affairs were like to have taken a turn, for when Captain Morgan came up from Gibraltar he found three great men-of-war lying in the entrance to the lake awaiting his coming. Seeing that he was hemmed in in the narrow sheet of water, Captain Morgan was inclined to compromise matters, even offering to relinquish all the plunder he had gained if he were allowed to depart in peace. But no; the Spanish admiral would hear nothing of this. Having the pirates, as he thought, securely in his grasp, he would relinquish nothing, but would sweep them from the face of the sea once and forever. That was an unlucky determination for the Spaniards to reach, for instead of paralyzing the pirates with fear, as he expected it would do, it simply turned their mad courage into as mad desperation. A great vessel that they had taken with the town of Maracaibo was converted into a fire ship, manned with logs of wood in montera caps and sailor jackets, and filled with brimstone, pitch, and palm leaves soaked in oil. Then out of the lake the pirates sailed to meet the Spaniards, the fire ship leading the way, and bearing down directly upon the admiral's vessel. At the helm stood volunteers, the most desperate and the bravest of all the pirate gang, and at the ports stood the logs of wood in montera caps. So they came up with the admiral, and grappled with his ship in spite of the thunder of all his great guns, and then the Spaniard saw, all too late, what his opponent really was. [Illustration: Morgan at Porto Bello _Illustration from_ MORGAN _by_ E. C. Stedman _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _December, 1888_] He tried to swing loose, but clouds of smoke and almost instantly a mass of roaring flames enveloped both vessels, and the admiral was lost. The second vessel, not wishing to wait for the coming of the pirates, bore down upon the fort, under the guns of which the cowardly crew sank her, and made the best of their way to the shore. The third vessel, not having an opportunity to escape, was taken by the pirates without the slightest resistance, and the passage from the lake was cleared. So the buccaneers sailed away, leaving Maracaibo and Gibraltar prostrate a second time. And now Captain Morgan determined to undertake another venture, the like of which had never been equaled in all of the annals of buccaneering. This was nothing less than the descent upon and the capture of Panama, which was, next to Cartagena, perhaps, the most powerful and the most strongly fortified city in the West Indies. In preparation for this venture he obtained letters of marque from the governor of Jamaica, by virtue of which elastic commission he began immediately to gather around him all material necessary for the undertaking. When it became known abroad that the great Captain Morgan was about undertaking an adventure that was to eclipse all that was ever done before, great numbers came flocking to his standard, until he had gathered together an army of two thousand or more desperadoes and pirates wherewith to prosecute his adventure, albeit the venture itself was kept a total secret from everyone. Port Couillon, in the island of Hispaniola, over against the Ile de la Vache, was the place of muster, and thither the motley band gathered from all quarters. Provisions had been plundered from the mainland wherever they could be obtained, and by the 24th of October, 1670 (O. S.), everything was in readiness. The island of Saint Catharine, as it may be remembered, was at one time captured by Mansvelt, Morgan's master in his trade of piracy. It had been retaken by the Spaniards, and was now thoroughly fortified by them. Almost the first attempt that Morgan had made as a master pirate was the retaking of Saint Catharine's Isle. In that undertaking he had failed; but now, as there was an absolute need of some such place as a base of operations, he determined that the place _must_ be taken. And it was taken. The Spaniards, during the time of their possession, had fortified it most thoroughly and completely, and had the governor thereof been as brave as he who met his death in the castle of Porto Bello, there might have been a different tale to tell. As it was, he surrendered it in a most cowardly fashion, merely stipulating that there should be a sham attack by the buccaneers, whereby his credit might be saved. And so Saint Catharine was won. The next step to be taken was the capture of the castle of Chagres, which guarded the mouth of the river of that name, up which river the buccaneers would be compelled to transport their troops and provisions for the attack upon the city of Panama. This adventure was undertaken by four hundred picked men under command of Captain Morgan himself. The castle of Chagres, known as San Lorenzo by the Spaniards, stood upon the top of an abrupt rock at the mouth of the river, and was one of the strongest fortresses for its size in all of the West Indies. This stronghold Morgan must have if he ever hoped to win Panama. The attack of the castle and the defense of it were equally fierce, bloody, and desperate. Again and again the buccaneers assaulted, and again and again they were beaten back. So the morning came, and it seemed as though the pirates had been baffled this time. But just at this juncture the thatch of palm leaves on the roofs of some of the buildings inside the fortifications took fire, a conflagration followed, which caused the explosion of one of the magazines, and in the paralysis of terror that followed, the pirates forced their way into the fortifications, and the castle was won. Most of the Spaniards flung themselves from the castle walls into the river or upon the rocks beneath, preferring death to capture and possible torture; many who were left were put to the sword, and some few were spared and held as prisoners. So fell the castle of Chagres, and nothing now lay between the buccaneers and the city of Panama but the intervening and trackless forests. And now the name of the town whose doom was sealed was no secret. Up the river of Chagres went Capt. Henry Morgan and twelve hundred men, packed closely in their canoes; they never stopped, saving now and then to rest their stiffened legs, until they had come to a place known as Cruz de San Juan Gallego, where they were compelled to leave their boats on account of the shallowness of the water. Leaving a guard of one hundred and sixty men to protect their boats as a place of refuge in case they should be worsted before Panama, they turned and plunged into the wilderness before them. There a more powerful foe awaited them than a host of Spaniards with match, powder, and lead--starvation. They met but little or no opposition in their progress; but wherever they turned they found every fiber of meat, every grain of maize, every ounce of bread or meal, swept away or destroyed utterly before them. Even when the buccaneers had successfully overcome an ambuscade or an attack, and had sent the Spaniards flying, the fugitives took the time to strip their dead comrades of every grain of food in their leathern sacks, leaving nothing but the empty bags. Says the narrator of these events, himself one of the expedition, "They afterward fell to eating those leathern bags, as affording something to the ferment of their stomachs." Ten days they struggled through this bitter privation, doggedly forcing their way onward, faint with hunger and haggard with weakness and fever. Then, from the high hill and over the tops of the forest trees, they saw the steeples of Panama, and nothing remained between them and their goal but the fighting of four Spaniards to every one of them--a simple thing which they had done over and over again. Down they poured upon Panama, and out came the Spaniards to meet them; four hundred horse, two thousand five hundred foot, and two thousand wild bulls which had been herded together to be driven over the buccaneers so that their ranks might be disordered and broken. The buccaneers were only eight hundred strong; the others had either fallen in battle or had dropped along the dreary pathway through the wilderness; but in the space of two hours the Spaniards were flying madly over the plain, minus six hundred who lay dead or dying behind them. As for the bulls, as many of them as were shot served as food there and then for the half-famished pirates, for the buccaneers were never more at home than in the slaughter of cattle. Then they marched toward the city. Three hours' more fighting and they were in the streets, howling, yelling, plundering, gorging, dram-drinking, and giving full vent to all the vile and nameless lusts that burned in their hearts like a hell of fire. And now followed the usual sequence of events--rapine, cruelty, and extortion; only this time there was no town to ransom, for Morgan had given orders that it should be destroyed. The torch was set to it, and Panama, one of the greatest cities in the New World, was swept from the face of the earth. Why the deed was done, no man but Morgan could tell. Perhaps it was that all the secret hiding places for treasure might be brought to light; but whatever the reason was, it lay hidden in the breast of the great buccaneer himself. For three weeks Morgan and his men abode in this dreadful place; and they marched away with _one hundred and seventy-five_ beasts of burden loaded with treasures of gold and silver and jewels, besides great quantities of merchandise, and six hundred prisoners held for ransom. [Illustration: The Sacking of Panama _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September, 1887_] Whatever became of all that vast wealth, and what it amounted to, no man but Morgan ever knew, for when a division was made it was found that there was only _two hundred pieces of eight to each man_. When this dividend was declared, a howl of execration went up, under which even Capt. Henry Morgan quailed. At night he and four other commanders slipped their cables and ran out to sea, and it was said that these divided the greater part of the booty among themselves. But the wealth plundered at Panama could hardly have fallen short of a million and a half of dollars. Computing it at this reasonable figure, the various prizes won by Henry Morgan in the West Indies would stand as follows: Panama, $1,500,000; Porto Bello, $800,000; Puerto del Principe, $700,000; Maracaibo and Gibraltar, $400,000; various piracies, $250,000--making a grand total of $3,650,000 as the vast harvest of plunder. With this fabulous wealth, wrenched from the Spaniards by means of the rack and the cord, and pilfered from his companions by the meanest of thieving, Capt. Henry Morgan retired from business, honored of all, rendered famous by his deeds, knighted by the good King Charles II, and finally appointed governor of the rich island of Jamaica. Other buccaneers followed him. Campeche was taken and sacked, and even Cartagena itself fell; but with Henry Morgan culminated the glory of the buccaneers, and from that time they declined in power and wealth and wickedness until they were finally swept away. The buccaneers became bolder and bolder. In fact, so daring were their crimes that the home governments, stirred at last by these outrageous barbarities, seriously undertook the suppression of the freebooters, lopping and trimming the main trunk until its members were scattered hither and thither, and it was thought that the organization was exterminated. But, so far from being exterminated, the individual members were merely scattered north, south, east, and west, each forming a nucleus around which gathered and clustered the very worst of the offscouring of humanity. The result was that when the seventeenth century was fairly packed away with its lavender in the store chest of the past, a score or more bands of freebooters were cruising along the Atlantic seaboard in armed vessels, each with a black flag with its skull and crossbones at the fore, and with a nondescript crew made up of the tags and remnants of civilized and semicivilized humanity (white, black, red, and yellow), known generally as marooners, swarming upon the decks below. Nor did these offshoots from the old buccaneer stem confine their depredations to the American seas alone; the East Indies and the African coast also witnessed their doings, and suffered from them, and even the Bay of Biscay had good cause to remember more than one visit from them. Worthy sprigs from so worthy a stem improved variously upon the parent methods; for while the buccaneers were content to prey upon the Spaniards alone, the marooners reaped the harvest from the commerce of all nations. So up and down the Atlantic seaboard they cruised, and for the fifty years that marooning was in the flower of its glory it was a sorrowful time for the coasters of New England, the middle provinces, and the Virginias, sailing to the West Indies with their cargoes of salt fish, grain, and tobacco. Trading became almost as dangerous as privateering, and sea captains were chosen as much for their knowledge of the flintlock and the cutlass as for their seamanship. As by far the largest part of the trading in American waters was conducted by these Yankee coasters, so by far the heaviest blows, and those most keenly felt, fell upon them. Bulletin after bulletin came to port with its doleful tale of this vessel burned or that vessel scuttled, this one held by the pirates for their own use or that one stripped of its goods and sent into port as empty as an eggshell from which the yolk had been sucked. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston suffered alike, and worthy ship owners had to leave off counting their losses upon their fingers and take to the slate to keep the dismal record. "Maroon--to put ashore on a desert isle, as a sailor, under pretense of having committed some great crime." Thus our good Noah Webster gives us the dry bones, the anatomy, upon which the imagination may construct a specimen to suit itself. It is thence that the marooners took their name, for marooning was one of their most effective instruments of punishment or revenge. If a pirate broke one of the many rules which governed the particular band to which he belonged, he was marooned; did a captain defend his ship to such a degree as to be unpleasant to the pirates attacking it, he was marooned; even the pirate captain himself, if he displeased his followers by the severity of his rule, was in danger of having the same punishment visited upon him which he had perhaps more than once visited upon another. The process of marooning was as simple as terrible. A suitable place was chosen (generally some desert isle as far removed as possible from the pathway of commerce), and the condemned man was rowed from the ship to the beach. Out he was bundled upon the sand spit; a gun, a half dozen bullets, a few pinches of powder, and a bottle of water were chucked ashore after him, and away rowed the boat's crew back to the ship, leaving the poor wretch alone to rave away his life in madness, or to sit sunken in his gloomy despair till death mercifully released him from torment. It rarely if ever happened that anything was known of him after having been marooned. A boat's crew from some vessel, sailing by chance that way, might perhaps find a few chalky bones bleaching upon the white sand in the garish glare of the sunlight, but that was all. And such were marooners. By far the largest number of pirate captains were Englishmen, for, from the days of good Queen Bess, English sea captains seemed to have a natural turn for any species of venture that had a smack of piracy in it, and from the great Admiral Drake of the old, old days, to the truculent Morgan of buccaneering times, the Englishman did the boldest and wickedest deeds, and wrought the most damage. First of all upon the list of pirates stands the bold Captain Avary, one of the institutors of marooning. Him we see but dimly, half hidden by the glamouring mists of legends and tradition. Others who came afterward outstripped him far enough in their doings, but he stands pre-eminent as the first of marooners of whom actual history has been handed down to us of the present day. When the English, Dutch, and Spanish entered into an alliance to suppress buccaneering in the West Indies, certain worthies of Bristol, in old England, fitted out two vessels to assist in this laudable project; for doubtless Bristol trade suffered smartly from the Morgans and the l'Olonoises of that old time. One of these vessels was named the _Duke_, of which a certain Captain Gibson was the commander and Avary the mate. Away they sailed to the West Indies, and there Avary became impressed by the advantages offered by piracy, and by the amount of good things that were to be gained by very little striving. One night the captain (who was one of those fellows mightily addicted to punch), instead of going ashore to saturate himself with rum at the ordinary, had his drink in his cabin in private. While he lay snoring away the effects of his rum in the cabin, Avary and a few other conspirators heaved the anchor very leisurely, and sailed out of the harbor of Corunna, and through the midst of the allied fleet riding at anchor in the darkness. By and by, when the morning came, the captain was awakened by the pitching and tossing of the vessel, the rattle and clatter of the tackle overhead, and the noise of footsteps passing and repassing hither and thither across the deck. Perhaps he lay for a while turning the matter over and over in his muddled head, but he presently rang the bell, and Avary and another fellow answered the call. "What's the matter?" bawls the captain from his berth. "Nothing," says Avary, coolly. "Something's the matter with the ship," says the captain. "Does she drive? What weather is it?" "Oh no," says Avary; "we are at sea." "At sea?" "Come, come!" says Avary: "I'll tell you; you must know that I'm the captain of the ship now, and you must be packing from this here cabin. We are bound to Madagascar, to make all of our fortunes, and if you're a mind to ship for the cruise, why, we'll be glad to have you, if you will be sober and mind your own business; if not, there is a boat alongside, and I'll have you set ashore." The poor half-tipsy captain had no relish to go a-pirating under the command of his backsliding mate, so out of the ship he bundled, and away he rowed with four or five of the crew, who, like him, refused to join with their jolly shipmates. The rest of them sailed away to the East Indies, to try their fortunes in those waters, for our Captain Avary was of a high spirit, and had no mind to fritter away his time in the West Indies, squeezed dry by buccaneer Morgan and others of lesser note. No, he would make a bold stroke for it at once, and make or lose at a single cast. On his way he picked up a couple of like kind with himself--two sloops off Madagascar. With these he sailed away to the coast of India, and for a time his name was lost in the obscurity of uncertain history. But only for a time, for suddenly it flamed out in a blaze of glory. It was reported that a vessel belonging to the Great Mogul, laden with treasure and bearing the monarch's own daughter upon a holy pilgrimage to Mecca (they being Mohammedans), had fallen in with the pirates, and after a short resistance had been surrendered, with the damsel, her court, and all the diamonds, pearls, silk, silver, and gold aboard. It was rumored that the Great Mogul, raging at the insult offered to him through his own flesh and blood, had threatened to wipe out of existence the few English settlements scattered along the coast; whereat the honorable East India Company was in a pretty state of fuss and feathers. Rumor, growing with the telling, has it that Avary is going to marry the Indian princess, willy-nilly, and will turn rajah, and eschew piracy as indecent. As for the treasure itself, there was no end to the extent to which it grew as it passed from mouth to mouth. Cracking the nut of romance and exaggeration, we come to the kernel of the story--that Avary did fall in with an Indian vessel laden with great treasure (and possibly with the Mogul's daughter), which he captured, and thereby gained a vast prize. Having concluded that he had earned enough money by the trade he had undertaken, he determined to retire and live decently for the rest of his life upon what he already had. As a step toward this object, he set about cheating his Madagascar partners out of their share of what had been gained. He persuaded them to store all the treasure in his vessel, it being the largest of the three; and so, having it safely in hand, he altered the course of his ship one fine night, and when the morning came the Madagascar sloops found themselves floating upon a wide ocean without a farthing of the treasure for which they had fought so hard, and for which they might whistle for all the good it would do them. [Illustration: Marooned _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September, 1887_] At first Avary had a great part of a mind to settle at Boston, in Massachusetts, and had that little town been one whit less bleak and forbidding, it might have had the honor of being the home of this famous man. As it was, he did not like the looks of it, so he sailed away to the eastward, to Ireland, where he settled himself at Biddeford, in hopes of an easy life of it for the rest of his days. Here he found himself the possessor of a plentiful stock of jewels, such as pearls, diamonds, rubies, etc., but with hardly a score of honest farthings to jingle in his breeches pocket. He consulted with a certain merchant of Bristol concerning the disposal of the stones--a fellow not much more cleanly in his habits of honesty than Avary himself. This worthy undertook to act as Avary's broker. Off he marched with the jewels, and that was the last that the pirate saw of his Indian treasure. Perhaps the most famous of all the piratical names to American ears are those of Capt. Robert Kidd and Capt. Edward Teach, or "Blackbeard." Nothing will be ventured in regard to Kidd at this time, nor in regard to the pros and cons as to whether he really was or was not a pirate, after all. For many years he was the very hero of heroes of piratical fame; there was hardly a creek or stream or point of land along our coast, hardly a convenient bit of good sandy beach, or hump of rock, or water-washed cave, where fabulous treasures were not said to have been hidden by this worthy marooner. Now we are assured that he never was a pirate, and never did bury any treasure, excepting a certain chest, which he was compelled to hide upon Gardiner's Island--and perhaps even it was mythical. So poor Kidd must be relegated to the dull ranks of simply respectable people, or semirespectable people at best. But with "Blackbeard" it is different, for in him we have a real, ranting, raging, roaring pirate _per se_--one who really did bury treasure, who made more than one captain walk the plank, and who committed more private murders than he could number on the fingers of both hands; one who fills, and will continue to fill, the place to which he has been assigned for generations, and who may be depended upon to hold his place in the confidence of others for generations to come. Captain Teach was a Bristol man born, and learned his trade on board of sundry privateers in the East Indies during the old French war--that of 1702--and a better apprenticeship could no man serve. At last, somewhere about the latter part of the year 1716, a privateering captain, one Benjamin Hornigold, raised him from the ranks and put him in command of a sloop--a lately captured prize--and Blackbeard's fortune was made. It was a very slight step, and but the change of a few letters, to convert "privateer" into "pirate," and it was a very short time before Teach made that change. Not only did he make it himself, but he persuaded his old captain to join with him. And now fairly began that series of bold and lawless depredations which have made his name so justly famous, and which placed him among the very greatest of marooning freebooters. "Our hero," says the old historian who sings of the arms and bravery of this great man--"our hero assumed the cognomen of Blackbeard from that large quantity of hair which, like a frightful meteor, covered his whole face, and frightened America more than any comet that appeared there in a long time. He was accustomed to twist it with ribbons into small tails, after the manner of our Ramillies wig, and turn them about his ears. In time of action he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three brace of pistols, hanging in holsters like bandoleers; he stuck lighted matches under his hat, which, appearing on each side of his face, and his eyes naturally looking fierce and wild, made him altogether such a figure that imagination cannot form an idea of a Fury from hell to look more frightful." The night before the day of the action in which he was killed he sat up drinking with some congenial company until broad daylight. One of them asked him if his poor young wife knew where his treasure was hidden. "No," says Blackbeard; "nobody but the devil and I knows where it is, and the longest liver shall have all." As for that poor young wife of his, the life that he and his rum-crazy shipmates led her was too terrible to be told. For a time Blackbeard worked at his trade down on the Spanish Main, gathering, in the few years he was there, a very neat little fortune in the booty captured from sundry vessels; but by and by he took it into his head to try his luck along the coast of the Carolinas; so off he sailed to the northward, with quite a respectable little fleet, consisting of his own vessel and two captured sloops. From that time he was actively engaged in the making of American history in his small way. He first appeared off the bar of Charleston Harbor, to the no small excitement of the worthy town of that ilk, and there he lay for five or six days, blockading the port, and stopping incoming and outgoing vessels at his pleasure, so that, for the time, the commerce of the province was entirely paralyzed. All the vessels so stopped he held as prizes, and all the crews and passengers (among the latter of whom was more than one provincial worthy of the day) he retained as though they were prisoners of war. And it was a mightily awkward thing for the good folk of Charleston to behold day after day a black flag with its white skull and crossbones fluttering at the fore of the pirate captain's craft, over across the level stretch of green salt marshes; and it was mightily unpleasant, too, to know that this or that prominent citizen was crowded down with the other prisoners under the hatches. One morning Captain Blackbeard finds that his stock of medicine is low. "Tut!" says he, "we'll turn no hair gray for that." So up he calls the bold Captain Richards, the commander of his consort the _Revenge_ sloop, and bids him take Mr. Marks (one of his prisoners), and go up to Charleston and get the medicine. There was no task that suited our Captain Richards better than that. Up to the town he rowed, as bold as brass. "Look ye," says he to the governor, rolling his quid of tobacco from one cheek to another--"look ye, we're after this and that, and if we don't get it, why, I'll tell you plain, we'll burn them bloody crafts of yours that we've took over yonder, and cut the weasand of every clodpoll aboard of 'em." There was no answering an argument of such force as this, and the worshipful governor and the good folk of Charleston knew very well that Blackbeard and his crew were the men to do as they promised. So Blackbeard got his medicine, and though it cost the colony two thousand dollars, it was worth that much to the town to be quit of him. They say that while Captain Richards was conducting his negotiations with the governor his boat's crew were stumping around the streets of the town, having a glorious time of it, while the good folk glowered wrathfully at them, but dared venture nothing in speech or act. Having gained a booty of between seven and eight thousand dollars from the prizes captured, the pirates sailed away from Charleston Harbor to the coast of North Carolina. And now Blackbeard, following the plan adopted by so many others of his kind, began to cudgel his brains for means to cheat his fellows out of their share of the booty. At Topsail Inlet he ran his own vessel aground, as though by accident. Hands, the captain of one of the consorts, pretending to come to his assistance, also grounded _his_ sloop. Nothing now remained but for those who were able to get away in the other craft, which was all that was now left of the little fleet. This did Blackbeard with some forty of his favorites. The rest of the pirates were left on the sand spit to await the return of their companions--which never happened. As for Blackbeard and those who were with him, they were that much richer, for there were so many the fewer pockets to fill. But even yet there were too many to share the booty, in Blackbeard's opinion, and so he marooned a parcel more of them--some eighteen or twenty--upon a naked sand bank, from which they were afterward mercifully rescued by another freebooter who chanced that way--a certain Major Stede Bonnet, of whom more will presently be said. About that time a royal proclamation had been issued offering pardon to all pirates in arms who would surrender to the king's authority before a given date. So up goes Master Blackbeard to the Governor of North Carolina and makes his neck safe by surrendering to the proclamation--albeit he kept tight clutch upon what he had already gained. And now we find our bold Captain Blackbeard established in the good province of North Carolina, where he and His Worship the Governor struck up a vast deal of intimacy, as profitable as it was pleasant. There is something very pretty in the thought of the bold sea rover giving up his adventurous life (excepting now and then an excursion against a trader or two in the neighboring sound, when the need of money was pressing); settling quietly down into the routine of old colonial life, with a young wife of sixteen at his side, who made the fourteenth that he had in various ports here and there in the world. Becoming tired of an inactive life, Blackbeard afterward resumed his piratical career. He cruised around in the rivers and inlets and sounds of North Carolina for a while, ruling the roost and with never a one to say him nay, until there was no bearing with such a pest any longer. So they sent a deputation up to the Governor of Virginia asking if he would be pleased to help them in their trouble. There were two men-of-war lying at Kicquetan, in the James River, at the time. To them the Governor of Virginia applies, and plucky Lieutenant Maynard, of the _Pearl_, was sent to Ocracoke Inlet to fight this pirate who ruled it down there so like the cock of a walk. There he found Blackbeard waiting for him, and as ready for a fight as ever the lieutenant himself could be. Fight they did, and while it lasted it was as pretty a piece of business of its kind as one could wish to see. Blackbeard drained a glass of grog, wishing the lieutenant luck in getting aboard of him, fired a broadside, blew some twenty of the lieutenant's men out of existence, and totally crippled one of his little sloops for the balance of the fight. After that, and under cover of the smoke, the pirate and his men boarded the other sloop, and then followed a fine old-fashioned hand-to-hand conflict betwixt him and the lieutenant. First they fired their pistols, and then they took to it with cutlasses--right, left, up and down, cut and slash--until the lieutenant's cutlass broke short off at the hilt. Then Blackbeard would have finished him off handsomely, only up steps one of the lieutenant's men and fetches him a great slash over the neck, so that the lieutenant came off with no more hurt than a cut across the knuckles. At the very first discharge of their pistols Blackbeard had been shot through the body, but he was not for giving up for that--not he. As said before, he was of the true roaring, raging breed of pirates, and stood up to it until he received twenty more cutlass cuts and five additional shots, and then fell dead while trying to fire off an empty pistol. After that the lieutenant cut off the pirate's head, and sailed away in triumph, with the bloody trophy nailed to the bow of his battered sloop. Those of Blackbeard's men who were not killed were carried off to Virginia, and all of them tried and hanged but one or two, their names, no doubt, still standing in a row in the provincial records. But did Blackbeard really bury treasures, as tradition says, along the sandy shores he haunted? [Illustration: Blackbeard Buries His Treasure _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September, 1887_] Master Clement Downing, midshipman aboard the _Salisbury_, wrote a book after his return from the cruise to Madagascar, whither the _Salisbury_ had been ordered, to put an end to the piracy with which those waters were infested. He says: "At Guzarat I met with a Portuguese named Anthony de Sylvestre; he came with two other Portuguese and two Dutchmen to take on in the Moor's service, as many Europeans do. This Anthony told me he had been among the pirates, and that he belonged to one of the sloops in Virginia when Blackbeard was taken. He informed me that if it should be my lot ever to go to York River or Maryland, near an island called Mulberry Island, provided we went on shore at the watering place, where the shipping used most commonly to ride, that there the pirates had buried considerable sums of money in great chests well clamped with iron plates. As to my part, I never was that way, nor much acquainted with any that ever used those parts; but I have made inquiry, and am informed that there is such a place as Mulberry Island. If any person who uses those parts should think it worth while to dig a little way at the upper end of a small cove, where it is convenient to land, he would soon find whether the information I had was well grounded. Fronting the landing place are five trees, among which, he said, the money was hid. I cannot warrant the truth of this account; but if I was ever to go there, I should find some means or other to satisfy myself, as it could not be a great deal out of my way. If anybody should obtain the benefit of this account, if it please God that they ever come to England, 'tis hoped they will remember whence they had this information." Another worthy was Capt. Edward Low, who learned his trade of sail-making at good old Boston town, and piracy at Honduras. No one stood higher in the trade than he, and no one mounted to more lofty altitudes of bloodthirsty and unscrupulous wickedness. 'Tis strange that so little has been written and sung of this man of might, for he was as worthy of story and of song as was Blackbeard. It was under a Yankee captain that he made his first cruise--down to Honduras, for a cargo of logwood, which in those times was no better than stolen from the Spanish folk. One day, lying off the shore, in the Gulf of Honduras, comes Master Low and the crew of the whaleboat rowing across from the beach, where they had been all morning chopping logwood. "What are you after?" says the captain, for they were coming back with nothing but themselves in the boat. "We're after our dinner," says Low, as spokesman of the party. "You'll have no dinner," says the captain, "until you fetch off another load." "Dinner or no dinner, we'll pay for it," says Low, wherewith he up with a musket, squinted along the barrel, and pulled the trigger. Luckily the gun hung fire, and the Yankee captain was spared to steal logwood a while longer. All the same, that was no place for Ned Low to make a longer stay, so off he and his messmates rowed in a whaleboat, captured a brig out at sea, and turned pirates. He presently fell in with the notorious Captain Lowther, a fellow after his own kidney, who put the finishing touches to his education and taught him what wickedness he did not already know. And so he became a master pirate, and a famous hand at his craft, and thereafter forever bore an inveterate hatred of all Yankees because of the dinner he had lost, and never failed to smite whatever one of them luck put within his reach. Once he fell in with a ship off South Carolina--the _Amsterdam Merchant_, Captain Williamson, commander--a Yankee craft and a Yankee master. He slit the nose and cropped the ears of the captain, and then sailed merrily away, feeling the better for having marred a Yankee. New York and New England had more than one visit from the doughty captain, each of which visits they had good cause to remember, for he made them smart for it. Along in the year 1722 thirteen vessels were riding at anchor in front of the good town of Marblehead. Into the harbor sailed a strange craft. "Who is she?" say the townsfolk, for the coming of a new vessel was no small matter in those days. Who the strangers were was not long a matter of doubt. Up goes the black flag, and the skull and crossbones to the fore. "'Tis the bloody Low," say one and all; and straightway all was flutter and commotion, as in a duck pond when a hawk pitches and strikes in the midst. It was a glorious thing for our captain, for here were thirteen Yankee crafts at one and the same time. So he took what he wanted, and then sailed away, and it was many a day before Marblehead forgot that visit. Some time after this he and his consort fell foul of an English sloop of war, the _Greyhound_, whereby they were so roughly handled that Low was glad enough to slip away, leaving his consort and her crew behind him, as a sop to the powers of law and order. And lucky for them if no worse fate awaited them than to walk the dreadful plank with a bandage around the blinded eyes and a rope around the elbows. So the consort was taken, and the crew tried and hanged in chains, and Low sailed off in as pretty a bit of rage as ever a pirate fell into. The end of this worthy is lost in the fogs of the past: some say that he died of a yellow fever down in New Orleans; it was not at the end of a hempen cord, more's the pity. Here fittingly with our strictly American pirates should stand Major Stede Bonnet along with the rest. But in truth he was only a poor half-and-half fellow of his kind, and even after his hand was fairly turned to the business he had undertaken, a qualm of conscience would now and then come across him, and he would make vast promises to forswear his evil courses. However, he jogged along in his course of piracy snugly enough until he fell foul of the gallant Colonel Rhett, off Charleston Harbor, whereupon his luck and his courage both were suddenly snuffed out with a puff of powder smoke and a good rattling broadside. Down came the "Black Roger" with its skull and crossbones from the fore, and Colonel Rhett had the glory of fetching back as pretty a cargo of scoundrels and cutthroats as the town ever saw. After the next assizes they were strung up, all in a row--evil apples ready for the roasting. "Ned" England was a fellow of different blood--only he snapped his whip across the back of society over in the East Indies and along the hot shores of Hindustan. The name of Capt. Howel Davis stands high among his fellows. He was the Ulysses of pirates, the beloved not only of Mercury, but of Minerva. He it was who hoodwinked the captain of a French ship of double the size and strength of his own, and fairly cheated him into the surrender of his craft without the firing of a single pistol or the striking of a single blow; he it was who sailed boldly into the port of Gambia, on the coast of Guinea, and under the guns of the castle, proclaiming himself as a merchant trading for slaves. The cheat was kept up until the fruit of mischief was ripe for the picking; then, when the governor and the guards of the castle were lulled into entire security, and when Davis's band was scattered about wherever each man could do the most good, it was out pistol, up cutlass, and death if a finger moved. They tied the soldiers back to back, and the governor to his own armchair, and then rifled wherever it pleased them. After that they sailed away, and though they had not made the fortune they had hoped to glean, it was a good snug round sum that they shared among them. [Illustration: Walking the Plank _Illustration from_ BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _August and September, 1887_] Their courage growing high with success, they determined to attempt the island of Del Principe--a prosperous Portuguese settlement on the coast. The plan for taking the place was cleverly laid, and would have succeeded, only that a Portuguese negro among the pirate crew turned traitor and carried the news ashore to the governor of the fort. Accordingly, the next day, when Captain Davis came ashore, he found there a good strong guard drawn up as though to honor his coming. But after he and those with him were fairly out of their boat, and well away from the water side, there was a sudden rattle of musketry, a cloud of smoke, and a dull groan or two. Only one man ran out from under that pungent cloud, jumped into the boat, and rowed away; and when it lifted, there lay Captain Davis and his companions all of a heap, like a pile of old clothes. Capt. Bartholomew Roberts was the particular and especial pupil of Davis, and when that worthy met his death so suddenly and so unexpectedly in the unfortunate manner above narrated, he was chosen unanimously as the captain of the fleet, and he was a worthy pupil of a worthy master. Many were the poor fluttering merchant ducks that this sea hawk swooped upon and struck; and cleanly and cleverly were they plucked before his savage clutch loosened its hold upon them. "He made a gallant figure," says the old narrator, "being dressed in a rich crimson waistcoat and breeches and red feather in his hat, a gold chain around his neck, with a diamond cross hanging to it, a sword in his hand, and two pair of pistols hanging at the end of a silk sling flung over his shoulders according to the fashion of the pyrates." Thus he appeared in the last engagement which he fought--that with the _Swallow_--a royal sloop of war. A gallant fight they made of it, those bulldog pirates, for, finding themselves caught in a trap betwixt the man-of-war and the shore, they determined to bear down upon the king's vessel, fire a slapping broadside into her, and then try to get away, trusting to luck in the doing, and hoping that their enemy might be crippled by their fire. Captain Roberts himself was the first to fall at the return fire of the _Swallow_; a grapeshot struck him in the neck, and he fell forward across the gun near to which he was standing at the time. A certain fellow named Stevenson, who was at the helm, saw him fall, and thought he was wounded. At the lifting of the arm the body rolled over upon the deck, and the man saw that the captain was dead. "Whereupon," says the old history, "he" [Stevenson] "gushed into tears, and wished that the next shot might be his portion." After their captain's death the pirate crew had no stomach for more fighting; the "Black Roger" was struck, and one and all surrendered to justice and the gallows. * * * * * Such is a brief and bald account of the most famous of these pirates. But they are only a few of a long list of notables, such as Captain Martel, Capt. Charles Vane (who led the gallant Colonel Rhett, of South Carolina, such a wild-goose chase in and out among the sluggish creeks and inlets along the coast), Capt. John Rackam, and Captain Anstis, Captain Worley, and Evans, and Philips, and others--a score or more of wild fellows whose very names made ship captains tremble in their shoes in those good old times. And such is that black chapter of history of the past--an evil chapter, lurid with cruelty and suffering, stained with blood and smoke. Yet it is a written chapter, and it must be read. He who chooses may read betwixt the lines of history this great truth: Evil itself is an instrument toward the shaping of good. Therefore the history of evil as well as the history of good should be read, considered, and digested. Chapter II THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND [Illustration] It is not so easy to tell why discredit should be cast upon a man because of something that his grandfather may have done amiss, but the world, which is never overnice in its discrimination as to where to lay the blame, is often pleased to make the innocent suffer in the place of the guilty. Barnaby True was a good, honest, biddable lad, as boys go, but yet he was not ever allowed altogether to forget that his grandfather had been that very famous pirate, Capt. William Brand, who, after so many marvelous adventures (if one may believe the catchpenny stories and ballads that were written about him), was murdered in Jamaica by Capt. John Malyoe, the commander of his own consort, the _Adventure_ galley. It has never been denied, that ever I heard, that up to the time of Captain Brand's being commissioned against the South Sea pirates he had always been esteemed as honest, reputable a sea captain as could be. When he started out upon that adventure it was with a ship, the _Royal Sovereign_, fitted out by some of the most decent merchants of New York. The governor himself had subscribed to the adventure, and had himself signed Captain Brand's commission. So, if the unfortunate man went astray, he must have had great temptation to do so, many others behaving no better when the opportunity offered in those far-away seas where so many rich purchases might very easily be taken and no one the wiser. To be sure, those stories and ballads made our captain to be a most wicked, profane wretch; and if he were, why, God knows he suffered and paid for it, for he laid his bones in Jamaica, and never saw his home or his wife and daughter again after he had sailed away on the _Royal Sovereign_ on that long misfortunate voyage, leaving them in New York to the care of strangers. At the time when he met his fate in Port Royal Harbor he had obtained two vessels under his command--the _Royal Sovereign_, which was the boat fitted out for him in New York, and the _Adventure_ galley, which he was said to have taken somewhere in the South Seas. With these he lay in those waters of Jamaica for over a month after his return from the coasts of Africa, waiting for news from home, which, when it came, was of the very blackest; for the colonial authorities were at that time stirred up very hot against him to take him and hang him for a pirate, so as to clear their own skirts for having to do with such a fellow. So maybe it seemed better to our captain to hide his ill-gotten treasure there in those far-away parts, and afterward to try and bargain with it for his life when he should reach New York, rather than to sail straight for the Americas with what he had earned by his piracies, and so risk losing life and money both. [Illustration: "Captain Malyoe Shot Captain Brand Through the Head" _Illustration from_ THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S WEEKLY, _December 19, 1896_] However that might be, the story was that Captain Brand and his gunner, and Captain Malyoe of the _Adventure_ and the sailing master of the _Adventure_ all went ashore together with a chest of money (no one of them choosing to trust the other three in so nice an affair), and buried the treasure somewhere on the beach of Port Royal Harbor. The story then has it that they fell a-quarreling about a future division of the money, and that, as a wind-up to the affair, Captain Malyoe shot Captain Brand through the head, while the sailing master of the _Adventure_ served the gunner of the _Royal Sovereign_ after the same fashion through the body, and that the murderers then went away, leaving the two stretched out in their own blood on the sand in the staring sun, with no one to know where the money was hid but they two who had served their comrades so. It is a mighty great pity that anyone should have a grandfather who ended his days in such a sort as this, but it was no fault of Barnaby True's, nor could he have done anything to prevent it, seeing that he was not even born into the world at the time that his grandfather turned pirate, and was only one year old when he so met his tragical end. Nevertheless, the boys with whom he went to school never tired of calling him "Pirate," and would sometimes sing for his benefit that famous catchpenny song beginning thus: Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing, And a-sailing; Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing free. Oh, my name was Captain Brand, And I sinned by sea and land, For I broke God's just command, A-sailing free. 'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a man, and oftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists and would fight his tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes go back home with a bloody nose to have his poor mother cry over him and grieve for him. Not that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for if his comrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other times when he and they were as great friends as could be, and would go in swimming together where there was a bit of sandy strand along the East River above Fort George, and that in the most amicable fashion. Or, maybe the very next day after he had fought so with his fellows, he would go a-rambling with them up the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal cherries from some old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a thief his own grandfather had been. Well, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years old he was taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr. Roger Hartright, the well-known West India merchant, and Barnaby's own stepfather. It was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place for Barnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that against our hero was twenty-one years old he had made four voyages as supercargo to the West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship, the _Belle Helen_, and soon after he was twenty-one undertook a fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate position as mere supercargo that he acted, but rather as the confidential agent of Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his own, was very jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and responsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a son, so that even the captain of the ship had scarcely more consideration aboard than he, young as he was in years. As for the agents and correspondents of Mr. Hartright throughout these parts, they also, knowing how the good man had adopted his interests, were very polite and obliging to Master Barnaby--especially, be it mentioned, Mr. Ambrose Greenfield, of Kingston, Jamaica, who, upon the occasions of his visits to those parts, did all that he could to make Barnaby's stay in that town agreeable and pleasant to him. So much for the history of our hero to the time of the beginning of this story, without which you shall hardly be able to understand the purport of those most extraordinary adventures that befell him shortly after he came of age, nor the logic of their consequence after they had occurred. For it was during his fifth voyage to the West Indies that the first of those extraordinary adventures happened of which I shall have presently to tell. At that time he had been in Kingston for the best part of four weeks, lodging at the house of a very decent, respectable widow, by name Mrs. Anne Bolles, who, with three pleasant and agreeable daughters, kept a very clean and well-served lodging house in the outskirts of the town. One morning, as our hero sat sipping his coffee, clad only in loose cotton drawers, a shirt, and a jacket, and with slippers upon his feet, as is the custom in that country, where everyone endeavors to keep as cool as may be--while he sat thus sipping his coffee Miss Eliza, the youngest of the three daughters, came and gave him a note, which, she said, a stranger had just handed in at the door, going away again without waiting for a reply. You may judge of Barnaby's surprise when he opened the note and read as follows: MR. BARNABY TRUE. SIR,--Though you don't know me, I know you, and I tell you this: if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary on Harbor Street on Friday next at eight o'clock of the evening, and will accompany the man who shall say to you, "The _Royal Sovereign_ is come in," you shall learn something the most to your advantage that ever befell you. Sir, keep this note, and show it to him who shall address these words to you, so to certify that you are the man he seeks. Such was the wording of the note, which was without address, and without any superscription whatever. The first emotion that stirred Barnaby was one of extreme and profound amazement. Then the thought came into his mind that some witty fellow, of whom he knew a good many in that town--and wild, waggish pranks they were--was attempting to play off some smart jest upon him. But all that Miss Eliza could tell him when he questioned her concerning the messenger was that the bearer of the note was a tall, stout man, with a red neckerchief around his neck and copper buckles to his shoes, and that he had the appearance of a sailorman, having a great big queue hanging down his back. But, Lord! what was such a description as that in a busy seaport town, full of scores of men to fit such a likeness? Accordingly, our hero put away the note into his wallet, determining to show it to his good friend Mr. Greenfield that evening, and to ask his advice upon it. So he did show it, and that gentleman's opinion was the same as his--that some wag was minded to play off a hoax upon him, and that the matter of the letter was all nothing but smoke. Nevertheless, though Barnaby was thus confirmed in his opinion as to the nature of the communication he had received, he yet determined in his own mind that he would see the business through to the end, and would be at Pratt's Ordinary, as the note demanded, upon the day and at the time specified therein. Pratt's Ordinary was at that time a very fine and well-known place of its sort, with good tobacco and the best rum that ever I tasted, and had a garden behind it that, sloping down to the harbor front, was planted pretty thick with palms and ferns grouped into clusters with flowers and plants. Here were a number of little tables, some in little grottoes, like our Vauxhall in New York, and with red and blue and white paper lanterns hung among the foliage, whither gentlemen and ladies used sometimes to go of an evening to sit and drink lime juice and sugar and water (and sometimes a taste of something stronger), and to look out across the water at the shipping in the cool of the night. Thither, accordingly, our hero went, a little before the time appointed in the note, and passing directly through the Ordinary and the garden beyond, chose a table at the lower end of the garden and close to the water's edge, where he would not be easily seen by anyone coming into the place. Then, ordering some rum and water and a pipe of tobacco, he composed himself to watch for the appearance of those witty fellows whom he suspected would presently come thither to see the end of their prank and to enjoy his confusion. The spot was pleasant enough; for the land breeze, blowing strong and full, set the leaves of the palm tree above his head to rattling and clattering continually against the sky, where, the moon then being about full, they shone every now and then like blades of steel. The waves also were splashing up against the little landing place at the foot of the garden, sounding very cool in the night, and sparkling all over the harbor where the moon caught the edges of the water. A great many vessels were lying at anchor in their ridings, with the dark, prodigious form of a man-of-war looming up above them in the moonlight. There our hero sat for the best part of an hour, smoking his pipe of tobacco and sipping his grog, and seeing not so much as a single thing that might concern the note he had received. It was not far from half an hour after the time appointed in the note, when a rowboat came suddenly out of the night and pulled up to the landing place at the foot of the garden above mentioned, and three or four men came ashore in the darkness. Without saying a word among themselves they chose a near-by table and, sitting down, ordered rum and water, and began drinking their grog in silence. They might have sat there about five minutes, when, by and by, Barnaby True became aware that they were observing him very curiously; and then almost immediately one, who was plainly the leader of the party, called out to him: "How now, messmate! Won't you come and drink a dram of rum with us?" "Why, no," says Barnaby, answering very civilly; "I have drunk enough already, and more would only heat my blood." "All the same," quoth the stranger, "I think you will come and drink with us; for, unless I am mistook, you are Mr. Barnaby True, and I am come here to tell you that the _Royal Sovereign is come in_." Now I may honestly say that Barnaby True was never more struck aback in all his life than he was at hearing these words uttered in so unexpected a manner. He had been looking to hear them under such different circumstances that, now that his ears heard them addressed to him, and that so seriously, by a perfect stranger, who, with others, had thus mysteriously come ashore out of the darkness, he could scarce believe that his ears heard aright. His heart suddenly began beating at a tremendous rate, and had he been an older and wiser man, I do believe he would have declined the adventure, instead of leaping blindly, as he did, into that of which he could see neither the beginning nor the ending. But being barely one-and-twenty years of age, and having an adventurous disposition that would have carried him into almost anything that possessed a smack of uncertainty or danger about it, he contrived to say, in a pretty easy tone (though God knows how it was put on for the occasion): "Well, then, if that be so, and if the _Royal Sovereign_ is indeed come in, why, I'll join you, since you are so kind as to ask me." And therewith he went across to the other table, carrying his pipe with him, and sat down and began smoking, with all the appearance of ease he could assume upon the occasion. "Well, Mr. Barnaby True," said the man who had before addressed him, so soon as Barnaby had settled himself, speaking in a low tone of voice, so there would be no danger of any others hearing the words--"Well, Mr. Barnaby True--for I shall call you by your name, to show you that though I know you, you don't know me--I am glad to see that you are man enough to enter thus into an affair, though you can't see to the bottom of it. For it shows me that you are a man of mettle, and are deserving of the fortune that is to befall you to-night. Nevertheless, first of all, I am bid to say that you must show me a piece of paper that you have about you before we go a step farther." "Very well," said Barnaby; "I have it here safe and sound, and see it you shall." And thereupon and without more ado he fetched out his wallet, opened it, and handed his interlocutor the mysterious note he had received the day or two before. Whereupon the other, drawing to him the candle, burning there for the convenience of those who would smoke tobacco, began immediately reading it. This gave Barnaby True a moment or two to look at him. He was a tall, stout man, with a red handkerchief tied around his neck, and with copper buckles on his shoes, so that Barnaby True could not but wonder whether he was not the very same man who had given the note to Miss Eliza Bolles at the door of his lodging house. "'Tis all right and straight as it should be," the other said, after he had so glanced his eyes over the note. "And now that the paper is read" (suiting his action to his words), "I'll just burn it, for safety's sake." And so he did, twisting it up and setting it to the flame of the candle. "And now," he said, continuing his address, "I'll tell you what I am here for. I was sent to ask you if you're man enough to take your life in your own hands and to go with me in that boat down there? Say 'Yes,' and we'll start away without wasting more time, for the devil is ashore here at Jamaica--though you don't know what that means--and if he gets ahead of us, why, then we may whistle for what we are after. Say 'No,' and I go away again, and I promise you you shall never be troubled again in this sort. So now speak up plain, young gentleman, and tell us what is your mind in this business, and whether you will adventure any farther or not." If our hero hesitated it was not for long. I cannot say that his courage did not waver for a moment; but if it did, it was, I say, not for long, and when he spoke up it was with a voice as steady as could be. "To be sure I'm man enough to go with you," he said; "and if you mean me any harm I can look out for myself; and if I can't, why, here is something can look out for me," and therewith he lifted up the flap of his coat pocket and showed the butt of a pistol he had fetched with him when he had set out from his lodging house that evening. At this the other burst out a-laughing. "Come," says he, "you are indeed of right mettle, and I like your spirit. All the same, no one in all the world means you less ill than I, and so, if you have to use that barker, 'twill not be upon us who are your friends, but only upon one who is more wicked than the devil himself. So come, and let us get away." Thereupon he and the others, who had not spoken a single word for all this time, rose from the table, and he having paid the scores of all, they all went down together to the boat that still lay at the landing place at the bottom of the garden. Thus coming to it, our hero could see that it was a large yawl boat manned with half a score of black men for rowers, and there were two lanterns in the stern sheets, and three or four iron shovels. The man who had conducted the conversation with Barnaby True for all this time, and who was, as has been said, plainly the captain of the party, stepped immediately down into the boat; our hero followed, and the others followed after him; and instantly they were seated the boat was shoved off and the black men began pulling straight out into the harbor, and so, at some distance away, around under the stern of the man-of-war. Not a word was spoken after they had thus left the shore, and presently they might all have been ghosts, for the silence of the party. Barnaby True was too full of his own thoughts to talk--and serious enough thoughts they were by this time, with crimps to trepan a man at every turn, and press gangs to carry a man off so that he might never be heard of again. As for the others, they did not seem to choose to say anything now that they had him fairly embarked upon their enterprise. And so the crew pulled on in perfect silence for the best part of an hour, the leader of the expedition directing the course of the boat straight across the harbor, as though toward the mouth of the Rio Cobra River. Indeed, this was their destination, as Barnaby could after a while see, by the low point of land with a great long row of coconut palms upon it (the appearance of which he knew very well), which by and by began to loom up out of the milky dimness of the moonlight. As they approached the river they found the tide was running strong out of it, so that some distance away from the stream it gurgled and rippled alongside the boat as the crew of black men pulled strongly against it. Thus they came up under what was either a point of land or an islet covered with a thick growth of mangrove trees. But still no one spoke a single word as to their destination, or what was the business they had in hand. The night, now that they were close to the shore, was loud with the noise of running tide-water, and the air was heavy with the smell of mud and marsh, and over all the whiteness of the moonlight, with a few stars pricking out here and there in the sky; and all so strange and silent and mysterious that Barnaby could not divest himself of the feeling that it was all a dream. So, the rowers bending to the oars, the boat came slowly around from under the clump of mangrove bushes and out into the open water again. Instantly it did so the leader of the expedition called out in a sharp voice, and the black men instantly lay on their oars. Almost at the same instant Barnaby True became aware that there was another boat coming down the river toward where they lay, now drifting with the strong tide out into the harbor again, and he knew that it was because of the approach of that boat that the other had called upon his men to cease rowing. The other boat, as well as he could see in the distance, was full of men, some of whom appeared to be armed, for even in the dusk of the darkness the shine of the moonlight glimmered sharply now and then on the barrels of muskets or pistols, and in the silence that followed after their own rowing had ceased Barnaby True could hear the chug! chug! of the oars sounding louder and louder through the watery stillness of the night as the boat drew nearer and nearer. But he knew nothing of what it all meant, nor whether these others were friends or enemies, or what was to happen next. The oarsmen of the approaching boat did not for a moment cease their rowing, not till they had come pretty close to Barnaby and his companions. Then a man who sat in the stern ordered them to cease rowing, and as they lay on their oars he stood up. As they passed by, Barnaby True could see him very plain, the moonlight shining full upon him--a large, stout gentleman with a round red face, and clad in a fine laced coat of red cloth. Amidship of the boat was a box or chest about the bigness of a middle-sized traveling trunk, but covered all over with cakes of sand and dirt. In the act of passing, the gentleman, still standing, pointed at it with an elegant gold-headed cane which he held in his hand. "Are you come after this, Abraham Dawling?" says he, and thereat his countenance broke into as evil, malignant a grin as ever Barnaby True saw in all of his life. The other did not immediately reply so much as a single word, but sat as still as any stone. Then, at last, the other boat having gone by, he suddenly appeared to regain his wits, for he bawled out after it, "Very well, Jack Malyoe! Very well, Jack Malyoe! you've got ahead of us this time again, but next time is the third, and then it shall be our turn, even if William Brand must come back from hell to settle with you." This he shouted out as the other boat passed farther and farther away, but to it my fine gentleman made no reply except to burst out into a great roaring fit of laughter. There was another man among the armed men in the stern of the passing boat--a villainous, lean man with lantern jaws, and the top of his head as bald as the palm of my hand. As the boat went away into the night with the tide and the headway the oars had given it, he grinned so that the moonlight shone white on his big teeth. Then, flourishing a great big pistol, he said, and Barnaby could hear every word he spoke, "Do but give me the word, Your Honor, and I'll put another bullet through the son of a sea cook." But the gentleman said some words to forbid him, and therewith the boat was gone away into the night, and presently Barnaby could hear that the men at the oars had begun rowing again, leaving them lying there, without a single word being said for a long time. By and by one of those in Barnaby's boat spoke up. "Where shall you go now?" he said. At this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come back to himself, and to find his voice again. "Go?" he roared out. "Go to the devil! Go? Go where you choose! Go? Go back again--that's where we'll go!" and therewith he fell a-cursing and swearing until he foamed at the lips, as though he had gone clean crazy, while the black men began rowing back again across the harbor as fast as ever they could lay oars into the water. They put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom house; but so bewildered and shaken was he by all that had happened, and by what he had seen, and by the names that he heard spoken, that he was scarcely conscious of any of the familiar things among which he found himself thus standing. And so he walked up the moonlit street toward his lodging like one drunk or bewildered; for "John Malyoe" was the name of the captain of the _Adventure_ galley--he who had shot Barnaby's own grandfather--and "Abraham Dawling" was the name of the gunner of the _Royal Sovereign_ who had been shot at the same time with the pirate captain, and who, with him, had been left stretched out in the staring sun by the murderers. The whole business had occupied hardly two hours, but it was as though that time was no part of Barnaby's life, but all a part of some other life, so dark and strange and mysterious that it in no wise belonged to him. As for that box covered all over with mud, he could only guess at that time what it contained and what the finding of it signified. But of this our hero said nothing to anyone, nor did he tell a single living soul what he had seen that night, but nursed it in his own mind, where it lay so big for a while that he could think of little or nothing else for days after. Mr. Greenfield, Mr. Hartright's correspondent and agent in these parts, lived in a fine brick house just out of the town, on the Mona Road, his family consisting of a wife and two daughters--brisk, lively young ladies with black hair and eyes, and very fine bright teeth that shone whenever they laughed, and with a plenty to say for themselves. Thither Barnaby True was often asked to a family dinner; and, indeed, it was a pleasant home to visit, and to sit upon the veranda and smoke a cigarro with the good old gentleman and look out toward the mountains, while the young ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the guitar and sang. And oftentimes so it was strongly upon Barnaby's mind to speak to the good gentleman and tell him what he had beheld that night out in the harbor; but always he would think better of it and hold his peace, falling to thinking, and smoking away upon his cigarro at a great rate. A day or two before the _Belle Helen_ sailed from Kingston Mr. Greenfield stopped Barnaby True as he was going through the office to bid him to come to dinner that night (for there within the tropics they breakfast at eleven o'clock and take dinner in the cool of the evening, because of the heat, and not at midday, as we do in more temperate latitudes). "I would have you meet," says Mr. Greenfield, "your chief passenger for New York, and his granddaughter, for whom the state cabin and the two staterooms are to be fitted as here ordered [showing a letter]--Sir John Malyoe and Miss Marjorie Malyoe. Did you ever hear tell of Capt. Jack Malyoe, Master Barnaby?" Now I do believe that Mr. Greenfield had no notion at all that old Captain Brand was Barnaby True's own grandfather and Capt. John Malyoe his murderer, but when he so thrust at him the name of that man, what with that in itself and the late adventure through which he himself had just passed, and with his brooding upon it until it was so prodigiously big in his mind, it was like hitting him a blow to so fling the questions at him. Nevertheless, he was able to reply, with a pretty straight face, that he had heard of Captain Malyoe and who he was. "Well," says Mr. Greenfield, "if Jack Malyoe was a desperate pirate and a wild, reckless blade twenty years ago, why, he is Sir John Malyoe now and the owner of a fine estate in Devonshire. Well, Master Barnaby, when one is a baronet and come into the inheritance of a fine estate (though I do hear it is vastly cumbered with debts), the world will wink its eye to much that he may have done twenty years ago. I do hear say, though, that his own kin still turn the cold shoulder to him." To this address Barnaby answered nothing, but sat smoking away at his cigarro at a great rate. And so that night Barnaby True came face to face for the first time with the man who murdered his own grandfather--the greatest beast of a man that ever he met in all of his life. That time in the harbor he had seen Sir John Malyoe at a distance and in the darkness; now that he beheld him near by it seemed to him that he had never looked at a more evil face in all his life. Not that the man was altogether ugly, for he had a good nose and a fine double chin; but his eyes stood out like balls and were red and watery, and he winked them continually, as though they were always smarting; and his lips were thick and purple-red, and his fat, red cheeks were mottled here and there with little clots of purple veins; and when he spoke his voice rattled so in his throat that it made one wish to clear one's own throat to listen to him. So, what with a pair of fat, white hands, and that hoarse voice, and his swollen face, and his thick lips sticking out, it seemed to Barnaby True he had never seen a countenance so distasteful to him as that one into which he then looked. But if Sir John Malyoe was so displeasing to our hero's taste, why, the granddaughter, even this first time he beheld her, seemed to him to be the most beautiful, lovely young lady that ever he saw. She had a thin, fair skin, red lips, and yellow hair--though it was then powdered pretty white for the occasion--and the bluest eyes that Barnaby beheld in all of his life. A sweet, timid creature, who seemed not to dare so much as to speak a word for herself without looking to Sir John for leave to do so, and would shrink and shudder whenever he would speak of a sudden to her or direct a sudden glance upon her. When she did speak, it was in so low a voice that one had to bend his head to hear her, and even if she smiled would catch herself and look up as though to see if she had leave to be cheerful. As for Sir John, he sat at dinner like a pig, and gobbled and ate and drank, smacking his lips all the while, but with hardly a word to either her or Mrs. Greenfield or to Barnaby True; but with a sour, sullen air, as though he would say, "Your damned victuals and drink are no better than they should be, but I must eat 'em or nothing." A great bloated beast of a man! Only after dinner was over and the young lady and the two misses sat off in a corner together did Barnaby hear her talk with any ease. Then, to be sure, her tongue became loose, and she prattled away at a great rate, though hardly above her breath, until of a sudden her grandfather called out, in his hoarse, rattling voice, that it was time to go. Whereupon she stopped short in what she was saying and jumped up from her chair, looking as frightened as though she had been caught in something amiss, and was to be punished for it. Barnaby True and Mr. Greenfield both went out to see the two into their coach, where Sir John's man stood holding the lantern. And who should he be, to be sure, but that same lean villain with bald head who had offered to shoot the leader of our hero's expedition out on the harbor that night! For, one of the circles of light from the lantern shining up into his face, Barnaby True knew him the moment he clapped eyes upon him. Though he could not have recognized our hero, he grinned at him in the most impudent, familiar fashion, and never so much as touched his hat either to him or to Mr. Greenfield; but as soon as his master and his young mistress had entered the coach, banged to the door and scrambled up on the seat alongside the driver, and so away without a word, but with another impudent grin, this time favoring both Barnaby and the old gentleman. Such were these two, master and man, and what Barnaby saw of them then was only confirmed by further observation--the most hateful couple he ever knew; though, God knows, what they afterward suffered should wipe out all complaint against them. The next day Sir John Malyoe's belongings began to come aboard the _Belle Helen_, and in the afternoon that same lean, villainous manservant comes skipping across the gangplank as nimble as a goat, with two black men behind him lugging a great sea chest. "What!" he cried out, "and so you is the supercargo, is you? Why, I thought you was more account when I saw you last night a-sitting talking with His Honor like his equal. Well, no matter; 'tis something to have a brisk, genteel young fellow for a supercargo. So come, my hearty, lend a hand, will you, and help me set His Honor's cabin to rights." What a speech was this to endure from such a fellow, to be sure! and Barnaby so high in his own esteem, and holding himself a gentleman! Well, what with his distaste for the villain, and what with such odious familiarity, you can guess into what temper so impudent an address must have cast him. "You'll find the steward in yonder," he said, "and he'll show you the cabin," and therewith turned and walked away with prodigious dignity, leaving the other standing where he was. As he entered his own cabin he could not but see, out of the tail of his eye, that the fellow was still standing where he had left him, regarding him with a most evil, malevolent countenance, so that he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made one enemy during that voyage who was not very likely to forgive or forget what he must regard as a slight put upon him. The next day Sir John Malyoe himself came aboard, accompanied by his granddaughter, and followed by this man, and he followed again by four black men, who carried among them two trunks, not large in size, but prodigious heavy in weight, and toward which Sir John and his follower devoted the utmost solicitude and care to see that they were properly carried into the state cabin he was to occupy. Barnaby True was standing in the great cabin as they passed close by him; but though Sir John Malyoe looked hard at him and straight in the face, he never so much as spoke a single word, or showed by a look or a sign that he knew who our hero was. At this the serving man, who saw it all with eyes as quick as a cat's, fell to grinning and chuckling to see Barnaby in his turn so slighted. The young lady, who also saw it all, flushed up red, then in the instant of passing looked straight at our hero, and bowed and smiled at him with a most sweet and gracious affability, then the next moment recovering herself, as though mightily frightened at what she had done. The same day the _Belle Helen_ sailed, with as beautiful, sweet weather as ever a body could wish for. There were only two other passengers aboard, the Rev. Simon Styles, the master of a flourishing academy in Spanish Town, and his wife, a good, worthy old couple, but very quiet, and would sit in the great cabin by the hour together reading, so that, what with Sir John Malyoe staying all the time in his own cabin with those two trunks he held so precious, it fell upon Barnaby True in great part to show attention to the young lady; and glad enough he was of the opportunity, as anyone may guess. For when you consider a brisk, lively young man of one-and-twenty and a sweet, beautiful miss of seventeen so thrown together day after day for two weeks, the weather being very fair, as I have said, and the ship tossing and bowling along before a fine humming breeze that sent white caps all over the sea, and with nothing to do but sit and look at that blue sea and the bright sky overhead, it is not hard to suppose what was to befall, and what pleasure it was to Barnaby True to show attention to her. But, oh! those days when a man is young, and, whether wisely or no, fallen in love! How often during that voyage did our hero lie awake in his berth at night, tossing this way and that without sleep--not that he wanted to sleep if he could, but would rather lie so awake thinking about her and staring into the darkness! Poor fool! He might have known that the end must come to such a fool's paradise before very long. For who was he to look up to Sir John Malyoe's granddaughter, he, the supercargo of a merchant ship, and she the granddaughter of a baronet. Nevertheless, things went along very smooth and pleasant, until one evening, when all came of a sudden to an end. At that time he and the young lady had been standing for a long while together, leaning over the rail and looking out across the water through the dusk toward the westward, where the sky was still of a lingering brightness. She had been mightily quiet and dull all that evening, but now of a sudden she began, without any preface whatever, to tell Barnaby about herself and her affairs. She said that she and her grandfather were going to New York that they might take passage thence to Boston town, there to meet her cousin Captain Malyoe, who was stationed in garrison at that place. Then she went on to say that Captain Malyoe was the next heir to the Devonshire estate, and that she and he were to be married in the fall. But, poor Barnaby! what a fool was he, to be sure! Methinks when she first began to speak about Captain Malyoe he knew what was coming. But now that she had told him, he could say nothing, but stood there staring across the ocean, his breath coming hot and dry as ashes in his throat. She, poor thing, went on to say, in a very low voice, that she had liked him from the very first moment she had seen him, and had been very happy for these days, and would always think of him as a dear friend who had been very kind to her, who had so little pleasure in life, and so would always remember him. Then they were both silent, until at last Barnaby made shift to say, though in a hoarse and croaking voice, that Captain Malyoe must be a very happy man, and that if he were in Captain Malyoe's place he would be the happiest man in the world. Thus, having spoken, and so found his tongue, he went on to tell her, with his head all in a whirl, that he, too, loved her, and that what she had told him struck him to the heart, and made him the most miserable, unhappy wretch in the whole world. She was not angry at what he said, nor did she turn to look at him, but only said, in a low voice, he should not talk so, for that it could only be a pain to them both to speak of such things, and that whether she would or no, she must do everything as her grandfather bade her, for that he was indeed a terrible man. To this poor Barnaby could only repeat that he loved her with all his heart, that he had hoped for nothing in his love, but that he was now the most miserable man in the world. It was at this moment, so tragic for him, that some one who had been hiding nigh them all the while suddenly moved away, and Barnaby True could see in the gathering darkness that it was that villain manservant of Sir John Malyoe's and knew that he must have overheard all that had been said. The man went straight to the great cabin, and poor Barnaby, his brain all atingle, stood looking after him, feeling that now indeed the last drop of bitterness had been added to his trouble to have such a wretch overhear what he had said. The young lady could not have seen the fellow, for she continued leaning over the rail, and Barnaby True, standing at her side, not moving, but in such a tumult of many passions that he was like one bewildered, and his heart beating as though to smother him. So they stood for I know not how long when, of a sudden, Sir John Malyoe comes running out of the cabin, without his hat, but carrying his gold-headed cane, and so straight across the deck to where Barnaby and the young lady stood, that spying wretch close at his heels, grinning like an imp. "You hussy!" bawled out Sir John, so soon as he had come pretty near them, and in so loud a voice that all on deck might have heard the words; and as he spoke he waved his cane back and forth as though he would have struck the young lady, who, shrinking back almost upon the deck, crouched as though to escape such a blow. "You hussy!" he bawled out with vile oaths, too horrible here to be set down. "What do you do here with this Yankee supercargo, not fit for a gentlewoman to wipe her feet upon? Get to your cabin, you hussy" (only it was something worse he called her this time), "before I lay this cane across your shoulders!" What with the whirling of Barnaby's brains and the passion into which he was already melted, what with his despair and his love, and his anger at this address, a man gone mad could scarcely be less accountable for his actions than was he at that moment. Hardly knowing what he did, he put his hand against Sir John Malyoe's breast and thrust him violently back, crying out upon him in a great, loud, hoarse voice for threatening a young lady, and saying that for a farthing he would wrench the stick out of his hand and throw it overboard. Sir John went staggering back with the push Barnaby gave him, and then caught himself up again. Then, with a great bellow, ran roaring at our hero, whirling his cane about, and I do believe would have struck him (and God knows then what might have happened) had not his manservant caught him and held him back. "Keep back!" cried out our hero, still mighty hoarse. "Keep back! If you strike me with that stick I'll fling you overboard!" By this time, what with the sound of loud voices and the stamping of feet, some of the crew and others aboard were hurrying up, and the next moment Captain Manly and the first mate, Mr. Freesden, came running out of the cabin. But Barnaby, who was by this fairly set agoing, could not now stop himself. "And who are you, anyhow," he cried out, "to threaten to strike me and to insult me, who am as good as you? You dare not strike me! You may shoot a man from behind, as you shot poor Captain Brand on the Rio Cobra River, but you won't dare strike me face to face. I know who you are and what you are!" By this time Sir John Malyoe had ceased to endeavor to strike him, but stood stock-still, his great bulging eyes staring as though they would pop out of his head. "What's all this?" cries Captain Manly, bustling up to them with Mr. Freesden. "What does all this mean?" But, as I have said, our hero was too far gone now to contain himself until all that he had to say was out. "The damned villain insulted me and insulted the young lady," he cried out, panting in the extremity of his passion, "and then he threatened to strike me with his cane. But I know who he is and what he is. I know what he's got in his cabin in those two trunks, and where he found it, and whom it belongs to. He found it on the shores of the Rio Cobra River, and I have only to open my mouth and tell what I know about it." At this Captain Manly clapped his hand upon our hero's shoulder and fell to shaking him so that he could scarcely stand, calling out to him the while to be silent. "What do you mean?" he cried. "An officer of this ship to quarrel with a passenger of mine! Go straight to your cabin, and stay there till I give you leave to come out again." At this Master Barnaby came somewhat back to himself and into his wits again with a jump. "But he threatened to strike me with his cane, Captain," he cried out, "and that I won't stand from any man!" "No matter what he did," said Captain Manly, very sternly. "Go to your cabin, as I bid you, and stay there till I tell you to come out again, and when we get to New York I'll take pains to tell your stepfather of how you have behaved. I'll have no such rioting as this aboard my ship." Barnaby True looked around him, but the young lady was gone. Nor, in the blindness of his frenzy, had he seen when she had gone nor whither she went. As for Sir John Malyoe, he stood in the light of a lantern, his face gone as white as ashes, and I do believe if a look could kill, the dreadful malevolent stare he fixed upon Barnaby True would have slain him where he stood. After Captain Manly had so shaken some wits into poor Barnaby he, unhappy wretch, went to his cabin, as he was bidden to do, and there, shutting the door upon himself, and flinging himself down, all dressed as he was, upon his berth, yielded himself over to the profoundest passion of humiliation and despair. There he lay for I know not how long, staring into the darkness, until by and by, in spite of his suffering and his despair, he dozed off into a loose sleep, that was more like waking than sleep, being possessed continually by the most vivid and distasteful dreams, from which he would awaken only to doze off and to dream again. It was from the midst of one of these extravagant dreams that he was suddenly aroused by the noise of a pistol shot, and then the noise of another and another, and then a great bump and a grinding jar, and then the sound of many footsteps running across the deck and down into the great cabin. Then came a tremendous uproar of voices in the great cabin, the struggling as of men's bodies being tossed about, striking violently against the partitions and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a screaming of women's voices, and one voice, and that Sir John Malyoe's, crying out as in the greatest extremity: "You villains! You damned villains!" and with the sudden detonation of a pistol fired into the close space of the great cabin. Barnaby was out in the middle of his cabin in a moment, and taking only time enough to snatch down one of the pistols that hung at the head of his berth, flung out into the great cabin, to find it as black as night, the lantern slung there having been either blown out or dashed out into darkness. The prodigiously dark space was full of uproar, the hubbub and confusion pierced through and through by that keen sound of women's voices screaming, one in the cabin and the other in the stateroom beyond. Almost immediately Barnaby pitched headlong over two or three struggling men scuffling together upon the deck, falling with a great clatter and the loss of his pistol, which, however, he regained almost immediately. What all the uproar meant he could not tell, but he presently heard Captain Manly's voice from somewhere suddenly calling out, "You bloody pirate, would you choke me to death?" wherewith some notion of what had happened came to him like a flash, and that they had been attacked in the night by pirates. Looking toward the companionway, he saw, outlined against the darkness of the night without, the blacker form of a man's figure, standing still and motionless as a statue in the midst of all this hubbub, and so by some instinct he knew in a moment that that must be the master maker of all this devil's brew. Therewith, still kneeling upon the deck, he covered the bosom of that shadowy figure point-blank, as he thought, with his pistol, and instantly pulled the trigger. In the flash of red light, and in the instant stunning report of the pistol shot, Barnaby saw, as stamped upon the blackness, a broad, flat face with fishy eyes, a lean, bony forehead with what appeared to be a great blotch of blood upon the side, a cocked hat trimmed with gold lace, a red scarf across the breast, and the gleam of brass buttons. Then the darkness, very thick and black, swallowed everything again. But in the instant Sir John Malyoe called out, in a great loud voice: "My God! 'Tis William Brand!" Therewith came the sound of some one falling heavily down. The next moment, Barnaby's sight coming back to him again in the darkness, he beheld that dark and motionless figure still standing exactly where it had stood before, and so knew either that he had missed it or else that it was of so supernatural a sort that a leaden bullet might do it no harm. Though if it was indeed an apparition that Barnaby beheld in that moment, there is this to say, that he saw it as plain as ever he saw a living man in all of his life. This was the last our hero knew, for the next moment somebody--whether by accident or design he never knew--struck him such a terrible violent blow upon the side of the head that he saw forty thousand stars flash before his eyeballs, and then, with a great humming in his head, swooned dead away. When Barnaby True came back to his senses again it was to find himself being cared for with great skill and nicety, his head bathed with cold water, and a bandage being bound about it as carefully as though a chirurgeon was attending to him. He could not immediately recall what had happened to him, nor until he had opened his eyes to find himself in a strange cabin, extremely well fitted and painted with white and gold, the light of a lantern shining in his eyes, together with the gray of the early daylight through the dead-eye. Two men were bending over him--one, a negro in a striped shirt, with a yellow handkerchief around his head and silver earrings in his ears; the other, a white man, clad in a strange outlandish dress of a foreign make, and with great mustachios hanging down, and with gold earrings in his ears. It was the latter who was attending to Barnaby's hurt with such extreme care and gentleness. All this Barnaby saw with his first clear consciousness after his swoon. Then remembering what had befallen him, and his head beating as though it would split asunder, he shut his eyes again, contriving with great effort to keep himself from groaning aloud, and wondering as to what sort of pirates these could be who would first knock a man in the head so terrible a blow as that which he had suffered, and then take such care to fetch him back to life again, and to make him easy and comfortable. Nor did he open his eyes again, but lay there gathering his wits together and wondering thus until the bandage was properly tied about his head and sewed together. Then once more he opened his eyes, and looked up to ask where he was. Either they who were attending to him did not choose to reply, or else they could not speak English, for they made no answer, excepting by signs; for the white man, seeing that he was now able to speak, and so was come back into his senses again, nodded his head three or four times, and smiled with a grin of his white teeth, and then pointed, as though toward a saloon beyond. At the same time the negro held up our hero's coat and beckoned for him to put it on, so that Barnaby, seeing that it was required of him to meet some one without, arose, though with a good deal of effort, and permitted the negro to help him on with his coat, still feeling mightily dizzy and uncertain upon his legs, his head beating fit to split, and the vessel rolling and pitching at a great rate, as though upon a heavy ground swell. So, still sick and dizzy, he went out into what was indeed a fine saloon beyond, painted in white and gilt like the cabin he had just quitted, and fitted in the nicest fashion, a mahogany table, polished very bright, extending the length of the room, and a quantity of bottles, together with glasses of clear crystal, arranged in a hanging rack above. Here at the table a man was sitting with his back to our hero, clad in a rough pea-jacket, and with a red handkerchief tied around his throat, his feet stretched out before him, and he smoking a pipe of tobacco with all the ease and comfort in the world. As Barnaby came in he turned round, and, to the profound astonishment of our hero, presented toward him in the light of the lantern, the dawn shining pretty strong through the skylight, the face of that very man who had conducted the mysterious expedition that night across Kingston Harbor to the Rio Cobra River. This man looked steadily at Barnaby True for a moment or two, and then burst out laughing; and, indeed, Barnaby, standing there with the bandage about his head, must have looked a very droll picture of that astonishment he felt so profoundly at finding who was this pirate into whose hands he had fallen. "Well," says the other, "and so you be up at last, and no great harm done, I'll be bound. And how does your head feel by now, my young master?" To this Barnaby made no reply, but, what with wonder and the dizziness of his head, seated himself at the table over against the speaker, who pushed a bottle of rum toward him, together with a glass from the swinging shelf above. He watched Barnaby fill his glass, and so soon as he had done so began immediately by saying: "I do suppose you think you were treated mightily ill to be so handled last night. Well, so you were treated ill enough--though who hit you that crack upon the head I know no more than a child unborn. Well, I am sorry for the way you were handled, but there is this much to say, and of that you may believe me, that nothing was meant to you but kindness, and before you are through with us all you will believe that well enough." Here he helped himself to a taste of grog, and sucking in his lips, went on again with what he had to say. "Do you remember," said he, "that expedition of ours in Kingston Harbor, and how we were all of us balked that night?" "Why, yes," said Barnaby True, "nor am I likely to forget it." "And do you remember what I said to that villain, Jack Malyoe, that night as his boat went by us?" "As to that," said Barnaby True, "I do not know that I can say yes or no, but if you will tell me, I will maybe answer you in kind." "Why, I mean this," said the other. "I said that the villain had got the better of us once again, but that next time it would be our turn, even if William Brand himself had to come back from hell to put the business through." "I remember something of the sort," said Barnaby, "now that you speak of it, but still I am all in the dark as to what you are driving at." The other looked at him very cunningly for a little while, his head on one side, and his eyes half shut. Then, as if satisfied, he suddenly burst out laughing. "Look hither," said he, "and I'll show you something," and therewith, moving to one side, disclosed a couple of traveling cases or small trunks with brass studs, so exactly like those that Sir John Malyoe had fetched aboard at Jamaica that Barnaby, putting this and that together, knew that they must be the same. Our hero had a strong enough suspicion as to what those two cases contained, and his suspicions had become a certainty when he saw Sir John Malyoe struck all white at being threatened about them, and his face lowering so malevolently as to look murder had he dared do it. But, Lord! what were suspicions or even certainty to what Barnaby True's two eyes beheld when that man lifted the lids of the two cases--the locks thereof having already been forced--and, flinging back first one lid and then the other, displayed to Barnaby's astonished sight a great treasure of gold and silver! Most of it tied up in leathern bags, to be sure, but many of the coins, big and little, yellow and white, lying loose and scattered about like so many beans, brimming the cases to the very top. Barnaby sat dumb-struck at what he beheld; as to whether he breathed or no, I cannot tell; but this I know, that he sat staring at that marvelous treasure like a man in a trance, until, after a few seconds of this golden display, the other banged down the lids again and burst out laughing, whereupon he came back to himself with a jump. "Well, and what do you think of that?" said the other. "Is it not enough for a man to turn pirate for? But," he continued, "it is not for the sake of showing you this that I have been waiting for you here so long a while, but to tell you that you are not the only passenger aboard, but that there is another, whom I am to confide to your care and attention, according to orders I have received; so, if you are ready, Master Barnaby, I'll fetch her in directly." He waited for a moment, as though for Barnaby to speak, but our hero not replying, he arose and, putting away the bottle of rum and the glasses, crossed the saloon to a door like that from which Barnaby had come a little while before. This he opened, and after a moment's delay and a few words spoken to some one within, ushered thence a young lady, who came out very slowly into the saloon where Barnaby still sat at the table. It was Miss Marjorie Malyoe, very white, and looking as though stunned or bewildered by all that had befallen her. Barnaby True could never tell whether the amazing strange voyage that followed was of long or of short duration; whether it occupied three days or ten days. For conceive, if you choose, two people of flesh and blood moving and living continually in all the circumstances and surroundings as of a nightmare dream, yet they two so happy together that all the universe beside was of no moment to them! How was anyone to tell whether in such circumstances any time appeared to be long or short? Does a dream appear to be long or to be short? The vessel in which they sailed was a brigantine of good size and build, but manned by a considerable crew, the most strange and outlandish in their appearance that Barnaby had ever beheld--some white, some yellow, some black, and all tricked out with gay colors, and gold earrings in their ears, and some with great long mustachios, and others with handkerchiefs tied around their heads, and all talking a language together of which Barnaby True could understand not a single word, but which might have been Portuguese from one or two phrases he caught. Nor did this strange, mysterious crew, of God knows what sort of men, seem to pay any attention whatever to Barnaby or to the young lady. They might now and then have looked at him and her out of the corners of their yellow eyes, but that was all; otherwise they were indeed like the creatures of a nightmare dream. Only he who was the captain of this outlandish crew would maybe speak to Barnaby a few words as to the weather or what not when he would come down into the saloon to mix a glass of grog or to light a pipe of tobacco, and then to go on deck again about his business. Otherwise our hero and the young lady were left to themselves, to do as they pleased, with no one to interfere with them. [Illustration: "She Would Sit Quite Still, Permitting Barnaby to Gaze" _Illustration from_ THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ HARPER'S WEEKLY, _December 19, 1896_] As for her, she at no time showed any great sign of terror or of fear, only for a little while was singularly numb and quiet, as though dazed with what had happened to her. Indeed, methinks that wild beast, her grandfather, had so crushed her spirit by his tyranny and his violence that nothing that happened to her might seem sharp and keen, as it does to others of an ordinary sort. But this was only at first, for afterward her face began to grow singularly clear, as with a white light, and she would sit quite still, permitting Barnaby to gaze, I know not how long, into her eyes, her face so transfigured and her lips smiling, and they, as it were, neither of them breathing, but hearing, as in another far-distant place, the outlandish jargon of the crew talking together in the warm, bright sunlight, or the sound of creaking block and tackle as they hauled upon the sheets. Is it, then, any wonder that Barnaby True could never remember whether such a voyage as this was long or short? It was as though they might have sailed so upon that wonderful voyage forever. You may guess how amazed was Barnaby True when, coming upon deck one morning, he found the brigantine riding upon an even keel, at anchor off Staten Island, a small village on the shore, and the well-known roofs and chimneys of New York town in plain sight across the water. 'Twas the last place in the world he had expected to see. And, indeed, it did seem strange to lie there alongside Staten Island all that day, with New York town so nigh at hand and yet so impossible to reach. For whether he desired to escape or no, Barnaby True could not but observe that both he and the young lady were so closely watched that they might as well have been prisoners, tied hand and foot and laid in the hold, so far as any hope of getting away was concerned. All that day there was a deal of mysterious coming and going aboard the brigantine, and in the afternoon a sailboat went up to the town, carrying the captain, and a great load covered over with a tarpaulin in the stern. What was so taken up to the town Barnaby did not then guess, but the boat did not return again till about sundown. For the sun was just dropping below the water when the captain came aboard once more and, finding Barnaby on deck, bade him come down into the saloon, where they found the young lady sitting, the broad light of the evening shining in through the skylight, and making it all pretty bright within. The captain commanded Barnaby to be seated, for he had something of moment to say to him; whereupon, as soon as Barnaby had taken his place alongside the young lady, he began very seriously, with a preface somewhat thus: "Though you may think me the captain of this brigantine, young gentleman, I am not really so, but am under orders, and so have only carried out those orders of a superior in all these things that I have done." Having so begun, he went on to say that there was one thing yet remaining for him to do, and that the greatest thing of all. He said that Barnaby and the young lady had not been fetched away from the _Belle Helen_ as they were by any mere chance of accident, but that 'twas all a plan laid by a head wiser than his, and carried out by one whom he must obey in all things. He said that he hoped that both Barnaby and the young lady would perform willingly what they would be now called upon to do, but that whether they did it willingly or no, they must, for that those were the orders of one who was not to be disobeyed. You may guess how our hero held his breath at all this; but whatever might have been his expectations, the very wildest of them all did not reach to that which was demanded of him. "My orders are these," said the other, continuing: "I am to take you and the young lady ashore, and to see that you are married before I quit you; and to that end a very good, decent, honest minister who lives ashore yonder in the village was chosen and hath been spoken to and is now, no doubt, waiting for you to come. Such are my orders, and this is the last thing I am set to do; so now I will leave you alone together for five minutes to talk it over, but be quick about it, for whether willing or not, this thing must be done." Thereupon he went away, as he had promised, leaving those two alone together, Barnaby like one turned into stone, and the young lady, her face turned away, flaming as red as fire in the fading light. Nor can I tell what Barnaby said to her, nor what words he used, but only, all in a tumult, with neither beginning nor end he told her that God knew he loved her, and that with all his heart and soul, and that there was nothing in all the world for him but her; but, nevertheless, if she would not have it as had been ordered, and if she were not willing to marry him as she was bidden to do, he would rather die than lend himself to forcing her to do such a thing against her will. Nevertheless, he told her she must speak up and tell him yes or no, and that God knew he would give all the world if she would say "yes." All this and more he said in such a tumult of words that there was no order in their speaking, and she sitting there, her bosom rising and falling as though her breath stifled her. Nor may I tell what she replied to him, only this, that she said she would marry him. At this he took her into his arms and set his lips to hers, his heart all melting away in his bosom. So presently came the captain back into the saloon again, to find Barnaby sitting there holding her hand, she with her face turned away, and his heart beating like a trip hammer, and so saw that all was settled as he would have it. Wherewith he wished them both joy, and gave Barnaby his hand. The yawlboat belonging to the brigantine was ready and waiting alongside when they came upon deck, and immediately they descended to it and took their seats. So they landed, and in a little while were walking up the village street in the darkness, she clinging to his arm as though she would swoon, and the captain of the brigantine and two other men from aboard following after them. And so to the minister's house, finding him waiting for them, smoking his pipe in the warm evening, and walking up and down in front of his own door. He immediately conducted them into the house, where, his wife having fetched a candle, and two others of the village folk being present, the good man having asked several questions as to their names and their age and where they were from, the ceremony was performed, and the certificate duly signed by those present--excepting the men who had come ashore from the brigantine, and who refused to set their hands to any paper. The same sailboat that had taken the captain up to the town in the afternoon was waiting for them at the landing place, whence, the captain, having wished them Godspeed, and having shaken Barnaby very heartily by the hand, they pushed off, and, coming about, ran away with the slant of the wind, dropping the shore and those strange beings alike behind them into the night. As they sped away through the darkness they could hear the creaking of the sails being hoisted aboard of the brigantine, and so knew that she was about to put to sea once more. Nor did Barnaby True ever set eyes upon those beings again, nor did anyone else that I ever heard tell of. It was nigh midnight when they made Mr. Hartright's wharf at the foot of Wall Street, and so the streets were all dark and silent and deserted as they walked up to Barnaby's home. You may conceive of the wonder and amazement of Barnaby's dear stepfather when, clad in a dressing gown and carrying a lighted candle in his hand, he unlocked and unbarred the door, and so saw who it was had aroused him at such an hour of the night, and the young and beautiful lady whom Barnaby had fetched with him. The first thought of the good man was that the _Belle Helen_ had come into port; nor did Barnaby undeceive him as he led the way into the house, but waited until they were all safe and sound in privity together before he should unfold his strange and wonderful story. "This was left for you by two foreign sailors this afternoon, Barnaby," the good old man said, as he led the way through the hall, holding up the candle at the same time, so that Barnaby might see an object that stood against the wainscoting by the door of the dining room. Nor could Barnaby refrain from crying out with amazement when he saw that it was one of the two chests of treasure that Sir John Malyoe had fetched from Jamaica, and which the pirates had taken from the _Belle Helen_. As for Mr. Hartright, he guessed no more what was in it than the man in the moon. The next day but one brought the _Belle Helen_ herself into port, with the terrible news not only of having been attacked at night by pirates, but also that Sir John Malyoe was dead. For whether it was the sudden shock of the sight of his old captain's face--whom he himself had murdered and thought dead and buried--flashing so out against the darkness, or whether it was the strain of passion that overset his brains, certain it is that when the pirates left the _Belle Helen_, carrying with them the young lady and Barnaby and the traveling trunks, those left aboard the _Belle Helen_ found Sir John Malyoe lying in a fit upon the floor, frothing at the mouth and black in the face, as though he had been choked, and so took him away to his berth, where, the next morning about ten o'clock, he died, without once having opened his eyes or spoken a single word. As for the villain manservant, no one ever saw him afterward; though whether he jumped overboard, or whether the pirates who so attacked the ship had carried him away bodily, who shall say? Mr. Hartright, after he had heard Barnaby's story, had been very uncertain as to the ownership of the chest of treasure that had been left by those men for Barnaby, but the news of the death of Sir John Malyoe made the matter very easy for him to decide. For surely if that treasure did not belong to Barnaby, there could be no doubt that it must belong to his wife, she being Sir John Malyoe's legal heir. And so it was that that great fortune (in actual computation amounting to upward of sixty-three thousand pounds) came to Barnaby True, the grandson of that famous pirate, William Brand; the English estate in Devonshire, in default of male issue of Sir John Malyoe, descended to Captain Malyoe, whom the young lady was to have married. As for the other case of treasure, it was never heard of again, nor could Barnaby ever guess whether it was divided as booty among the pirates, or whether they had carried it away with them to some strange and foreign land, there to share it among themselves. And so the ending of the story, with only this to observe, that whether that strange appearance of Captain Brand's face by the light of the pistol was a ghostly and spiritual appearance, or whether he was present in flesh and blood, there is only to say that he was never heard of again; nor had he ever been heard of till that time since the day he was so shot from behind by Capt. John Malyoe on the banks of the Rio Cobra River in the year 1733. Chapter III WITH THE BUCCANEERS _Being an Account of Certain Adventures that Befell Henry Mostyn Under Capt. H. Morgan in the Year 1665-66_ [Illustration] I Although this narration has more particularly to do with the taking of the Spanish vice admiral in the harbor of Porto Bello, and of the rescue therefrom of Le Sieur Simon, his wife and daughter (the adventure of which was successfully achieved by Captain Morgan, the famous buccaneer), we shall, nevertheless, premise something of the earlier history of Master Harry Mostyn, whom you may, if you please, consider as the hero of the several circumstances recounted in these pages. In the year 1664 our hero's father embarked from Portsmouth, in England, for the Barbados, where he owned a considerable sugar plantation. Thither to those parts of America he transported with himself his whole family, of whom our Master Harry was the fifth of eight children--a great lusty fellow as little fitted for the Church (for which he was designed) as could be. At the time of this story, though not above sixteen years old, Master Harry Mostyn was as big and well-grown as many a man of twenty, and of such a reckless and dare-devil spirit that no adventure was too dangerous or too mischievous for him to embark upon. At this time there was a deal of talk in those parts of the Americas concerning Captain Morgan, and the prodigious successes he was having pirating against the Spaniards. This man had once been an indentured servant with Mr. Rolls, a sugar factor at the Barbados. Having served out his time, and being of lawless disposition, possessing also a prodigious appetite for adventure, he joined with others of his kidney, and, purchasing a caravel of three guns, embarked fairly upon that career of piracy the most successful that ever was heard of in the world. Master Harry had known this man very well while he was still with Mr. Rolls, serving as a clerk at that gentleman's sugar wharf, a tall, broad-shouldered, strapping fellow, with red cheeks, and thick red lips, and rolling blue eyes, and hair as red as any chestnut. Many knew him for a bold, gruff-spoken man, but no one at that time suspected that he had it in him to become so famous and renowned as he afterward grew to be. The fame of his exploits had been the talk of those parts for above a twelvemonth, when, in the latter part of the year 1665, Captain Morgan, having made a very successful expedition against the Spaniards into the Gulf of Campeche--where he took several important purchases from the plate fleet--came to the Barbados, there to fit out another such venture, and to enlist recruits. He and certain other adventurers had purchased a vessel of some five hundred tons, which they proposed to convert into a pirate by cutting portholes for cannon, and running three or four carronades across her main deck. The name of this ship, be it mentioned, was the _Good Samaritan_, as ill-fitting a name as could be for such a craft, which, instead of being designed for the healing of wounds, was intended to inflict such devastation as those wicked men proposed. [Illustration: BURIED TREASURE] Here was a piece of mischief exactly fitted to our hero's tastes; wherefore, having made up a bundle of clothes, and with not above a shilling in his pocket, he made an excursion into the town to seek for Captain Morgan. There he found the great pirate established at an ordinary, with a little court of ragamuffins and swashbucklers gathered about him, all talking very loud, and drinking healths in raw rum as though it were sugared water. And what a fine figure our buccaneer had grown, to be sure! How different from the poor, humble clerk upon the sugar wharf! What a deal of gold braid! What a fine, silver-hilted Spanish sword! What a gay velvet sling, hung with three silver-mounted pistols! If Master Harry's mind had not been made up before, to be sure such a spectacle of glory would have determined it. This figure of war our hero asked to step aside with him, and when they had come into a corner, proposed to the other what he intended, and that he had a mind to enlist as a gentleman adventurer upon this expedition. Upon this our rogue of a buccaneer captain burst out a-laughing, and fetching Master Harry a great thump upon the back, swore roundly that he would make a man of him, and that it was a pity to make a parson out of so good a piece of stuff. Nor was Captain Morgan less good than his word, for when the _Good Samaritan_ set sail with a favoring wind for the island of Jamaica, Master Harry found himself established as one of the adventurers aboard. II Could you but have seen the town of Port Royal as it appeared in the year 1665 you would have beheld a sight very well worth while looking upon. There were no fine houses at that time, and no great counting houses built of brick, such as you may find nowadays, but a crowd of board and wattled huts huddled along the streets, and all so gay with flags and bits of color that Vanity Fair itself could not have been gayer. To this place came all the pirates and buccaneers that infested those parts, and men shouted and swore and gambled, and poured out money like water, and then maybe wound up their merrymaking by dying of fever. For the sky in these torrid latitudes is all full of clouds overhead, and as hot as any blanket, and when the sun shone forth it streamed down upon the smoking sands so that the houses were ovens and the streets were furnaces; so it was little wonder that men died like rats in a hole. But little they appeared to care for that; so that everywhere you might behold a multitude of painted women and Jews and merchants and pirates, gaudy with red scarfs and gold braid and all sorts of odds and ends of foolish finery, all fighting and gambling and bartering for that ill-gotten treasure of the be-robbed Spaniard. Here, arriving, Captain Morgan found a hearty welcome, and a message from the governor awaiting him, the message bidding him attend His Excellency upon the earliest occasion that offered. Whereupon, taking our hero (of whom he had grown prodigiously fond) along with him, our pirate went, without any loss of time, to visit Sir Thomas Modiford, who was then the royal governor of all this devil's brew of wickedness. They found His Excellency seated in a great easy-chair, under the shadow of a slatted veranda, the floor whereof was paved with brick. He was clad, for the sake of coolness, only in his shirt, breeches, and stockings, and he wore slippers on his feet. He was smoking a great cigarro of tobacco, and a goblet of lime juice and water and rum stood at his elbow on a table. Here, out of the glare of the heat, it was all very cool and pleasant, with a sea breeze blowing violently in through the slats, setting them a-rattling now and then, and stirring Sir Thomas's long hair, which he had pushed back for the sake of coolness. The purport of this interview, I may tell you, concerned the rescue of one Le Sieur Simon, who, together with his wife and daughter, was held captive by the Spaniards. [Illustration] This gentleman adventurer (Le Sieur Simon) had, a few years before, been set up by the buccaneers as governor of the island of Santa Catharina. This place, though well fortified by the Spaniards, the buccaneers had seized upon, establishing themselves thereon, and so infesting the commerce of those seas that no Spanish fleet was safe from them. At last the Spaniards, no longer able to endure these assaults against their commerce, sent a great force against the freebooters to drive them out of their island stronghold. This they did, retaking Santa Catharina, together with its governor, his wife, and daughter, as well as the whole garrison of buccaneers. This garrison was sent by their conquerors, some to the galleys, some to the mines, some to no man knows where. The governor himself--Le Sieur Simon--was to be sent to Spain, there to stand his trial for piracy. The news of all this, I may tell you, had only just been received in Jamaica, having been brought thither by a Spanish captain, one Don Roderiguez Sylvia, who was, besides, the bearer of dispatches to the Spanish authorities relating the whole affair. Such, in fine, was the purport of this interview, and as our hero and his captain walked back together from the governor's house to the ordinary where they had taken up their inn, the buccaneer assured his companion that he purposed to obtain those dispatches from the Spanish captain that very afternoon, even if he had to use force to seize them. All this, you are to understand, was undertaken only because of the friendship that the governor and Captain Morgan entertained for Le Sieur Simon. And, indeed, it was wonderful how honest and how faithful were these wicked men in their dealings with one another. For you must know that Governor Modiford and Le Sieur Simon and the buccaneers were all of one kidney--all taking a share in the piracies of those times, and all holding by one another as though they were the honestest men in the world. Hence it was they were all so determined to rescue Le Sieur Simon from the Spaniards. III Having reached his ordinary after his interview with the governor, Captain Morgan found there a number of his companions, such as usually gathered at that place to be in attendance upon him--some, those belonging to the _Good Samaritan_; others, those who hoped to obtain benefits from him; others, those ragamuffins who gathered around him because he was famous, and because it pleased them to be of his court and to be called his followers. For nearly always your successful pirate had such a little court surrounding him. Finding a dozen or more of these rascals gathered there, Captain Morgan informed them of his present purpose--that he was going to find the Spanish captain to demand his papers of him, and calling upon them to accompany him. With this following at his heels, our buccaneer started off down the street, his lieutenant, a Cornishman named Bartholomew Davis, upon one hand and our hero upon the other. So they paraded the streets for the best part of an hour before they found the Spanish captain. For whether he had got wind that Captain Morgan was searching for him, or whether, finding himself in a place so full of his enemies, he had buried himself in some place of hiding, it is certain that the buccaneers had traversed pretty nearly the whole town before they discovered that he was lying at a certain auberge kept by a Portuguese Jew. Thither they went, and thither Captain Morgan entered with the utmost coolness and composure of demeanor, his followers crowding noisily in at his heels. The space within was very dark, being lighted only by the doorway and by two large slatted windows or openings in the front. In this dark, hot place--not over-roomy at the best--were gathered twelve or fifteen villainous-appearing men, sitting at tables and drinking together, waited upon by the Jew and his wife. Our hero had no trouble in discovering which of this lot of men was Captain Sylvia, for not only did Captain Morgan direct his glance full of war upon him, but the Spaniard was clad with more particularity and with more show of finery than any of the others who were there. Him Captain Morgan approached and demanded his papers, whereunto the other replied with such a jabber of Spanish and English that no man could have understood what he said. To this Captain Morgan in turn replied that he must have those papers, no matter what it might cost him to obtain them, and thereupon drew a pistol from his sling and presented it at the other's head. At this threatening action the innkeeper's wife fell a-screaming, and the Jew, as in a frenzy, besought them not to tear the house down about his ears. Our hero could hardly tell what followed, only that all of a sudden there was a prodigious uproar of combat. Knives flashed everywhere, and then a pistol was fired so close to his head that he stood like one stunned, hearing some one crying out in a loud voice, but not knowing whether it was a friend or a foe who had been shot. Then another pistol shot so deafened what was left of Master Harry's hearing that his ears rang for above an hour afterward. By this time the whole place was full of gunpowder smoke, and there was the sound of blows and oaths and outcrying and the clashing of knives. As Master Harry, who had no great stomach for such a combat, and no very particular interest in the quarrel, was making for the door, a little Portuguese, as withered and as nimble as an ape, came ducking under the table and plunged at his stomach with a great long knife, which, had it effected its object, would surely have ended his adventures then and there. Finding himself in such danger, Master Harry snatched up a heavy chair, and, flinging it at his enemy, who was preparing for another attack, he fairly ran for it out of the door, expecting every instant to feel the thrust of the blade betwixt his ribs. A considerable crowd had gathered outside, and others, hearing the uproar, were coming running to join them. With these our hero stood, trembling like a leaf, and with cold chills running up and down his back like water at the narrow escape from the danger that had threatened him. Nor shall you think him a coward, for you must remember he was hardly sixteen years old at the time, and that this was the first affair of the sort he had encountered. Afterward, as you shall learn, he showed that he could exhibit courage enough at a pinch. While he stood there, endeavoring to recover his composure, the while the tumult continued within, suddenly two men came running almost together out of the door, a crowd of the combatants at their heels. The first of these men was Captain Sylvia; the other, who was pursuing him, was Captain Morgan. As the crowd about the door parted before the sudden appearing of these, the Spanish captain, perceiving, as he supposed, a way of escape opened to him, darted across the street with incredible swiftness toward an alleyway upon the other side. Upon this, seeing his prey like to get away from him, Captain Morgan snatched a pistol out of his sling, and resting it for an instant across his arm, fired at the flying Spaniard, and that with so true an aim that, though the street was now full of people, the other went tumbling over and over all of a heap in the kennel, where he lay, after a twitch or two, as still as a log. At the sound of the shot and the fall of the man the crowd scattered upon all sides, yelling and screaming, and the street being thus pretty clear, Captain Morgan ran across the way to where his victim lay, his smoking pistol still in his hand, and our hero following close at his heels. Our poor Harry had never before beheld a man killed thus in an instant who a moment before had been so full of life and activity, for when Captain Morgan turned the body over upon its back he could perceive at a glance, little as he knew of such matters, that the man was stone-dead. And, indeed, it was a dreadful sight for him who was hardly more than a child. He stood rooted for he knew not how long, staring down at the dead face with twitching fingers and shuddering limbs. Meantime a great crowd was gathering about them again. [Illustration] As for Captain Morgan, he went about his work with the utmost coolness and deliberation imaginable, unbuttoning the waistcoat and the shirt of the man he had murdered with fingers that neither twitched nor shook. There were a gold cross and a bunch of silver medals hung by a whipcord about the neck of the dead man. This Captain Morgan broke away with a snap, reaching the jingling baubles to Harry, who took them in his nerveless hand and fingers that he could hardly close upon what they held. The papers Captain Morgan found in a wallet in an inner breast pocket of the Spaniard's waistcoat. These he examined one by one, and finding them to his satisfaction, tied them up again, and slipped the wallet and its contents into his own pocket. Then for the first time he appeared to observe Master Harry, who, indeed, must have been standing, the perfect picture of horror and dismay. Whereupon, bursting out a-laughing, and slipping the pistol he had used back into its sling again, he fetched poor Harry a great slap upon the back, bidding him be a man, for that he would see many such sights as this. But indeed, it was no laughing matter for poor Master Harry, for it was many a day before his imagination could rid itself of the image of the dead Spaniard's face; and as he walked away down the street with his companions, leaving the crowd behind them, and the dead body where it lay for its friends to look after, his ears humming and ringing from the deafening noise of the pistol shots fired in the close room, and the sweat trickling down his face in drops, he knew not whether all that had passed had been real, or whether it was a dream from which he might presently awaken. IV The papers Captain Morgan had thus seized upon as the fruit of the murder he had committed must have been as perfectly satisfactory to him as could be, for having paid a second visit that evening to Governor Modiford, the pirate lifted anchor the next morning and made sail toward the Gulf of Darien. There, after cruising about in those waters for about a fortnight without falling in with a vessel of any sort, at the end of that time they overhauled a caravel bound from Porto Bello to Cartagena, which vessel they took, and finding her loaded with nothing better than raw hides, scuttled and sank her, being then about twenty leagues from the main of Cartagena. From the captain of this vessel they learned that the plate fleet was then lying in the harbor of Porto Bello, not yet having set sail thence, but waiting for the change of the winds before embarking for Spain. Besides this, which was a good deal more to their purpose, the Spaniards told the pirates that the Sieur Simon, his wife, and daughter were confined aboard the vice admiral of that fleet, and that the name of the vice admiral was the _Santa Maria y Valladolid_. [Illustration: KIDD ON THE DECK OF THE _Adventure Galley_] So soon as Captain Morgan had obtained the information he desired he directed his course straight for the Bay of Santo Blaso, where he might lie safely within the cape of that name without any danger of discovery (that part of the mainland being entirely uninhabited) and yet be within twenty or twenty-five leagues of Porto Bello. Having come safely to this anchorage, he at once declared his intentions to his companions, which were as follows: That it was entirely impossible for them to hope to sail their vessel into the harbor of Porto Bello, and to attack the Spanish vice admiral where he lay in the midst of the armed flota; wherefore, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be undertaken by some subtle design rather than by open-handed boldness. Having so prefaced what he had to say, he now declared that it was his purpose to take one of the ship's boats and to go in that to Porto Bello, trusting for some opportunity to occur to aid him either in the accomplishment of his aims or in the gaining of some further information. Having thus delivered himself, he invited any who dared to do so to volunteer for the expedition, telling them plainly that he would constrain no man to go against his will, for that at best it was a desperate enterprise, possessing only the recommendation that in its achievement the few who undertook it would gain great renown, and perhaps a very considerable booty. And such was the incredible influence of this bold man over his companions, and such was their confidence in his skill and cunning, that not above a dozen of all those aboard hung back from the undertaking, but nearly every man desired to be taken. Of these volunteers Captain Morgan chose twenty--among others our Master Harry--and having arranged with his lieutenant that if nothing was heard from the expedition at the end of three days he should sail for Jamaica to await news, he embarked upon that enterprise, which, though never heretofore published, was perhaps the boldest and the most desperate of all those that have since made his name so famous. For what could be a more unparalleled undertaking than for a little open boat, containing but twenty men, to enter the harbor of the third strongest fortress of the Spanish mainland with the intention of cutting out the Spanish vice admiral from the midst of a whole fleet of powerfully armed vessels, and how many men in all the world do you suppose would venture such a thing? But there is this to be said of that great buccaneer: that if he undertook enterprises so desperate as this, he yet laid his plans so well that they never went altogether amiss. Moreover, the very desperation of his successes was of such a nature that no man could suspect that he would dare to undertake such things, and accordingly his enemies were never prepared to guard against his attacks. Aye, had he but worn the king's colors and served under the rules of honest war, he might have become as great and as renowned as Admiral Blake himself. But all that is neither here nor there; what I have to tell you now is that Captain Morgan in this open boat with his twenty mates reached the Cape of Salmedina toward the fall of day. Arriving within view of the harbor they discovered the plate fleet at anchor, with two men-of-war and an armed galley riding as a guard at the mouth of the harbor, scarce half a league distant from the other ships. Having spied the fleet in this posture, the pirates presently pulled down their sails and rowed along the coast, feigning to be a Spanish vessel from Nombre de Dios. So hugging the shore, they came boldly within the harbor, upon the opposite side of which you might see the fortress a considerable distance away. Being now come so near to the consummation of their adventure, Captain Morgan required every man to make an oath to stand by him to the last, whereunto our hero swore as heartily as any man aboard, although his heart, I must needs confess, was beating at a great rate at the approach of what was to happen. Having thus received the oaths of all his followers, Captain Morgan commanded the surgeon of the expedition that, when the order was given, he, the medico, was to bore six holes in the boat, so that, it sinking under them, they might all be compelled to push forward, with no chance of retreat. And such was the ascendancy of this man over his followers, and such was their awe of him, that not one of them uttered even so much as a murmur, though what he had commanded the surgeon to do pledged them either to victory or to death, with no chance to choose between. Nor did the surgeon question the orders he had received, much less did he dream of disobeying them. By now it had fallen pretty dusk, whereupon, spying two fishermen in a canoe at a little distance, Captain Morgan demanded of them in Spanish which vessel of those at anchor in the harbor was the vice admiral, for that he had dispatches for the captain thereof. Whereupon the fishermen, suspecting nothing, pointed to them a galleon of great size riding at anchor not half a league distant. [Illustration] Toward this vessel accordingly the pirates directed their course, and when they had come pretty nigh, Captain Morgan called upon the surgeon that now it was time for him to perform the duty that had been laid upon him. Whereupon the other did as he was ordered, and that so thoroughly that the water presently came gushing into the boat in great streams, whereat all hands pulled for the galleon as though every next moment was to be their last. And what do you suppose were our hero's emotions at this time? Like all in the boat, his awe of Captain Morgan was so great that I do believe he would rather have gone to the bottom than have questioned his command, even when it was to scuttle the boat. Nevertheless, when he felt the cold water gushing about his feet (for he had taken off his shoes and stockings) he became possessed with such a fear of being drowned that even the Spanish galleon had no terrors for him if he could only feel the solid planks thereof beneath his feet. Indeed, all the crew appeared to be possessed of a like dismay, for they pulled at the oars with such an incredible force that they were under the quarter of the galleon before the boat was half filled with water. Here, as they approached, it then being pretty dark and the moon not yet having risen, the watch upon the deck hailed them, whereupon Captain Morgan called out in Spanish that he was Capt. Alvarez Mendazo, and that he brought dispatches for the vice admiral. But at that moment, the boat being now so full of water as to be logged, it suddenly tilted upon one side as though to sink beneath them, whereupon all hands, without further orders, went scrambling up the side, as nimble as so many monkeys, each armed with a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, and so were upon deck before the watch could collect his wits to utter any outcry or to give any other alarm than to cry out, "Jesu bless us! who are these?" at which words somebody knocked him down with the butt of a pistol, though who it was our hero could not tell in the darkness and the hurry. Before any of those upon deck could recover from their alarm or those from below come up upon deck, a part of the pirates, under the carpenter and the surgeon, had run to the gun room and had taken possession of the arms, while Captain Morgan, with Master Harry and a Portuguese called Murillo Braziliano, had flown with the speed of the wind into the great cabin. Here they found the captain of the vice admiral playing at cards with the Sieur Simon and a friend, Madam Simon and her daughter being present. Captain Morgan instantly set his pistol at the breast of the Spanish captain, swearing with a most horrible fierce countenance that if he spake a word or made any outcry he was a dead man. As for our hero, having now got his hand into the game, he performed the same service for the Spaniard's friend, declaring he would shoot him dead if he opened his lips or lifted so much as a single finger. All this while the ladies, not comprehending what had occurred, had sat as mute as stones; but now having so far recovered themselves as to find a voice, the younger of the two fell to screaming, at which the Sieur Simon called out to her to be still, for these were friends who had come to help them, and not enemies who had come to harm them. All this, you are to understand, occupied only a little while, for in less than a minute three or four of the pirates had come into the cabin, who, together with the Portuguese, proceeded at once to bind the two Spaniards hand and foot, and to gag them. This being done to our buccaneer's satisfaction, and the Spanish captain being stretched out in the corner of the cabin, he instantly cleared his countenance of its terrors, and bursting forth into a great loud laugh, clapped his hand to the Sieur Simon's, which he wrung with the best will in the world. Having done this, and being in a fine humor after this his first success, he turned to the two ladies. "And this, ladies," said he, taking our hero by the hand and presenting him, "is a young gentleman who has embarked with me to learn the trade of piracy. I recommend him to your politeness." Think what a confusion this threw our Master Harry into, to be sure, who at his best was never easy in the company of strange ladies! You may suppose what must have been his emotions to find himself thus introduced to the attention of Madam Simon and her daughter, being at the time in his bare feet, clad only in his shirt and breeches, and with no hat upon his head, a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. However, he was not left for long to his embarrassments, for almost immediately after he had thus far relaxed, Captain Morgan fell of a sudden serious again, and bidding the Sieur Simon to get his ladies away into some place of safety, for the most hazardous part of this adventure was yet to occur, he quitted the cabin with Master Harry and the other pirates (for you may call him a pirate now) at his heels. Having come upon deck, our hero beheld that a part of the Spanish crew were huddled forward in a flock like so many sheep (the others being crowded below with the hatches fastened upon them), and such was the terror of the pirates, and so dreadful the name of Henry Morgan, that not one of those poor wretches dared to lift up his voice to give any alarm, nor even to attempt an escape by jumping overboard. At Captain Morgan's orders, these men, together with certain of his own company, ran nimbly aloft and began setting the sails, which, the night now having fallen pretty thick, was not for a good while observed by any of the vessels riding at anchor about them. Indeed, the pirates might have made good their escape, with at most only a shot or two from the men-of-war, had it not then been about the full of the moon, which, having arisen, presently discovered to those of the fleet that lay closest about them what was being done aboard the vice admiral. At this one of the vessels hailed them, and then after a while, having no reply, hailed them again. Even then the Spaniards might not immediately have suspected anything was amiss but only that the vice admiral for some reason best known to himself was shifting his anchorage, had not one of the Spaniards aloft--but who it was Captain Morgan was never able to discover--answered the hail by crying out that the vice admiral had been seized by the pirates. At this the alarm was instantly given and the mischief done, for presently there was a tremendous bustle through that part of the fleet lying nighest the vice admiral--a deal of shouting of orders, a beating of drums, and the running hither and thither of the crews. But by this time the sails of the vice admiral had filled with a strong land breeze that was blowing up the harbor, whereupon the carpenter, at Captain Morgan's orders, having cut away both anchors, the galleon presently bore away up the harbor, gathering headway every moment with the wind nearly dead astern. The nearest vessel was the only one that for the moment was able to offer any hindrance. This ship, having by this time cleared away one of its guns, was able to fire a parting shot against the vice-admiral, striking her somewhere forward, as our hero could see by a great shower of splinters that flew up in the moonlight. At the sound of the shot all the vessels of the flota not yet disturbed by the alarm were aroused at once, so that the pirates had the satisfaction of knowing that they would have to run the gantlet of all the ships between them and the open sea before they could reckon themselves escaped. And, indeed, to our hero's mind it seemed that the battle which followed must have been the most terrific cannonade that was ever heard in the world. It was not so ill at first, for it was some while before the Spaniards could get their guns clear for action, they being not the least in the world prepared for such an occasion as this. But by and by first one and then another ship opened fire upon the galleon, until it seemed to our hero that all the thunders of heaven let loose upon them could not have created a more prodigious uproar, and that it was not possible that they could any of them escape destruction. By now the moon had risen full and round, so that the clouds of smoke that rose in the air appeared as white as snow. The air seemed full of the hiss and screaming of shot, each one of which, when it struck the galleon, was magnified by our hero's imagination into ten times its magnitude from the crash which it delivered and from the cloud of splinters it would cast up into the moonlight. At last he suddenly beheld one poor man knocked sprawling across the deck, who, as he raised his arm from behind the mast, disclosed that the hand was gone from it, and that the shirt sleeve was red with blood in the moonlight. At this sight all the strength fell away from poor Harry, and he felt sure that a like fate or even a worse must be in store for him. But, after all, this was nothing to what it might have been in broad daylight, for what with the darkness of night, and the little preparation the Spaniards could make for such a business, and the extreme haste with which they discharged their guns (many not understanding what was the occasion of all this uproar), nearly all the shot flew so wide of the mark that not above one in twenty struck that at which it was aimed. Meantime Captain Morgan, with the Sieur Simon, who had followed him upon deck, stood just above where our hero lay behind the shelter of the bulwark. The captain had lit a pipe of tobacco, and he stood now in the bright moonlight close to the rail, with his hands behind him, looking out ahead with the utmost coolness imaginable, and paying no more attention to the din of battle than though it were twenty leagues away. Now and then he would take his pipe from his lips to utter an order to the man at the wheel. Excepting this he stood there hardly moving at all, the wind blowing his long red hair over his shoulders. [Illustration: BURNING THE SHIP] Had it not been for the armed galley the pirates might have got the galleon away with no great harm done in spite of all this cannonading, for the man-of-war which rode at anchor nighest to them at the mouth of the harbor was still so far away that they might have passed it by hugging pretty close to the shore, and that without any great harm being done to them in the darkness. But just at this moment, when the open water lay in sight, came this galley pulling out from behind the point of the shore in such a manner as either to head our pirates off entirely or else to compel them to approach so near to the man-of-war that that latter vessel could bring its guns to bear with more effect. This galley, I must tell you, was like others of its kind such as you may find in these waters, the hull being long and cut low to the water so as to allow the oars to dip freely. The bow was sharp and projected far out ahead, mounting a swivel upon it, while at the stern a number of galleries built one above another into a castle gave shelter to several companies of musketeers as well as the officers commanding them. Our hero could behold the approach of this galley from above the starboard bulwarks, and it appeared to him impossible for them to hope to escape either it or the man-of-war. But still Captain Morgan maintained the same composure that he had exhibited all the while, only now and then delivering an order to the man at the wheel, who, putting the helm over, threw the bows of the galleon around more to the larboard, as though to escape the bow of the galley and get into the open water beyond. This course brought the pirates ever closer and closer to the man-of-war, which now began to add its thunder to the din of the battle, and with so much more effect that at every discharge you might hear the crashing and crackling of splintered wood, and now and then the outcry or groaning of some man who was hurt. Indeed, had it been daylight, they must at this juncture all have perished, though, as was said, what with the night and the confusion and the hurry, they escaped entire destruction, though more by a miracle than through any policy upon their own part. Meantime the galley, steering as though to come aboard of them, had now come so near that it, too, presently began to open its musketry fire upon them, so that the humming and rattling of bullets were presently added to the din of cannonading. In two minutes more it would have been aboard of them, when in a moment Captain Morgan roared out of a sudden to the man at the helm to put it hard a starboard. In response the man ran the wheel over with the utmost quickness, and the galleon, obeying her helm very readily, came around upon a course which, if continued, would certainly bring them into collision with their enemy. It is possible at first the Spaniards imagined the pirates intended to escape past their stern, for they instantly began backing oars to keep them from getting past, so that the water was all of a foam about them; at the same time they did this they poured in such a fire of musketry that it was a miracle that no more execution was accomplished than happened. As for our hero, methinks for the moment he forgot all about everything else than as to whether or no his captain's maneuver would succeed, for in the very first moment he divined, as by some instinct, what Captain Morgan purposed doing. At this moment, so particular in the execution of this nice design, a bullet suddenly struck down the man at the wheel. Hearing the sharp outcry, our Harry turned to see him fall forward, and then to his hands and knees upon the deck, the blood running in a black pool beneath him, while the wheel, escaping from his hands, spun over until the spokes were all of a mist. In a moment the ship would have fallen off before the wind had not our hero, leaping to the wheel (even as Captain Morgan shouted an order for some one to do so), seized the flying spokes, whirling them back again, and so bringing the bow of the galleon up to its former course. In the first moment of this effort he had reckoned of nothing but of carrying out his captain's designs. He neither thought of cannon balls nor of bullets. But now that his task was accomplished, he came suddenly back to himself to find the galleries of the galley aflame with musket shots, and to become aware with a most horrible sinking of the spirits that all the shots therefrom were intended for him. He cast his eyes about him with despair, but no one came to ease him of his task, which, having undertaken, he had too much spirit to resign from carrying through to the end, though he was well aware that the very next instant might mean his sudden and violent death. His ears hummed and rang, and his brain swam as light as a feather. I know not whether he breathed, but he shut his eyes tight as though that might save him from the bullets that were raining about him. [Illustration] At this moment the Spaniards must have discovered for the first time the pirates' design, for of a sudden they ceased firing, and began to shout out a multitude of orders, while the oars lashed the water all about with a foam. But it was too late then for them to escape, for within a couple of seconds the galleon struck her enemy a blow so violent upon the larboard quarter as nearly to hurl our Harry upon the deck, and then with a dreadful, horrible crackling of wood, commingled with a yelling of men's voices, the galley was swung around upon her side, and the galleon, sailing into the open sea, left nothing of her immediate enemy but a sinking wreck, and the water dotted all over with bobbing heads and waving hands in the moonlight. And now, indeed, that all danger was past and gone, there were plenty to come running to help our hero at the wheel. As for Captain Morgan, having come down upon the main deck, he fetches the young helmsman a clap upon the back. "Well, Master Harry," says he, "and did I not tell you I would make a man of you?" Whereat our poor Harry fell a-laughing, but with a sad catch in his voice, for his hands trembled as with an ague, and were as cold as ice. As for his emotions, God knows he was nearer crying than laughing, if Captain Morgan had but known it. Nevertheless, though undertaken under the spur of the moment, I protest it was indeed a brave deed, and I cannot but wonder how many young gentlemen of sixteen there are to-day who, upon a like occasion, would act as well as our Harry. V The balance of our hero's adventures were of a lighter sort than those already recounted, for the next morning the Spanish captain (a very polite and well-bred gentleman) having fitted him out with a shift of his own clothes, Master Harry was presented in a proper form to the ladies. For Captain Morgan, if he had felt a liking for the young man before, could not now show sufficient regard for him. He ate in the great cabin and was petted by all. Madam Simon, who was a fat and red-faced lady, was forever praising him, and the young miss, who was extremely well-looking, was as continually making eyes at him. She and Master Harry, I must tell you, would spend hours together, she making pretense of teaching him French, although he was so possessed with a passion of love that he was nigh suffocated with it. She, upon her part, perceiving his emotions, responded with extreme good nature and complacency, so that had our hero been older, and the voyage proved longer, he might have become entirely enmeshed in the toils of his fair siren. For all this while, you are to understand, the pirates were making sail straight for Jamaica, which they reached upon the third day in perfect safety. In that time, however, the pirates had well-nigh gone crazy for joy; for when they came to examine their purchase they discovered her cargo to consist of plate to the prodigious sum of £130,000 in value. 'Twas a wonder they did not all make themselves drunk for joy. No doubt they would have done so had not Captain Morgan, knowing they were still in the exact track of the Spanish fleets, threatened them that the first man among them who touched a drop of rum without his permission he would shoot him dead upon the deck. This threat had such effect that they all remained entirely sober until they had reached Port Royal Harbor, which they did about nine o'clock in the morning. [Illustration] And now it was that our hero's romance came all tumbling down about his ears with a run. For they had hardly come to anchor in the harbor when a boat came from a man-of-war, and who should come stepping aboard but Lieutenant Grantley (a particular friend of our hero's father) and his own eldest brother Thomas, who, putting on a very stern face, informed Master Harry that he was a desperate and hardened villain who was sure to end at the gallows, and that he was to go immediately back to his home again. He told our embryo pirate that his family had nigh gone distracted because of his wicked and ungrateful conduct. Nor could our hero move him from his inflexible purpose. "What," says our Harry, "and will you not then let me wait until our prize is divided and I get my share?" "Prize, indeed!" says his brother. "And do you then really think that your father would consent to your having a share in this terrible bloody and murthering business?" And so, after a good deal of argument, our hero was constrained to go; nor did he even have an opportunity to bid adieu to his inamorata. Nor did he see her any more, except from a distance, she standing on the poop deck as he was rowed away from her, her face all stained with crying. For himself, he felt that there was no more joy in life; nevertheless, standing up in the stern of the boat, he made shift, though with an aching heart, to deliver her a fine bow with the hat he had borrowed from the Spanish captain, before his brother bade him sit down again. And so to the ending of this story, with only this to relate, that our Master Harry, so far from going to the gallows, became in good time a respectable and wealthy sugar merchant with an English wife and a fine family of children, whereunto, when the mood was upon him, he has sometimes told these adventures (and sundry others not here recounted), as I have told them unto you. [Illustration] Chapter IV TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX _An Old-time Story of the Days of Captain Kidd_ I To tell about Tom Chist, and how he got his name, and how he came to be living at the little settlement of Henlopen, just inside the mouth of the Delaware Bay, the story must begin as far back as 1686, when a great storm swept the Atlantic coast from end to end. During the heaviest part of the hurricane a bark went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals, just below Cape Henlopen and at the mouth of the Delaware Bay, and Tom Chist was the only soul of all those on board the ill-fated vessel who escaped alive. This story must first be told, because it was on account of the strange and miraculous escape that happened to him at that time that he gained the name that was given to him. Even as late as that time of the American colonies, the little scattered settlement at Henlopen, made up of English, with a few Dutch and Swedish people, was still only a spot upon the face of the great American wilderness that spread away, with swamp and forest, no man knew how far to the westward. That wilderness was not only full of wild beasts, but of Indian savages, who every fall would come in wandering tribes to spend the winter along the shores of the fresh-water lakes below Henlopen. There for four or five months they would live upon fish and clams and wild ducks and geese, chipping their arrowheads, and making their earthenware pots and pans under the lee of the sand hills and pine woods below the Capes. Sometimes on Sundays, when the Rev. Hillary Jones would be preaching in the little log church back in the woods, these half-clad red savages would come in from the cold, and sit squatting in the back part of the church, listening stolidly to the words that had no meaning for them. But about the wreck of the bark in 1686. Such a wreck as that which then went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals was a godsend to the poor and needy settlers in the wilderness where so few good things ever came. For the vessel went to pieces during the night, and the next morning the beach was strewn with wreckage--boxes and barrels, chests and spars, timbers and planks, a plentiful and bountiful harvest to be gathered up by the settlers as they chose, with no one to forbid or prevent them. The name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water barrels and sea chests, was the _Bristol Merchant_, and she no doubt hailed from England. As was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was Tom Chist. A settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly, found Tom. He was washed up on the beach among the wreckage, in a great wooden box which had been securely tied around with a rope and lashed between two spars--apparently for better protection in beating through the surf. Matt Abrahamson thought he had found something of more than usual value when he came upon this chest; but when he cut the cords and broke open the box with his broadax, he could not have been more astonished had he beheld a salamander instead of a baby of nine or ten months old lying half smothered in the blankets that covered the bottom of the chest. Matt Abrahamson's daughter Molly had had a baby who had died a month or so before. So when she saw the little one lying there in the bottom of the chest, she cried out in a great loud voice that the Good Man had sent her another baby in place of her own. The rain was driving before the hurricane storm in dim, slanting sheets, and so she wrapped up the baby in the man's coat she wore and ran off home without waiting to gather up any more of the wreckage. It was Parson Jones who gave the foundling his name. When the news came to his ears of what Matt Abrahamson had found he went over to the fisherman's cabin to see the child. He examined the clothes in which the baby was dressed. They were of fine linen and handsomely stitched, and the reverend gentleman opined that the foundling's parents must have been of quality. A kerchief had been wrapped around the baby's neck and under its arms and tied behind, and in the corner, marked with very fine needlework, were the initials T. C. "What d'ye call him, Molly?" said Parson Jones. He was standing, as he spoke, with his back to the fire, warming his palms before the blaze. The pocket of the greatcoat he wore bulged out with a big case bottle of spirits which he had gathered up out of the wreck that afternoon. "What d'ye call him, Molly?" "I'll call him Tom, after my own baby." "That goes very well with the initial on the kerchief," said Parson Jones. "But what other name d'ye give him? Let it be something to go with the C." "I don't know," said Molly. "Why not call him 'Chist,' since he was born in a chist out of the sea? 'Tom Chist'--the name goes off like a flash in the pan." And so "Tom Chist" he was called and "Tom Chist" he was christened. So much for the beginning of the history of Tom Chist. The story of Captain Kidd's treasure box does not begin until the late spring of 1699. That was the year that the famous pirate captain, coming up from the West Indies, sailed his sloop into the Delaware Bay, where he lay for over a month waiting for news from his friends in New York. For he had sent word to that town asking if the coast was clear for him to return home with the rich prize he had brought from the Indian seas and the coast of Africa, and meantime he lay there in the Delaware Bay waiting for a reply. Before he left he turned the whole of Tom Chist's life topsy-turvy with something that he brought ashore. By that time Tom Chist had grown into a strong-limbed, thick-jointed boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. It was a miserable dog's life he lived with old Matt Abrahamson, for the old fisherman was in his cups more than half the time, and when he was so there was hardly a day passed that he did not give Tom a curse or a buffet or, as like as not, an actual beating. One would have thought that such treatment would have broken the spirit of the poor little foundling, but it had just the opposite effect upon Tom Chist, who was one of your stubborn, sturdy, stiff-willed fellows who only grow harder and more tough the more they are ill-treated. It had been a long time now since he had made any outcry or complaint at the hard usage he suffered from old Matt. At such times he would shut his teeth and bear whatever came to him, until sometimes the half-drunken old man would be driven almost mad by his stubborn silence. Maybe he would stop in the midst of the beating he was administering, and, grinding his teeth, would cry out: "Won't ye say naught? Won't ye say naught? Well, then, I'll see if I can't make ye say naught." When things had reached such a pass as this Molly would generally interfere to protect her foster son, and then she and Tom would together fight the old man until they had wrenched the stick or the strap out of his hand. Then old Matt would chase them out of doors and around and around the house for maybe half an hour, until his anger was cool, when he would go back again, and for a time the storm would be over. Besides his foster mother, Tom Chist had a very good friend in Parson Jones, who used to come over every now and then to Abrahamson's hut upon the chance of getting a half dozen fish for breakfast. He always had a kind word or two for Tom, who during the winter evenings would go over to the good man's house to learn his letters, and to read and write and cipher a little, so that by now he was able to spell the words out of the Bible and the almanac, and knew enough to change tuppence into four ha'pennies. This is the sort of boy Tom Chist was, and this is the sort of life he led. In the late spring or early summer of 1699 Captain Kidd's sloop sailed into the mouth of the Delaware Bay and changed the whole fortune of his life. And this is how you come to the story of Captain Kidd's treasure box. II Old Matt Abrahamson kept the flat-bottomed boat in which he went fishing some distance down the shore, and in the neighborhood of the old wreck that had been sunk on the Shoals. This was the usual fishing ground of the settlers, and here old Matt's boat generally lay drawn up on the sand. There had been a thunderstorm that afternoon, and Tom had gone down the beach to bale out the boat in readiness for the morning's fishing. It was full moonlight now, as he was returning, and the night sky was full of floating clouds. Now and then there was a dull flash to the westward, and once a muttering growl of thunder, promising another storm to come. All that day the pirate sloop had been lying just off the shore back of the Capes, and now Tom Chist could see the sails glimmering pallidly in the moonlight, spread for drying after the storm. He was walking up the shore homeward when he became aware that at some distance ahead of him there was a ship's boat drawn up on the little narrow beach, and a group of men clustered about it. He hurried forward with a good deal of curiosity to see who had landed, but it was not until he had come close to them that he could distinguish who and what they were. Then he knew that it must be a party who had come off the pirate sloop. They had evidently just landed, and two men were lifting out a chest from the boat. One of them was a negro, naked to the waist, and the other was a white man in his shirt sleeves, wearing petticoat breeches, a Monterey cap upon his head, a red bandanna handkerchief around his neck, and gold earrings in his ears. He had a long, plaited queue hanging down his back, and a great sheath knife dangling from his side. Another man, evidently the captain of the party, stood at a little distance as they lifted the chest out of the boat. He had a cane in one hand and a lighted lantern in the other, although the moon was shining as bright as day. He wore jack boots and a handsome laced coat, and he had a long, drooping mustache that curled down below his chin. He wore a fine, feathered hat, and his long black hair hung down upon his shoulders. All this Tom Chist could see in the moonlight that glinted and twinkled upon the gilt buttons of his coat. They were so busy lifting the chest from the boat that at first they did not observe that Tom Chist had come up and was standing there. It was the white man with the long, plaited queue and the gold earrings that spoke to him. "Boy, what do you want here, boy?" he said, in a rough, hoarse voice. "Where d'ye come from?" And then dropping his end of the chest, and without giving Tom time to answer, he pointed off down the beach, and said, "You'd better be going about your own business, if you know what's good for you; and don't you come back, or you'll find what you don't want waiting for you." [Illustration: WHO SHALL BE CAPTAIN?] Tom saw in a glance that the pirates were all looking at him, and then, without saying a word, he turned and walked away. The man who had spoken to him followed him threateningly for some little distance, as though to see that he had gone away as he was bidden to do. But presently he stopped, and Tom hurried on alone, until the boat and the crew and all were dropped away behind and lost in the moonlight night. Then he himself stopped also, turned, and looked back whence he had come. There had been something very strange in the appearance of the men he had just seen, something very mysterious in their actions, and he wondered what it all meant, and what they were going to do. He stood for a little while thus looking and listening. He could see nothing, and could hear only the sound of distant talking. What were they doing on the lonely shore thus at night? Then, following a sudden impulse, he turned and cut off across the sand hummocks, skirting around inland, but keeping pretty close to the shore, his object being to spy upon them, and to watch what they were about from the back of the low sand hills that fronted the beach. He had gone along some distance in his circuitous return when he became aware of the sound of voices that seemed to be drawing closer to him as he came toward the speakers. He stopped and stood listening, and instantly, as he stopped, the voices stopped also. He crouched there silently in the bright, glimmering moonlight, surrounded by the silent stretches of sand, and the stillness seemed to press upon him like a heavy hand. Then suddenly the sound of a man's voice began again, and as Tom listened he could hear some one slowly counting. "Ninety-one," the voice began, "ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred and one"--the slow, monotonous count coming nearer and nearer; "one hundred and two, one hundred and three, one hundred and four," and so on in its monotonous reckoning. Suddenly he saw three heads appear above the sand hill, so close to him that he crouched down quickly with a keen thrill, close beside the hummock near which he stood. His first fear was that they might have seen him in the moonlight; but they had not, and his heart rose again as the counting voice went steadily on. "One hundred and twenty," it was saying--"and twenty-one, and twenty-two, and twenty-three, and twenty-four," and then he who was counting came out from behind the little sandy rise into the white and open level of shimmering brightness. It was the man with the cane whom Tom had seen some time before--the captain of the party who had landed. He carried his cane under his arm now, and was holding his lantern close to something that he held in his hand, and upon which he looked narrowly as he walked with a slow and measured tread in a perfectly straight line across the sand, counting each step as he took it. "And twenty-five, and twenty-six, and twenty-seven, and twenty-eight, and twenty-nine, and thirty." [Illustration] Behind him walked two other figures; one was the half-naked negro, the other the man with the plaited queue and the earrings, whom Tom had seen lifting the chest out of the boat. Now they were carrying the heavy box between them, laboring through the sand with shuffling tread as they bore it onward. As he who was counting pronounced the word "thirty," the two men set the chest down on the sand with a grunt, the white man panting and blowing and wiping his sleeve across his forehead. And immediately he who counted took out a slip of paper and marked something down upon it. They stood there for a long time, during which Tom lay behind the sand hummock watching them, and for a while the silence was uninterrupted. In the perfect stillness Tom could hear the washing of the little waves beating upon the distant beach, and once the far-away sound of a laugh from one of those who stood by the ship's boat. One, two, three minutes passed, and then the men picked up the chest and started on again; and then again the other man began his counting. "Thirty and one, and thirty and two, and thirty and three, and thirty and four"--he walked straight across the level open, still looking intently at that which he held in his hand--"and thirty and five, and thirty and six, and thirty and seven," and so on, until the three figures disappeared in the little hollow between the two sand hills on the opposite side of the open, and still Tom could hear the sound of the counting voice in the distance. Just as they disappeared behind the hill there was a sudden faint flash of light; and by and by, as Tom lay still listening to the counting, he heard, after a long interval, a far-away muffled rumble of distant thunder. He waited for a while, and then arose and stepped to the top of the sand hummock behind which he had been lying. He looked all about him, but there was no one else to be seen. Then he stepped down from the hummock and followed in the direction which the pirate captain and the two men carrying the chest had gone. He crept along cautiously, stopping now and then to make sure that he still heard the counting voice, and when it ceased he lay down upon the sand and waited until it began again. Presently, so following the pirates, he saw the three figures again in the distance, and, skirting around back of a hill of sand covered with coarse sedge grass, he came to where he overlooked a little open level space gleaming white in the moonlight. The three had been crossing the level of sand, and were now not more than twenty-five paces from him. They had again set down the chest, upon which the white man with the long queue and the gold earrings had seated to rest himself, the negro standing close beside him. The moon shone as bright as day and full upon his face. It was looking directly at Tom Chist, every line as keen cut with white lights and black shadows as though it had been carved in ivory and jet. He sat perfectly motionless, and Tom drew back with a start, almost thinking he had been discovered. He lay silent, his heart beating heavily in his throat; but there was no alarm, and presently he heard the counting begin again, and when he looked once more he saw they were going away straight across the little open. A soft, sliding hillock of sand lay directly in front of them. They did not turn aside, but went straight over it, the leader helping himself up the sandy slope with his cane, still counting and still keeping his eyes fixed upon that which he held in his hand. Then they disappeared again behind the white crest on the other side. So Tom followed them cautiously until they had gone almost half a mile inland. When next he saw them clearly it was from a little sandy rise which looked down like the crest of a bowl upon the floor of sand below. Upon this smooth, white floor the moon beat with almost dazzling brightness. The white man who had helped to carry the chest was now kneeling, busied at some work, though what it was Tom at first could not see. He was whittling the point of a stick into a long wooden peg, and when, by and by, he had finished what he was about, he arose and stepped to where he who seemed to be the captain had stuck his cane upright into the ground as though to mark some particular spot. He drew the cane out of the sand, thrusting the stick down in its stead. Then he drove the long peg down with a wooden mallet which the negro handed to him. The sharp rapping of the mallet upon the top of the peg sounded loud in the perfect stillness, and Tom lay watching and wondering what it all meant. The man, with quick-repeated blows, drove the peg farther and farther down into the sand until it showed only two or three inches above the surface. As he finished his work there was another faint flash of light, and by and by another smothered rumble of thunder, and Tom, as he looked out toward the westward, saw the silver rim of the round and sharply outlined thundercloud rising slowly up into the sky and pushing the other and broken drifting clouds before it. [Illustration: Kidd at Gardiner's Island _Illustration from_ SEA ROBBERS OF NEW YORK _by_ Thomas A. Janvier _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _November, 1894_] The two white men were now stooping over the peg, the negro man watching them. Then presently the man with the cane started straight away from the peg, carrying the end of a measuring line with him, the other end of which the man with the plaited queue held against the top of the peg. When the pirate captain had reached the end of the measuring line he marked a cross upon the sand, and then again they measured out another stretch of space. So they measured a distance five times over, and then, from where Tom lay, he could see the man with the queue drive another peg just at the foot of a sloping rise of sand that swept up beyond into a tall white dune marked sharp and clear against the night sky behind. As soon as the man with the plaited queue had driven the second peg into the ground they began measuring again, and so, still measuring, disappeared in another direction which took them in behind the sand dune where Tom no longer could see what they were doing. The negro still sat by the chest where the two had left him, and so bright was the moonlight that from where he lay Tom could see the glint of it twinkling in the whites of his eyeballs. Presently from behind the hill there came, for the third time, the sharp rapping sound of the mallet driving still another peg, and then after a while the two pirates emerged from behind the sloping whiteness into the space of moonlight again. They came direct to where the chest lay, and the white man and the black man lifting it once more, they walked away across the level of open sand, and so on behind the edge of the hill and out of Tom's sight. III Tom Chist could no longer see what the pirates were doing, neither did he dare to cross over the open space of sand that now lay between them and him. He lay there speculating as to what they were about, and meantime the storm cloud was rising higher and higher above the horizon, with louder and louder mutterings of thunder following each dull flash from out the cloudy, cavernous depths. In the silence he could hear an occasional click as of some iron implement, and he opined that the pirates were burying the chest, though just where they were at work he could neither see nor tell. Still he lay there watching and listening, and by and by a puff of warm air blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder thunder leaped from out the belly of the storm cloud, which every minute was coming nearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay watching. Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, the three figures reappeared from behind the sand hill, the pirate captain leading the way, and the negro and white man following close behind him. They had gone about halfway across the white, sandy level between the hill and the hummock behind which Tom Chist lay, when the white man stopped and bent over as though to tie his shoe. This brought the negro a few steps in front of his companion. That which then followed happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so swiftly, that Tom Chist had hardly time to realize what it all meant before it was over. As the negro passed him the white man arose suddenly and silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white moonlight glint upon the blade of a great dirk knife which he now held in his hand. He took one, two silent, catlike steps behind the unsuspecting negro. Then there was a sweeping flash of the blade in the pallid light, and a blow, the thump of which Tom could distinctly hear even from where he lay stretched out upon the sand. There was an instant echoing yell from the black man, who ran stumbling forward, who stopped, who regained his footing, and then stood for an instant as though rooted to the spot. Tom had distinctly seen the knife enter his back, and even thought that he had seen the glint of the point as it came out from the breast. Meantime the pirate captain had stopped, and now stood with his hand resting upon his cane looking impassively on. Then the black man started to run. The white man stood for a while glaring after him; then he, too, started after his victim upon the run. The black man was not very far from Tom when he staggered and fell. He tried to rise, then fell forward again, and lay at length. At that instant the first edge of the cloud cut across the moon, and there was a sudden darkness; but in the silence Tom heard the sound of another blow and a groan, and then presently a voice calling to the pirate captain that it was all over. He saw the dim form of the captain crossing the level sand, and then, as the moon sailed out from behind the cloud, he saw the white man standing over a black figure that lay motionless upon the sand. [Illustration] Then Tom Chist scrambled up and ran away, plunging down into the hollow of sand that lay in the shadows below. Over the next rise he ran, and down again into the next black hollow, and so on over the sliding, shifting ground, panting and gasping. It seemed to him that he could hear footsteps following, and in the terror that possessed him he almost expected every instant to feel the cold knife blade slide between his own ribs in such a thrust from behind as he had seen given to the poor black man. [Illustration] So he ran on like one in a nightmare. His feet grew heavy like lead, he panted and gasped, his breath came hot and dry in his throat. But still he ran and ran until at last he found himself in front of old Matt Abrahamson's cabin, gasping, panting, and sobbing for breath, his knees relaxed and his thighs trembling with weakness. As he opened the door and dashed into the darkened cabin (for both Matt and Molly were long ago asleep in bed) there was a flash of light, and even as he slammed to the door behind him there was an instant peal of thunder, heavy as though a great weight had been dropped upon the roof of the sky, so that the doors and windows of the cabin rattled. IV Then Tom Chist crept to bed, trembling, shuddering, bathed in sweat, his heart beating like a trip hammer, and his brain dizzy from that long, terror-inspired race through the soft sand in which he had striven to outstrip he knew not what pursuing horror. For a long, long time he lay awake, trembling and chattering with nervous chills, and when he did fall asleep it was only to drop into monstrous dreams in which he once again saw ever enacted, with various grotesque variations, the tragic drama which his waking eyes had beheld the night before. Then came the dawning of the broad, wet daylight, and before the rising of the sun Tom was up and out of doors to find the young day dripping with the rain of overnight. His first act was to climb the nearest sand hill and to gaze out toward the offing where the pirate ship had been the day before. It was no longer there. Soon afterward Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he called to Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them to be away fishing. All that morning the recollection of the night before hung over Tom Chist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the confined area of the little boat and spread over the entire wide spaces of sky and sea that surrounded them. Not for a moment was it lifted. Even when he was hauling in his wet and dripping line with a struggling fish at the end of it a recurrent memory of what he had seen would suddenly come upon him, and he would groan in spirit at the recollection. He looked at Matt Abrahamson's leathery face, at his lantern jaws cavernously and stolidly chewing at a tobacco leaf, and it seemed monstrous to him that the old man should be so unconscious of the black cloud that wrapped them all about. When the boat reached the shore again he leaped scrambling to the beach, and as soon as his dinner was eaten he hurried away to find the Dominie Jones. He ran all the way from Abrahamson's hut to the parson's house, hardly stopping once, and when he knocked at the door he was panting and sobbing for breath. The good man was sitting on the back-kitchen doorstep smoking his long pipe of tobacco out into the sunlight, while his wife within was rattling about among the pans and dishes in preparation of their supper, of which a strong, porky smell already filled the air. Then Tom Chist told his story, panting, hurrying, tumbling one word over another in his haste, and Parson Jones listened, breaking every now and then into an ejaculation of wonder. The light in his pipe went out and the bowl turned cold. "And I don't see why they should have killed the poor black man," said Tom, as he finished his narrative. "Why, that is very easy enough to understand," said the good reverend man. "'Twas a treasure box they buried!" In his agitation Mr. Jones had risen from his seat and was now stumping up and down, puffing at his empty tobacco pipe as though it were still alight. "A treasure box!" cried out Tom. "Aye, a treasure box! And that was why they killed the poor black man. He was the only one, d'ye see, besides they two who knew the place where 'twas hid, and now that they've killed him out of the way, there's nobody but themselves knows. The villains--Tut, tut, look at that now!" In his excitement the dominie had snapped the stem of his tobacco pipe in two. "Why, then," said Tom, "if that is so, 'tis indeed a wicked, bloody treasure, and fit to bring a curse upon anybody who finds it!" "'Tis more like to bring a curse upon the soul who buried it," said Parson Jones, "and it may be a blessing to him who finds it. But tell me, Tom, do you think you could find the place again where 'twas hid?" "I can't tell that," said Tom, "'twas all in among the sand humps, d'ye see, and it was at night into the bargain. Maybe we could find the marks of their feet in the sand," he added. "'Tis not likely," said the reverend gentleman, "for the storm last night would have washed all that away." "I could find the place," said Tom, "where the boat was drawn up on the beach." "Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom," said his friend. "If we can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there." "If I was certain it was a treasure box," cried out Tom Chist, "I would rake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it." "'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack," said the Rev. Hilary Jones. As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of gloom had been rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were to go treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardly wait for the time to come. V The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together upon the expedition that made Tom's fortune forever. Tom carried a spade over his shoulder and the reverend gentleman walked along beside him with his cane. As they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the only thing they could talk about--the treasure box. "And how big did you say 'twas?" quoth the good gentleman. "About so long," said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade, "and about so wide, and this deep." "And what if it should be full of money, Tom?" said the reverend gentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in the excitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly. "Suppose it should be full of money, what then?" "By Moses!" said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, "I'd buy a ship for myself, I would, and I'd trade to Injy and to Chiny to my own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, and suppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d'ye suppose, to buy a ship?" "To be sure there would be enough, Tom; enough and to spare, and a good big lump over." "And if I find it 'tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?" "Why, to be sure it would be yours!" cried out the parson, in a loud voice. "To be sure it would be yours!" He knew nothing of the law, but the doubt of the question began at once to ferment in his brain, and he strode along in silence for a while. "Whose else would it be but yours if you find it?" he burst out. "Can you tell me that?" "If ever I have a ship of my own," said Tom Chist, "and if ever I sail to Injy in her, I'll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that ever was fetched from Cochin Chiny." Parson Jones burst out laughing. "Thankee, Tom," he said; "and I'll thankee again when I get my chist of tea. But tell me, Tom, didst thou ever hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they were hatched?" It was thus they talked as they hurried along up the beach together, and so came to a place at last where Tom stopped short and stood looking about him. "'Twas just here," he said, "I saw the boat last night. I know 'twas here, for I mind me of that bit of wreck yonder, and that there was a tall stake drove in the sand just where yon stake stands." Parson Jones put on his spectacles and went over to the stake toward which Tom pointed. As soon as he had looked at it carefully he called out: "Why, Tom, this hath been just drove down into the sand. 'Tis a brand-new stake of wood, and the pirates must have set it here themselves as a mark, just as they drove the pegs you spoke about down into the sand." Tom came over and looked at the stake. It was a stout piece of oak nearly two inches thick; it had been shaped with some care, and the top of it had been painted red. He shook the stake and tried to move it, but it had been driven or planted so deeply into the sand that he could not stir it. "Aye, sir," he said, "it must have been set here for a mark, for I'm sure 'twas not here yesterday or the day before." He stood looking about him to see if there were other signs of the pirates' presence. At some little distance there was the corner of something white sticking up out of the sand. He could see that it was a scrap of paper, and he pointed to it, calling out: "Yonder is a piece of paper, sir. I wonder if they left that behind them?" [Illustration: EXTORTING TRIBUTE FROM THE CITIZENS] It was a miraculous chance that placed that paper there. There was only an inch of it showing, and if it had not been for Tom's sharp eyes, it would certainly have been overlooked and passed by. The next windstorm would have covered it up, and all that afterward happened never would have occurred. "Look, sir," he said, as he struck the sand from it, "it hath writing on it." "Let me see it," said Parson Jones. He adjusted the spectacles a little more firmly astride of his nose as he took the paper in his hand and began conning it. "What's all this?" he said; "a whole lot of figures and nothing else." And then he read aloud, "'Mark--S. S. W. S. by S.' What d'ye suppose that means, Tom?" "I don't know, sir," said Tom. "But maybe we can understand it better if you read on." "'Tis all a great lot of figures," said Parson Jones, "without a grain of meaning in them so far as I can see, unless they be sailing directions." And then he began reading again: "'Mark--S. S. W. by S. 40, 72, 91, 130, 151, 177, 202, 232, 256, 271'--d'ye see, it must be sailing directions--'299, 335, 362, 386, 415, 446, 469, 491, 522, 544, 571, 598'--what a lot of them there be--'626, 652, 676, 695, 724, 851, 876, 905, 940, 967. Peg. S. E. by E. 269 foot. Peg. S. S. W. by S. 427 foot. Peg. Dig to the west of this six foot.'" "What's that about a peg?" exclaimed Tom. "What's that about a peg? And then there's something about digging, too!" It was as though a sudden light began shining into his brain. He felt himself growing quickly very excited. "Read that over again, sir," he cried. "Why, sir, you remember I told you they drove a peg into the sand. And don't they say to dig close to it? Read it over again, sir--read it over again!" "Peg?" said the good gentleman. "To be sure it was about a peg. Let's look again. Yes, here it is. 'Peg S. E. by E. 269 foot.'" "Aye!" cried out Tom Chist again, in great excitement. "Don't you remember what I told you, sir, 269 foot? Sure that must be what I saw 'em measuring with the line." Parson Jones had now caught the flame of excitement that was blazing up so strongly in Tom's breast. He felt as though some wonderful thing was about to happen to them. "To be sure, to be sure!" he called out, in a great big voice. "And then they measured out 427 foot south-southwest by south, and they then drove another peg, and then they buried the box six foot to the west of it. Why, Tom--why, Tom Chist! if we've read this aright, thy fortune is made." Tom Chist stood staring straight at the old gentleman's excited face, and seeing nothing but it in all the bright infinity of sunshine. Were they, indeed, about to find the treasure chest? He felt the sun very hot upon his shoulders, and he heard the harsh, insistent jarring of a tern that hovered and circled with forked tail and sharp white wings in the sunlight just above their heads; but all the time he stood staring into the good old gentleman's face. It was Parson Jones who first spoke. "But what do all these figures mean?" And Tom observed how the paper shook and rustled in the tremor of excitement that shook his hand. He raised the paper to the focus of his spectacles and began to read again. "'Mark 40, 72, 91--'" "Mark?" cried out Tom, almost screaming. "Why, that must mean the stake yonder; that must be the mark." And he pointed to the oaken stick with its red tip blazing against the white shimmer of sand behind it. "And the 40 and 72 and 91," cried the old gentleman, in a voice equally shrill--"why, that must mean the number of steps the pirate was counting when you heard him." "To be sure that's what they mean!" cried Tom Chist. "That is it, and it can be nothing else. Oh, come, sir--come, sir; let us make haste and find it!" "Stay! stay!" said the good gentleman, holding up his hand; and again Tom Chist noticed how it trembled and shook. His voice was steady enough, though very hoarse, but his hand shook and trembled as though with a palsy. "Stay! stay! First of all, we must follow these measurements. And 'tis a marvelous thing," he croaked, after a little pause, "how this paper ever came to be here." "Maybe it was blown here by the storm," suggested Tom Chist. "Like enough; like enough," said Parson Jones. "Like enough, after the wretches had buried the chest and killed the poor black man, they were so buffeted and bowsed about by the storm that it was shook out of the man's pocket, and thus blew away from him without his knowing aught of it." "But let us find the box!" cried out Tom Chist, flaming with his excitement. "Aye, aye," said the good man; "only stay a little, my boy, until we make sure what we're about. I've got my pocket compass here, but we must have something to measure off the feet when we have found the peg. You run across to Tom Brooke's house and fetch that measuring rod he used to lay out his new byre. While you're gone I'll pace off the distance marked on the paper with my pocket compass here." VI Tom Chist was gone for almost an hour, though he ran nearly all the way and back, upborne as on the wings of the wind. When he returned, panting, Parson Jones was nowhere to be seen, but Tom saw his footsteps leading away inland, and he followed the scuffling marks in the smooth surface across the sand humps and down into the hollows, and by and by found the good gentleman in a spot he at once knew as soon as he laid his eyes upon it. It was the open space where the pirates had driven their first peg, and where Tom Chist had afterward seen them kill the poor black man. Tom Chist gazed around as though expecting to see some sign of the tragedy, but the space was as smooth and as undisturbed as a floor, excepting where, midway across it, Parson Jones, who was now stooping over something on the ground, had trampled it all around about. When Tom Chist saw him he was still bending over, scraping away from something he had found. It was the first peg! Inside of half an hour they had found the second and third pegs, and Tom Chist stripped off his coat, and began digging like mad down into the sand, Parson Jones standing over him watching him. The sun was sloping well toward the west when the blade of Tom Chist's spade struck upon something hard. If it had been his own heart that he had hit in the sand his breast could hardly have thrilled more sharply. It was the treasure box! [Illustration] Parson Jones himself leaped down into the hole, and began scraping away the sand with his hands as though he had gone crazy. At last, with some difficulty, they tugged and hauled the chest up out of the sand to the surface, where it lay covered all over with the grit that clung to it. It was securely locked and fastened with a padlock, and it took a good many blows with the blade of the spade to burst the bolt. Parson Jones himself lifted the lid. Tom Chist leaned forward and gazed down into the open box. He would not have been surprised to have seen it filled full of yellow gold and bright jewels. It was filled half full of books and papers, and half full of canvas bags tied safely and securely around and around with cords of string. Parson Jones lifted out one of the bags, and it jingled as he did so. It was full of money. He cut the string, and with trembling, shaking hands handed the bag to Tom, who, in an ecstasy of wonder and dizzy with delight, poured out with swimming sight upon the coat spread on the ground a cataract of shining silver money that rang and twinkled and jingled as it fell in a shining heap upon the coarse cloth. Parson Jones held up both hands into the air, and Tom stared at what he saw, wondering whether it was all so, and whether he was really awake. It seemed to him as though he was in a dream. There were two-and-twenty bags in all in the chest: ten of them full of silver money, eight of them full of gold money, three of them full of gold dust, and one small bag with jewels wrapped up in wad cotton and paper. "'Tis enough," cried out Parson Jones, "to make us both rich men as long as we live." The burning summer sun, though sloping in the sky, beat down upon them as hot as fire; but neither of them noticed it. Neither did they notice hunger nor thirst nor fatigue, but sat there as though in a trance, with the bags of money scattered on the sand around them, a great pile of money heaped upon the coat, and the open chest beside them. It was an hour of sundown before Parson Jones had begun fairly to examine the books and papers in the chest. Of the three books, two were evidently log books of the pirates who had been lying off the mouth of the Delaware Bay all this time. The other book was written in Spanish, and was evidently the log book of some captured prize. It was then, sitting there upon the sand, the good old gentleman reading in his high, cracking voice, that they first learned from the bloody records in those two books who it was who had been lying inside the Cape all this time, and that it was the famous Captain Kidd. Every now and then the reverend gentleman would stop to exclaim, "Oh, the bloody wretch!" or, "Oh, the desperate, cruel villains!" and then would go on reading again a scrap here and a scrap there. And all the while Tom Chist sat and listened, every now and then reaching out furtively and touching the heap of money still lying upon the coat. One might be inclined to wonder why Captain Kidd had kept those bloody records. He had probably laid them away because they so incriminated many of the great people of the colony of New York that, with the books in evidence, it would have been impossible to bring the pirate to justice without dragging a dozen or more fine gentlemen into the dock along with him. If he could have kept them in his own possession they would doubtless have been a great weapon of defense to protect him from the gallows. Indeed, when Captain Kidd was finally brought to conviction and hung, he was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinous seaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him. The authorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really hung because he was a pirate, and we know that it was the log books that Tom Chist brought to New York that did the business for him; he was accused and convicted of manslaughter for killing of his own ship carpenter with a bucket. So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read through these terrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile of gold and silver money beside him, sat and listened to him. What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were alone, with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide white stretch of sand a desert around them. The sun sank lower and lower, until there was only time to glance through the other papers in the chest. They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor of certain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson Jones, as he read over the names, knew of nearly all the gentlemen by hearsay. Aye, here was this gentleman; he thought that name would be among 'em. What? Here is Mr. So-and-so. Well, if all they say is true, the villain has robbed one of his own best friends. "I wonder," he said, "why the wretch should have hidden these papers so carefully away with the other treasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering his own question: "Like enough because these will give him a hold over the gentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a good bargain for his own neck before he gives the bills back to their owners. I tell you what it is, Tom," he continued, "it is you yourself shall go to New York and bargain for the return of these papers. 'Twill be as good as another fortune to you." The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of the richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with the news of what we have found." "When shall I go?" said Tom Chist. "You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the parson. He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and was now fingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out upon the coat. "I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a score or so of these doubloons?" "You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting with gratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure. "You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom," said the parson, "and I'll thank you to the last day of my life." Tom scooped up a double handful of silver money. "Take it, sir," he said, "and you may have as much more as you want of it." He poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands, and the parson made a motion as though to empty it into his pocket. Then he stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to him. "I don't know that 'tis fit for me to take this pirate money, after all," he said. "But you are welcome to it," said Tom. Still the parson hesitated. "Nay," he burst out, "I'll not take it; 'tis blood money." And as he spoke he chucked the whole double handful into the now empty chest, then arose and dusted the sand from his breeches. Then, with a great deal of bustling energy, he helped to tie the bags again and put them all back into the chest. They reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it, and then the parson folded the precious paper of directions, placed it carefully in his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket. "Tom," he said, for the twentieth time, "your fortune has been made this day." And Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half dozen doubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what his friend had said was true. * * * * * As the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom Chist suddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him. "'Twas just here," he said, digging his heel down into the sand, "that they killed the poor black man." [Illustration: "Pirates Used to Do That to Their Captains Now and Then" _Illustration from_ SEA ROBBERS OF NEW YORK _by_ Thomas A. Janvier _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _November, 1894_] "And here he lies buried for all time," said Parson Jones; and as he spoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered. He would not have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had struck something soft beneath that level surface. But it did not, nor was any sign of that tragedy ever seen again. For, whether the pirates had carried away what they had done and buried it elsewhere, or whether the storm in blowing the sand had completely leveled off and hidden all sign of that tragedy where it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sight again--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones ever knew. VII This is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is to conclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of him in the end. He did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson. Parson Jones had now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and Tom did not have to go back to the fisherman's hut. Old Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in his cups and harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast protestation of what he would do to Tom--if he ever caught him--for running away. But Tom on all these occasions kept carefully out of his way, and nothing came of the old man's threatenings. Tom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but always when the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used to warn him to keep out of her father's way. "He's in as vile a humor as ever I see, Tom," she said; "he sits sulking all day long, and 'tis my belief he'd kill ye if he caught ye." Of course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and he and the reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to themselves. About three weeks later Parson Jones managed to get him shipped aboard of a vessel bound for New York town, and a few days later Tom Chist landed at that place. He had never been in such a town before, and he could not sufficiently wonder and marvel at the number of brick houses, at the multitude of people coming and going along the fine, hard, earthen sidewalk, at the shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows, and, most of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point, at the rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentries pacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful, and so were the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor. It was like a new world, so different was it from the sand hills and the sedgy levels of Henlopen. Tom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town hall, and thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by Parson Jones to Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy returned with a message, asking Tom to come up to Mr. Chillingsworth's house that afternoon at two o'clock. Tom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart fell away altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house, three stories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the front. The counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of Mr. Jones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where the great rich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a leather-covered armchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a bottle of fine old Madeira close to his elbow. Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked. "Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have to tell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got what's-his-name--Mr. Jones's--letter, and now I am ready to hear what you have to say." But if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at first, he soon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not spoken twenty words when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect changed. He straightened himself up in his seat, laid aside his pipe, pushed away his glass of Madeira, and bade Tom take a chair. He listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried treasure, of how he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how he and Parson Jones had recovered the chest again. Only once did Mr. Chillingsworth interrupt the narrative. "And to think," he cried, "that the villain this very day walks about New York town as though he were an honest man, ruffling it with the best of us! But if we can only get hold of these log books you speak of. Go on; tell me more of this." When Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's bearing was as different as daylight is from dark. He asked a thousand questions, all in the most polite and gracious tone imaginable, and not only urged a glass of his fine old Madeira upon Tom, but asked him to stay to supper. There was nobody to be there, he said, but his wife and daughter. Tom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies, sturdily refused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr. Chillingsworth offered him. He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he should live. "And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself." "I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I was washed up out of the sea." "Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why, how was that? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all." Thereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the very beginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had often told it to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's interest changed into an appearance of stronger and stronger excitement. Suddenly he jumped up out of his chair and began to walk up and down the room. [Illustration] "Stop! stop!" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom was saying. "Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the vessel that was wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?" "I've heard it said," said Tom Chist, "'twas the _Bristol Merchant_." "I knew it! I knew it!" exclaimed the great man, in a loud voice, flinging his hands up into the air. "I felt it was so the moment you began the story. But tell me this, was there nothing found with you with a mark or a name upon it?" "There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C." "Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it! I knew it! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening as this! Boy! boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own brother's son. His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to come. * * * * * So Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called--did stay to supper, after all. * * * * * This is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist became rich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his pretty cousin Theodosia (who had been named for his own mother, drowned in the _Bristol Merchant_). He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New York to live. As to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of ten pounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well with him, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbings he had suffered. The treasure box was brought on to New York, and if Tom Chist did not get all the money there was in it (as Parson Jones had opined he would) he got at least a good big lump of it. And it is my belief that those log books did more to get Captain Kidd arrested in Boston town and hanged in London than anything else that was brought up against him. [Illustration] Chapter V JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES I We, of these times, protected as we are by the laws and by the number of people about us, can hardly comprehend such a life as that of the American colonies in the early part of the eighteenth century, when it was possible for a pirate like Capt. Teach, known as Blackbeard, to exist, and for the governor and the secretary of the province in which he lived perhaps to share his plunder, and to shelter and to protect him against the law. At that time the American colonists were in general a rough, rugged people, knowing nothing of the finer things of life. They lived mostly in little settlements, separated by long distances from one another, so that they could neither make nor enforce laws to protect themselves. Each man or little group of men had to depend upon his or their own strength to keep what belonged to them, and to prevent fierce men or groups of men from seizing what did not belong to them. It is the natural disposition of everyone to get all that he can. Little children, for instance, always try to take away from others that which they want, and to keep it for their own. It is only by constant teaching that they learn that they must not do so; that they must not take by force what does not belong to them. So it is only by teaching and training that people learn to be honest and not to take what is not theirs. When this teaching is not sufficient to make a man learn to be honest, or when there is something in the man's nature that makes him not able to learn, then he only lacks the opportunity to seize upon the things he wants, just as he would do if he were a little child. In the colonies at that time, as was just said, men were too few and scattered to protect themselves against those who had made up their minds to take by force that which they wanted, and so it was that men lived an unrestrained and lawless life, such as we of these times of better government can hardly comprehend. The usual means of commerce between province and province was by water in coasting vessels. These coasting vessels were so defenseless, and the different colonial governments were so ill able to protect them, that those who chose to rob them could do it almost without danger to themselves. So it was that all the western world was, in those days, infested with armed bands of cruising freebooters or pirates, who used to stop merchant vessels and take from them what they chose. Each province in those days was ruled over by a royal governor appointed by the king. Each governor, at one time, was free to do almost as he pleased in his own province. He was accountable only to the king and his government, and England was so distant that he was really responsible almost to nobody but himself. The governors were naturally just as desirous to get rich quickly, just as desirous of getting all that they could for themselves, as was anybody else--only they had been taught and had been able to learn that it was not right to be an actual pirate or robber. They wanted to be rich easily and quickly, but the desire was not strong enough to lead them to dishonor themselves in their own opinion and in the opinion of others by gratifying their selfishness. They would even have stopped the pirates from doing what they did if they could, but their provincial governments were too weak to prevent the freebooters from robbing merchant vessels, or to punish them when they came ashore. The provinces had no navies, and they really had no armies; neither were there enough people living within the community to enforce the laws against those stronger and fiercer men who were not honest. After the things the pirates seized from merchant vessels were once stolen they were altogether lost. Almost never did any owner apply for them, for it would be useless to do so. The stolen goods and merchandise lay in the storehouses of the pirates, seemingly without any owner excepting the pirates themselves. The governors and the secretaries of the colonies would not dishonor themselves by pirating upon merchant vessels, but it did not seem so wicked after the goods were stolen--and so altogether lost--to take a part of that which seemed to have no owner. A child is taught that it is a very wicked thing to take, for instance, by force, a lump of sugar from another child; but when a wicked child has seized the sugar from another and taken it around the corner, and that other child from whom he has seized it has gone home crying, it does not seem so wicked for the third child to take a bite of the sugar when it is offered to him, even if he thinks it has been taken from some one else. It was just so, no doubt, that it did not seem so wicked to Governor Eden and Secretary Knight of North Carolina, or to Governor Fletcher of New York, or to other colonial governors, to take a part of the booty that the pirates, such as Blackbeard, had stolen. It did not even seem very wicked to compel such pirates to give up a part of what was not theirs, and which seemed to have no owner. In Governor Eden's time, however, the colonies had begun to be more thickly peopled, and the laws had gradually become stronger and stronger to protect men in the possession of what was theirs. Governor Eden was the last of the colonial governors who had dealings with the pirates, and Blackbeard was almost the last of the pirates who, with his banded men, was savage and powerful enough to come and go as he chose among the people whom he plundered. Virginia, at that time, was the greatest and the richest of all the American colonies, and upon the farther side of North Carolina was the province of South Carolina, also strong and rich. It was these two colonies that suffered the most from Blackbeard, and it began to be that the honest men that lived in them could endure no longer to be plundered. The merchants and traders and others who suffered cried out loudly for protection, so loudly that the governors of these provinces could not help hearing them. Governor Eden was petitioned to act against the pirates, but he would do nothing, for he felt very friendly toward Blackbeard--just as a child who has had a taste of the stolen sugar feels friendly toward the child who gives it to him. At last, when Blackbeard sailed up into the very heart of Virginia, and seized upon and carried away the daughter of that colony's foremost people, the governor of Virginia, finding that the governor of North Carolina would do nothing to punish the outrage, took the matter into his own hands and issued a proclamation offering a reward of one hundred pounds for Blackbeard, alive or dead, and different sums for the other pirates who were his followers. Governor Spottiswood had the right to issue the proclamation, but he had no right to commission Lieutenant Maynard, as he did, to take down an armed force into the neighboring province and to attack the pirates in the waters of the North Carolina sounds. It was all a part of the rude and lawless condition of the colonies at the time that such a thing could have been done. [Illustration: "Jack Followed the Captain and the Young Lady up the Crooked Path to the House" _Illustration from_ JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published by_ The Century Company, 1894] The governor's proclamation against the pirates was issued upon the eleventh day of November. It was read in the churches the Sunday following and was posted upon the doors of all the government custom offices in lower Virginia. Lieutenant Maynard, in the boats that Colonel Parker had already fitted out to go against the pirates, set sail upon the seventeenth of the month for Ocracoke. Five days later the battle was fought. * * * * * Blackbeard's sloop was lying inside of Ocracoke Inlet among the shoals and sand bars when he first heard of Governor Spottiswood's proclamation. There had been a storm, and a good many vessels had run into the inlet for shelter. Blackbeard knew nearly all of the captains of these vessels, and it was from them that he first heard of the proclamation. He had gone aboard one of the vessels--a coaster from Boston. The wind was still blowing pretty hard from the southeast. There were maybe a dozen vessels lying within the inlet at that time, and the captain of one of them was paying the Boston skipper a visit when Blackbeard came aboard. The two captains had been talking together. They instantly ceased when the pirate came down into the cabin, but he had heard enough of their conversation to catch its drift. "Why d'ye stop?" he said. "I heard what you said. Well, what then? D'ye think I mind it at all? Spottiswood is going to send his bullies down here after me. That's what you were saying. Well, what then? You don't think I'm afraid of his bullies, do you?" "Why, no, Captain, I didn't say you was afraid," said the visiting captain. "And what right has he got to send down here against me in North Carolina, I should like to ask you?" "He's got none at all," said the Boston captain, soothingly. "Won't you take a taste of Hollands, Captain?" "He's no more right to come blustering down here into Governor Eden's province than I have to come aboard of your schooner here, Tom Burley, and to carry off two or three kegs of this prime Hollands for my own drinking." Captain Burley--the Boston man--laughed a loud, forced laugh. "Why, Captain," he said, "as for two or three kegs of Hollands, you won't find that aboard. But if you'd like to have a keg of it for your own drinking, I'll send it to you and be glad enough to do so for old acquaintance' sake." "But I tell you what 'tis, Captain," said the visiting skipper to Blackbeard, "they're determined and set against you this time. I tell you, Captain, Governor Spottiswood hath issued a hot proclamation against you, and 't hath been read out in all the churches. I myself saw it posted in Yorktown upon the customhouse door and read it there myself. The governor offers one hundred pounds for you, and fifty pounds for your officers, and twenty pounds each for your men." "Well, then," said Blackbeard, holding up his glass, "here, I wish 'em good luck, and when they get their hundred pounds for me they'll be in a poor way to spend it. As for the Hollands," said he, turning to Captain Burley, "I know what you've got aboard here and what you haven't. D'ye suppose ye can blind me? Very well, you send over two kegs, and I'll let you go without search." The two captains were very silent. "As for that Lieutenant Maynard you're all talking about," said Blackbeard, "why, I know him very well. He was the one who was so busy with the pirates down Madagascar way. I believe you'd all like to see him blow me out of the water, but he can't do it. There's nobody in His Majesty's service I'd rather meet than Lieutenant Maynard. I'd teach him pretty briskly that North Carolina isn't Madagascar." * * * * * On the evening of the twenty-second the two vessels under command of Lieutenant Maynard came into the mouth of Ocracoke Inlet and there dropped anchor. Meantime the weather had cleared, and all the vessels but one had gone from the inlet. The one vessel that remained was a New Yorker. It had been there over a night and a day, and the captain and Blackbeard had become very good friends. The same night that Maynard came into the inlet a wedding was held on the shore. A number of men and women came up the beach in oxcarts and sledges; others had come in boats from more distant points and across the water. The captain of the New Yorker and Blackbeard went ashore together a little after dark. The New Yorker had been aboard of the pirate's sloop for all the latter part of the afternoon, and he and Blackbeard had been drinking together in the cabin. The New York man was now a little tipsy, and he laughed and talked foolishly as he and Blackbeard were rowed ashore. The pirate sat grim and silent. It was nearly dark when they stepped ashore on the beach. The New York captain stumbled and fell headlong, rolling over and over, and the crew of the boat burst out laughing. The people had already begun to dance in an open shed fronting upon the shore. There were fires of pine knots in front of the building, lighting up the interior with a red glare. A negro was playing a fiddle somewhere inside, and the shed was filled with a crowd of grotesque dancing figures--men and women. Now and then they called with loud voices as they danced, and the squeaking of the fiddle sounded incessantly through the noise of outcries and the stamp and shuffling of feet. Captain Teach and the New York captain stood looking on. The New York man had tilted himself against a post and stood there holding one arm around it, supporting himself. He waved the other hand foolishly in time to the music, now and then snapping his thumb and finger. The young woman who had just been married approached the two. She had been dancing, and she was warm and red, her hair blowzed about her head. "Hi, Captain, won't you dance with me?" she said to Blackbeard. Blackbeard stared at her. "Who be you?" he said. She burst out laughing. "You look as if you'd eat a body," she cried. Blackbeard's face gradually relaxed. "Why, to be sure, you're a brazen one, for all the world," he said. "Well, I'll dance with you, that I will. I'll dance the heart out of you." He pushed forward, thrusting aside with his elbow the newly made husband. The man, who saw that Blackbeard had been drinking, burst out laughing, and the other men and women who had been standing around drew away, so that in a little while the floor was pretty well cleared. One could see the negro now; he sat on a barrel at the end of the room. He grinned with his white teeth and, without stopping in his fiddling, scraped his bow harshly across the strings, and then instantly changed the tune to a lively jig. Blackbeard jumped up into the air and clapped his heels together, giving, as he did so, a sharp, short yell. Then he began instantly dancing grotesquely and violently. The woman danced opposite to him, this way and that, with her knuckles on her hips. Everybody burst out laughing at Blackbeard's grotesque antics. They laughed again and again, clapping their hands, and the negro scraped away on his fiddle like fury. The woman's hair came tumbling down her back. She tucked it back, laughing and panting, and the sweat ran down her face. She danced and danced. At last she burst out laughing and stopped, panting. Blackbeard again jumped up in the air and clapped his heels. Again he yelled, and as he did so, he struck his heels upon the floor and spun around. Once more everybody burst out laughing, clapping their hands, and the negro stopped fiddling. [Illustration: "He Led Jack up to a Man Who Sat upon a Barrel" _Illustration from_ JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published by_ The Century Company. 1894] Near by was a shanty or cabin where they were selling spirits, and by and by Blackbeard went there with the New York captain, and presently they began drinking again. "Hi, Captain!" called one of the men, "Maynard's out yonder in the inlet. Jack Bishop's just come across from t'other side. He says Mr. Maynard hailed him and asked for a pilot to fetch him in." "Well, here's luck to him, and he can't come in quick enough for me!" cried out Blackbeard in his hoarse, husky voice. "Well, Captain," called a voice, "will ye fight him to-morrow?" "Aye," shouted the pirate, "if he can get in to me, I'll try to give 'em what they seek, and all they want of it into the bargain. As for a pilot, I tell ye what 'tis--if any man hereabouts goes out there to pilot that villain in 'twill be the worst day's work he ever did in all of his life. 'Twon't be fit for him to live in these parts of America if I am living here at the same time." There was a burst of laughter. "Give us a toast, Captain! Give us something to drink to! Aye, Captain, a toast! A toast!" a half dozen voices were calling out at the same time. "Well," cried out the pirate captain, "here's to a good, hot fight to-morrow, and the best dog on top! 'Twill be, Bang! bang!--this way!" He began pulling a pistol out of his pocket, but it stuck in the lining, and he struggled and tugged at it. The men ducked and scrambled away from before him, and then the next moment he had the pistol out of his pocket. He swung it around and around. There was perfect silence. Suddenly there was a flash and a stunning report, and instantly a crash and tinkle of broken glass. One of the men cried out, and began picking and jerking at the back of his neck. "He's broken that bottle all down my neck," he called out. "That's the way 'twill be," said Blackbeard. "Lookee," said the owner of the place, "I won't serve out another drop if 'tis going to be like that. If there's any more trouble I'll blow out the lantern." The sound of the squeaking and scraping of the fiddle and the shouts and the scuffling feet still came from the shed where the dancing was going on. "Suppose you get your dose to-morrow, Captain," some one called out, "what then?" "Why, if I do," said Blackbeard, "I get it, and that's all there is of it." "Your wife 'll be a rich widdy then, won't she?" cried one of the men; and there was a burst of laughter. "Why," said the New York captain,--"why, has a--a bloody p-pirate like you a wife then--a--like any honest man?" "She'll be no richer than she is now," said Blackbeard. "She knows where you've hid your money, anyways. Don't she, Captain?" called out a voice. "The divil knows where I've hid my money," said Blackbeard, "and I know where I've hid it; and the longest liver of the twain will git it all. And that's all there is of it." The gray of early day was beginning to show in the east when Blackbeard and the New York captain came down to the landing together. The New York captain swayed and toppled this way and that as he walked, now falling against Blackbeard, and now staggering away from him. II Early in the morning--perhaps eight o'clock--Lieutenant Maynard sent a boat from the schooner over to the settlement, which lay some four or five miles distant. A number of men stood lounging on the landing, watching the approach of the boat. The men rowed close up to the wharf, and there lay upon their oars, while the boatswain of the schooner, who was in command of the boat, stood up and asked if there was any man there who could pilot them over the shoals. Nobody answered, but all stared stupidly at him. After a while one of the men at last took his pipe out of his mouth. "There ben't any pilot here, master," said he; "we ben't pilots." "Why, what a story you do tell!" roared the boatswain. "D'ye suppose I've never been down here before, not to know that every man about here knows the passes of the shoals?" The fellow still held his pipe in his hand. He looked at another one of the men. "Do you know the passes in over the shoals, Jem?" said he. The man to whom he spoke was a young fellow with long, shaggy, sunburnt hair hanging over his eyes in an unkempt mass. He shook his head, grunting, "Na--I don't know naught about t' shoals." "'Tis Lieutenant Maynard of His Majesty's navy in command of them vessels out there," said the boatswain. "He'll give any man five pound to pilot him in." The men on the wharf looked at one another, but still no one spoke, and the boatswain stood looking at them. He saw that they did not choose to answer him. "Why," he said, "I believe you've not got right wits--that's what I believe is the matter with you. Pull me up to the landing, men, and I'll go ashore and see if I can find anybody that's willing to make five pound for such a little bit of piloting as that." After the boatswain had gone ashore the loungers still stood on the wharf, looking down into the boat, and began talking to one another for the men below to hear them. "They're coming in," said one, "to blow poor Blackbeard out of the water." "Aye," said another, "he's so peaceable, too, he is; he'll just lay still and let 'em blow and blow, he will." "There's a young fellow there," said another of the men; "he don't look fit to die yet, he don't. Why, I wouldn't be in his place for a thousand pound." "I do suppose Blackbeard's so afraid he don't know how to see," said the first speaker. At last one of the men in the boat spoke up. "Maybe he don't know how to see," said he, "but maybe we'll blow some daylight into him afore we get through with him." Some more of the settlers had come out from the shore to the end of the wharf, and there was now quite a crowd gathering there, all looking at the men in the boat. "What do them Virginny 'baccy-eaters do down here in Caroliny, anyway?" said one of the newcomers. "They've got no call to be down here in North Caroliny waters." "Maybe you can keep us away from coming, and maybe you can't," said a voice from the boat. "Why," answered the man on the wharf, "we could keep you away easy enough, but you ben't worth the trouble, and that's the truth." There was a heavy iron bolt lying near the edge of the landing. One of the men upon the wharf slyly thrust it out with the end of his foot. It hung for a moment and then fell into the boat below with a crash. "What d'ye mean by that?" roared the man in charge of the boat. "What d'ye mean, ye villains? D'ye mean to stave a hole in us?" "Why," said the man who had pushed it, "you saw 'twasn't done a purpose, didn't you?" "Well, you try it again, and somebody 'll get hurt," said the man in the boat, showing the butt end of his pistol. The men on the wharf began laughing. Just then the boatswain came down from the settlement again, and out along the landing. The threatened turbulence quieted as he approached, and the crowd moved sullenly aside to let him pass. He did not bring any pilot with him, and he jumped down into the stern of the boat, saying, briefly, "Push off." The crowd of loungers stood looking after them as they rowed away, and when the boat was some distance from the landing they burst out into a volley of derisive yells. "The villains!" said the boatswain, "they are all in league together. They wouldn't even let me go up into the settlement to look for a pilot." * * * * * The lieutenant and his sailing master stood watching the boat as it approached. "Couldn't you, then, get a pilot, Baldwin?" said Mr. Maynard, as the boatswain scrambled aboard. "No, I couldn't, sir," said the man. "Either they're all banded together, or else they're all afraid of the villains. They wouldn't even let me go up into the settlement to find one." "Well, then," said Mr. Maynard, "we'll make shift to work in as best we may by ourselves. 'Twill be high tide against one o'clock. We'll run in then with sail as far as we can, and then we'll send you ahead with the boat to sound for a pass, and we'll follow with the sweeps. You know the waters pretty well, you say." "They were saying ashore that the villain hath forty men aboard," said the boatswain.[2] [Footnote 2: The pirate captain had really only twenty-five men aboard of his sloop at the time of the battle.] Lieutenant Maynard's force consisted of thirty-five men in the schooner and twenty-five men in the sloop. He carried neither cannons nor carronades, and neither of his vessels was very well fitted for the purpose for which they were designed. The schooner, which he himself commanded, offered almost no protection to the crew. The rail was not more than a foot high in the waist, and the men on the deck were almost entirely exposed. The rail of the sloop was perhaps a little higher, but it, too, was hardly better adapted for fighting. Indeed, the lieutenant depended more upon the moral force of official authority to overawe the pirates than upon any real force of arms or men. He never believed, until the very last moment, that the pirates would show any real fight. It is very possible that they might not have done so had they not thought that the lieutenant had actually no legal right supporting him in his attack upon them in North Carolina waters. It was about noon when anchor was hoisted, and, with the schooner leading, both vessels ran slowly in before a light wind that had begun to blow toward midday. In each vessel a man stood in the bows, sounding continually with lead and line. As they slowly opened up the harbor within the inlet, they could see the pirate sloop lying about three miles away. There was a boat just putting off from it to the shore. The lieutenant and his sailing master stood together on the roof of the cabin deckhouse. The sailing master held a glass to his eye. "She carries a long gun, sir," he said, "and four carronades. She'll be hard to beat, sir, I do suppose, armed as we are with only light arms for close fighting." The lieutenant laughed. "Why, Brookes," he said, "you seem to think forever of these men showing fight. You don't know them as I know them. They have a deal of bluster and make a deal of noise, but when you seize them and hold them with a strong hand, there's naught of fight left in them. 'Tis like enough there 'll not be so much as a musket fired to-day. I've had to do with 'em often enough before to know my gentlemen well by this time." Nor, as was said, was it until the very last that the lieutenant could be brought to believe that the pirates had any stomach for a fight. The two vessels had reached perhaps within a mile of the pirate sloop before they found the water too shallow to venture any farther with the sail. It was then that the boat was lowered as the lieutenant had planned, and the boatswain went ahead to sound, the two vessels, with their sails still hoisted but empty of wind, pulling in after with sweeps. The pirate had also hoisted sail, but lay as though waiting for the approach of the schooner and the sloop. [Illustration: "The Bullets Were Humming and Singing, Clipping Along the Top of the Water" _Illustration from_ JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published by_ The Century Company, 1894] The boat in which the boatswain was sounding had run in a considerable distance ahead of the two vessels, which were gradually creeping up with the sweeps until they had reached to within less than half a mile of the pirates--the boat with the boatswain maybe a quarter of a mile closer. Suddenly there was a puff of smoke from the pirate sloop, and then another and another, and the next moment there came the three reports of muskets up the wind. "By zounds!" said the lieutenant. "I do believe they're firing on the boat!" And then he saw the boat turn and begin pulling toward them. The boat with the boatswain aboard came rowing rapidly. Again there were three or four puffs of smoke and three or four subsequent reports from the distant vessel. Then, in a little while, the boat was alongside, and the boatswain came scrambling aboard. "Never mind hoisting the boat," said the lieutenant; "we'll just take her in tow. Come aboard as quick as you can." Then, turning to the sailing master, "Well, Brookes, you'll have to do the best you can to get in over the shoals under half sail." "But, sir," said the master, "we'll be sure to run aground." "Very well, sir," said the lieutenant, "you heard my orders. If we run aground we run aground, and that's all there is of it." "I sounded as far as maybe a little over a fathom," said the mate, "but the villains would let me go no nearer. I think I was in the channel, though. 'Tis more open inside, as I mind me of it. There's a kind of a hole there, and if we get in over the shoals just beyond where I was we'll be all right." "Very well, then, you take the wheel, Baldwin," said the lieutenant, "and do the best you can for us." Lieutenant Maynard stood looking out forward at the pirate vessel, which they were now steadily nearing under half sail. He could see that there were signs of bustle aboard and of men running around upon the deck. Then he walked aft and around the cabin. The sloop was some distance astern. It appeared to have run aground, and they were trying to push it off with the sweeps. The lieutenant looked down into the water over the stern, and saw that the schooner was already raising the mud in her wake. Then he went forward along the deck. His men were crouching down along by the low rail, and there was a tense quietness of expectation about them. The lieutenant looked them over as he passed them. "Johnson," he said, "do you take the lead and line and go forward and sound a bit." Then to the others: "Now, my men, the moment we run her aboard, you get aboard of her as quick as you can, do you understand? Don't wait for the sloop or think about her, but just see that the grappling irons are fast, and then get aboard. If any man offers to resist you, shoot him down. Are you ready, Mr. Cringle?" "Aye, aye, sir," said the gunner. "Very well, then, be ready, men; we'll be aboard 'em in a minute or two." "There's less than a fathom of water here, sir," sang out Johnson from the bows. As he spoke there was a sudden soft jar and jerk, then the schooner was still. They were aground. "Push her off to the lee there! Let go your sheets!" roared the boatswain from the wheel. "Push her off to the lee." He spun the wheel around as he spoke. A half a dozen men sprang up, seized the sweeps, and plunged them into the water. Others ran to help them, but the sweeps only sank into the mud without moving the schooner. The sails had fallen off and they were flapping and thumping and clapping in the wind. Others of the crew had scrambled to their feet and ran to help those at the sweeps. The lieutenant had walked quickly aft again. They were very close now to the pirate sloop, and suddenly some one hailed him from aboard of her. When he turned he saw that there was a man standing up on the rail of the pirate sloop, holding by the back stays. "Who are you?" he called, from the distance, "and whence come you? What do you seek here? What d'ye mean, coming down on us this way?" The lieutenant heard somebody say, "That's Blackbeard his-self." And he looked with great interest at the distant figure. The pirate stood out boldly against the cloudy sky. Somebody seemed to speak to him from behind. He turned his head and then he turned round again. "We're only peaceful merchantmen!" he called out. "What authority have you got to come down upon us this way? If you'll come aboard I'll show you my papers and that we're only peaceful merchantmen." "The villains!" said the lieutenant to the master, who stood beside him. "They're peaceful merchantmen, are they! They look like peaceful merchantmen, with four carronades and a long gun aboard!" Then he called out across the water, "I'll come aboard with my schooner as soon as I can push her off here." "If you undertake to come aboard of me," called the pirate, "I'll shoot into you. You've got no authority to board me, and I won't have you do it. If you undertake it 'twill be at your own risk, for I'll neither ask quarter of you nor give none." "Very well," said the lieutenant, "if you choose to try that, you may do as you please; for I'm coming aboard of you as sure as heaven." "Push off the bow there!" called the boatswain at the wheel. "Look alive! Why don't you push off the bow?" "She's hard aground!" answered the gunner. "We can't budge her an inch." "If they was to fire into us now," said the sailing master, "they'd smash us to pieces." "They won't fire into us," said the lieutenant. "They won't dare to." He jumped down from the cabin deckhouse as he spoke, and went forward to urge the men in pushing off the boat. It was already beginning to move. At that moment the sailing master suddenly called out, "Mr. Maynard! Mr. Maynard! they're going to give us a broadside!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, before Lieutenant Maynard could turn, there came a loud and deafening crash, and then instantly another, and a third, and almost as instantly a crackling and rending of broken wood. There were clean yellow splinters flying everywhere. A man fell violently against the lieutenant, nearly overturning him, but he caught at the stays and so saved himself. For one tense moment he stood holding his breath. Then all about him arose a sudden outcry of groans and shouts and oaths. The man who had fallen against him was lying face down upon the deck. His thighs were quivering, and a pool of blood was spreading and running out from under him. There were other men down, all about the deck. Some were rising; some were trying to rise; some only moved. There was a distant sound of yelling and cheering and shouting. It was from the pirate sloop. The pirates were rushing about upon her decks. They had pulled the cannon back, and, through the grunting sound of the groans about him, the lieutenant could distinctly hear the thud and punch of the rammers, and he knew they were going to shoot again. The low rail afforded almost no shelter against such a broadside, and there was nothing for it but to order all hands below for the time being. "Get below!" roared out the lieutenant. "All hands get below and lie snug for further orders!" In obedience the men ran scrambling below into the hold, and in a little while the decks were nearly clear except for the three dead men and some three or four wounded. The boatswain, crouching down close to the wheel, and the lieutenant himself were the only others upon deck. Everywhere there were smears and sprinkles of blood. "Where's Brookes?" the lieutenant called out. "He's hurt in the arm, sir, and he's gone below," said the boatswain. Thereupon the lieutenant himself walked over to the forecastle hatch, and, hailing the gunner, ordered him to get up another ladder, so that the men could be run up on deck if the pirates should undertake to come aboard. At that moment the boatswain at the wheel called out that the villains were going to shoot again, and the lieutenant, turning, saw the gunner aboard of the pirate sloop in the act of touching the iron to the touchhole. He stooped down. There was another loud and deafening crash of cannon, one, two, three--four--the last two almost together--and almost instantly the boatswain called out, "'Tis the sloop, sir! look at the sloop!" [Illustration: "The Combatants Cut and Slashed with Savage Fury" _Illustration from_ JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published by_ The Century Company, 1894] The sloop had got afloat again, and had been coming up to the aid of the schooner, when the pirates fired their second broadside now at her. When the lieutenant looked at her she was quivering with the impact of the shot, and the next moment she began falling off to the wind, and he could see the wounded men rising and falling and struggling upon her decks. At the same moment the boatswain called out that the enemy was coming aboard, and even as he spoke the pirate sloop came drifting out from the cloud of smoke that enveloped her, looming up larger and larger as she came down upon them. The lieutenant still crouched down under the rail, looking out at them. Suddenly, a little distance away, she came about, broadside on, and then drifted. She was close aboard now. Something came flying through the air--another and another. They were bottles. One of them broke with a crash upon the deck. The others rolled over to the farther rail. In each of them a quick-match was smoking. Almost instantly there was a flash and a terrific report, and the air was full of the whiz and singing of broken particles of glass and iron. There was another report, and then the whole air seemed full of gunpowder smoke. "They're aboard of us!" shouted the boatswain, and even as he spoke the lieutenant roared out, "All hands to repel boarders!" A second later there came the heavy, thumping bump of the vessels coming together. Lieutenant Maynard, as he called out the order, ran forward through the smoke, snatching one of his pistols out of his pocket and the cutlass out of its sheath as he did so. Behind him the men were coming, swarming up from below. There was a sudden stunning report of a pistol, and then another and another, almost together. There was a groan and the fall of a heavy body, and then a figure came jumping over the rail, with two or three more directly following. The lieutenant was in the midst of the gunpowder smoke, when suddenly Blackbeard was before him. The pirate captain had stripped himself naked to the waist. His shaggy black hair was falling over his eyes, and he looked like a demon fresh from the pit, with his frantic face. Almost with the blindness of instinct the lieutenant thrust out his pistol, firing it as he did so. The pirate staggered back: he was down--no; he was up again. He had a pistol in each hand; but there was a stream of blood running down his naked ribs. Suddenly, the mouth of a pistol was pointing straight at the lieutenant's head. He ducked instinctively, striking upward with his cutlass as he did so. There was a stunning, deafening report almost in his ear. He struck again blindly with his cutlass. He saw the flash of a sword and flung up his guard almost instinctively, meeting the crash of the descending blade. Somebody shot from behind him, and at the same moment he saw some one else strike the pirate. Blackbeard staggered again, and this time there was a great gash upon his neck. Then one of Maynard's own men tumbled headlong upon him. He fell with the man, but almost instantly he had scrambled to his feet again, and as he did so he saw that the pirate sloop had drifted a little away from them, and that their grappling irons had evidently parted. His hand was smarting as though struck with the lash of a whip. He looked around him; the pirate captain was nowhere to be seen--yes, there he was, lying by the rail. He raised himself upon his elbow, and the lieutenant saw that he was trying to point a pistol at him, with an arm that wavered and swayed blindly, the pistol nearly falling from his fingers. Suddenly his other elbow gave way and he fell down upon his face. He tried to raise himself--he fell down again. There was a report and a cloud of smoke, and when it cleared away Blackbeard had staggered up again. He was a terrible figure--his head nodding down upon his breast. Somebody shot again, and then the swaying figure toppled and fell. It lay still for a moment--then rolled over--then lay still again. There was a loud splash of men jumping overboard, and then, almost instantly, the cry of "Quarter! quarter!" The lieutenant ran to the edge of the vessel. It was as he had thought: the grappling irons of the pirate sloop had parted, and it had drifted away. The few pirates who had been left aboard of the schooner had jumped overboard and were now holding up their hands. "Quarter!" they cried. "Don't shoot!--quarter!" And the fight was over. The lieutenant looked down at his hand, and then he saw, for the first time, that there was a great cutlass gash across the back of it, and that his arm and shirt sleeve were wet with blood. He went aft, holding the wrist of his wounded hand. The boatswain was still at the wheel. "By zounds!" said the lieutenant, with a nervous, quavering laugh, "I didn't know there was such fight in the villains." His wounded and shattered sloop was again coming up toward him under sail, but the pirates had surrendered, and the fight was over. Chapter VI BLUESKIN, THE PIRATE I Cape May and Cape Henlopen form, as it were, the upper and lower jaws of a gigantic mouth, which disgorges from its monstrous gullet the cloudy waters of the Delaware Bay into the heaving, sparkling blue-green of the Atlantic Ocean. From Cape Henlopen as the lower jaw there juts out a long, curving fang of high, smooth-rolling sand dunes, cutting sharp and clean against the still, blue sky above--silent, naked, utterly deserted, excepting for the squat, white-walled lighthouse standing upon the crest of the highest hill. Within this curving, sheltering hook of sand hills lie the smooth waters of Lewes Harbor, and, set a little back from the shore, the quaint old town, with its dingy wooden houses of clapboard and shingle, looks sleepily out through the masts of the shipping lying at anchor in the harbor, to the purple, clean-cut, level thread of the ocean horizon beyond. Lewes is a queer, odd, old-fashioned little town, smelling fragrant of salt marsh and sea breeze. It is rarely visited by strangers. The people who live there are the progeny of people who have lived there for many generations, and it is the very place to nurse, and preserve, and care for old legends and traditions of bygone times, until they grow from bits of gossip and news into local history of considerable size. As in the busier world men talk of last year's elections, here these old bits, and scraps, and odds and ends of history are retailed to the listener who cares to listen--traditions of the War of 1812, when Beresford's fleet lay off the harbor threatening to bombard the town; tales of the Revolution and of Earl Howe's warships, tarrying for a while in the quiet harbor before they sailed up the river to shake old Philadelphia town with the thunders of their guns at Red Bank and Fort Mifflin. With these substantial and sober threads of real history, other and more lurid colors are interwoven into the web of local lore--legends of the dark doings of famous pirates, of their mysterious, sinister comings and goings, of treasures buried in the sand dunes and pine barrens back of the cape and along the Atlantic beach to the southward. Of such is the story of Blueskin, the pirate. II It was in the fall and the early winter of the year 1750, and again in the summer of the year following, that the famous pirate, Blueskin, became especially identified with Lewes as a part of its traditional history. For some time--for three or four years--rumors and reports of Blueskin's doings in the West Indies and off the Carolinas had been brought in now and then by sea captains. There was no more cruel, bloody, desperate, devilish pirate than he in all those pirate-infested waters. All kinds of wild and bloody stories were current concerning him, but it never occurred to the good folk of Lewes that such stories were some time to be a part of their own history. But one day a schooner came drifting into Lewes harbor--shattered, wounded, her forecastle splintered, her foremast shot half away, and three great tattered holes in her mainsail. The mate with one of the crew came ashore in the boat for help and a doctor. He reported that the captain and the cook were dead and there were three wounded men aboard. The story he told to the gathering crowd brought a very peculiar thrill to those who heard it. They had fallen in with Blueskin, he said, off Fenwick's Island (some twenty or thirty miles below the capes), and the pirates had come aboard of them; but, finding that the cargo of the schooner consisted only of cypress shingles and lumber, had soon quitted their prize. Perhaps Blueskin was disappointed at not finding a more valuable capture; perhaps the spirit of deviltry was hotter in him that morning than usual; anyhow, as the pirate craft bore away she fired three broadsides at short range into the helpless coaster. The captain had been killed at the first fire, the cook had died on the way up, three of the crew were wounded, and the vessel was leaking fast, betwixt wind and water. Such was the mate's story. It spread like wildfire, and in half an hour all the town was in a ferment. Fenwick's Island was very near home; Blueskin might come sailing into the harbor at any minute and then--! In an hour Sheriff Jones had called together most of the able-bodied men of the town, muskets and rifles were taken down from the chimney places, and every preparation was made to defend the place against the pirates, should they come into the harbor and attempt to land. But Blueskin did not come that day, nor did he come the next or the next. But on the afternoon of the third the news went suddenly flying over the town that the pirates were inside the capes. As the report spread the people came running--men, women, and children--to the green before the tavern, where a little knot of old seamen were gathered together, looking fixedly out toward the offing, talking in low voices. Two vessels, one bark-rigged, the other and smaller a sloop, were slowly creeping up the bay, a couple of miles or so away and just inside the cape. There appeared nothing remarkable about the two crafts, but the little crowd that continued gathering upon the green stood looking out across the bay at them none the less anxiously for that. They were sailing close-hauled to the wind, the sloop following in the wake of her consort as the pilot fish follows in the wake of the shark. But the course they held did not lie toward the harbor, but rather bore away toward the Jersey shore, and by and by it began to be apparent that Blueskin did not intend visiting the town. Nevertheless, those who stood looking did not draw a free breath until, after watching the two pirates for more than an hour and a half, they saw them--then about six miles away--suddenly put about and sail with a free wind out to sea again. "The bloody villains have gone!" said old Captain Wolfe, shutting his telescope with a click. But Lewes was not yet quit of Blueskin. Two days later a half-breed from Indian River bay came up, bringing the news that the pirates had sailed into the inlet--some fifteen miles below Lewes--and had careened the bark to clean her. Perhaps Blueskin did not care to stir up the country people against him, for the half-breed reported that the pirates were doing no harm, and that what they took from the farmers of Indian River and Rehoboth they paid for with good hard money. It was while the excitement over the pirates was at its highest fever heat that Levi West came home again. III Even in the middle of the last century the grist mill, a couple of miles from Lewes, although it was at most but fifty or sixty years old, had all a look of weather-beaten age, for the cypress shingles, of which it was built, ripen in a few years of wind and weather to a silvery, hoary gray, and the white powdering of flour lent it a look as though the dust of ages had settled upon it, making the shadows within dim, soft, mysterious. A dozen willow trees shaded with dappling, shivering ripples of shadow the road before the mill door, and the mill itself, and the long, narrow, shingle-built, one-storied, hip-roofed dwelling house. At the time of the story the mill had descended in a direct line of succession to Hiram White, the grandson of old Ephraim White, who had built it, it was said, in 1701. Hiram White was only twenty-seven years old, but he was already in local repute as a "character." As a boy he was thought to be half-witted or "natural," and, as is the case with such unfortunates in small country towns where everybody knows everybody, he was made a common sport and jest for the keener, crueler wits of the neighborhood. Now that he was grown to the ripeness of manhood he was still looked upon as being--to use a quaint expression--"slack," or "not jest right." He was heavy, awkward, ungainly and loose-jointed, and enormously, prodigiously strong. He had a lumpish, thick-featured face, with lips heavy and loosely hanging, that gave him an air of stupidity, half droll, half pathetic. His little eyes were set far apart and flat with his face, his eyebrows were nearly white and his hair was of a sandy, colorless kind. He was singularly taciturn, lisping thickly when he did talk, and stuttering and hesitating in his speech, as though his words moved faster than his mind could follow. It was the custom for local wags to urge, or badger, or tempt him to talk, for the sake of the ready laugh that always followed the few thick, stammering words and the stupid drooping of the jaw at the end of each short speech. Perhaps Squire Hall was the only one in Lewes Hundred who mis-doubted that Hiram was half-witted. He had had dealings with him and was wont to say that whoever bought Hiram White for a fool made a fool's bargain. Certainly, whether he had common wits or no, Hiram had managed his mill to pretty good purpose and was fairly well off in the world as prosperity went in southern Delaware and in those days. No doubt, had it come to the pinch, he might have bought some of his tormentors out three times over. Hiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months before, through that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian River inlet. He had entered into a "venture" with Josiah Shippin, a Philadelphia merchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds sterling. The money had been invested in a cargo of flour and corn meal which had been shipped to Jamaica by the bark _Nancy Lee_. The _Nancy Lee_ had been captured by the pirates off Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and the bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water's edge. [Illustration: SO THE TREASURE WAS DIVIDED] Five hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the unfortunate "venture" was money bequeathed by Hiram's father, seven years before, to Levi West. Eleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the widow West. She had brought with her to her new home a good-looking, long-legged, black-eyed, black-haired ne'er-do-well of a son, a year or so younger than Hiram. He was a shrewd, quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful, ill-trained perhaps, but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very opposite to poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he was ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he was very fond of Levi West, whom he always called "our Levi," and whom he treated in every way as though he were his own son. He tried to train the lad to work in the mill, and was patient beyond what the patience of most fathers would have been with his stepson's idleness and shiftlessness. "Never mind," he was used to say. "Levi 'll come all right. Levi's as bright as a button." It was one of the greatest blows of the old miller's life when Levi ran away to sea. In his last sickness the old man's mind constantly turned to his lost stepson. "Mebby he'll come back again," said he, "and if he does I want you to be good to him, Hiram. I've done my duty by you and have left you the house and mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi comes back again you'll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if he wants one." And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked. After Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five hundred pounds to his "beloved stepson, Levi West," and had left Squire Hall as trustee. Levi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been heard from him; there could be little or no doubt that he was dead. One day Hiram came into Squire Hall's office with a letter in his hand. It was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn meal were fetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies. The letter Hiram brought with him was from a Philadelphia merchant, Josiah Shippin, with whom he had had some dealings. Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should join him in sending a "venture" of flour and corn meal to Kingston, Jamaica. Hiram had slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought it to the old Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the while. "Too much risk, Hiram!" said he. "Mr Shippin wouldn't have asked you to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to do so. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you've come to me for advice?" Hiram shook his head. "Ye haven't? What have ye come for, then?" "Seven hundred pounds," said Hiram. "Seven hundred pounds!" said Squire Hall. "I haven't got seven hundred pounds to lend you, Hiram." "Five hundred been left to Levi--I got hundred--raise hundred more on mortgage," said Hiram. "Tut, tut, Hiram," said Squire Hall, "that'll never do in the world. Suppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I'm responsible for that money. If you wanted to borrow it now for any reasonable venture, you should have it and welcome, but for such a wildcat scheme--" "Levi never come back," said Hiram--"nine years gone--Levi's dead." "Mebby he is," said Squire Hall, "but we don't know that." "I'll give bond for security," said Hiram. Squire Hall thought for a while in silence. "Very well, Hiram," said he by and by, "if you'll do that. Your father left the money, and I don't see that it's right for me to stay his son from using it. But if it is lost, Hiram, and if Levi should come back, it will go well to ruin ye." So Hiram White invested seven hundred pounds in the Jamaica venture and every farthing of it was burned by Blueskin, off Currituck Sound. IV Sally Martin was said to be the prettiest girl in Lewes Hundred, and when the rumor began to leak out that Hiram White was courting her the whole community took it as a monstrous joke. It was the common thing to greet Hiram himself with, "Hey, Hiram; how's Sally?" Hiram never made answer to such salutation, but went his way as heavily, as impassively, as dully as ever. The joke was true. Twice a week, rain or shine, Hiram White never failed to scrape his feet upon Billy Martin's doorstep. Twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays, he never failed to take his customary seat by the kitchen fire. He rarely said anything by way of talk; he nodded to the farmer, to his wife, to Sally and, when he chanced to be at home, to her brother, but he ventured nothing further. There he would sit from half past seven until nine o'clock, stolid, heavy, impassive, his dull eyes following now one of the family and now another, but always coming back again to Sally. It sometimes happened that she had other company--some of the young men of the neighborhood. The presence of such seemed to make no difference to Hiram; he bore whatever broad jokes might be cracked upon him, whatever grins, whatever giggling might follow those jokes, with the same patient impassiveness. There he would sit, silent, unresponsive; then, at the first stroke of nine o'clock, he would rise, shoulder his ungainly person into his overcoat, twist his head into his three-cornered hat, and with a "Good night, Sally, I be going now," would take his departure, shutting the door carefully to behind him. Never, perhaps, was there a girl in the world had such a lover and such a courtship as Sally Martin. V It was one Thursday evening in the latter part of November, about a week after Blueskin's appearance off the capes, and while the one subject of talk was of the pirates being in Indian River inlet. The air was still and wintry; a sudden cold snap had set in and skins of ice had formed over puddles in the road; the smoke from the chimneys rose straight in the quiet air and voices sounded loud, as they do in frosty weather. Hiram White sat by the dim light of a tallow dip, poring laboriously over some account books. It was not quite seven o'clock, and he never started for Billy Martin's before that hour. As he ran his finger slowly and hesitatingly down the column of figures, he heard the kitchen door beyond open and shut, the noise of footsteps crossing the floor and the scraping of a chair dragged forward to the hearth. Then came the sound of a basket of corncobs being emptied on the smoldering blaze and then the snapping and crackling of the reanimated fire. Hiram thought nothing of all this, excepting, in a dim sort of way, that it was Bob, the negro mill hand, or old black Dinah, the housekeeper, and so went on with his calculations. At last he closed the books with a snap and, smoothing down his hair, arose, took up the candle, and passed out of the room into the kitchen beyond. A man was sitting in front of the corncob fire that flamed and blazed in the great, gaping, sooty fireplace. A rough overcoat was flung over the chair behind him and his hands were spread out to the roaring warmth. At the sound of the lifted latch and of Hiram's entrance he turned his head, and when Hiram saw his face he stood suddenly still as though turned to stone. The face, marvelously altered and changed as it was, was the face of his stepbrother, Levi West. He was not dead; he had come home again. For a time not a sound broke the dead, unbroken silence excepting the crackling of the blaze in the fireplace and the sharp ticking of the tall clock in the corner. The one face, dull and stolid, with the light of the candle shining upward over its lumpy features, looked fixedly, immovably, stonily at the other, sharp, shrewd, cunning--the red wavering light of the blaze shining upon the high cheek bones, cutting sharp on the nose and twinkling in the glassy turn of the black, ratlike eyes. Then suddenly that face cracked, broadened, spread to a grin. "I have come back again, Hi," said Levi, and at the sound of the words the speechless spell was broken. Hiram answered never a word, but he walked to the fireplace, set the candle down upon the dusty mantelshelf among the boxes and bottles, and, drawing forward a chair upon the other side of the hearth, sat down. His dull little eyes never moved from his stepbrother's face. There was no curiosity in his expression, no surprise, no wonder. The heavy under lip dropped a little farther open and there was more than usual of dull, expressionless stupidity upon the lumpish face; but that was all. As was said, the face upon which he looked was strangely, marvelously changed from what it had been when he had last seen it nine years before, and, though it was still the face of Levi West, it was a very different Levi West than the shiftless ne'er-do-well who had run away to sea in the Brazilian brig that long time ago. That Levi West had been a rough, careless, happy-go-lucky fellow; thoughtless and selfish, but with nothing essentially evil or sinister in his nature. The Levi West that now sat in a rush-bottom chair at the other side of the fireplace had that stamped upon his front that might be both evil and sinister. His swart complexion was tanned to an Indian copper. On one side of his face was a curious discoloration in the skin and a long, crooked, cruel scar that ran diagonally across forehead and temple and cheek in a white, jagged seam. This discoloration was of a livid blue, about the tint of a tattoo mark. It made a patch the size of a man's hand, lying across the cheek and the side of the neck. Hiram could not keep his eyes from this mark and the white scar cutting across it. There was an odd sort of incongruity in Levi's dress; a pair of heavy gold earrings and a dirty red handkerchief knotted loosely around his neck, beneath an open collar, displaying to its full length the lean, sinewy throat with its bony "Adam's apple," gave to his costume somewhat the smack of a sailor. He wore a coat that had once been of fine plum color--now stained and faded--too small for his lean length, and furbished with tarnished lace. Dirty cambric cuffs hung at his wrists and on his fingers were half a dozen and more rings, set with stones that shone, and glistened, and twinkled in the light of the fire. The hair at either temple was twisted into a Spanish curl, plastered flat to the cheek, and a plaited queue hung halfway down his back. Hiram, speaking never a word, sat motionless, his dull little eyes traveling slowly up and down and around and around his stepbrother's person. Levi did not seem to notice his scrutiny, leaning forward, now with his palms spread out to the grateful warmth, now rubbing them slowly together. But at last he suddenly whirled his chair around, rasping on the floor, and faced his stepbrother. He thrust his hand into his capacious coat pocket and brought out a pipe which he proceeded to fill from a skin of tobacco. "Well, Hi," said he, "d'ye see I've come back home again?" "Thought you was dead," said Hiram, dully. Levi laughed, then he drew a red-hot coal out of the fire, put it upon the bowl of the pipe and began puffing out clouds of pungent smoke. "Nay, nay," said he; "not dead--not dead by odds. But [puff] by the Eternal Holy, Hi, I played many a close game [puff] with old Davy Jones, for all that." Hiram's look turned inquiringly toward the jagged scar and Levi caught the slow glance. "You're lookin' at this," said he, running his finger down the crooked seam. "That looks bad, but it wasn't so close as this"--laying his hand for a moment upon the livid stain. "A cooly devil off Singapore gave me that cut when we fell foul of an opium junk in the China Sea four years ago last September. This," touching the disfiguring blue patch again, "was a closer miss, Hi. A Spanish captain fired a pistol at me down off Santa Catharina. He was so nigh that the powder went under the skin and it'll never come out again. ---- his eyes--he had better have fired the pistol into his own head that morning. But never mind that. I reckon I'm changed, ain't I, Hi?" He took his pipe out of his mouth and looked inquiringly at Hiram, who nodded. Levi laughed. "Devil doubt it," said he, "but whether I'm changed or no, I'll take my affidavy that you are the same old half-witted Hi that you used to be. I remember dad used to say that you hadn't no more than enough wits to keep you out of the rain. And, talking of dad, Hi, I hearn tell he's been dead now these nine years gone. D'ye know what I've come home for?" Hiram shook his head. "I've come for that five hundred pounds that dad left me when he died, for I hearn tell of that, too." Hiram sat quite still for a second or two and then he said, "I put that money out to venture and lost it all." Levi's face fell and he took his pipe out of his mouth, regarding Hiram sharply and keenly. "What d'ye mean?" said he presently. "I thought you was dead--and I put--seven hundred pounds--into _Nancy Lee_--and Blueskin burned her--off Currituck." "Burned her off Currituck!" repeated Levi. Then suddenly a light seemed to break upon his comprehension. "Burned by Blueskin!" he repeated, and thereupon flung himself back in his chair and burst into a short, boisterous fit of laughter. "Well, by the Holy Eternal, Hi, if that isn't a piece of your tarnal luck. Burned by Blueskin, was it?" He paused for a moment, as though turning it over in his mind. Then he laughed again. "All the same," said he presently, "d'ye see, I can't suffer for Blueskin's doings. The money was willed to me, fair and true, and you have got to pay it, Hiram White, burn or sink, Blueskin or no Blueskin." Again he puffed for a moment or two in reflective silence. "All the same, Hi," said he, once more resuming the thread of talk, "I don't reckon to be too hard on you. You be only half-witted, anyway, and I sha'n't be too hard on you. I give you a month to raise that money, and while you're doing it I'll jest hang around here. I've been in trouble, Hi, d'ye see. I'm under a cloud and so I want to keep here, as quiet as may be. I'll tell ye how it came about: I had a set-to with a land pirate in Philadelphia, and somebody got hurt. That's the reason I'm here now, and don't you say anything about it. Do you understand?" Hiram opened his lips as though it was his intent to answer, then seemed to think better of it and contented himself by nodding his head. That Thursday night was the first for a six-month that Hiram White did not scrape his feet clean at Billy Martin's doorstep. VI Within a week Levi West had pretty well established himself among his old friends and acquaintances, though upon a different footing from that of nine years before, for this was a very different Levi from that other. Nevertheless, he was none the less popular in the barroom of the tavern and at the country store, where he was always the center of a group of loungers. His nine years seemed to have been crowded full of the wildest of wild adventures and happenings, as well by land as by sea, and, given an appreciative audience, he would reel off his yarns by the hour, in a reckless, devil-may-care fashion that set agape even old sea dogs who had sailed the western ocean since boyhood. Then he seemed always to have plenty of money, and he loved to spend it at the tavern taproom, with a lavishness that was at once the wonder and admiration of gossips. [Illustration: Colonel Rhett and the Pirate _Illustration from_ COLONIES AND NATION _by_ Woodrow Wilson _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _May_, 1901] At that time, as was said, Blueskin was the one engrossing topic of talk, and it added not a little to Levi's prestige when it was found that he had actually often seen that bloody, devilish pirate with his own eyes. A great, heavy, burly fellow, Levi said he was, with a beard as black as a hat--a devil with his sword and pistol afloat, but not so black as he was painted when ashore. He told of many adventures in which Blueskin figured and was then always listened to with more than usual gaping interest. As for Blueskin, the quiet way in which the pirates conducted themselves at Indian River almost made the Lewes folk forget what he could do when the occasion called. They almost ceased to remember that poor shattered schooner that had crawled with its ghastly dead and groaning wounded into the harbor a couple of weeks since. But if for a while they forgot who or what Blueskin was, it was not for long. One day a bark from Bristol, bound for Cuba and laden with a valuable cargo of cloth stuffs and silks, put into Lewes harbor to take in water. The captain himself came ashore and was at the tavern for two or three hours. It happened that Levi was there and that the talk was of Blueskin. The English captain, a grizzled old sea dog, listened to Levi's yarns with not a little contempt. He had, he said, sailed in the China Sea and the Indian Ocean too long to be afraid of any hog-eating Yankee pirate such as this Blueskin. A junk full of coolies armed with stink-pots was something to speak of, but who ever heard of the likes of Blueskin falling afoul of anything more than a Spanish canoe or a Yankee coaster? Levi grinned. "All the same, my hearty," said he, "if I was you I'd give Blueskin a wide berth. I hear that he's cleaned the vessel that was careened awhile ago, and mebby he'll give you a little trouble if you come too nigh him." To this the Englishman only answered that Blueskin might be----, and that the next afternoon, wind and weather permitting, he intended to heave anchor and run out to sea. Levi laughed again. "I wish I might be here to see what'll happen," said he, "but I'm going up the river to-night to see a gal and mebby won't be back again for three or four days." The next afternoon the English bark set sail as the captain promised, and that night Lewes town was awake until almost morning, gazing at a broad red glare that lighted up the sky away toward the southeast. Two days afterward a negro oysterman came up from Indian River with news that the pirates were lying off the inlet, bringing ashore bales of goods from their larger vessel and piling the same upon the beach under tarpaulins. He said that it was known down at Indian River that Blueskin had fallen afoul of an English bark, had burned her and had murdered the captain and all but three of the crew, who had joined with the pirates. The excitement over this terrible happening had only begun to subside when another occurred to cap it. One afternoon a ship's boat, in which were five men and two women, came rowing into Lewes harbor. It was the longboat of the Charleston packet, bound for New York, and was commanded by the first mate. The packet had been attacked and captured by the pirates about ten leagues south by east of Cape Henlopen. The pirates had come aboard of them at night and no resistance had been offered. Perhaps it was that circumstance that saved the lives of all, for no murder or violence had been done. Nevertheless, officers, passengers and crew had been stripped of everything of value and set adrift in the boats and the ship herself had been burned. The longboat had become separated from the others during the night and had sighted Henlopen a little after sunrise. It may be here said that Squire Hall made out a report of these two occurrences and sent it up to Philadelphia by the mate of the packet. But for some reason it was nearly four weeks before a sloop of war was sent around from New York. In the meanwhile, the pirates had disposed of the booty stored under the tarpaulins on the beach at Indian River inlet, shipping some of it away in two small sloops and sending the rest by wagons somewhere up the country. VII Levi had told the English captain that he was going up-country to visit one of his lady friends. He was gone nearly two weeks. Then once more he appeared, as suddenly, as unexpectedly, as he had done when he first returned to Lewes. Hiram was sitting at supper when the door opened and Levi walked in, hanging up his hat behind the door as unconcernedly as though he had only been gone an hour. He was in an ugly, lowering humor and sat himself down at the table without uttering a word, resting his chin upon his clenched fist and glowering fixedly at the corn cake while Dinah fetched him a plate and knife and fork. His coming seemed to have taken away all of Hiram's appetite. He pushed away his plate and sat staring at his stepbrother, who presently fell to at the bacon and eggs like a famished wolf. Not a word was said until Levi had ended his meal and filled his pipe. "Look'ee, Hiram," said he, as he stooped over the fire and raked out a hot coal. "Look'ee, Hiram! I've been to Philadelphia, d'ye see, a-settlin' up that trouble I told you about when I first come home. D'ye understand? D'ye remember? D'ye get it through your skull?" He looked around over his shoulder, waiting as though for an answer. But getting none, he continued: "I expect two gentlemen here from Philadelphia to-night. They're friends of mine and are coming to talk over the business and ye needn't stay at home, Hi. You can go out somewhere, d'ye understand?" And then he added with a grin, "Ye can go to see Sally." Hiram pushed back his chair and arose. He leaned with his back against the side of the fireplace. "I'll stay at home," said he presently. "But I don't want you to stay at home, Hi," said Levi. "We'll have to talk business and I want you to go!" "I'll stay at home," said Hiram again. Levi's brow grew as black as thunder. He ground his teeth together and for a moment or two it seemed as though an explosion was coming. But he swallowed his passion with a gulp. "You're a----pig-headed, half-witted fool," said he. Hiram never so much as moved his eyes. "As for you," said Levi, whirling round upon Dinah, who was clearing the table, and glowering balefully upon the old negress, "you put them things down and git out of here. Don't you come nigh this kitchen again till I tell ye to. If I catch you pryin' around may I be ----, eyes and liver, if I don't cut your heart out." * * * * * In about half an hour Levi's friends came; the first a little, thin, wizened man with a very foreign look. He was dressed in a rusty black suit and wore gray yarn stockings and shoes with brass buckles. The other was also plainly a foreigner. He was dressed in sailor fashion, with petticoat breeches of duck, a heavy pea-jacket, and thick boots, reaching to the knees. He wore a red sash tied around his waist, and once, as he pushed back his coat, Hiram saw the glitter of a pistol butt. He was a powerful, thickset man, low-browed and bull-necked, his cheek, and chin, and throat closely covered with a stubble of blue-black beard. He wore a red kerchief tied around his head and over it a cocked hat, edged with tarnished gilt braid. Levi himself opened the door to them. He exchanged a few words outside with his visitors, in a foreign language of which Hiram understood nothing. Neither of the two strangers spoke a word to Hiram: the little man shot him a sharp look out of the corners of his eyes and the burly ruffian scowled blackly at him, but beyond that neither vouchsafed him any regard. Levi drew to the shutters, shot the bolt in the outer door, and tilted a chair against the latch of the one that led from the kitchen into the adjoining room. Then the three worthies seated themselves at the table which Dinah had half cleared of the supper china, and were presently deeply engrossed over a packet of papers which the big, burly man had brought with him in the pocket of his pea-jacket. The confabulation was conducted throughout in the same foreign language which Levi had used when first speaking to them--a language quite unintelligible to Hiram's ears. Now and then the murmur of talk would rise loud and harsh over some disputed point; now and then it would sink away to whispers. Twice the tall clock in the corner whirred and sharply struck the hour, but throughout the whole long consultation Hiram stood silent, motionless as a stock, his eyes fixed almost unwinkingly upon the three heads grouped close together around the dim, flickering light of the candle and the papers scattered upon the table. Suddenly the talk came to an end, the three heads separated and the three chairs were pushed back, grating harshly. Levi rose, went to the closet and brought thence a bottle of Hiram's apple brandy, as coolly as though it belonged to himself. He set three tumblers and a crock of water upon the table and each helped himself liberally. As the two visitors departed down the road, Levi stood for a while at the open door, looking after the dusky figures until they were swallowed in the darkness. Then he turned, came in, shut the door, shuddered, took a final dose of the apple brandy and went to bed, without, since his first suppressed explosion, having said a single word to Hiram. Hiram, left alone, stood for a while, silent, motionless as ever, then he looked slowly about him, gave a shake of the shoulders as though to arouse himself, and taking the candle, left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. VIII This time of Levi West's unwelcome visitation was indeed a time of bitter trouble and tribulation to poor Hiram White. Money was of very different value in those days than it is now, and five hundred pounds was in its way a good round lump--in Sussex County it was almost a fortune. It was a desperate struggle for Hiram to raise the amount of his father's bequest to his stepbrother. Squire Hall, as may have been gathered, had a very warm and friendly feeling for Hiram, believing in him when all others disbelieved; nevertheless, in the matter of money the old man was as hard and as cold as adamant. He would, he said, do all he could to help Hiram, but that five hundred pounds must and should be raised--Hiram must release his security bond. He would loan him, he said, three hundred pounds, taking a mortgage upon the mill. He would have lent him four hundred but that there was already a first mortgage of one hundred pounds upon it, and he would not dare to put more than three hundred more atop of that. Hiram had a considerable quantity of wheat which he had bought upon speculation and which was then lying idle in a Philadelphia storehouse. This he had sold at public sale and at a very great sacrifice; he realized barely one hundred pounds upon it. The financial horizon looked very black to him; nevertheless, Levi's five hundred pounds was raised, and paid into Squire Hall's hands, and Squire Hall released Hiram's bond. The business was finally closed on one cold, gray afternoon in the early part of December. As Hiram tore his bond across and then tore it across again and again, Squire Hall pushed back the papers upon his desk and cocked his feet upon its slanting top. "Hiram," said he, abruptly, "Hiram, do you know that Levi West is forever hanging around Billy Martin's house, after that pretty daughter of his?" So long a space of silence followed the speech that the Squire began to think that Hiram might not have heard him. But Hiram had heard. "No," said he, "I didn't know it." "Well, he is," said Squire Hall. "It's the talk of the whole neighborhood. The talk's pretty bad, too. D'ye know that they say that she was away from home three days last week, nobody knew where? The fellow's turned her head with his sailor's yarns and his traveler's lies." Hiram said not a word, but he sat looking at the other in stolid silence. "That stepbrother of yours," continued the old Squire presently, "is a rascal--he is a rascal, Hiram, and I mis-doubt he's something worse. I hear he's been seen in some queer places and with queer company of late." He stopped again, and still Hiram said nothing. "And look'ee, Hiram," the old man resumed, suddenly, "I do hear that you be courtin' the girl, too; is that so?" "Yes," said Hiram, "I'm courtin' her, too." "Tut! tut!" said the Squire, "that's a pity, Hiram. I'm afraid your cakes are dough." After he had left the Squire's office, Hiram stood for a while in the street, bareheaded, his hat in his hand, staring unwinkingly down at the ground at his feet, with stupidly drooping lips and lackluster eyes. Presently he raised his hand and began slowly smoothing down the sandy shock of hair upon his forehead. At last he aroused himself with a shake, looked dully up and down the street, and then, putting on his hat, turned and walked slowly and heavily away. The early dusk of the cloudy winter evening was settling fast, for the sky was leaden and threatening. At the outskirts of the town Hiram stopped again and again stood for a while in brooding thought. Then, finally, he turned slowly, not the way that led homeward, but taking the road that led between the bare and withered fields and crooked fences toward Billy Martin's. It would be hard to say just what it was that led Hiram to seek Billy Martin's house at that time of day--whether it was fate or ill fortune. He could not have chosen a more opportune time to confirm his own undoing. What he saw was the very worst that his heart feared. Along the road, at a little distance from the house, was a mock-orange hedge, now bare, naked, leafless. As Hiram drew near he heard footsteps approaching and low voices. He drew back into the fence corner and there stood, half sheltered by the stark network of twigs. Two figures passed slowly along the gray of the roadway in the gloaming. One was his stepbrother, the other was Sally Martin. Levi's arm was around her, he was whispering into her ear, and her head rested upon his shoulder. Hiram stood as still, as breathless, as cold as ice. They stopped upon the side of the road just beyond where he stood. Hiram's eyes never left them. There for some time they talked together in low voices, their words now and then reaching the ears of that silent, breathless listener. Suddenly there came the clattering of an opening door, and then Betty Martin's voice broke the silence, harshly, shrilly: "Sal!--Sal!--Sally Martin! You, Sally Martin! Come in yere. Where be ye?" The girl flung her arms around Levi's neck and their lips met in one quick kiss. The next moment she was gone, flying swiftly, silently, down the road past where Hiram stood, stooping as she ran. Levi stood looking after her until she was gone; then he turned and walked away whistling. His whistling died shrilly into silence in the wintry distance, and then at last Hiram came stumbling out from the hedge. His face had never looked before as it looked then. IX Hiram was standing in front of the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. He had not touched the supper on the table. Levi was eating with an appetite. Suddenly he looked over his plate at his stepbrother. "How about that five hundred pounds, Hiram?" said he. "I gave ye a month to raise it and the month ain't quite up yet, but I'm goin' to leave this here place day after to-morrow--by next day at the furd'st--and I want the money that's mine." "I paid it to Squire Hall to-day and he has it fer ye," said Hiram, dully. Levi laid down his knife and fork with a clatter. "Squire Hall!" said he, "what's Squire Hall got to do with it? Squire Hall didn't have the use of that money. It was you had it and you have got to pay it back to me, and if you don't do it, by G----, I'll have the law on you, sure as you're born." "Squire Hall's trustee--I ain't your trustee," said Hiram, in the same dull voice. "I don't know nothing about trustees," said Levi, "or anything about lawyer business, either. What I want to know is, are you going to pay me my money or no?" "No," said Hiram, "I ain't--Squire Hall 'll pay ye; you go to him." Levi West's face grew purple red. He pushed back, his chair grating harshly. "You--bloody land pirate!" he said, grinding his teeth together. "I see through your tricks. You're up to cheating me out of my money. You know very well that Squire Hall is down on me, hard and bitter--writin' his ---- reports to Philadelphia and doing all he can to stir up everybody agin me and to bring the bluejackets down on me. I see through your tricks as clear as glass, but ye sha'n't trick me. I'll have my money if there's law in the land--ye bloody, unnatural thief ye, who'd go agin your dead father's will!" Then--if the roof had fallen in upon him, Levi West could not have been more amazed--Hiram suddenly strode forward, and, leaning half across the table with his fists clenched, fairly glared into Levi's eyes. His face, dull, stupid, wooden, was now fairly convulsed with passion. The great veins stood out upon his temples like knotted whipcords, and when he spoke his voice was more a breathless snarl than the voice of a Christian man. "Ye'll have the law, will ye?" said he. "Ye'll--have the law, will ye? You're afeared to go to law--Levi West--you try th' law--and see how ye like it. Who 're you to call me thief--ye bloody, murderin' villain ye! You're the thief--Levi West--you come here and stole my daddy from me--ye did. You make me ruin--myself to pay what oughter to been mine--then--ye--ye steal the gal I was courtin', to boot." He stopped and his lips writhed for words to say. "I know ye," said he, grinding his teeth. "I know ye! And only for what my daddy made me promise I'd a-had you up to the magistrate's before this." Then, pointing with quivering finger: "There's the door--you see it! Go out that there door and don't never come into it again--if ye do--or if ye ever come where I can lay eyes on ye again--by th' Holy Holy I'll hale ye up to the Squire's office and tell all I know and all I've seen. Oh, I'll give ye your belly-fill of law if--ye want th' law! Git out of the house, I say!" As Hiram spoke Levi seemed to shrink together. His face changed from its copper color to a dull, waxy yellow. When the other ended he answered never a word. But he pushed back his chair, rose, put on his hat and, with a furtive, sidelong look, left the house, without stopping to finish the supper which he had begun. He never entered Hiram White's door again. X Hiram had driven out the evil spirit from his home, but the mischief that it had brewed was done and could not be undone. The next day it was known that Sally Martin had run away from home, and that she had run away with Levi West. Old Billy Martin had been in town in the morning with his rifle, hunting for Levi and threatening if he caught him to have his life for leading his daughter astray. And, as the evil spirit had left Hiram's house, so had another and a greater evil spirit quitted its harborage. It was heard from Indian River in a few days more that Blueskin had quitted the inlet and had sailed away to the southeast; and it was reported, by those who seemed to know, that he had finally quitted those parts. It was well for himself that Blueskin left when he did, for not three days after he sailed away the _Scorpion_ sloop-of-war dropped anchor in Lewes harbor. The New York agent of the unfortunate packet and a government commissioner had also come aboard the _Scorpion_. Without loss of time, the officer in command instituted a keen and searching examination that brought to light some singularly curious facts. It was found that a very friendly understanding must have existed for some time between the pirates and the people of Indian River, for, in the houses throughout that section, many things--some of considerable value--that had been taken by the pirates from the packet, were discovered and seized by the commissioner. Valuables of a suspicious nature had found their way even into the houses of Lewes itself. The whole neighborhood seemed to have become more or less tainted by the presence of the pirates. Even poor Hiram White did not escape the suspicions of having had dealings with them. Of course the examiners were not slow in discovering that Levi West had been deeply concerned with Blueskin's doings. Old Dinah and black Bob were examined, and not only did the story of Levi's two visitors come to light, but also the fact that Hiram was present and with them while they were in the house disposing of the captured goods to their agent. Of all that he had endured, nothing seemed to cut poor Hiram so deeply and keenly as these unjust suspicions. They seemed to bring the last bitter pang, hardest of all to bear. Levi had taken from him his father's love; he had driven him, if not to ruin, at least perilously close to it. He had run away with the girl he loved, and now, through him, even Hiram's good name was gone. Neither did the suspicions against him remain passive; they became active. Goldsmiths' bills, to the amount of several thousand pounds, had been taken in the packet and Hiram was examined with an almost inquisitorial closeness and strictness as to whether he had or had not knowledge of their whereabouts. Under his accumulated misfortunes, he grew not only more dull, more taciturn, than ever, but gloomy, moody, brooding as well. For hours he would sit staring straight before him into the fire, without moving so much as a hair. One night--it was a bitterly cold night in February, with three inches of dry and gritty snow upon the ground--while Hiram sat thus brooding, there came, of a sudden, a soft tap upon the door. Low and hesitating as it was, Hiram started violently at the sound. He sat for a while, looking from right to left. Then suddenly pushing back his chair, he arose, strode to the door, and flung it wide open. It was Sally Martin. [Illustration: The Pirate's Christmas _Originally published in_ HARPER'S WEEKLY, _Christmas, 1893_] Hiram stood for a while staring blankly at her. It was she who first spoke. "Won't you let me come in, Hi?" said she. "I'm nigh starved with the cold and I'm fit to die, I'm so hungry. For God's sake, let me come in." "Yes," said Hiram, "I'll let you come in, but why don't you go home?" The poor girl was shivering and chattering with the cold; now she began crying, wiping her eyes with the corner of a blanket in which her head and shoulders were wrapped. "I have been home, Hiram," she said, "but dad, he shut the door in my face. He cursed me just awful, Hi--I wish I was dead!" "You better come in," said Hiram. "It's no good standing out there in the cold." He stood aside and the girl entered, swiftly, gratefully. At Hiram's bidding black Dinah presently set some food before Sally and she fell to eating ravenously, almost ferociously. Meantime, while she ate, Hiram stood with his back to the fire, looking at her face--that face once so round and rosy, now thin, pinched, haggard. "Are you sick, Sally?" said he presently. "No," said she, "but I've had pretty hard times since I left home, Hi." The tears sprang to her eyes at the recollection of her troubles, but she only wiped them hastily away with the back of her hand, without stopping in her eating. A long pause of dead silence followed. Dinah sat crouched together on a cricket at the other side of the hearth, listening with interest. Hiram did not seem to see her. "Did you go off with Levi?" said he at last, speaking abruptly. The girl looked up furtively under her brows. "You needn't be afeared to tell," he added. "Yes," said she at last, "I did go off with him, Hi." "Where've you been?" At the question, she suddenly laid down her knife and fork. "Don't you ask me that, Hi," said she, agitatedly, "I can't tell you that. You don't know Levi, Hiram; I darsn't tell you anything he don't want me to. If I told you where I been he'd hunt me out, no matter where I was, and kill me. If you only knew what I know about him, Hiram, you wouldn't ask anything about him." Hiram stood looking broodingly at her for a long time; then at last he again spoke. "I thought a sight of you onc't, Sally," said he. Sally did not answer immediately, but, after a while, she suddenly looked up. "Hiram," said she, "if I tell ye something will you promise on your oath not to breathe a word to any living soul?" Hiram nodded. "Then I'll tell you, but if Levi finds I've told he'll murder me as sure as you're standin' there. Come nigher--I've got to whisper it." He leaned forward close to her where she sat. She looked swiftly from right to left; then raising her lips she breathed into his ear: "I'm an honest woman, Hi. I was married to Levi West before I run away." XI The winter had passed, spring had passed, and summer had come. Whatever Hiram had felt, he had made no sign of suffering. Nevertheless, his lumpy face had begun to look flabby, his cheeks hollow, and his loose-jointed body shrunk more awkwardly together into its clothes. He was often awake at night, sometimes walking up and down his room until far into the small hours. It was through such a wakeful spell as this that he entered into the greatest, the most terrible, happening of his life. It was a sulphurously hot night in July. The air was like the breath of a furnace, and it was a hard matter to sleep with even the easiest mind and under the most favorable circumstances. The full moon shone in through the open window, laying a white square of light upon the floor, and Hiram, as he paced up and down, up and down, walked directly through it, his gaunt figure starting out at every turn into sudden brightness as he entered the straight line of misty light. The clock in the kitchen whirred and rang out the hour of twelve, and Hiram stopped in his walk to count the strokes. The last vibration died away into silence, and still he stood motionless, now listening with a new and sudden intentness, for, even as the clock rang the last stroke, he heard soft, heavy footsteps, moving slowly and cautiously along the pathway before the house and directly below the open window. A few seconds more and he heard the creaking of rusty hinges. The mysterious visitor had entered the mill. Hiram crept softly to the window and looked out. The moon shone full on the dusty, shingled face of the old mill, not thirty steps away, and he saw that the door was standing wide open. A second or two of stillness followed, and then, as he still stood looking intently, he saw the figure of a man suddenly appear, sharp and vivid, from the gaping blackness of the open doorway. Hiram could see his face as clear as day. It was Levi West, and he carried an empty meal bag over his arm. Levi West stood looking from right to left for a second or two, and then he took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Then he softly closed the door behind him and left the mill as he had come, and with the same cautious step. Hiram looked down upon him as he passed close to the house and almost directly beneath. He could have touched him with his hand. Fifty or sixty yards from the house Levi stopped and a second figure arose from the black shadow in the angle of the worm fence and joined him. They stood for a while talking together, Levi pointing now and then toward the mill. Then the two turned, and, climbing over the fence, cut across an open field and through the tall, shaggy grass toward the southeast. Hiram straightened himself and drew a deep breath, and the moon, shining full upon his face, showed it twisted, convulsed, as it had been when he had fronted his stepbrother seven months before in the kitchen. Great beads of sweat stood on his brow and he wiped them away with his sleeve. Then, coatless, hatless as he was, he swung himself out of the window, dropped upon the grass, and, without an instant of hesitation, strode off down the road in the direction that Levi West had taken. As he climbed the fence where the two men had climbed it he could see them in the pallid light, far away across the level, scrubby meadow land, walking toward a narrow strip of pine woods. A little later they entered the sharp-cut shadows beneath the trees and were swallowed in the darkness. With fixed eyes and close-shut lips, as doggedly, as inexorably as though he were a Nemesis hunting his enemy down, Hiram followed their footsteps across the stretch of moonlit open. Then, by and by, he also was in the shadow of the pines. Here, not a sound broke the midnight hush. His feet made no noise upon the resinous softness of the ground below. In that dead, pulseless silence he could distinctly hear the distant voices of Levi and his companion, sounding loud and resonant in the hollow of the woods. Beyond the woods was a cornfield, and presently he heard the rattling of the harsh leaves as the two plunged into the tasseled jungle. Here, as in the woods, he followed them, step by step, guided by the noise of their progress through the canes. Beyond the cornfield ran a road that, skirting to the south of Lewes, led across a wooden bridge to the wide salt marshes that stretched between the town and the distant sand hills. Coming out upon this road Hiram found that he had gained upon those he followed, and that they now were not fifty paces away, and he could see that Levi's companion carried over his shoulder what looked like a bundle of tools. He waited for a little while to let them gain their distance and for the second time wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve; then, without ever once letting his eyes leave them, he climbed the fence to the roadway. For a couple of miles or more he followed the two along the white, level highway, past silent, sleeping houses, past barns, sheds, and haystacks, looming big in the moonlight, past fields, and woods, and clearings, past the dark and silent skirts of the town, and so, at last, out upon the wide, misty salt marshes, which seemed to stretch away interminably through the pallid light, yet were bounded in the far distance by the long, white line of sand hills. Across the level salt marshes he followed them, through the rank sedge and past the glassy pools in which his own inverted image stalked beneath as he stalked above; on and on, until at last they had reached a belt of scrub pines, gnarled and gray, that fringed the foot of the white sand hills. Here Hiram kept within the black network of shadow. The two whom he followed walked more in the open, with their shadows, as black as ink, walking along in the sand beside them, and now, in the dead, breathless stillness, might be heard, dull and heavy, the distant thumping, pounding roar of the Atlantic surf, beating on the beach at the other side of the sand hills, half a mile away. At last the two rounded the southern end of the white bluff, and when Hiram, following, rounded it also, they were no longer to be seen. Before him the sand hill rose, smooth and steep, cutting in a sharp ridge against the sky. Up this steep hill trailed the footsteps of those he followed, disappearing over the crest. Beyond the ridge lay a round, bowl-like hollow, perhaps fifty feet across and eighteen or twenty feet deep, scooped out by the eddying of the winds into an almost perfect circle. Hiram, slowly, cautiously, stealthily, following their trailing line of footmarks, mounted to the top of the hillock and peered down into the bowl beneath. The two men were sitting upon the sand, not far from the tall, skeleton-like shaft of a dead pine tree that rose, stark and gray, from the sand in which it may once have been buried, centuries ago. XII Levi had taken off his coat and waistcoat and was fanning himself with his hat. He was sitting upon the bag he had brought from the mill and which he had spread out upon the sand. His companion sat facing him. The moon shone full upon him and Hiram knew him instantly--he was the same burly, foreign-looking ruffian who had come with the little man to the mill that night to see Levi. He also had his hat off and was wiping his forehead and face with a red handkerchief. Beside him lay the bundle of tools he had brought--a couple of shovels, a piece of rope, and a long, sharp iron rod. The two men were talking together, but Hiram could not understand what they said, for they spoke in the same foreign language that they had before used. But he could see his stepbrother point with his finger, now to the dead tree and now to the steep, white face of the opposite side of the bowl-like hollow. At last, having apparently rested themselves, the conference, if conference it was, came to an end, and Levi led the way, the other following, to the dead pine tree. Here he stopped and began searching, as though for some mark; then, having found that which he looked for, he drew a tapeline and a large brass pocket compass from his pocket. He gave one end of the tape line to his companion, holding the other with his thumb pressed upon a particular part of the tree. Taking his bearings by the compass, he gave now and then some orders to the other, who moved a little to the left or the right as he bade. At last he gave a word of command, and, thereupon, his companion drew a wooden peg from his pocket and thrust it into the sand. From this peg as a base they again measured, taking bearings by the compass, and again drove a peg. For a third time they repeated their measurements and then, at last, seemed to have reached the point which they aimed for. Here Levi marked a cross with his heel upon the sand. His companion brought him the pointed iron rod which lay beside the shovels, and then stood watching as Levi thrust it deep into the sand, again and again, as though sounding for some object below. It was some while before he found that for which he was seeking, but at last the rod struck with a jar upon some hard object below. After making sure of success by one or two additional taps with the rod, Levi left it remaining where it stood, brushing the sand from his hands. "Now fetch the shovels, Pedro," said he, speaking for the first time in English. The two men were busy for a long while, shoveling away the sand. The object for which they were seeking lay buried some six feet deep, and the work was heavy and laborious, the shifting sand sliding back, again and again, into the hole. But at last the blade of one of the shovels struck upon some hard substance and Levi stooped and brushed away the sand with the palm of his hand. Levi's companion climbed out of the hole which they had dug and tossed the rope which he had brought with the shovels down to the other. Levi made it fast to some object below and then himself mounted to the level of the sand above. Pulling together, the two drew up from the hole a heavy iron-bound box, nearly three feet long and a foot wide and deep. Levi's companion stooped and began untying the rope which had been lashed to a ring in the lid. What next happened happened suddenly, swiftly, terribly. Levi drew back a single step, and shot one quick, keen look to right and to left. He passed his hand rapidly behind his back, and the next moment Hiram saw the moonlight gleam upon the long, sharp, keen blade of a knife. Levi raised his arm. Then, just as the other arose from bending over the chest, he struck, and struck again, two swift, powerful blows. Hiram saw the blade drive, clean and sharp, into the back, and heard the hilt strike with a dull thud against the ribs--once, twice. The burly, black-bearded wretch gave a shrill, terrible cry and fell staggering back. Then, in an instant, with another cry, he was up and clutched Levi with a clutch of despair by the throat and by the arm. Then followed a struggle, short, terrible, silent. Not a sound was heard but the deep, panting breath and the scuffling of feet in the sand, upon which there now poured and dabbled a dark-purple stream. But it was a one-sided struggle and lasted only for a second or two. Levi wrenched his arm loose from the wounded man's grasp, tearing his shirt sleeve from the wrist to the shoulder as he did so. Again and again the cruel knife was lifted, and again and again it fell, now no longer bright, but stained with red. Then, suddenly, all was over. Levi's companion dropped to the sand without a sound, like a bundle of rags. For a moment he lay limp and inert; then one shuddering spasm passed over him and he lay silent and still, with his face half buried in the sand. Levi, with the knife still gripped tight in his hand, stood leaning over his victim, looking down upon his body. His shirt and hand, and even his naked arm, were stained and blotched with blood. The moon lit up his face and it was the face of a devil from hell. At last he gave himself a shake, stooped and wiped his knife and hand and arm upon the loose petticoat breeches of the dead man. He thrust his knife back into its sheath, drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the chest. In the moonlight Hiram could see that it was filled mostly with paper and leather bags, full, apparently of money. All through this awful struggle and its awful ending Hiram lay, dumb and motionless, upon the crest of the sand hill, looking with a horrid fascination upon the death struggle in the pit below. Now Hiram arose. The sand slid whispering down from the crest as he did so, but Levi was too intent in turning over the contents of the chest to notice the slight sound. [Illustration: "He Lay Silent and Still, with His Face Half Buried in the Sand" _Illustration from_ BLUESKIN, THE PIRATE _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ THE NORTHWESTERN MILLER, _December, 1890_] Hiram's face was ghastly pale and drawn. For one moment he opened his lips as though to speak, but no word came. So, white, silent, he stood for a few seconds, rather like a statue than a living man, then, suddenly, his eyes fell upon the bag, which Levi had brought with him, no doubt, to carry back the treasure for which he and his companion were in search, and which still lay spread out on the sand where it had been flung. Then, as though a thought had suddenly flashed upon him, his whole expression changed, his lips closed tightly together as though fearing an involuntary sound might escape, and the haggard look dissolved from his face. Cautiously, slowly, he stepped over the edge of the sand hill and down the slanting face. His coming was as silent as death, for his feet made no noise as he sank ankle-deep in the yielding surface. So, stealthily, step by step, he descended, reached the bag, lifted it silently. Levi, still bending over the chest and searching through the papers within, was not four feet away. Hiram raised the bag in his hands. He must have made some slight rustle as he did so, for suddenly Levi half turned his head. But he was one instant too late. In a flash the bag was over his head--shoulders--arms--body. Then came another struggle, as fierce, as silent, as desperate as that other--and as short. Wiry, tough, and strong as he was, with a lean, sinewy, nervous vigor, fighting desperately for his life as he was, Levi had no chance against the ponderous strength of his stepbrother. In any case, the struggle could not have lasted long; as it was, Levi stumbled backward over the body of his dead mate and fell, with Hiram upon him. Maybe he was stunned by the fall; maybe he felt the hopelessness of resistance, for he lay quite still while Hiram, kneeling upon him, drew the rope from the ring of the chest and, without uttering a word, bound it tightly around both the bag and the captive within, knotting it again and again and drawing it tight. Only once was a word spoken. "If you'll lemme go," said a muffled voice from the bag, "I'll give you five thousand pounds--it's in that there box." Hiram answered never a word, but continued knotting the rope and drawing it tight. XIII The _Scorpion_ sloop-of-war lay in Lewes harbor all that winter and spring, probably upon the slim chance of a return of the pirates. It was about eight o'clock in the morning and Lieutenant Maynard was sitting in Squire Hall's office, fanning himself with his hat and talking in a desultory fashion. Suddenly the dim and distant noise of a great crowd was heard from without, coming nearer and nearer. The Squire and his visitor hurried to the door. The crowd was coming down the street shouting, jostling, struggling, some on the footway, some in the roadway. Heads were at the doors and windows, looking down upon them. Nearer they came, and nearer; then at last they could see that the press surrounded and accompanied one man. It was Hiram White, hatless, coatless, the sweat running down his face in streams, but stolid and silent as ever. Over his shoulder he carried a bag, tied round and round with a rope. It was not until the crowd and the man it surrounded had come quite near that the Squire and the lieutenant saw that a pair of legs in gray-yarn stockings hung from the bag. It was a man he was carrying. Hiram had lugged his burden five miles that morning without help and with scarcely a rest on the way. He came directly toward the Squire's office and, still surrounded and hustled by the crowd, up the steep steps to the office within. He flung his burden heavily upon the floor without a word and wiped his streaming forehead. The Squire stood with his knuckles on his desk, staring first at Hiram and then at the strange burden he had brought. A sudden hush fell upon all, though the voices of those without sounded as loud and turbulent as ever. "What is it, Hiram?" said Squire Hall at last. Then for the first time Hiram spoke, panting thickly. "It's a bloody murderer," said he, pointing a quivering finger at the motionless figure. "Here, some of you!" called out the Squire. "Come! Untie this man! Who is he?" A dozen willing fingers quickly unknotted the rope and the bag was slipped from the head and body. Hair and face and eyebrows and clothes were powdered with meal, but, in spite of all and through all the innocent whiteness, dark spots and blotches and smears of blood showed upon head and arm and shirt. Levi raised himself upon his elbow and looked scowlingly around at the amazed, wonderstruck faces surrounding him. "Why, it's Levi West!" croaked the Squire, at last finding his voice. Then, suddenly, Lieutenant Maynard pushed forward, before the others crowded around the figure on the floor, and, clutching Levi by the hair, dragged his head backward so as to better see his face. "Levi West!" said he in a loud voice. "Is this the Levi West you've been telling me of? Look at that scar and the mark on his cheek! _This is Blueskin himself._" XIV In the chest which Blueskin had dug up out of the sand were found not only the goldsmiths' bills taken from the packet, but also many other valuables belonging to the officers and the passengers of the unfortunate ship. The New York agents offered Hiram a handsome reward for his efforts in recovering the lost bills, but Hiram declined it, positively and finally. "All I want," said he, in his usual dull, stolid fashion, "is to have folks know I'm honest." Nevertheless, though he did not accept what the agents of the packet offered, fate took the matter into its own hands and rewarded him not unsubstantially. Blueskin was taken to England in the _Scorpion_. But he never came to trial. While in Newgate he hanged himself to the cell window with his own stockings. The news of his end was brought to Lewes in the early autumn and Squire Hall took immediate measures to have the five hundred pounds of his father's legacy duly transferred to Hiram. In November Hiram married the pirate's widow. [Illustration: "There Cap'n Goldsack goes, creeping, creeping, creeping, Looking for his treasure down below!" _Illustration from_ CAP'N GOLDSACK _by_ William Sharp _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _July_, 1902] Chapter VII CAPTAIN SCARFIELD PREFACE [Illustration: CAPTAIN SCARFIELD] _The author of this narrative cannot recall that, in any history of the famous pirates, he has ever read a detailed and sufficient account of the life and death of Capt. John Scarfield. Doubtless some data concerning his death and the destruction of his schooner might be gathered from the report of Lieutenant Mainwaring, now filed in the archives of the Navy Department, but beyond such bald and bloodless narrative the author knows of nothing, unless it be the little chap-book history published by Isaiah Thomas in Newburyport about the year 1821-22, entitled, "A True History of the Life and Death of Captain Jack Scarfield." This lack of particularity in the history of one so notable in his profession it is the design of the present narrative in a measure to supply, and, if the author has seen fit to cast it in the form of a fictional story, it is only that it may make more easy reading for those who see fit to follow the tale from this to its conclusion._ CAPTAIN SCARFIELD I Eleazer Cooper, or Captain Cooper, as was his better-known title in Philadelphia, was a prominent member of the Society of Friends. He was an overseer of the meeting and an occasional speaker upon particular occasions. When at home from one of his many voyages he never failed to occupy his seat in the meeting both on First Day and Fifth Day, and he was regarded by his fellow townsmen as a model of business integrity and of domestic responsibility. More incidental to this history, however, it is to be narrated that Captain Cooper was one of those trading skippers who carried their own merchandise in their own vessels which they sailed themselves, and on whose decks they did their own bartering. His vessel was a swift, large schooner, the _Eliza Cooper_, _of Philadelphia_, named for his wife. His cruising grounds were the West India Islands, and his merchandise was flour and corn meal ground at the Brandywine Mills at Wilmington, Delaware. During the War of 1812 he had earned, as was very well known, an extraordinary fortune in this trading; for flour and corn meal sold at fabulous prices in the French, Spanish, Dutch, and Danish islands, cut off, as they were, from the rest of the world by the British blockade. The running of this blockade was one of the most hazardous maritime ventures possible, but Captain Cooper had met with such unvaried success, and had sold his merchandise at such incredible profit that, at the end of the war, he found himself to have become one of the wealthiest merchants of his native city. It was known at one time that his balance in the Mechanics' Bank was greater than that of any other individual depositor upon the books, and it was told of him that he had once deposited in the bank a chest of foreign silver coin, the exchanged value of which, when translated into American currency, was upward of forty-two thousand dollars--a prodigious sum of money in those days. In person, Captain Cooper was tall and angular of frame. His face was thin and severe, wearing continually an unsmiling, mask-like expression of continent and unruffled sobriety. His manner was dry and taciturn, and his conduct and life were measured to the most absolute accord with the teachings of his religious belief. He lived in an old-fashioned house on Front Street below Spruce--as pleasant, cheerful a house as ever a trading captain could return to. At the back of the house a lawn sloped steeply down toward the river. To the south stood the wharf and storehouses; to the north an orchard and kitchen garden bloomed with abundant verdure. Two large chestnut trees sheltered the porch and the little space of lawn, and when you sat under them in the shade you looked down the slope between two rows of box bushes directly across the shining river to the Jersey shore. At the time of our story--that is, about the year 1820--this property had increased very greatly in value, but it was the old home of the Coopers, as Eleazer Cooper was entirely rich enough to indulge his fancy in such matters. Accordingly, as he chose to live in the same house where his father and his grandfather had dwelt before him, he peremptorily, if quietly, refused all offers looking toward the purchase of the lot of ground--though it was now worth five or six times its former value. As was said, it was a cheerful, pleasant home, impressing you when you entered it with the feeling of spotless and all-pervading cleanliness--a cleanliness that greeted you in the shining brass door-knocker; that entertained you in the sitting room with its stiff, leather-covered furniture, the brass-headed tacks whereof sparkled like so many stars--a cleanliness that bade you farewell in the spotless stretch of sand-sprinkled hallway, the wooden floor of which was worn into knobs around the nail heads by the countless scourings and scrubbings to which it had been subjected and which left behind them an all-pervading faint, fragrant odor of soap and warm water. Eleazer Cooper and his wife were childless, but one inmate made the great, silent, shady house bright with life. Lucinda Fairbanks, a niece of Captain Cooper's by his only sister, was a handsome, sprightly girl of eighteen or twenty, and a great favorite in the Quaker society of the city. It remains only to introduce the final and, perhaps, the most important actor of the narrative--Lieut. James Mainwaring. During the past twelve months or so he had been a frequent visitor at the Cooper house. At this time he was a broad-shouldered, red-cheeked, stalwart fellow of twenty-six or twenty-eight. He was a great social favorite, and possessed the added romantic interest of having been aboard the _Constitution_ when she fought the _Guerriere_, and of having, with his own hands, touched the match that fired the first gun of that great battle. Mainwaring's mother and Eliza Cooper had always been intimate friends, and the coming and going of the young man during his leave of absence were looked upon in the house as quite a matter of course. Half a dozen times a week he would drop in to execute some little commission for the ladies, or, if Captain Cooper was at home, to smoke a pipe of tobacco with him, to sip a dram of his famous old Jamaica rum, or to play a rubber of checkers of an evening. It is not likely that either of the older people was the least aware of the real cause of his visits; still less did they suspect that any passages of sentiment had passed between the young people. [Illustration: "He Had Found the Captain Agreeable and Companionable" _Illustration from_ SEA ROBBERS OF NEW YORK _by_ Thomas A. Janvier _Originally published in_ HARPER'S MAGAZINE, _November_, 1894] The truth was that Mainwaring and the young lady were very deeply in love. It was a love that they were obliged to keep a profound secret, for not only had Eleazer Cooper held the strictest sort of testimony against the late war--a testimony so rigorous as to render it altogether unlikely that one of so military a profession as Mainwaring practiced could hope for his consent to a suit for marriage, but Lucinda could not have married one not a member of the Society of Friends without losing her own birthright membership therein. She herself might not attach much weight to such a loss of membership in the Society, but her fear of, and her respect for, her uncle led her to walk very closely in her path of duty in this respect. Accordingly she and Mainwaring met as they could--clandestinely--and the stolen moments were very sweet. With equal secrecy Lucinda had, at the request of her lover, sat for a miniature portrait to Mrs. Gregory, which miniature, set in a gold medallion, Mainwaring, with a mild, sentimental pleasure, wore hung around his neck and beneath his shirt frill next his heart. In the month of April of the year 1820 Mainwaring received orders to report at Washington. During the preceding autumn the West India pirates, and notably Capt. Jack Scarfield, had been more than usually active, and the loss of the packet _Marblehead_ (which, sailing from Charleston, South Carolina, was never heard of more) was attributed to them. Two other coasting vessels off the coast of Georgia had been looted and burned by Scarfield, and the government had at last aroused itself to the necessity of active measures for repressing these pests of the West India waters. Mainwaring received orders to take command of the _Yankee_, a swift, light-draught, heavily armed brig of war, and to cruise about the Bahama Islands and to capture and destroy all the pirates' vessels he could there discover. On his way from Washington to New York, where the _Yankee_ was then waiting orders, Mainwaring stopped in Philadelphia to bid good-by to his many friends in that city. He called at the old Cooper house. It was on a Sunday afternoon. The spring was early and the weather extremely pleasant that day, being filled with a warmth almost as of summer. The apple trees were already in full bloom and filled all the air with their fragrance. Everywhere there seemed to be the pervading hum of bees, and the drowsy, tepid sunshine was very delightful. At that time Eleazer was just home from an unusually successful voyage to Antigua. Mainwaring found the family sitting under one of the still leafless chestnut trees, Captain Cooper smoking his long clay pipe and lazily perusing a copy of the _National Gazette_. Eleazer listened with a great deal of interest to what Mainwaring had to say of his proposed cruise. He himself knew a great deal about the pirates, and, singularly unbending from his normal, stiff taciturnity, he began telling of what he knew, particularly of Captain Scarfield--in whom he appeared to take an extraordinary interest. Vastly to Mainwaring's surprise, the old Quaker assumed the position of a defendant of the pirates, protesting that the wickedness of the accused was enormously exaggerated. He declared that he knew some of the freebooters very well and that at the most they were poor, misdirected wretches who had, by easy gradation, slid into their present evil ways, from having been tempted by the government authorities to enter into privateering in the days of the late war. He conceded that Captain Scarfield had done many cruel and wicked deeds, but he averred that he had also performed many kind and benevolent actions. The world made no note of these latter, but took care only to condemn the evil that had been done. He acknowledged that it was true that the pirate had allowed his crew to cast lots for the wife and the daughter of the skipper of the _Northern Rose_, but there were none of his accusers who told how, at the risk of his own life and the lives of all his crew, he had given succor to the schooner _Halifax_, found adrift with all hands down with yellow fever. There was no defender of his actions to tell how he and his crew of pirates had sailed the pest-stricken vessel almost into the rescuing waters of Kingston harbor. Eleazer confessed that he could not deny that when Scarfield had tied the skipper of the _Baltimore Belle_ naked to the foremast of his own brig he had permitted his crew of cutthroats (who were drunk at the time) to throw bottles at the helpless captive, who died that night of the wounds he had received. For this he was doubtless very justly condemned, but who was there to praise him when he had, at the risk of his life and in the face of the authorities, carried a cargo of provisions which he himself had purchased at Tampa Bay to the Island of Bella Vista after the great hurricane of 1818? In this notable adventure he had barely escaped, after a two days' chase, the British frigate _Ceres_, whose captain, had a capture been effected, would instantly have hung the unfortunate man to the yardarm in spite of the beneficent mission he was in the act of conducting. In all this Eleazer had the air of conducting the case for the defendant. As he talked he became more and more animated and voluble. The light went out in his tobacco pipe, and a hectic spot appeared in either thin and sallow cheek. Mainwaring sat wondering to hear the severely peaceful Quaker preacher defending so notoriously bloody and cruel a cutthroat pirate as Capt. Jack Scarfield. The warm and innocent surroundings, the old brick house looking down upon them, the odor of apple blossoms and the hum of bees seemed to make it all the more incongruous. And still the elderly Quaker skipper talked on and on with hardly an interruption, till the warm sun slanted to the west and the day began to decline. That evening Mainwaring stayed to tea and when he parted from Lucinda Fairbanks it was after nightfall, with a clear, round moon shining in the milky sky and a radiance pallid and unreal enveloping the old house, the blooming apple trees, the sloping lawn and the shining river beyond. He implored his sweetheart to let him tell her uncle and aunt of their acknowledged love and to ask the old man's consent to it, but she would not permit him to do so. They were so happy as they were. Who knew but what her uncle might forbid their fondness? Would he not wait a little longer? Maybe it would all come right after a while. She was so fond, so tender, so tearful at the nearness of their parting that he had not the heart to insist. At the same time it was with a feeling almost of despair that he realized that he must now be gone--maybe for the space of two years--without in all that time possessing the right to call her his before the world. When he bade farewell to the older people it was with a choking feeling of bitter disappointment. He yet felt the pressure of her cheek against his shoulder, the touch of soft and velvet lips to his own. But what were such clandestine endearments compared to what might, perchance, be his--the right of calling her his own when he was far away and upon the distant sea? And, besides, he felt like a coward who had shirked his duty. But he was very much in love. The next morning appeared in a drizzle of rain that followed the beautiful warmth of the day before. He had the coach all to himself, and in the damp and leathery solitude he drew out the little oval picture from beneath his shirt frill and looked long and fixedly with a fond and foolish joy at the innocent face, the blue eyes, the red, smiling lips depicted upon the satinlike, ivory surface. II For the better part of five months Mainwaring cruised about in the waters surrounding the Bahama Islands. In that time he ran to earth and dispersed a dozen nests of pirates. He destroyed no less than fifteen piratical crafts of all sizes, from a large half-decked whaleboat to a three-hundred-ton barkentine. The name of the _Yankee_ became a terror to every sea wolf in the western tropics, and the waters of the Bahama Islands became swept almost clean of the bloody wretches who had so lately infested it. But the one freebooter of all others whom he sought--Capt. Jack Scarfield--seemed to evade him like a shadow, to slip through his fingers like magic. Twice he came almost within touch of the famous marauder, both times in the ominous wrecks that the pirate captain had left behind him. The first of these was the water-logged remains of a burned and still smoking wreck that he found adrift in the great Bahama channel. It was the _Water Witch_, of Salem, but he did not learn her tragic story until, two weeks later, he discovered a part of her crew at Port Maria, on the north coast of Jamaica. It was, indeed, a dreadful story to which he listened. The castaways said that they of all the vessel's crew had been spared so that they might tell the commander of the _Yankee_, should they meet him, that he might keep what he found, with Captain Scarfield's compliments, who served it up to him hot cooked. Three weeks later he rescued what remained of the crew of the shattered, bloody hulk of the _Baltimore Belle_, eight of whose crew, headed by the captain, had been tied hand and foot and heaved overboard. Again, there was a message from Captain Scarfield to the commander of the _Yankee_ that he might season what he found to suit his own taste. Mainwaring was of a sanguine disposition, with fiery temper. He swore, with the utmost vehemence, that either he or John Scarfield would have to leave the earth. He had little suspicion of how soon was to befall the ominous realization of his angry prophecy. At that time one of the chief rendezvous of the pirates was the little island of San José, one of the southernmost of the Bahama group. Here, in the days before the coming of the _Yankee_, they were wont to put in to careen and clean their vessels and to take in a fresh supply of provisions, gunpowder, and rum, preparatory to renewing their attacks upon the peaceful commerce circulating up and down outside the islands, or through the wide stretches of the Bahama channel. Mainwaring had made several descents upon this nest of freebooters. He had already made two notable captures, and it was here he hoped eventually to capture Captain Scarfield himself. A brief description of this one-time notorious rendezvous of freebooters might not be out of place. It consisted of a little settlement of those wattled and mud-smeared houses such as you find through the West Indies. There were only three houses of a more pretentious sort, built of wood. One of these was a storehouse, another was a rum shop, and a third a house in which dwelt a mulatto woman, who was reputed to be a sort of left-handed wife of Captain Scarfield's. The population was almost entirely black and brown. One or two Jews and a half dozen Yankee traders, of hardly dubious honesty, comprised the entire white population. The rest consisted of a mongrel accumulation of negroes and mulattoes and half-caste Spaniards, and of a multitude of black or yellow women and children. The settlement stood in a bight of the beach forming a small harbor and affording a fair anchorage for small vessels, excepting it were against the beating of a southeasterly gale. The houses, or cabins, were surrounded by clusters of coco palms and growths of bananas, and a long curve of white beach, sheltered from the large Atlantic breakers that burst and exploded upon an outer bar, was drawn like a necklace around the semicircle of emerald-green water. Such was the famous pirates' settlement of San José--a paradise of nature and a hell of human depravity and wickedness--and it was to this spot that Mainwaring paid another visit a few days after rescuing the crew of the _Baltimore Belle_ from her shattered and sinking wreck. [Illustration: THE BUCCANEER WAS A PICTURESQUE FELLOW] As the little bay with its fringe of palms and its cluster of wattle huts opened up to view, Mainwaring discovered a vessel lying at anchor in the little harbor. It was a large and well-rigged schooner of two hundred and fifty or three hundred tons burden. As the _Yankee_ rounded to under the stern of the stranger and dropped anchor in such a position as to bring her broadside battery to bear should the occasion require, Mainwaring set his glass to his eye to read the name he could distinguish beneath the overhang of her stern. It is impossible to describe his infinite surprise when, the white lettering starting out in the circle of the glass, he read, _The Eliza Cooper, of Philadelphia_. He could not believe the evidence of his senses. Certainly this sink of iniquity was the last place in the world he would have expected to have fallen in with Eleazer Cooper. He ordered out the gig and had himself immediately rowed over to the schooner. Whatever lingering doubts he might have entertained as to the identity of the vessel were quickly dispelled when he beheld Captain Cooper himself standing at the gangway to meet him. The impassive face of the friend showed neither surprise nor confusion at what must have been to him a most unexpected encounter. But when he stepped upon the deck of the _Eliza Cooper_ and looked about him, Mainwaring could hardly believe the evidence of his senses at the transformation that he beheld. Upon the main deck were eight twelve-pound carronade neatly covered with tarpaulin; in the bow a Long Tom, also snugly stowed away and covered, directed a veiled and muzzled snout out over the bowsprit. It was entirely impossible for Mainwaring to conceal his astonishment at so unexpected a sight, and whether or not his own thoughts lent color to his imagination, it seemed to him that Eleazer Cooper concealed under the immobility of his countenance no small degree of confusion. After Captain Cooper had led the way into the cabin and he and the younger man were seated over a pipe of tobacco and the invariable bottle of fine old Jamaica rum, Mainwaring made no attempt to refrain from questioning him as to the reason for this singular and ominous transformation. "I am a man of peace, James Mainwaring," Eleazer replied, "but there are men of blood in these waters, and an appearance of great strength is of use to protect the innocent from the wicked. If I remained in appearance the peaceful trader I really am, how long does thee suppose I could remain unassailed in this place?" It occurred to Mainwaring that the powerful armament he had beheld was rather extreme to be used merely as a preventive. He smoked for a while in silence and then he suddenly asked the other point-blank whether, if it came to blows with such a one as Captain Scarfield, would he make a fight of it? The Quaker trading captain regarded him for a while in silence. His look, it seemed to Mainwaring, appeared to be dubitative as to how far he dared to be frank. "Friend James," he said at last, "I may as well acknowledge that my officers and crew are somewhat worldly. Of a truth they do not hold the same testimony as I. I am inclined to think that if it came to the point of a broil with those men of iniquity, my individual voice cast for peace would not be sufficient to keep my crew from meeting violence with violence. As for myself, thee knows who I am and what is my testimony in these matters." Mainwaring made no comment as to the extremely questionable manner in which the Quaker proposed to beat the devil about the stump. Presently he asked his second question: "And might I inquire," he said, "what you are doing here and why you find it necessary to come at all into such a wicked, dangerous place as this?" "Indeed, I knew thee would ask that question of me," said the Friend, "and I will be entirely frank with thee. These men of blood are, after all, but human beings, and as human beings they need food. I have at present upon this vessel upward of two hundred and fifty barrels of flour which will bring a higher price here than anywhere else in the West Indies. To be entirely frank with thee, I will tell thee that I was engaged in making a bargain for the sale of the greater part of my merchandise when the news of thy approach drove away my best customer." Mainwaring sat for a while in smoking silence. What the other had told him explained many things he had not before understood. It explained why Captain Cooper got almost as much for his flour and corn meal now that peace had been declared as he had obtained when the war and the blockade were in full swing. It explained why he had been so strong a defender of Captain Scarfield and the pirates that afternoon in the garden. Meantime, what was to be done? Eleazer confessed openly that he dealt with the pirates. What now was his--Mainwaring's--duty in the case? Was the cargo of the _Eliza Cooper_ contraband and subject to confiscation? And then another question framed itself in his mind: Who was this customer whom his approach had driven away? As though he had formulated the inquiry into speech the other began directly to speak of it. "I know," he said, "that in a moment thee will ask me who was this customer of whom I have just now spoken. I have no desire to conceal his name from thee. It was the man who is known as Captain Jack or Captain John Scarfield." Mainwaring fairly started from his seat. "The devil you say!" he cried. "And how long has it been," he asked, "since he left you?" The Quaker skipper carefully refilled his pipe, which he had by now smoked out. "I would judge," he said, "that it is a matter of four or five hours since news was brought overland by means of swift runners of thy approach. Immediately the man of wickedness disappeared." Here Eleazer set the bowl of his pipe to the candle flame and began puffing out voluminous clouds of smoke. "I would have thee understand, James Mainwaring," he resumed, "that I am no friend of this wicked and sinful man. His safety is nothing to me. It is only a question of buying upon his part and of selling upon mine. If it is any satisfaction to thee I will heartily promise to bring thee news if I hear anything of the man of Belial. I may furthermore say that I think it is likely thee will have news more or less directly of him within the space of a day. If this should happen, however, thee will have to do thy own fighting without help from me, for I am no man of combat nor of blood and will take no hand in it either way." It struck Mainwaring that the words contained some meaning that did not appear upon the surface. This significance struck him as so ambiguous that when he went aboard the _Yankee_ he confided as much of his suspicions as he saw fit to his second in command, Lieutenant Underwood. As night descended he had a double watch set and had everything prepared to repel any attack or surprise that might be attempted. III Nighttime in the tropics descends with a surprising rapidity. At one moment the earth is shining with the brightness of the twilight; the next, as it were, all things are suddenly swallowed into a gulf of darkness. The particular night of which this story treats was not entirely clear; the time of year was about the approach of the rainy season, and the tepid, tropical clouds added obscurity to the darkness of the sky, so that the night fell with even more startling quickness than usual. The blackness was very dense. Now and then a group of drifting stars swam out of a rift in the vapors, but the night was curiously silent and of a velvety darkness. [Illustration: THEN THE REAL FIGHT BEGAN] As the obscurity had deepened, Mainwaring had ordered lanthorns to be lighted and slung to the shrouds and to the stays, and the faint yellow of their illumination lighted the level white of the snug little war vessel, gleaming here and there in a starlike spark upon the brass trimmings and causing the rows of cannons to assume curiously gigantic proportions. For some reason Mainwaring was possessed by a strange, uneasy feeling. He walked restlessly up and down the deck for a time, and then, still full of anxieties for he knew not what, went into his cabin to finish writing up his log for the day. He unstrapped his cutlass and laid it upon the table, lighted his pipe at the lanthorn and was about preparing to lay aside his coat when word was brought to him that the captain of the trading schooner was come alongside and had some private information to communicate to him. Mainwaring surmised in an instant that the trader's visit related somehow to news of Captain Scarfield, and as immediately, in the relief of something positive to face, all of his feeling of restlessness vanished like a shadow of mist. He gave orders that Captain Cooper should be immediately shown into the cabin, and in a few moments the tall, angular form of the Quaker skipper appeared in the narrow, lanthorn-lighted space. Mainwaring at once saw that his visitor was strangely agitated and disturbed. He had taken off his hat, and shining beads of perspiration had gathered and stood clustered upon his forehead. He did not reply to Mainwaring's greeting; he did not, indeed, seem to hear it; but he came directly forward to the table and stood leaning with one hand upon the open log book in which the lieutenant had just been writing. Mainwaring had reseated himself at the head of the table, and the tall figure of the skipper stood looking down at him as from a considerable height. "James Mainwaring," he said, "I promised thee to report if I had news of the pirate. Is thee ready now to hear my news?" There was something so strange in his agitation that it began to infect Mainwaring with a feeling somewhat akin to that which appeared to disturb his visitor. "I know not what you mean, sir!" he cried, "by asking if I care to hear your news. At this moment I would rather have news of that scoundrel than to have anything I know of in the world." "Thou would? Thou would?" cried the other, with mounting agitation. "Is thee in such haste to meet him as all that? Very well; very well, then. Suppose I could bring thee face to face with him--what then? Hey? Hey? Face to face with him, James Mainwaring!" The thought instantly flashed into Mainwaring's mind that the pirate had returned to the island; that perhaps at that moment he was somewhere near at hand. "I do not understand you, sir," he cried. "Do you mean to tell me that you know where the villain is? If so, lose no time in informing me, for every instant of delay may mean his chance of again escaping." "No danger of that!" the other declared, vehemently. "No danger of that! I'll tell thee where he is and I'll bring thee to him quick enough!" And as he spoke he thumped his fist against the open log book. In the vehemence of his growing excitement his eyes appeared to shine green in the lanthorn light, and the sweat that had stood in beads upon his forehead was now running in streams down his face. One drop hung like a jewel to the tip of his beaklike nose. He came a step nearer to Mainwaring and bent forward toward him, and there was something so strange and ominous in his bearing that the lieutenant instinctively drew back a little where he sat. "Captain Scarfield sent something to you," said Eleazer, almost in a raucous voice, "something that you will be surprised to see." And the lapse in his speech from the Quaker "thee" to the plural "you" struck Mainwaring as singularly strange. As he was speaking Eleazer was fumbling in a pocket of his long-tailed drab coat, and presently he brought something forth that gleamed in the lanthorn light. The next moment Mainwaring saw leveled directly in his face the round and hollow nozzle of a pistol. There was an instant of dead silence and then, "I am the man you seek!" said Eleazer Cooper, in a tense and breathless voice. The whole thing had happened so instantaneously and unexpectedly that for the moment Mainwaring sat like one petrified. Had a thunderbolt fallen from the silent sky and burst at his feet he could not have been more stunned. He was like one held in the meshes of a horrid nightmare, and he gazed as through a mist of impossibility into the lineaments of the well-known, sober face now transformed as from within into the aspect of a devil. That face, now ashy white, was distorted into a diabolical grin. The teeth glistened in the lamplight. The brows, twisted into a tense and convulsed frown, were drawn down into black shadows, through which the eyes burned a baleful green like the eyes of a wild animal driven to bay. Again he spoke in the same breathless voice. "I am John Scarfield! Look at me, then, if you want to see a pirate!" Again there was a little time of silence, through which Mainwaring heard his watch ticking loudly from where it hung against the bulkhead. Then once more the other began speaking. "You would chase me out of the West Indies, would you? G---- ---- you! What are you come to now? You are caught in your own trap, and you'll squeal loud enough before you get out of it. Speak a word or make a movement and I'll blow your brains out against the partition behind you! Listen to what I say or you are a dead man. Sing out an order instantly for my mate and my bos'n to come here to the cabin, and be quick about it, for my finger's on the trigger, and it's only a pull to shut your mouth forever." It was astonishing to Mainwaring, in afterward thinking about it all, how quickly his mind began to recover its steadiness after that first astonishing shock. Even as the other was speaking he discovered that his brain was becoming clarified to a wonderful lucidity; his thoughts were becoming rearranged, and with a marvelous activity and an alertness he had never before experienced. He knew that if he moved to escape or uttered any outcry he would be instantly a dead man, for the circle of the pistol barrel was directed full against his forehead and with the steadiness of a rock. If he could but for an instant divert that fixed and deadly attention he might still have a chance for life. With the thought an inspiration burst into his mind and he instantly put it into execution; thought, inspiration, and action, as in a flash, were one. He must make the other turn aside his deadly gaze, and instantly he roared out in a voice that stunned his own ears: "Strike, bos'n! Strike, quick!" Taken by surprise, and thinking, doubtless, that another enemy stood behind him, the pirate swung around like a flash with his pistol leveled against the blank boarding. Equally upon the instant he saw the trick that had been played upon him and in a second flash had turned again. The turn and return had occupied but a moment of time, but that moment, thanks to the readiness of his own invention, had undoubtedly saved Mainwaring's life. As the other turned away his gaze for that brief instant Mainwaring leaped forward and upon him. There was a flashing flame of fire as the pistol was discharged and a deafening detonation that seemed to split his brain. For a moment, with reeling senses, he supposed himself to have been shot, the next he knew he had escaped. With the energy of despair he swung his enemy around and drove him with prodigious violence against the corner of the table. The pirate emitted a grunting cry and then they fell together, Mainwaring upon the top, and the pistol clattered with them to the floor in their fall. Even as he fell, Mainwaring roared in a voice of thunder, "All hands repel boarders!" And then again, "All hands repel boarders!" Whether hurt by the table edge or not, the fallen pirate struggled as though possessed of forty devils, and in a moment or two Mainwaring saw the shine of a long, keen knife that he had drawn from somewhere about his person. The lieutenant caught him by the wrist, but the other's muscles were as though made of steel. They both fought in despairing silence, the one to carry out his frustrated purposes to kill, the other to save his life. Again and again Mainwaring felt that the knife had been thrust against him, piercing once his arm, once his shoulder, and again his neck. He felt the warm blood streaming down his arm and body and looked about him in despair. The pistol lay near upon the deck of the cabin. Still holding the other by the wrist as he could, Mainwaring snatched up the empty weapon and struck once and again at the bald, narrow forehead beneath him. A third blow he delivered with all the force he could command, and then with a violent and convulsive throe the straining muscles beneath him relaxed and grew limp and the fight was won. Through all the struggle he had been aware of the shouts of voices, of trampling of feet and discharge of firearms, and the thought came to him, even through his own danger, that the _Yankee_ was being assaulted by the pirates. As he felt the struggling form beneath him loosen and dissolve into quietude, he leaped up, and snatching his cutlass, which still lay upon the table, rushed out upon the deck, leaving the stricken form lying twitching upon the floor behind him. It was a fortunate thing that he had set double watches and prepared himself for some attack from the pirates, otherwise the _Yankee_ would certainly have been lost. As it was, the surprise was so overwhelming that the pirates, who had been concealed in the large whaleboat that had come alongside, were not only able to gain a foothold upon the deck, but for a time it seemed as though they would drive the crew of the brig below the hatches. But as Mainwaring, streaming with blood, rushed out upon the deck, the pirates became immediately aware that their own captain must have been overpowered, and in an instant their desperate energy began to evaporate. One or two jumped overboard; one, who seemed to be the mate, fell dead from a pistol shot, and then, in the turn of a hand, there was a rush of a retreat and a vision of leaping forms in the dusky light of the lanthorns and a sound of splashing in the water below. The crew of the _Yankee_ continued firing at the phosphorescent wakes of the swimming bodies, but whether with effect it was impossible at the time to tell. IV The pirate captain did not die immediately. He lingered for three or four days, now and then unconscious, now and then semi-conscious, but always deliriously wandering. All the while he thus lay dying, the mulatto woman, with whom he lived in this part of his extraordinary dual existence, nursed and cared for him with such rude attentions as the surroundings afforded. In the wanderings of his mind the same duality of life followed him. Now and then he would appear the calm, sober, self-contained, well-ordered member of a peaceful society that his friends in his far-away home knew him to be; at other times the nether part of his nature would leap up into life like a wild beast, furious and gnashing. At the one time he talked evenly and clearly of peaceful things; at the other time he blasphemed and hooted with fury. Several times Mainwaring, though racked by his own wounds, sat beside the dying man through the silent watches of the tropical nights. Oftentimes upon these occasions as he looked at the thin, lean face babbling and talking so aimlessly, he wondered what it all meant. Could it have been madness--madness in which the separate entities of good and bad each had, in its turn, a perfect and distinct existence? He chose to think that this was the case. Who, within his inner consciousness, does not feel that same ferine, savage man struggling against the stern, adamantine bonds of morality and decorum? Were those bonds burst asunder, as it was with this man, might not the wild beast rush forth, as it had rushed forth in him, to rend and to tear? Such were the questions that Mainwaring asked himself. And how had it all come about? By what easy gradations had the respectable Quaker skipper descended from the decorum of his home life, step by step, into such a gulf of iniquity? Many such thoughts passed through Mainwaring's mind, and he pondered them through the still reaches of the tropical nights while he sat watching the pirate captain struggle out of the world he had so long burdened. At last the poor wretch died, and the earth was well quit of one of its torments. [Illustration: "He Struck Once and Again at the Bald, Narrow Forehead Beneath Him" _Illustration from_ CAPTAIN SCARFIELD _by_ Howard Pyle _Originally published in_ THE NORTHWESTERN MILLER, _December_ 18, 1897] A systematic search was made through the island for the scattered crew, but none was captured. Either there were some secret hiding places upon the island (which was not very likely) or else they had escaped in boats hidden somewhere among the tropical foliage. At any rate they were gone. Nor, search as he would, could Mainwaring find a trace of any of the pirate treasure. After the pirate's death and under close questioning, the weeping mulatto woman so far broke down as to confess in broken English that Captain Scarfield had taken a quantity of silver money aboard his vessel, but either she was mistaken or else the pirates had taken it thence again and had hidden it somewhere else. Nor would the treasure ever have been found but for a most fortuitous accident. Mainwaring had given orders that the _Eliza Cooper_ was to be burned, and a party was detailed to carry the order into execution. At this the cook of the _Yankee_ came petitioning for some of the Wilmington and Brandywine flour to make some plum duff upon the morrow, and Mainwaring granted his request in so far that he ordered one of the men to knock open one of the barrels of flour and to supply the cook's demands. The crew detailed to execute this modest order in connection with the destruction of the pirate vessel had not been gone a quarter of an hour when word came back that the hidden treasure had been found. Mainwaring hurried aboard the _Eliza Cooper_, and there in the midst of the open flour barrel he beheld a great quantity of silver coin buried in and partly covered by the white meal. A systematic search was now made. One by one the flour barrels were heaved up from below and burst open on the deck and their contents searched, and if nothing but the meal was found it was swept overboard. The breeze was whitened with clouds of flour, and the white meal covered the surface of the ocean for yards around. In all, upward of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars was found concealed beneath the innocent flour and meal. It was no wonder the pirate captain was so successful, when he could upon an instant's notice transform himself from a wolf of the ocean to a peaceful Quaker trader selling flour to the hungry towns and settlements among the scattered islands of the West Indies, and so carrying his bloody treasure safely into his quiet Northern home. In concluding this part of the narrative it may be added that a wide strip of canvas painted black was discovered in the hold of the _Eliza Cooper_. Upon it, in great white letters, was painted the name, "The Bloodhound." Undoubtedly this was used upon occasions to cover the real and peaceful title of the trading schooner, just as its captain had, in reverse, covered his sanguine and cruel life by a thin sheet of morality and respectability. This is the true story of the death of Capt. Jack Scarfield. The Newburyport chap-book, of which I have already spoken, speaks only of how the pirate disguised himself upon the ocean as a Quaker trader. Nor is it likely that anyone ever identified Eleazer Cooper with the pirate, for only Mainwaring of all the crew of the _Yankee_ was exactly aware of the true identity of Captain Scarfield. All that was ever known to the world was that Eleazer Cooper had been killed in a fight with the pirates. In a little less than a year Mainwaring was married to Lucinda Fairbanks. As to Eleazer Cooper's fortune, which eventually came into the possession of Mainwaring through his wife, it was many times a subject of speculation to the lieutenant how it had been earned. There were times when he felt well assured that a part of it at least was the fruit of piracy, but it was entirely impossible to guess how much more was the result of legitimate trading. For a little time it seemed to Mainwaring that he should give it all up, but this was at once so impracticable and so quixotic that he presently abandoned it, and in time his qualms and misdoubts faded away and he settled himself down to enjoy that which had come to him through his marriage. In time the Mainwarings removed to New York, and ultimately the fortune that the pirate Scarfield had left behind him was used in part to found the great shipping house of Mainwaring & Bigot, whose famous transatlantic packet ships were in their time the admiration of the whole world. [Illustration] Chapter VIII THE RUBY OF KISHMOOOR _Prologue_ A very famous pirate of his day was Capt. Robertson Keitt. Before embarking upon his later career of infamy, he was, in the beginning, very well known as a reputable merchant in the island of Jamaica. Thence entering, first of all, upon the business of the African trade, he presently, by regular degrees, became a pirate, and finally ended his career as one of the most renowned freebooters of history. The remarkable adventure through which he at once reached the pinnacle of success, and became in his profession the most famous figure of his day, was the capture of the Rajah of Kishmoor's great ship, _The Sun of the East_. In this vessel was the Rajah's favorite Queen, who, together with her attendants, was set upon a pilgrimage to Mecca. The court of this great Oriental potentate was, as may be readily supposed, fairly aglitter with gold and jewels, so that, what with such personal adornments that the Queen and her attendants had fetched with them, besides an ample treasury for the expenses of the expedition, an incredible prize of gold and jewels rewarded the freebooters for their successful adventure. Among the precious stones taken in this great purchase was the splendid ruby of Kishmoor. This, as may be known to the reader, was one of the world's greatest gems, and was unique alike both for its prodigious size and the splendor of its color. This precious jewel the Rajah of Kishmoor had, upon a certain occasion, bestowed upon his Queen, and at the time of her capture she wore it as the centerpiece of a sort of coronet which encircled her forehead and brow. The seizure by the pirate of so considerable a person as that of the Queen of Kishmoor, and of the enormous treasure that he found aboard her ship, would alone have been sufficient to have established his fame. But the capture of so extraordinary a prize as that of the ruby--which was, in itself, worth the value of an entire Oriental kingdom--exalted him at once to the very highest pinnacle of renown. Having achieved the capture of this incredible prize, our captain scuttled the great ship and left her to sink with all on board. Three Lascars of the crew alone escaped to bear the news of this tremendous disaster to an astounded world. As may readily be supposed, it was now no longer possible for Captain Keitt to hope to live in such comparative obscurity as he had before enjoyed. His was now too remarkable a figure in the eyes of the world. Several expeditions from various parts were immediately fitted out against him, and it presently became no longer compatible with his safety to remain thus clearly outlined before the eyes of the world. Accordingly, he immediately set about seeking such security as he might now hope to find, which he did the more readily since he had now, and at one cast, so entirely fulfilled his most sanguine expectations of good fortune and of fame. Thereafter, accordingly, the adventures of our captain became of a more apocryphal sort. It was known that he reached the West Indies in safety, for he was once seen at Port Royal and twice at Spanish Town, in the island of Jamaica. Thereafter, however, he disappeared; nor was it until several years later that the world heard anything concerning him. One day a certain Nicholas Duckworthy, who had once been gunner aboard the pirate captain's own ship, _The Good Fortune_, was arrested in the town of Bristol in the very act of attempting to sell to a merchant of that place several valuable gems from a quantity which he carried with him tied up in a red bandanna handkerchief. In the confession of which Duckworthy afterward delivered himself he declared that Captain Keitt, after his great adventure, having sailed from Africa in safety, and so reached the shores of the New World, had wrecked _The Good Fortune_ on a coral reef off the Windward Islands; that he then immediately deserted the ship, and together with Duckworthy himself, the sailing master (who was a Portuguese), the captain of a brig, _The Bloody Hand_ (a consort of Keitt's), and a villainous rascal named Hunt (who, occupying no precise position among the pirates, was at once the instigator of and the partaker in the greatest part of Captain Keitt's wickednesses), made his way to the nearest port of safety. These five worthies at last fetched the island of Jamaica, bringing with them all of the jewels and some of the gold that had been captured from _The Sun of the East_. But, upon coming to a division of their booty, it was presently discovered that the Rajah's ruby had mysteriously disappeared from the collection of jewels to be divided. The other pirates immediately suspected their captain of having secretly purloined it, and, indeed, so certain were they of his turpitude that they immediately set about taking means to force a confession from him. In this, however, they were so far unsuccessful that the captain, refusing to yield to their importunities, had suffered himself to die under their hands, and had so carried the secret of the hiding place of the great ruby--if he possessed such a secret--along with him. [Illustration: CAPTAIN KEITT] Duckworthy concluded his confession by declaring that in his opinion he himself, the Portuguese sailing master, the captain of _The Bloody Hand_, and Hunt were the only ones of Captain Keitt's crew who were now alive; for that _The Good Fortune_ must have broken up in a storm, which immediately followed their desertion of her; in which event the entire crew must inevitably have perished. It may be added that Duckworthy himself was shortly hanged, so that, if his surmise was true, there were now only three left alive of all that wicked crew that had successfully carried to its completion the greatest adventure which any pirate in the world had ever, perhaps, embarked upon. I _Jonathan Rugg_ You may never know what romantic aspirations may lie hidden beneath the most sedate and sober demeanor. To have observed Jonathan Rugg, who was a tall, lean, loose-jointed young Quaker of a somewhat forbidding aspect, with straight, dark hair and a bony, overhanging forehead set into a frown, a pair of small, deep-set eyes, and a square jaw, no one would for a moment have suspected that he concealed beneath so serious an exterior any appetite for romantic adventure. Nevertheless, finding himself suddenly transported, as it were, from the quiet of so sober a town as that of Philadelphia to the tropical enchantment of Kingston, in the island of Jamaica, the night brilliant with a full moon that swung in an opal sky, the warm and luminous darkness replete with the mysteries of a tropical night, and burdened with the odors of a land breeze, he suddenly discovered himself to be overtaken with so vehement a desire for some unwonted excitement that, had the opportunity presented itself, he felt himself ready to embrace any adventure with the utmost eagerness, no matter whither it would have conducted him. At home (where he was a clerk in the countinghouse of a leading merchant, by name Jeremiah Doolittle), should such idle fancies have come to him, he would have looked upon himself as little better than a fool, but now that he found himself for the first time in a foreign country, surrounded by such strange and unusual sights and sounds, all conducive to extravagant imaginations, the wish for some extraordinary and altogether unusual experience took possession of him with a singular vehemence to which he had heretofore been altogether a stranger. In the street where he stood, which was of a shining whiteness and which reflected the effulgence of the moonlight with an incredible distinction, he observed, stretching before him, long lines of white garden walls, overtopped by a prodigious luxuriance of tropical foliage. In these gardens, and set close to the street, stood several pretentious villas and mansions, the slatted blinds and curtains of the windows of which were raised to admit of the freer entrance of the cool and balmy air of the night. From within there issued forth bright lights, together with the exhilarating sound of merry voices laughing and talking, or perhaps a song accompanied by the tinkling music of a spinet or of a guitar. An occasional group of figures, clad in light and summerlike garments, and adorned with gay and startling colors, passed him through the moonlight; so that what with the brightness and warmth of the night, together with all these unusual sights and sounds, it appeared to Jonathan Rugg that he was rather the inhabitant of some extraordinary land of enchantment and unreality than a dweller upon that sober and solid world in which he had heretofore passed his entire existence. Before continuing this narrative the reader may here be informed that our hero had come into this enchanted world as the supercargo of the ship _Susanna Hayes_, of Philadelphia; that he had for several years proved himself so honest and industrious a servant to the merchant house of the worthy Jeremiah Doolittle that that benevolent man had given to his well-deserving clerk this opportunity at once of gratifying an inclination for foreign travel and of filling a position of trust that should redound to his individual profit. The _Susanna Hayes_ had entered Kingston harbor that afternoon, and this was Jonathan's first night spent in those tropical latitudes, whither his fancy and his imagination had so often carried him while he stood over the desk filing the accounts of invoices from foreign parts. It might be finally added that, had he at all conceived how soon and to what a degree his sudden inclination for adventure was to be gratified, his romantic aspirations might have been somewhat dashed at the prospect that lay before him. II _The Mysterious Lady with the Silver Veil_ At that moment our hero suddenly became conscious of the fact that a small wicket in a wooden gate near which he stood had been opened, and that the eyes of an otherwise concealed countenance were observing him with the utmost closeness of scrutiny. He had hardly time to become aware of this observation of his person when the gate itself was opened, and there appeared before him, in the moonlight, the bent and crooked figure of an aged negress. She was clad in a calamanco raiment, and was further adorned with a variety of gaudily colored trimmings, vastly suggestive of the tropical world of which she was an inhabitant. Her woolly head was enveloped, after the fashion of her people, in the folds of a gigantic and flaming red turban constructed of an entire pocket handkerchief. Her face was pock-pitted to an incredible degree, so that what with this deformity, emphasized by the pouting of her prodigious and shapeless lips, and the rolling of a pair of eyes as yellow as saffron, Jonathan Rugg thought that he had never beheld a figure at once so extraordinary and so repulsive. It occurred to our hero that here, maybe, was to overtake him such an adventure as that which he had just a moment before been desiring so ardently. Nor was he mistaken; for the negress, first looking this way and then that, with an extremely wary and cunning expression, and apparently having satisfied herself that the street, for the moment, was pretty empty of passers, beckoned to him to draw nearer. When he had approached close enough to her she caught him by the sleeve, and, instantly drawing him into the garden beyond, shut and bolted the gate with a quickness and a silence suggestive of the most extravagant secrecy. At the same moment a huge negro suddenly appeared from the shadow of the gatepost, and so placed himself between Jonathan and the gate that any attempt to escape would inevitably have entailed a conflict, upon our hero's part, with the sable and giant guardian. Says the negress, looking very intently at our hero, "Be you afeared, Buckra?" "Why, no," quoth Jonathan; "for to tell thee the truth, friend, though I am a man of peace, being of that religious order known as the Society of Friends, I am not so weak in person nor so timid in disposition as to warrant me in being afraid of anyone. Indeed, were I of a mind to escape, I might, without boasting, declare my belief that I should be able to push my way past even a better man than thy large friend who stands so threateningly in front of yonder gate." At these words the negress broke into so prodigious a grin that, in the moonlight, it appeared as though the whole lower part of her face had been transformed into shining teeth. "You be a brave Buckra," said she, in her gibbering English. "You come wid Melina, and Melina take you to pretty lady, who want you to eat supper wid her." Thereupon, and allowing our hero no opportunity to decline this extraordinary invitation, even had he been of a mind to do so, she took him by the hand and led him toward the large and imposing house which commanded the garden. "Indeed," says Jonathan to himself, as he followed his sable guide--himself followed in turn by the gigantic negro--"indeed, I am like to have my fill of adventure, if anything is to be judged from such a beginning as this." Nor did the interior sumptuousness of the mansion at all belie the imposing character of its exterior, for, entering by way of an illuminated veranda, and so coming into a brilliantly lighted hallway beyond, Jonathan beheld himself to be surrounded by such a wealth of exquisite and well-appointed tastefulness as it had never before been his good fortune to behold. Candles of clarified wax sparkled like stars in chandeliers of crystal. These in turn, catching the illumination, glittered in prismatic fragments with all the varied colors of the rainbow, so that a mellow yet brilliant radiance filled the entire apartment. Polished mirrors of a spotless clearness, framed in golden frames and built into the walls, reflected the waxed floors, the rich Oriental carpets, and the sumptuous paintings that hung against the ivory-tinted paneling, so that in appearance the beauties of the apartment were continued in bewildering vistas upon every side toward which the beholder directed his gaze. Bidding our hero to be seated, which he did with no small degree of embarrassment and constraint, and upon the extreme edge of the gilt and satin-covered chair, the negress who had been his conductor left him for the time being to his own contemplation. Almost before he had an opportunity to compose himself into anything more than a part of his ordinary sedateness of demeanor, the silken curtains at the doorway at the other end of the apartment were suddenly divided, and Jonathan beheld before him a female figure displaying the most exquisite contour of mold and of proportion. She was clad entirely in white, and was enveloped from head to foot in the folds of a veil of delicate silver gauze, which, though hiding her countenance from recognition, nevertheless permitted sufficient of her beauties to be discerned to suggest the extreme elegance and loveliness of her lineaments. Advancing toward our hero, and extending to him a tapering hand as white as alabaster, the fingers encircled with a multitude of jeweled rings, she addressed him thus: "Sir," she said, speaking in accents of the most silvery and musical cadence, "you are no doubt vastly surprised to find yourself thus unexpectedly, and almost as by violence, introduced into the house of one who is such an entire stranger to you as myself. But though I am unknown to you, I must inform you that I am better acquainted with my visitor, for my agents have been observing you ever since you landed this afternoon at the dock, and they have followed you ever since, until a little while ago, when you stopped immediately opposite my garden gate. These agents have observed you with a closeness of scrutiny of which you are doubtless entirely unaware. They have even informed me that, owing doubtless to your extreme interest in your new surroundings, you have not as yet supped. Knowing this, and that you must now be enjoying a very hearty appetite, I have to ask you if you will do me the extreme favor of sitting at table with me at a repast which you will doubtless be surprised to learn has been hastily prepared entirely in your honor." So saying, and giving Jonathan no time for reply, she offered him her hand, and with the most polite insistence conducted him into an exquisitely appointed dining room adjoining. Here stood a table covered with a snow-white cloth, and embellished with silver and crystal ornaments of every description. Having seated herself and having indicated to Jonathan to take the chair opposite to her, the two were presently served with a repast such as our hero had not thought could have existed out of the pages of certain extraordinary Oriental tales which one time had fallen to his lot to read. This supper (which in itself might successfully have tempted the taste of a Sybarite) was further enhanced by several wines and cordials which, filling the room with the aroma of the sunlit grapes from which they had been expressed, stimulated the appetite, which without them needed no such spur. The lady, who ate but sparingly herself, possessed herself with patience until Jonathan's hunger had been appeased. When, however, she beheld that he weakened in his attacks upon the dessert of sweets with which the banquet was concluded, she addressed him upon the business which was evidently entirely occupying her mind. "Sir," said she, "you are doubtless aware that everyone, whether man or woman, is possessed of an enemy. In my own case I must inform you that I have no less than three who, to compass their ends, would gladly sacrifice my life itself to their purposes. At no time am I safe from their machinations, nor have I anyone," cried she, exhibiting a great emotion, "to whom I may turn in my need. It was this that led me to hope to find in you a friend in my perils, for, having observed through my agents that you are not only honest in disposition and strong in person, but that you are possessed of a considerable degree of energy and determination, I am most desirous of imposing upon your good nature a trust of which you cannot for a moment suspect the magnitude. Tell me, are you willing to assist a poor, defenseless female in her hour of trial?" "Indeed, friend," quoth Jonathan, with more vivacity than he usually exhibited, with a lenity to which he had heretofore in his lifetime been a stranger--being warmed into such a spirit, doubtless, by the generous wines of which he had partaken--"indeed, friend, if I could but see thy face it would doubtless make my decision in such a matter the more favorable, since I am inclined to think, from the little I can behold of it, that thy appearance must be extremely comely to the eye." "Sir," said the lady, exhibiting some amusement at this unexpected sally, "I am, you must know, as God made me. Sometime, perhaps, I may be very glad to satisfy your curiosity, and exhibit to you my poor countenance such as it is. But now"--and here she reverted to her more serious mood--"I must again put it to you: are you willing to help an unprotected woman in a period of very great danger to herself? Should you decline the assistance which I solicit, my slaves shall conduct you to the gate through which you entered, and suffer you to depart in peace. Should you, upon the other hand, accept the trust, you are to receive no reward therefor, except the gratitude of one who thus appeals to you in her helplessness." For a few moments Jonathan fell silent, for here, indeed, was he entering into an adventure which infinitely surpassed any anticipation that he could have formed. He was, besides, of a cautious nature, and was entirely disinclined to embark in any affair so obscure and tangled as that in which he now found himself becoming involved. "Friend," said he, at last, "I may tell thee that thy story has so far moved me as to give me every inclination to help thee in thy difficulties, but I must also inform thee that I am a man of caution, having never before entered into any business of this sort. Therefore, before giving any promise that may bind my future actions, I must, in common wisdom, demand to know what are the conditions that thou hast in mind to impose upon me." "Indeed, sir," cried the lady, with great vivacity and with more cheerful accents--as though her mind had been relieved of a burden of fear that her companion might at once have declined even a consideration of her request--"indeed, sir, you will find that the trust which I would impose upon you is in appearance no such great matter as my words may have led you to suppose. "You must know that I am possessed of a little trinket which, in the hands of anyone who, like yourself, is a stranger in these parts, would possess no significance, but which while in my keeping is fraught with infinite menace to me." Hereupon, and having so spoken, she clapped her hands, and an attendant immediately entered, disclosing the person of the same negress who had first introduced Jonathan into the strange adventure in which he now found himself involved. This creature, who appeared still more deformed and repulsive in the brilliantly lighted room than she had in the moonlight, carried in her hands a white napkin, which she handed to her mistress. This being opened, disclosed a small ivory ball of about the bigness of a lime. Nodding to the negress to withdraw, the lady handed him the ivory ball, and Jonathan took it with no small degree of curiosity and examined it carefully. It appeared to be of an exceeding antiquity, and of so deep a yellow as to be almost brown in color. It was covered over with strange figures and characters of an Oriental sort, which appeared to our hero to be of Chinese workmanship. "I must tell you, sir," said the lady, after she had permitted her guest to examine this for a while in silence, "that though this appears to you to be of little worth, it is yet of extreme value. After all, however, it is nothing but a curiosity that anyone who is interested in such matters might possess. What I have to ask you is this: will you be willing to take this into your charge, to guard it with the utmost care and fidelity--yes, even as the apple of your eye--during your continuance in these parts, and to return it to me in safety the day before your departure? By so doing you will render me a service which you may neither understand nor comprehend, but which shall make me your debtor for my entire life." By this time Jonathan had pretty well composed his mind for a reply. "Friend," said he, "such a matter as this is entirely out of my knowledge of business, which is, indeed, that of a clerk in the mercantile profession. Nevertheless, I have every inclination to help thee, though I trust thou mayest have magnified the dangers that beset thee. This appears to me to be a little trifle for such an ado; nevertheless, I will do as thou dost request. I will keep it in safety and will return it to thee upon this day a week hence, by which time I hope to have discharged my cargo and be ready to continue my voyage to Demerara." At these words the lady, who had been watching him all the time with a most unaccountable eagerness, burst forth into words of such heartfelt gratitude as to entirely overwhelm our hero. When her transports had been somewhat assuaged she permitted him to depart, and the negress conducted him back through the garden, whence she presently showed him through the gate whither he had entered and out into the street. III _The Terrific Encounter with the One-Eyed Little Gentleman in Black_ Finding himself once more in the open street, Jonathan Rugg stood for a while in the moonlight, endeavoring to compose his mind into somewhat of that sobriety that was habitual with him; for, indeed, he was not a little excited by the unexpected incidents that had just befallen him. From this effort at composure he was aroused by observing that a little gentleman clad all in black had stopped at a little distance away and was looking very intently at him. In the brightness of the moonlight our hero could see that the little gentleman possessed but a single eye, and that he carried a gold-headed cane in his hand. He had hardly time to observe these particulars, when the other approached him with every appearance of politeness and cordiality. "Sir," said he, "surely I am not mistaken in recognizing in you the supercargo of the ship _Susanna Hayes_, which arrived this afternoon at this port?" "Indeed," said Jonathan, "thou art right, friend. That is my occupation, and that is whence I came." "To be sure!" said the little gentleman. "To be sure! To be sure! The _Susanna Hayes_, with a cargo of Indian-corn meal, and from my dear good friend Jeremiah Doolittle, of Philadelphia. I know your good master very well--very well indeed. And have you never heard him speak of his friend Mr. Abner Greenway, of Kingston, Jamaica?" "Why, no," replied Jonathan, "I have no such recollection of the name--nor do I know that any such name hath ever appeared upon our books." "To be sure! To be sure!" repeated the little gentleman, briskly, and with exceeding good nature. "Indeed, my name is not likely to have ever appeared upon your employer's books, for I am not a business correspondent, but one who, in times past, was his extremely intimate friend. There is much I would like to ask about him, and, indeed, I was in hopes that you would have been the bearer of a letter from him. But I have lodgings at a little distance from here, so that if it is not requesting too much of you maybe you will accompany me thither, so that we may talk at our leisure. I would gladly accompany you to your ship instead of urging you to come to my apartments, but I must tell you I am possessed of a devil of a fever, so that my physician hath forbidden me to be out of nights." "Indeed," said Jonathan, who, you may have observed, was of a very easy disposition--"indeed, I shall be very glad to accompany thee to thy lodgings. There is nothing I would like better than to serve any friend of good Jeremiah Doolittle's." And thereupon, and with great amity, the two walked off together, the little one-eyed gentleman in black linking his arm confidingly into that of Jonathan's, and tapping the pavement continually with his cane as he trotted on at a great pace. He was very well acquainted with the town (of which he was a citizen), and so interesting was his discourse that they had gone a considerable distance before Jonathan observed they were entering into a quarter darker and less frequented than that which they had quitted. Tall brick houses stood upon either side, between which stretched a narrow, crooked roadway, with a kennel running down the center. In front of one of these houses--a tall and gloomy structure--our hero's conductor stopped and, opening the door with a key, beckoned for him to enter. Jonathan having complied, his new-found friend led the way up a flight of steps, against which Jonathan's feet beat noisily in the darkness, and at length, having ascended two stairways and having reached a landing, he opened a door at the end of the passage and ushered Jonathan into an apartment, unlighted, except for the moonshine, which, coming in through a partly open shutter, lay in a brilliant patch of light upon the floor. His conductor having struck a light with a flint and steel, our hero by the illumination of a single candle presently discovered himself to be in a bedchamber furnished with no small degree of comfort, and even elegance, and having every appearance of a bachelor's chamber. "You will pardon me," said his new acquaintance, "if I shut these shutters and the window, for that devilish fever of which I spoke is of such a sort that I must keep the night air even out from my room, or else I shall be shaking the bones out of my joints and chattering the teeth out of my head by to-morrow morning." So saying he was as good as his word, and not only drew the shutters to, but shot the heavy iron bolt into its place. Having accomplished this he bade our hero to be seated, and placing before him some exceedingly superior rum, together with some equally excellent tobacco, they presently fell into the friendliest discourse imaginable. In the course of their talk, which after a while became exceedingly confidential, Jonathan confided to his new friend the circumstances of the adventure into which he had been led by the beautiful stranger, and to all that he said concerning his adventure his interlocutor listened with the closest and most scrupulously riveted attention. [Illustration: How the Buccaneers Kept Christmas _Originally published in_ HARPER'S WEEKLY, _December 16, 1899_] "Upon my word," said he, when Jonathan had concluded, "I hope that you may not have been made the victim of some foolish hoax. Let me see what it is she has confided to you." "That I will," replied Jonathan. And thereupon he thrust his hand into his breeches' pocket and brought forth the ivory ball. No sooner did the one eye of the little gentleman in black light upon the object than a most singular and extraordinary convulsion appeared to seize upon him. Had a bullet penetrated his heart he could not have started more violently, nor have sat more rigidly and breathlessly staring. Mastering his emotion with the utmost difficulty as Jonathan replaced the ball in his pocket, he drew a deep and profound breath and wiped the palm of his hand across his forehead as though arousing himself from a dream. "And you," he said, of a sudden, "are, I understand it, a Quaker. Do you, then, never carry a weapon, even in such a place as this, where at any moment in the dark a Spanish knife may be stuck betwixt your ribs?" "Why, no," said Jonathan, somewhat surprised that so foreign a topic should have been so suddenly introduced into the discourse. "I am a man of peace and not of blood. The people of the Society of Friends never carry weapons, either of offense or defense." As Jonathan concluded his reply the little gentleman suddenly arose from his chair and moved briskly around to the other side of the room. Our hero, watching him with some surprise, beheld him clap to the door and with a single movement shoot the bolt and turn the key therein. The next instant he turned to Jonathan a visage transformed as suddenly as though he had dropped a mask from his face. The gossiping and polite little old bachelor was there no longer, but in his stead a man with a countenance convulsed with some furious and nameless passion. "That ball!" he cried, in a hoarse and raucous voice. "That ivory ball! Give it to me upon the instant!" As he spoke he whipped out from his bosom a long, keen Spanish knife that in its every appearance spoke without equivocation of the most murderous possibilities. The malignant passions that distorted every lineament of the countenance of the little old gentleman in black filled our hero with such astonishment that he knew not whether he were asleep or awake; but when he beheld the other advancing with the naked and shining knife in his hand his reason returned to him like a flash. Leaping to his feet, he lost no time in putting the table between himself and his sudden enemy. "Indeed, friend," he cried, in a voice penetrated with terror--"indeed, friend, thou hadst best keep thy distance from me, for though I am a man of peace and a shunner of bloodshed, I promise thee that I will not stand still to be murdered without outcry or without endeavoring to defend my life!" "Cry as loud as you please!" exclaimed the other. "No one is near this place to hear you! Cry until you are hoarse; no one in this neighborhood will stop to ask what is the matter with you. I tell you I am determined to possess myself of that ivory ball, and have it I shall, even though I am obliged to cut out your heart to get it!" As he spoke he grinned with so extraordinary and devilish a distortion of his countenance, and with such an appearance of every intention of carrying out his threat as to send the goose flesh creeping like icy fingers up and down our hero's spine with the most incredible rapidity and acuteness. Nevertheless, mastering his fears, Jonathan contrived to speak up with a pretty good appearance of spirit. "Indeed, friend," he said, "thou appearest to forget that I am a man of twice thy bulk and half thy years, and that though thou hast a knife I am determined to defend myself to the last extremity. I am not going to give thee that which thou demandest of me, and for thy sake I advise thee to open the door and let me go free as I entered, or else harm may befall thee." "Fool!" cried the other, hardly giving him time to end. "Do you, then, think that I have time to chatter with you while two villains are lying in wait for me, perhaps at the very door? Blame your own self for your death!" And, gnashing his teeth with an indescribable menace, and resting his hand upon the table, he vaulted with incredible agility clean across it and upon our hero, who, entirely unprepared for such an extraordinary attack, was flung back against the wall, with an arm as strong as steel clutching his throat and a knife flashing in his very eyes with dreadful portent of instant death. With an instinct to preserve his life, he caught his assailant by the wrist, and, bending it away from himself, set every fiber of his body in a superhuman effort to guard and protect himself. The other, though so much older and smaller, seemed to be composed entirely of fibers of steel, and, in his murderous endeavors, put forth a strength so extraordinary that for a moment our hero felt his heart melt within him with terror for his life. The spittle appeared to dry up within his mouth, and his hair to creep and rise upon his head. With a vehement cry of despair and anguish, he put forth one stupendous effort for defense, and, clapping his heel behind the other's leg, and throwing his whole weight forward, he fairly tripped his antagonist backward as he stood. Together they fell upon the floor, locked in the most desperate embrace, and overturning a chair with a prodigious clatter in their descent--our hero upon the top and the little gentleman in black beneath him. As they struck the floor the little man in black emitted a most piercing and terrible scream, and instantly relaxing his efforts of attack, fell to beating the floor with the back of his hands and drubbing with his heels upon the rug in which he had become entangled. Our hero leaped to his feet, and with dilating eyes and expanding brain and swimming sight stared down upon the other like one turned to a stone. He beheld instantly what had occurred, and that he had, without so intending, killed a fellow man. The knife, turned away from his own person, had in their fall been plunged into the bosom of the other, and he now lay quivering in the last throes of death. As Jonathan gazed he beheld a thin red stream trickle out from the parted and grinning lips; he beheld the eyes turn inward; he beheld the eyelids contract; he beheld the figure stretch itself; he beheld it become still in death. IV _The Momentous Adventure with the Stranger with the Silver Earrings_ So our hero stood stunned and bedazed, gazing down upon his victim, like a man turned into a stone. His brain appeared to him to expand like a bubble, the blood surged and hummed in his ears with every gigantic beat of his heart, his vision swam, and his trembling hands were bedewed with a cold and repugnant sweat. The dead figure upon the floor at his feet gazed at him with a wide, glassy stare, and in the confusion of his mind it appeared to Jonathan that he was, indeed, a murderer. What monstrous thing was this that had befallen him who, but a moment before, had been so entirely innocent of the guilt of blood? What was he now to do in such an extremity as this, with his victim lying dead at his feet, a poniard in his heart? Who would believe him to be guiltless of crime with such a dreadful evidence as this presented against him? How was he, a stranger in a foreign land, to totally defend himself against an accusation of mistaken justice? At these thoughts a developed terror gripped at his vitals and a sweat as cold as ice bedewed his entire body. No, he must tarry for no explanation or defense! He must immediately fly from this terrible place, or else, should he be discovered, his doom would certainly be sealed! At that moment, and in the very extremity of his apprehensions, there fell of a sudden a knock upon the door, sounding so loud and so startling upon the silence of the room that every shattered nerve in our hero's frame tingled and thrilled in answer to it. He stood petrified, scarcely so much as daring to breathe; and then, observing that his mouth was agape, he moistened his dry and parching lips, and drew his jaws together with a snap. Again there fell the same loud, insistent knock upon the panel, followed by the imperative words, "Open within!" The wretched Jonathan flung about him a glance at once of terror and of despair, but there was for him no possible escape. He was shut tight in the room with his dead victim, like a rat in a trap. Nothing remained for him but to obey the summons from without. Indeed, in the very extremity of his distraction, he possessed reason enough to perceive that the longer he delayed opening the door the less innocent he might hope to appear in the eyes of whoever stood without. With the uncertain and spasmodic movements of an ill-constructed automaton, he crossed the room, and stepping very carefully over the prostrate body upon the floor, and with a hesitating reluctance that he could in no degree master, he unlocked, unbolted, and opened the door. The figure that outlined itself in the light of the candle, against the blackness of the passageway without, was of such a singular and foreign aspect as to fit extremely well into the extraordinary tragedy of which Jonathan was at once the victim and the cause. It was that of a lean, tall man with a thin, yellow countenance, embellished with a long, black mustache, and having a pair of forbidding, deeply set, and extremely restless black eyes. A crimson handkerchief beneath a lace cocked hat was tied tightly around the head, and a pair of silver earrings, which caught the light of the candle, gleamed and twinkled against the inky darkness of the passageway beyond. This extraordinary being, without favoring our hero with any word of apology for his intrusion, immediately thrust himself forward into the room, and stretching his long, lean, birdlike neck so as to direct his gaze over the intervening table, fixed a gaping and concentrated stare upon the figure lying still and motionless in the center of the room. "Vat you do dare," said he, with a guttural and foreign accent, and thereupon, without waiting for a reply, came forward and knelt down beside the dead man. After thrusting his hand into the silent and shrunken bosom, he presently looked up and fixed his penetrating eyes upon our hero's countenance, who, benumbed and bedazed with his despair, still stood like one enchained in the bonds of a nightmare. "He vas dead!" said the stranger, and Jonathan nodded his head in reply. "Vy you keel ze man?" inquired his interlocutor. "Indeed," cried Jonathan, finding a voice at last, but one so hoarse that he could hardly recognize it for his own, "I know not what to make of the affair! But, indeed, I do assure thee, friend, that I am entirely innocent of what thou seest." The stranger still kept his piercing gaze fixed upon our hero's countenance, and Jonathan, feeling that something further was demanded of him, continued: "I am, indeed, a victim of a most extravagant and extraordinary adventure. This evening, coming an entire stranger to this country, I was introduced into the house of a beautiful female, who bestowed upon me a charge that appeared to me to be at once insignificant and absurd. Behold this little ivory ball," said he, drawing the globe from his pocket, and displaying it between his thumb and finger. "It is this that appears to have brought all this disaster upon me; for, coming from the house of the young woman, the man whom thou now beholdest lying dead upon the floor induced me to come to this place. Having inveigled me hither, he demanded of me to give him at once this insignificant trifle. Upon my refusing to do so, he assaulted me with every appearance of a mad and furious inclination to deprive me of my life!" At the sight of the ivory ball the stranger quickly arose from his kneeling posture and fixed upon our hero a gaze the most extraordinary that he had ever encountered. His eyes dilated like those of a cat, the breath expelled itself from his bosom in so deep and profound an expiration that it appeared as though it might never return again. Nor was it until Jonathan had replaced the ball in his pocket that he appeared to awaken from the trance that the sight of the object had sent him into. But no sooner had the cause of this strange demeanor disappeared into our hero's breeches' pocket than he arose as with an electric shock. In an instant he became transformed as by the touch of magic. A sudden and baleful light flamed into his eyes, his face grew as red as blood, and he clapped his hand to his pocket with a sudden and violent motion. "Ze ball!" he cried, in a hoarse and strident voice. "Ze ball! Give me ze ball!" And upon the next instant our hero beheld the round and shining nozzle of a pistol pointed directly against his forehead. For a moment he stood as though transfixed; then in the mortal peril that faced him, he uttered a roar that sounded in his own ears like the outcry of a wild beast, and thereupon flung himself bodily upon the other with the violence and the fury of a madman. The stranger drew the trigger, and the powder flashed in the pan. He dropped the weapon, clattering, and in an instant tried to draw another from his other pocket. Before he could direct his aim, however, our hero had caught him by both wrists, and, bending his hand backward, prevented the chance of any shot from taking immediate effect upon his person. Then followed a struggle of extraordinary ferocity and frenzy--the stranger endeavoring to free his hand, and Jonathan striving with all the energy of despair to prevent him from effecting his murderous purpose. [Illustration] In the struggle our hero became thrust against the edge of the table. He felt as though his back were breaking, and became conscious that in such a situation he could hope to defend himself only a few moments longer. The stranger's face was pressed close to his own. His hot breath, strong with the odor of garlic, fanned our hero's cheek, while his lips, distended into a ferocious and ferine grin, displayed his sharp teeth shining in the candlelight. "Give me ze ball!" he said, in a harsh and furious whisper. At the moment there rang in Jonathan's ears the sudden and astounding detonation of a pistol shot, and for a moment he wondered whether he had received a mortal wound without being aware of it. Then suddenly he beheld an extraordinary and dreadful transformation take place in the countenance thrust so close to his own; the eyes winked several times with incredible rapidity, and then rolled upward and inward; the jaws gaped into a dreadful and cavernous yawn; the pistol fell with a clatter to the floor, and the next moment the muscles, so rigid but an instant before, relaxed into a limp and listless flaccidity. The joints collapsed, and the entire man fell into an indistinguishable heap upon and across the dead figure stretched out upon the floor, while at the same time a pungent and blinding cloud of gunpowder smoke filled the apartment. For a few moments the hands twitched convulsively; the neck stretched itself to an abominable length; the long, lean legs slowly and gradually relaxed, and every fiber of the body gradually collapsed into the lassitude of death. A spot of blood appeared and grew upon the collar at the throat, and in the same degree the color ebbed from the face, leaving it of a dull and leaden pallor. All these terrible and formidable changes of aspect our hero stood watching with a motionless and riveted attention, and as though they were to him matters of the utmost consequence and importance; and only when the last flicker of life had departed from his second victim did he lift his gaze from this terrible scene of dissolution to stare about him, this way and that, his eyes blinded, and his breath stifled by the thick cloud of sulphurous smoke that obscured the objects about him in a pungent cloud. V _The Unexpected Encounter with the Sea Captain with the Broken Nose_ If our hero had been distracted and bedazed by the first catastrophe that had befallen, this second and even more dreadful and violent occurrence appeared to take away from him, for the moment, every power of thought and of sensation. All that perturbation of emotion that had before convulsed him he discovered to have disappeared, and in its stead a benumbed and blinded intelligence alone remained to him. As he stood in the presence of this second death, of which he had been as innocent and as unwilling an instrument as he had of the first, he could observe no signs either of remorse or of horror within him. He picked up his hat, which had fallen upon the floor in the first encounter, and, brushing away the dust with the cuff of his coat sleeve with extraordinary care, adjusted the beaver upon his head with the utmost nicety. Then turning, still stupefied as with the fumes of some powerful drug, he prepared to quit the scene of tragic terrors that had thus unexpectedly accumulated upon him. But ere he could put his design into execution his ears were startled by the sound of loud and hurried footsteps which, coming from below, ascended the stairs with a prodigious clatter and bustle of speed. At the landing these footsteps paused for a while, and then approached, more cautious and deliberate, toward the room where the double tragedy had been enacted, and where our hero yet stood silent and inert. All this while Jonathan made no endeavor to escape, but stood passive and submissive to what might occur. He felt himself the victim of circumstances over which he himself had no control. Gazing at the partly opened door, he waited for whatever adventure might next befall him. Once again the footsteps paused, this time at the very threshold, and then the door was slowly pushed open from without. As our hero gazed at the aperture there presently became disclosed to his view the strong and robust figure of one who was evidently of a seafaring habit. From the gold braid upon his hat, the seals dangling from the ribbon at his fob, and a certain particularity of custom, he was evidently one of no small consideration in his profession. He was of a strong and powerful build, with a head set close to his shoulders, and upon a round, short bull neck. He wore a black cravat, loosely tied into a knot, and a red waistcoat elaborately trimmed with gold braid; a leather belt with a brass buckle and hanger, and huge sea boots completed a costume singularly suggestive of his occupation in life. His face was round and broad, like that of a cat, and a complexion stained, by constant exposure to the sun and wind, to a color of newly polished mahogany. But a countenance which otherwise might have been humorous, in this case was rendered singularly repulsive by the fact that his nose had been broken so flat to his face that all that remained to distinguish that feature were two circular orifices where the nostrils should have been. His eyes were by no means so sinister as the rest of his visage, being of a light-gray color and exceedingly vivacious--even good-natured in the merry restlessness of their glance--albeit they were well-nigh hidden beneath a black bush of overhanging eyebrows. When he spoke, his voice was so deep and resonant that it was as though it issued from a barrel rather than from the breast of a human being. "How now, my hearty!" cried he, in stentorian tones, so loud that they seemed to stun the tensely drawn drums of our hero's ears. "How now, my hearty! What's to do here? Who is shooting pistols at this hour of the night?" Then, catching sight of the figures lying in a huddle upon the floor, his great, thick lips parted into a gape of wonder and his gray eyes rolled in his head like two balls, so that what with his flat face and the round holes of his nostrils he presented an appearance which, under other circumstances, would have been at once ludicrous and grotesque. "By the blood!" cried he, "to be sure it is murder that has happened here." "Not murder!" cried Jonathan, in a shrill and panting voice. "Not murder! It was all an accident, and I am as innocent as a baby." The newcomer looked at him and then at the two figures upon the floor, and then back at him again with eyes at once quizzical and cunning. Then his face broke into a grin that might hardly be called of drollery. "Accident!" quoth he. "By the blood! d'ye see 'tis a strange accident, indeed, that lays two men by the heels and lets the third go without a scratch!" Delivering himself thus, he came forward into the room, and, taking the last victim of Jonathan's adventure by the arm, with as little compunction as he would have handled a sack of grain he dragged the limp and helpless figure from where it lay to the floor beside the first victim. Then, lifting the lighted candle, he bent over the two prostrate bodies, holding the illumination close to the lineaments first of one and then of the other. He looked at them very carefully for a long while, with the closest and most intent scrutiny, and in perfect silence. "They are both as dead," says he, "as Davy Jones, and, whoever you be, I protest that you have done your business the most completest that I ever saw in all of my life." "Indeed," cried Jonathan, in the same shrill and panting voice, "it was themselves who did it. First one of them attacked me and then the other, and I did but try to keep them from murdering me. This one fell on his knife, and that one shot himself in his efforts to destroy me." "That," says the seaman, "you may very well tell to a dry-lander, and maybe he will believe you; but you cannot so easily pull the wool over the eyes of Captain Benny Willitts. And what, if I may be so bold as for to ask you, was the reason for their attacking so harmless a man as you proclaim yourself to be?" [Illustration: The Burning Ship _Originally published in_ COLLIER'S WEEKLY, _1898_] "That I know not," cried Jonathan; "but I am entirely willing to tell thee all the circumstances. Thou must know that I am a member of the Society of Friends. This day I landed here in Kingston, and met a young woman of very comely appearance, who intrusted me with this little ivory ball, which she requested me to keep for her a few days. The sight of this ball--in which I can detect nothing that could be likely to arouse any feelings of violence--appears to have driven these two men entirely mad, so that they instantly made the most ferocious and murderous assault upon me. See! wouldst thou have believed that so small a thing as this would have caused so much trouble?" And as he spoke he held up to the gaze of the other the cause of the double tragedy that had befallen. But no sooner had Captain Willitts's eyes lighted upon the ball than the most singular change passed over his countenance. The color appeared to grow dull and yellow in his ruddy cheeks, his fat lips dropped apart, and his eyes stared with a fixed and glassy glare. He arose to his feet and, still with the expression of astonishment and wonder upon his face, gazed first at our hero and then at the ivory ball in his hands, as though he were deprived both of reason and of speech. At last, as our hero slipped the trifle back in his pocket again, the mariner slowly recovered himself, though with a prodigious effort, and drew a deep and profound breath as to the very bottom of his lungs. He wiped, with the corner of his black-silk cravat, his brow, upon which the sweat appeared to have gathered. "Well, messmate," says he, at last, with a sudden change of voice, "you have, indeed, had a most wonderful adventure." Then with another deep breath: "Well, by the blood! I may tell you plainly that I am no poor hand at the reading of faces. Well, I think you to be honest, and I am inclined to believe every word you tell me. By the blood! I am prodigiously sorry for you, and am inclined to help you out of your scrape. "The first thing to do," he continued, "is to get rid of these two dead men, and that is an affair I believe we shall have no trouble in handling. One of them we will wrap up in the carpet here, and t'other we can roll into yonder bed curtain. You shall carry the one and I the other, and, the harbor being at no great distance, we can easily bring them thither and tumble them overboard, and no one will be the wiser of what has happened. For your own safety, as you may easily see, you can hardly go away and leave these objects here to be found by the first comer, and to rise up in evidence against you." This reasoning, in our hero's present bewildered state, appeared to him to be so extremely just that he raised not the least objection to it. Accordingly, each of the two silent, voiceless victims of the evening's occurrences was wrapped into a bundle that from without appeared to be neither portentous nor terrible in appearance. Thereupon, Jonathan shouldering the rug containing the little gentleman in black, and the sea captain doing the like for the other, they presently made their way down the stairs through the darkness, and so out into the street. Here the sea captain became the conductor of the expedition, and leading the way down several alleys and along certain by-streets--now and then stopping to rest, for the burdens were both heavy and clumsy to carry--they both came out at last to the harbor front, without anyone having questioned them or having appeared to suspect them of anything wrong. At the waterside was an open wharf extending a pretty good distance out into the harbor. Thither the captain led the way and Jonathan followed. So they made their way out along the wharf or pier, stumbling now and then over loose boards, until they came at last to where the water was of a sufficient depth for their purpose. Here the captain, bending his shoulders, shot his burden out into the dark, mysterious waters, and Jonathan, following his example, did the same. Each body sank with a sullen and leaden splash into the element, where, the casings which swathed them becoming loosened, the rug and the curtain rose to the surface and drifted slowly away with the tide. As Jonathan stood gazing dully at the disappearance of these last evidences of his two inadvertent murders, he was suddenly and vehemently aroused by feeling a pair of arms of enormous strength flung about him from behind. In their embrace his elbows were instantly pinned tight to his side, and he stood for a moment helpless and astounded, while the voice of the sea captain, rumbling in his very ear, exclaimed, "Ye bloody, murthering Quaker, I'll have that ivory ball, or I'll have your life!" [Illustration] These words produced the same effect upon Jonathan as though a douche of cold water had suddenly been flung over him. He began instantly to struggle to free himself, and that with a frantic and vehement violence begotten at once of terror and despair. So prodigious were his efforts that more than once he had nearly torn himself free, but still the powerful arms of his captor held him as in a vise of iron. Meantime, our hero's assailant made frequent though ineffectual attempts to thrust a hand into the breeches' pocket where the ivory ball was hidden, swearing the while under his breath with a terrifying and monstrous string of oaths. At last, finding himself foiled in every such attempt, and losing all patience at the struggles of his victim, he endeavored to lift Jonathan off of his feet, as though to dash him bodily upon the ground. In this he would doubtless have succeeded had he not caught his heel in the crack of a loose board of the wharf. Instantly they both fell, violently prostrate, the captain beneath and Jonathan above him, though still encircled in his iron embrace. Our hero felt the back of his head strike violently upon the flat face of the other, and he heard the captain's skull sound with a terrific crack like that of a breaking egg upon some post or billet of wood, against which he must have struck. In their frantic struggles they had approached extremely near the edge of the wharf, so that the next instant, with an enormous and thunderous splash, Jonathan found himself plunged into the waters of the harbor, and the arms of his assailant loosened from about his body. The shock of the water brought him instantly to his senses, and, being a fairly good swimmer, he had not the least difficulty in reaching and clutching the crosspiece of a wooden ladder that, coated with slimy sea moss, led from the water level to the wharf above. After reaching the safety of the dry land once more, Jonathan gazed about him as though to discern whence the next attack might be delivered upon him. But he stood entirely alone upon the dock--not another living soul was in sight. The surface of the water exhibited some commotion, as though disturbed by something struggling beneath; but the sea captain, who had doubtless been stunned by the tremendous crack upon his head, never arose again out of the element that had engulfed him. * * * * * The moonlight shone with a peaceful and resplendent illumination, and, excepting certain remote noises from the distant town, not a sound broke the silence and the peacefulness of the balmy, tropical night. The limpid water, illuminated by the resplendent moonlight, lapped against the wharf. All the world was calm, serene, and enveloped in a profound and entire repose. [Illustration: Dead Men Tell No Tales _Originally published in_ COLLIER'S WEEKLY, _December 17, 1899_] Jonathan looked up at the round and brilliant globe of light floating in the sky above his head, and wondered whether it were, indeed, possible that all that had befallen him was a reality and not some tremendous hallucination. Then suddenly arousing himself to a renewed realization of that which had occurred, he turned and ran like one possessed, up along the wharf, and so into the moonlit town once more. VI _The Conclusion of the Adventure with the Lady with the Silver Veil_ Nor did he check his precipitous flight until suddenly, being led perhaps by some strange influence of which he was not at all the master, he discovered himself to be standing before the garden gate where not more than an hour before he had first entered upon the series of monstrous adventures that had led to such tremendous conclusions. People were still passing and repassing, and one of these groups--a party of young ladies and gentlemen--paused upon the opposite side of the street to observe, with no small curiosity and amusement, his dripping and bedraggled aspect. But only one thought and one intention possessed our hero--to relieve himself as quickly as possible of that trust which he had taken up so thoughtlessly, and with such monstrous results to himself and to his victims. He ran to the gate of the garden and began beating and kicking upon it with a vehemence that he could neither master nor control. He was aware that the entire neighborhood was becoming aroused, for he beheld lights moving and loud voices of inquiry; yet he gave not the least thought to the disturbance he was creating, but continued without intermission his uproarious pounding upon the gate. At length, in answer to the sound of his vehement blows, the little wicket was opened and a pair of eyes appeared thereat. The next instant the gate was cast ajar very hastily, and the pock-pitted negress appeared. She caught him by the sleeve of his coat and drew him quickly into the garden. "Buckra, Buckra!" she cried. "What you doing? You wake de whole town!" Then, observing his dripping garments: "You been in de water. You catch de fever and shake till you die." "Thy mistress!" cried Jonathan, almost sobbing in the excess of his emotion; "take me to her upon the instant, or I cannot answer for my not going entirely mad!" When our hero was again introduced to the lady he found her clad in a loose and elegant negligee, infinitely becoming to her graceful figure, and still covered with the veil of silver gauze that had before enveloped her. "Friend," he cried, vehemently, approaching her and holding out toward her the little ivory ball, "take again this which thou gavest me! It has brought death to three men, and I know not what terrible fate may befall me if I keep it longer in my possession." "What is it you say?" cried she, in a piercing voice. "Did you say it hath caused the death of three men? Quick! Tell me what has happened, for I feel somehow a presage that you bring me news of safety and release from all my dangers." "I know not what thou meanest!" cried Jonathan, still panting with agitation. "But this I do know: that when I went away from thee I departed an innocent man, and now I come back to thee burdened with the weight of three lives, which, though innocent, I have been instrumental in taking." "Explain!" exclaimed the lady, tapping the floor with her foot. "Explain! explain! explain!" "That I will," cried Jonathan, "and as soon as I am able! When I left thee and went out into the street I was accosted by a little gentleman clad in black." "Indeed!" cried the lady. "And had he but one eye, and did he carry a gold-headed cane?" "Exactly," said Jonathan; "and he claimed acquaintance with friend Jeremiah Doolittle." "He never knew him!" cried the lady, vehemently; "and I must tell you that he was a villain named Hunt, who at one time was the intimate consort of the pirate Keitt. He it was who plunged a deadly knife into his captain's bosom, and so murdered him in this very house. He himself, or his agents, must have been watching my gate when you went forth." "I know not how that may be," said Jonathan, "but he took me to his apartment, and there, obtaining a knowledge of the trust thou didst burden me with, he demanded it of me, and upon my refusing to deliver it to him he presently fell to attacking me with a dagger. In my efforts to protect my life I inadvertently caused him to plunge the knife into his own bosom and to kill himself." "And what then?" cried the lady, who appeared well-nigh distracted with her emotions. "Then," said Jonathan, "there came a strange man--a foreigner--who upon his part assaulted me with a pistol, with every intention of murdering me and thus obtaining possession of that same little trifle." "And did he," exclaimed the lady, "have long, black mustachios, and did he have silver earrings in his ears?" "Yes," said Jonathan, "he did." "That," cried the lady, "could have been none other than Captain Keitt's Portuguese sailing master, who must have been spying upon Hunt! Tell me what happened next!" "He would have taken my life," said Jonathan, "but in the struggle that followed he shot himself accidentally with his own pistol, and died at my very feet. I do not know what would have happened to me if a sea captain had not come and proffered his assistance." "A sea captain!" she exclaimed; "and had he a flat face and a broken nose?" "Indeed he had," replied Jonathan. "That," said the lady, "must have been Captain Keitt's pirate partner--Captain Willitts, of _The Bloody Hand_. He was doubtless spying upon the Portuguese." "He induced me," said Jonathan, "to carry the two bodies down to the wharf. Having inveigled me there--where, I suppose, he thought no one could interfere--he assaulted me, and endeavored to take the ivory ball away from me. In my efforts to escape we both fell into the water, and he, striking his head upon the edge of the wharf, was first stunned and then drowned." "Thank God!" cried the lady, with a transport of fervor, and clasping her jeweled hands together. "At last I am free of those who have heretofore persecuted me and threatened my very life itself! You have asked to behold my face; I will now show it to you! Heretofore I have been obliged to keep it concealed lest, recognizing me, my enemies should have slain me." As she spoke she drew aside her veil, and disclosed to the vision of our hero a countenance of the most extraordinary and striking beauty. Her luminous eyes were like those of a Jawa, and set beneath exquisitely arched and penciled brows. Her forehead was like lustrous ivory and her lips like rose leaves. Her hair, which was as soft as the finest silk, was fastened up in masses of ravishing abundance. "I am," said she, "the daughter of that unfortunate Captain Keitt, who, though weak and a pirate, was not so wicked, I would have you know, as he has been painted. He would, doubtless, have been an honest man had he not been led astray by the villain Hunt, who so nearly compassed your destruction. He returned to this island before his death, and made me the sole heir of all that great fortune which he had gathered--perhaps not by the most honest means--in the waters of the Indian Ocean. But the greatest treasure of all that fortune bequeathed to me was a single jewel which you yourself have just now defended with a courage and a fidelity that I cannot sufficiently extol. It is that priceless gem known as the Ruby of Kishmoor. I will show it to you." [Illustration: "I AM THE DAUGHTER OF THAT UNFORTUNATE CAPTAIN KEITT"] Hereupon she took the little ivory ball in her hand, and, with a turn of her beautiful wrists, unscrewed a lid so nicely and cunningly adjusted that no eye could have detected where it was joined to the parent globe. Within was a fleece of raw silk containing an object which she presently displayed before the astonished gaze of our hero. It was a red stone of about the bigness of a plover's egg, and which glowed and flamed with such an exquisite and ruddy brilliancy as to dazzle even Jonathan's inexperienced eyes. Indeed, he did not need to be informed of the priceless value of the treasure, which he beheld in the rosy palm extended toward him. How long he gazed at this extraordinary jewel he knew not, but he was aroused from his contemplation by the sound of the lady's voice addressing him. "The three villains," said she, "who have this day met their deserts in a violent and bloody death, had by an accident obtained knowledge that this jewel was in my possession. Since then my life has hung upon a thread, and every step that I have taken has been watched by these enemies, the most cruel and relentless that it was ever the lot of any unfortunate to possess. From the mortal dangers of their machinations you have saved me, exhibiting a courage and a determination that cannot be sufficiently applauded. In this you have earned my deepest admiration and regard. I would rather," she cried, "intrust my life and my happiness to you than into the keeping of any man whom I have ever known! I cannot hope to reward you in such a way as to recompense you for the perils into which my necessities have thrust you; but yet"--and here she hesitated, as though seeking for words in which to express herself--"but yet if you are willing to accept of this jewel, and all of the fortune that belongs to me, together with the person of poor Evaline Keitt herself, not only the stone and the wealth, but the woman also, are yours to dispose of as you see fit!" Our hero was so struck aback at this unexpected turn that he knew not upon the instant what reply to make. "Friend," said he, at last, "I thank thee extremely for thy offer, and, though I would not be ungracious, it is yet borne in upon me to testify to thee that as to the stone itself and the fortune--of which thou speakest, and of which I very well know the history--I have no inclination to receive either the one or the other, both the fruits of theft, rapine, and murder. The jewel I have myself beheld three times stained, as it were, with the blood of my fellow man, so that it now has so little value in my sight that I would not give a peppercorn to possess it. Indeed, there is no inducement in the world that could persuade me to accept it, or even to take it again into my hand. As to the rest of thy generous offer, I have only to say that I am, four months hence, to be married to a very comely young woman of Kensington, in Pennsylvania, by name Martha Dobbs, and therefore I am not at all at liberty to consider my inclinations in any other direction." Having so delivered himself, Jonathan bowed with such ease as his stiff and awkward joints might command, and thereupon withdrew from the presence of the charmer, who, with cheeks suffused with blushes and with eyes averted, made no endeavor to detain him. So ended the only adventure of moment that ever happened him in all his life. For thereafter he contented himself with such excitement as his mercantile profession and his extremely peaceful existence might afford. _Epilogue_ In conclusion it may be said that when the worthy Jonathan Rugg was married to Martha Dobbs, upon the following June, some mysterious friend presented to the bride a rope of pearls of such considerable value that when they were realized into money our hero was enabled to enter into partnership with his former patron the worthy Jeremiah Doolittle, and that, having made such a beginning, he by and by arose to become, in his day, one of the leading merchants of his native town of Philadelphia. [Illustration] The End * * * * * BOOKS BY HOWARD PYLE HOWARD PYLE'S BOOK OF PIRATES MEN OF IRON A MODERN ALADDIN PEPPER AND SALT THE RUBY OF KISHMOOR STOLEN TREASURE THE WONDER CLOCK HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS ESTABLISHED 1817 * * * * * 
43770	----	[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text. Some illustrations have been moved from mid-paragraph for ease of reading. (etext transcriber's note)] GARDENS OF THE CARIBBEES VOLUME I Travel Lovers' Library _Each in two volumes profusely illustrated_ Florence By GRANT ALLEN Romance and Teutonic Switzerland By W. D. MCCRACKAN Old World Memories By EDWARD LOWE TEMPLE Paris By GRANT ALLEN Feudal and Modern Japan By ARTHUR MAY KNAPP The Unchanging East By ROBERT BARR Venice By GRANT ALLEN Gardens of the Caribbees By IDA M. H. STARR Belgium: Its Cities By GRANT ALLEN L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY Publishers 200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. [Illustration: WHERE THE POMEGRANATE GROWS CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST THOMAS.] GARDENS OF THE CARIBBEES Sketches of a Cruise to the West Indies and the Spanish Main By Ida M. H. Starr IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. _ILLUSTRATED_ [Illustration] Boston L. C. Page & Company _MDCCCCIV_ _Copyright, 1903_ By L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) _All rights reserved_ Published July, 1903 Colonial Press Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co Boston Mass., U. S. A. To My Beloved Children TO THE READER These sketches were written during a memorable cruise to the West Indies and the Spanish Main in the winter and spring of 1901. There has been no attempt to write a West Indian guide-book, but rather to give preference to the human side of the picture through glimpses of the people and their ways of life and thought. With this idea it was thought best to give attention only to such of the ports visited as were full of human interest and typical of the life about the Caribbean Sea. There was a strong feeling that we were sailing in romantic waters, and there has been no desire to eliminate the element of fancy from these pages. It may be of interest to remember that at no time since--and perhaps never before--could this voyage have been made under the same conditions. Since then man and the greater powers of Nature seem to have conspired to make much of this delightful region forbidding to strangers. Several ports have become dangerous because of fever and plague; proclamations in French and _pronunciamientos_ in Spanish have adorned West Indian street corners; Haïti has reverted to its almost chronic state of riot and revolution; the Dominican republic has again chosen a President whose nomination came from a conquering army; Venezuela has been full of alarms and intrigues; while already the Germans are beginning to show their hand in the Caribbean; Martinique and St. Vincent have been desolated by volcanoes then thought to be practically extinct; and of delicious St. Pierre there remains but a sadly sweet memory. I. M. H. S. _10 June, 1903._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE VOYAGE 11 II. PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAÏTI 35 III. SANTO DOMINGO 83 IV. SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO 124 V. CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 162 VI. MARTINIQUE 197 VII. MARTINIQUE, "LE PAYS DES REVENANTS" 246 VIII. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD. PORT OF SPAIN 275 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME I. PAGE WHERE THE POMEGRANATE GROWS, CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS _Frontispiece_ MAP OF THE CRUISE _facing_ 34 THE LANDING-PLACE, PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 39 WAITING FOR CUSTOMERS, PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 43 THE "COACHES," PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 47 MAIN BUSINESS STREET OF THE CAPITAL OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAITI, PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 51 A PUBLIC FOUNTAIN, PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 59 A WEST INDIAN AFRICA, PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI 71 COURTYARD OF THE AMERICAN LEGATION, HAITI 77 A MILL FOR SAWING MAHOGANY, HAITI 81 THE OLD FORT AT THE RIVER ENTRANCE, SANTO DOMINGO 87 A CLOSER VIEW OF THE OLD FORT, SANTO DOMINGO 91 THE CATHEDRAL AND THE STATUE OF COLUMBUS, SANTO DOMINGO 95 RUINS OF CASTLE BUILT BY DIEGO COLON, SANTO DOMINGO 99 WHERE COLUMBUS PLANTED THE CROSS, SANTO DOMINGO 103 ENTRANCE TO THE FORT AND MILITARY SCHOOL, SANTO DOMINGO 109 LOOKING ACROSS THE PLAZA, SANTO DOMINGO 113 ALONG THE OZAMA, SANTO DOMINGO 119 LOOKING TO SEA FROM SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO 125 BOAT LANDING AND MARINE BARRACKS, SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO 135 THE FIRST TROLLEY-CAR IN SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO 141 THE MILITARY ROAD ACROSS PUERTO RICO, NEAR SAN JUAN 145 INLAND COMMERCE, PUERTO RICO 151 A RANCH NEAR SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO 159 THE HARBOUR, CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 165 HILLSIDE HOMES, CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 171 IN CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 175 CHARLOTTE AMALIE FROM "BLUE BEARD'S CASTLE," ST. THOMAS 183 ON THE TERRACE, CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 187 COALING OUR SHIP, CHARLOTTE AMALIE, ST. THOMAS 191 THE SUGAR MILL NEAR ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 203 COMING TO WELCOME US, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 207 LOOKING FROM THE DECK OF OUR SHIP, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 213 THE HARBOUR AND SHIPPING, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 217 THE LIGHTHOUSE ON THE BEACH. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 221 THE STREET ALONG THE WATER-FRONT, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 225 THE CATHEDRAL AND WATER-FRONT. ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 231 THE CITY AND ROADSTEAD, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 249 NEAR THE LANDING-PLACE, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 259 THE RIVIÈRE ROXELANE, NEAR ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 271 THE DRAGON'S MOUTH, ENTRANCE TO GULF OF PARIA, BETWEEN SOUTH AMERICA AND TRINIDAD 277 THE BUSINESS SECTION, PORT OF SPAIN, TRINIDAD 283 A VILLAGE GREETING, SAN FERNANDO, TRINIDAD 289 WHERE THE LEPERS LIVE AND DIE, TRINIDAD 303 Gardens of the Caribbees CHAPTER I. THE VOYAGE I. "Thank you, Rudolph, I believe I will take some lemonade and one or two of the sweet biscuit; that will do;" and I settled back in my ship chair, feeling as serene and happy as a woman in a white linen frock can feel. Every one must have gone down into every one's trunk this morning; was there ever such a change? Why, the count and his brother are fairly blinding to the eyes, in their smart white flannels. They actually look a bit interesting. Here they come now; the count has evidently had his lemonade, I see he is still nibbling a biscuit. This is the first time I have realised where we are going. This arraying of one's self in cool things and white things makes one really believe that, after all, the voyage is not a delusion. "Rudolph, you're a dear," this to myself, but aloud, as the faithful steward comes with my lemonade, I thank him and take the glass while he goes on in search of the youngsters. What a comfort that old soul has been to us! He began by being willing to speak German, and certainly that was an indication of a great deal of character. I think he was the first German I had ever met, who, knowing enough English to carry on an ordinary conversation, would, at times, express himself in his native tongue. That was good of Rudolph; of course we had to tell him not to speak English at first, but he never forgot. And such care as he gave us those horrible days, when we didn't drink lemonade or sit on the deck; when the ship wouldn't go anywhere but up and down; when it fairly ached to turn itself inside out, I know it did. It was then that Rudolph was neither man nor woman, but the incarnation of goodness and patience. Dear old Rudolph! Let me see--how many meals is this so far? Breakfast at eight o'clock makes one; bouillon and wafers at half-past ten, two; lunch at twelve-thirty makes three, and here I am hungry as ever, simply revelling in number four. I wish I had another biscuit. This is delicious! I mean the sky and the sea and the ship and all the people dressed so airily and looking so unconscious of what has gone before. If no one else will testify, Rudolph certainly can, that much has gone before. But this sea, this straightaway plowing into Southern waters is beginning to make me forget, and for fear that I may do so I must tell you how it happens that I am feeling so blissfully relieved at this moment. Of course I am not perfectly at ease, for I don't think a woman in a white linen frock can be until it has passed the stage where she has to be thinking of spots. Six days ago I was not sitting here in a white frock. I was bundled in furs, and even then cringed and shivered with the cold. Ough! it was raw and bleak that sad day of our sailing. The January wind, chilling us to the marrow, swept in from the desolate ocean like the cruel thrusts of so many icy knives. Even the prospect of a voyage to the _Islands of the Blest_ left us indifferent and shivering and blue. I vaguely thought that when we were once on shipboard we could get warm, but the doors were all open and the passages so blocked with visitors that even had it occurred to any one to shut the doors I don't think it could have been done. My handsome cousin from New York came with a big bunch of lovely violets, and I thought, as I touched their cold faces to mine, that they, too, must certainly be suffering and homesick. This voyage had been one of our dreams. We two--Daddy and I--had sat many a night by the crackling wood fire in our dear library talking it over. We planned how we should take the little girls and leave the four boys; how we should for once really go off for a glorious lark; but now, alas! every vestige of romance faded from our firelight dreams as we pulled ourselves away on such a bleak day, with not a gleam of sunshine to cheer us. Had there been at that last moment any sane reason for turning back, I should have done so. I do not see why I had expected anything else but a bleak wind on the North River in January, but certainly I did have a sort of a fancy that, once on shipboard bound for Southern seas, the glamour of our voyage would warm me to the very heart, but it didn't. I grew colder every minute, and after the cousin had said "Good-bye" and his tall silk hat was lost in the crowd at the gangway, it seemed to me that we were all bereft of our senses to think of leaving the library fireplace; but Daddy was beckoning me, and the little girls were making off in his direction; there was no escape. All I could do was to shiver and follow them. They were in tow of a red-nosed, white-coated steward; that was Rudolph. We didn't know it then, and even if we had I hardly think we would have cared. Rudolph had our luggage, loads of it, our bags, our rug rolls, our numerous duffle; he had it all well in hand and he forged ahead through the crowd with good-natured indifference to the wrath of those going the other way, loaded down in similar fashion. We were trying to find Numbers 41 and 44. Everybody else was trying in like haste to find some other number. There were more crooks and turns and funny little corridors running off in different directions than you would imagine could be built into a self-respecting ship, with here and there a constricted spot where a narrow steel door led through some "water-tight bulkhead." Now and then I lost sight of the little girls' bobbing ribbons and found myself peering down the wrong corridor, following some other person's luggage; then I would turn and elbow through the crowd, and bolt down the wide passage again to catch a glimpse of Little Blue Ribbons and Sister, both fairly dancing at the prospect of a real voyage in a real ship. And then came the appalling thought, "If I don't hurry and push through these swarms of people, those youngsters may disappear for ever in a sort of Pied-Piper-of-Hamelin Fashion." In a dazed way I stumbled and hurried on, and finally, to my great relief, I heard the children's voices issuing from Number 41, which proved to be well aft on the upper deck. It was a beautiful, large room, with big lower berths on opposite sides, and convenient mahogany wardrobes for the clothing--quarters quite befitting the dainty little maids who were to call it home for many weeks. My traps were left in the other room with Daddy's, and as it was but a few moments of sailing time, we left things as they were, ran up the stairway near our door just as the stiff German bugler was sounding the warning for visitors to leave the ship. Then the last preparations for departure began. The gangplank was taken in, and we began to move, ever and ever so slowly, and, shuddering, I turned around to see how the deluded people looked who were going to death and destruction with me. "It is all the fault of that wretched sun," I thought. "Why doesn't it know enough to shine on sailing day? If the clouds don't shift, we'll all go to Davy Jones's, and only think of the trouble I have had getting ready!" Much as I commiserated as a whole my fellow sufferers, outside of our own little group there was only one couple of which I have now any distinct remembrance, and I noticed them because I was quite sure they were bride and groom. "It is just too bad of her to wear that lovely gown to a watery grave! She ought to have left it at home for a relative. Anything would have done to swim in if it was only warm," I thought; but the bride leaned over the rail and waved her handkerchief at some one and laughed, and then wiped her eyes and laughed once more, but she kept the gown on. A horribly blatant German band, on board an Atlantic liner which lay alongside, bellowed forth national airs, and I wished I could choke it. The dwindling crowd on shore waved and shouted, and I went off alone and directly rubbed against some fresh white paint. That was too much! I just sat down and cried, and wondered why I hadn't brought some turpentine and why I had ever left the babies, why I had ever forsaken the comfortable library in midwinter; but alas, I wondered a great deal more a few days later! II. Contrary to all precedent, instead of watching the fast-fading shores of New York Harbour, I simply went to the stateroom and began to find myself, and certainly I did not regret it afterward. I unpacked our most necessary clothing, got out the brushes and combs, unstrapped the roll of rugs, stowed away in a handy corner my smelling-salts, and small convenient bottles of various kinds,--all the time accusing myself that I had not been satisfied with the calmer view I had had of "The Islands of the Blest" from our library window; that I must need hunt the real thing by steamship; an ever impossible method, as Kipling had warned me long ago: "That route is barred to steamers: you'll never lift again Our purple-painted headlands or the lordly keeps of Spain. They're just beyond the skyline, howe'er so far you cruise In a ram-you-damn-you liner with a brace of bucking screws. "Swing round your aching search-light--'twill show no haven's peace! Ay, blow your shrieking sirens to the deaf, gray-bearded seas! Boom out the dripping oil-bags to skin the deep's unrest-- But you aren't a knot the nearer to the Islands of the Blest." I shall always believe that the force of suggestion was the cause of our undoing. When a lot of people sit down to luncheon, all with one fixed idea, with one definite question in their minds, sooner or later that question is bound to be answered in one way or another. All one has to do is simply to wait long enough and the answer will come. "Mental Science" and "Christian Science" notwithstanding, there wasn't a soul in that dining-room but was wondering with all his faculties whether he would be or would not be. Incidentally, the ship felt the pulse of old Atlantic, and he began to be. And, as time wore on, the dining-saloon became deserted, and the question was answered. I never knew nor cared where the people went. As for myself, I took a rug, made for the warmest corner of the deck I could find, covered myself head and ears, and wanted to be alone. I was conscious that Little Blue Ribbons had tucked herself under my wing, a sad little birdling; but Sister and Daddy were very grand. They gaily walked the decks and laughed when they passed us,--but we didn't laugh! No, we didn't even smile. The ocean had never troubled me before,--that is not to any extent, for I had had a theory that if I could only keep on deck and wear a tight belt, the worst would soon be over. But there are seasons when all signs fail, and this time everything turned out wrong. The following day I managed to dress and get upon deck with the others. Oh! if I only had a chance at a good railroad, those who would might hunt up the islands; I had had enough already. I made up my mind to one thing, I should give up my ticket at Nassau and go home alone by rail through Florida. I didn't say anything of this plan to Daddy, but I thought it all out and had it all arranged, when I found that I could not get warm and could get so miserably seasick. I considered it a brilliant and original inspiration, and I clung to it with all my feeble strength. Sunday it commenced to blow furiously, coming first from the southwest, and increasing as the day wore on, until by night, with the wind shifted to north of west, a howling gale was on, outer doors battened down, promenade decks swept by water, and everybody curled up in bed, bracing themselves as best they could, trying to keep from rolling out of their berths. I wish it understood that the word _everybody_ is used reservedly, for there were a few exceptions, Daddy being one of them,--cranks who prided themselves on not missing a meal. Then came that awful night! This was the time Rudolph shone. It was he who suggested champagne and ship-biscuit. Daddy didn't know how many bottles he brought to our room, and we didn't, until it came time to pay the bills. Then Daddy was surprised, but Rudolph wasn't. "Rudolph," I said, that terrible night, as he brought in the bottle, and steadied himself to pour a glassful, "were you ever in such a storm as this before; don't you really think we're in great danger?" He assured me that he had been in much worse storms, but I knew he hadn't. I could tell by the way he looked that he was only trying to cheer me up, for he was dreadfully solemn, and had a big black lump on his forehead where he had hit his head as he came in with the bottle. I listened while he told of other storms ever and ever so much worse; how he had been thirty years a steward, how he swore every voyage would be his last; but how somehow he kept on shipping; he didn't mind storms. "So you have never gone down at sea, Rudolph? Oh, I am so glad, for then you wouldn't be here, would you?" He forgave me of course. I was not the first sufferer Rudolph had brought champagne and ship's biscuit. When Sister was a babe, Daddy gave her a little Jap toy, which we called the "Red Manikin." He was round as an apple, with his face one big grin. Whichever way we stood him, Manikin would jump up serenely on his plump little legs, always smiling and jolly. But one day there came a sad ending to Manikin's smiles. He was smashed in a nursery storm, and we found him under the bed standing straight on his head. Through snatches of sleep, my disordered dreams made a grinning, red Manikin of our ship. I wondered when the final smash would come and our big toy no longer swing back on its round legs? Over and over the great ship went, and I held my breath. "Now this time it will never come back. I know it. Oh! how terrible to have the water pour into our staterooms and never a chance to swim. No, there we go the other way. Now we go, go, go! Oh, if I wouldn't try to keep the ship from rolling over! What good can I do by holding my breath and bracing back in this way? I wonder how the bride feels by this time? That lovely brown dress, she'll never wear it again. Well, I'm glad I'm not a bride." Whatever happened just then I could not tell, but there was a curious sort of a dull explosion, and all the electric lights went out. Then our trunks broke loose and went crashing back and forth at each other, whack, bang, with a vicious delight. "I'll not endure this suspense another moment," thought I, "I must have a light and I must know what is the matter, and I must bring Daddy in here this minute. If we are going down I want him to be with us." So I swung myself out of the berth, dodged a trunk, groped my way to the door, and ran barefooted to Number 44. I didn't stop to knock, but turned the knob, as a terrific lurch of the ship threw me against Daddy's berth, where the only man who knew anything about running that ship lay fast asleep. Of course you'll think that an absurd thing to say, but then you don't know Daddy. He is the kind of a man who was born with expedients in both hands. However much I doubted the wisdom of confessing it to Daddy, away down in my heart I felt that if he would only wake up and come into our room, he would devise a way to save us, if every one else went to the bottom. Hadn't he time and again rescued us from dreadful disasters by fire and water, didn't he in his quiet way master every situation at the right moment; was there any one more skilled in handling boats, more subtle in knowledge of winds and waves than Daddy? Wasn't there just cause that I should wake him up? Of course there was! It wasn't right that he should be sleeping so peacefully while his wife and children were waiting for the last trump. No, it wasn't right. So I touched him rather lightly, somewhat hesitatingly, because he never likes to be awakened, and I said--well, I don't recall just what I said; you know how I felt; and he, the man of expedients, the man of many rescues, turned over and grunted out, "What on earth are you making such a fuss about? Go and see the captain? No, I'll not go and see the captain or any other man, and I don't want to sit on your trunk. Go to bed, we're all right; the sea isn't as bad as it was before midnight, and what's the use of worrying anyway? Go to bed, that's a good girl." What could I do but go? He wouldn't budge, so I went back to Number 41 with all the injured dignity possible under the circumstances, and I didn't care a bit when his door banged good and hard after me. I have never since then been able to understand his utter indifference to our distress that night. It must have been something he ate for dinner. It was a weird night outside; a white gray night, shone upon fitfully by a sullen moon and a few lonely stars. Every other minute we were in utter darkness, as a thunderous wave came surging deep over the port-holes; then for a brief moment again the sickly light of the moon would steal through the thick wet glass to where the little girls lay, and I wondered if the morning would ever come. III. The next day I did not dare look from my port-hole. I had not only drawn the lattice-screen to keep out the water--for the ports were leaking badly--but had even fixed up a curtain with some towels, so that I might not see the storm-vexed sea without. I simply lay there wondering why, why, why, I had ever come? But after awhile adorable Rudolph knocked at the door and gave us each our glass of wine and biscuits, and we felt encouraged, and asked him what had happened to the lights last night. He looked blandly ignorant of any disaster, and shook his head and told us nothing. He was a wise man, that Rudolph! Then he suggested that we get up and dress, after he had lashed the trunks back where they belonged, and had straightened up a nice little round spot in the middle of the room, where we could stand and reach for things. With a grim determination, I pulled down the towel, opened the lattice, and looked out. There is no use in trying to tell you anything about the sea, because I couldn't. All I can do is advise you never to round Cape Hatteras in a gale. "But what shall we do about the Islands of the Blest?" you ask. That is a simple problem, start from well down in Florida, and take the shortest cut across! At seven o'clock by the ship's bell I went to work to keep my promise to Rudolph. I have a distinct remembrance of having put both stockings on wrong side out. I was an hour hunting for my shoes. Everything else had to be scrambled for in the same way. It was two o'clock when I was dressed sufficiently to make a decent appearance; but I needed to have had no fear of criticisms, for as I made my way on deck, crawling up the main cabin stairway, there wasn't a soul to be seen, except the jackies in their oilskins, who looked rather amazed when I poked my head out of the door. I then had a view of the ship's deck which I had not hitherto had. She was very narrow and long, I hadn't before realised how long and how narrow. No wonder she rolled like a gigantic log canoe, but she was a beauty though! I began to forget her temper because of her looks--a common blunder in judging her sex, I am told. She was stripped naked for the plunge, and to see her pitch headlong into the seething water, throwing foam to the mast-heads, sending a deluge of crashing seas adown our decks, made me scream with delight. It was glorious, glorious, glorious! Down she went,--the beauty,--roaring, cracking, twisting, groaning, howling, and hissing. She fought as with a thousand furies, plunging and rolling into and through the seas, which rushed down upon her as if they would crush her to atoms. Just then the sun broke from out the fast-moving clouds, and sprang upon the water in a million glistening rays of brilliant light, and my whole being was filled with joy that I had eyes to see such wonders. The storm was at its height the night before when we were to the southeast of Cape Hatteras, after we had steamed well into that beautiful Gulf Stream one reads about. There we were hove to, with head to the storm, engines slowed down, and oil dripping over our bows for twenty-four hours, and were carried one hundred miles out of our course. Unfortunately the oil did little good, for we were in a cross sea which occasionally broke with a thundering crash over our stern as well as over our bows, and we were horribly twisted and shaken. But at last, on Monday afternoon, at four o'clock, the storm quieted so we were able to square away again for the Windward Passage. So much for that terrible gale from the Gulf, which, as we afterward learned, did much damage to coastwise shipping. As the storm broke, one by one, poor forlorn remnants of our fellow passengers began to appear in all possible states of dilapidation; and for the rest of the day, inspired by a subject of common interest, we sat about, clinging to fixed chairs, talking over our experiences, and watching the fast disappearing tempest. It was then I learned that my original plan of buying a ticket home from Nassau in the Bahamas and through Florida by rail was shared by every second person I met, and whether the purpose is fully carried out or not remains to be seen. IV. There was one peculiar and unlooked-for feature in the experience of seasickness which may be universal to all like sufferers, but it was novel to me. It was when in one of my sane moments the morning before the storm that I threw myself down on a couch in the main saloon, too inert to lift my head, too woebegone to think that I could ever smile again, that I raised my eyes and caught sight of a figure opposite me, compared with which I was in a state of heavenly rapture. It was none less than his Excellency, Herr Baron von Pumpernickel Donnerwetter Hohenmaltsteinhaufen, high officer in the service of his Majesty, the Kaiser. He was all in a heap, a big soft heap, wound about by a big brown ulster. Poor soul, he didn't care much how it was buttoned, it was all wrong anyway, but he was not thinking of trifles. On a bald pate was a comical felt hat,--one of those little Alpine hats German tourists affect,--jammed over the left eye; his face was unshaven, his hair unshorn and uncombed, his nose big and red, and his eyes watery, meaningless, colourless, glassy eyes rolling about in helpless agony. He sat there with his arms dangling at his sides, mumbling to himself. I hadn't anything else to do, so I watched him and listened. What can he be saying? I suppose it's the "Lorelei;" maybe he dreams he's on the Rhine! His sorrowful, wife-forsaken look aroused my sympathy; I listened more attentively. I have always had a lingering affinity for the German Folkslieder, but, oh, dear, it wasn't a Folkslied at all! He was swearing volley after volley of feeble, limp oaths, uttered in a broken and scarcely audible voice. I thought the sight of a woman might stop his flow of wrath, so I lifted myself up a little and looked at him as severely as I could under the circumstances, but to no purpose. His monotonous oaths went rolling on and on, until a kind steward came and asked his Excellency if he would have something to eat. Now that steward ought to have known better. I knew there would be trouble. There are times when men must be left alone, and this was his Excellency's time. I tried to warn the steward, and even worked up an especial groan to attract his attention, but, like a stupid old dunderhead, he stood there with his mouth open; and then he caught it: "_Verdamter--damter--damity--dam--_" it pealed, bellowed forth with royal spontaneity, and the steward was a white streak out of the saloon door. There were sufferers in the room besides myself, and it was remarkable to note, how that full and complete expression of his Excellency's wrath worked like a healing balm upon us all. I shall not confess to any such lapses on the part of my immediate family and friends,--no, I shall never confess to that! but I will say that there are times when the use of strong language is an outlet most beneficial to overwrought digestive organs. I _will_ say that much. The little blue map of the West Indies given to me at our departure, which same map has lain very snugly between the unopened pages of my journal until to-day, shows me, as for the first time I unfold the wrinkled paper, that we have just passed Watling's Island (the San Salvador of the early explorers) and a lot of other little islands; while a row of tiny dots shows that we are somewhere near the Tropic of Cancer. Daddy tells of watching until late last night to make out the light on San Salvador, and how it blinked up finally from the waves far ahead on our starboard bow and as quickly disappeared, to gradually grow brighter as we brought it abeam of us--our first smell of land since we dropped the bleak shore of New Jersey. My eyes tell me as they look seaward that we have left the great lonely waste of the Atlantic and have come into sweeter waters, on seas of heavenly rest, which flow away from us as do the rolling white clouds above. I watch dreamily the shoals of flying fish darting aside from under the bow in long low lines of flashing silver; and I look away to where ships come up from over the meeting of sky and ocean. I know now why Rudolph can not give it up. [Illustration] CHAPTER II. PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAÏTI I. From the rising of the sun to its sudden drop into the sea, this has been a funny day in Haïti, our first land-fall. All night we had been threading through the dangerous shoals and past the lower islands of the Bahama group, until at last we turned into that great thoroughfare, the Windward Passage between Cuba and Haïti, and finally were at rest in the harbour of Port-au-Prince. Knowing that we were to make port this morning, I was awakened very early by the delightsome expectation of the sight of a green earth; and long before Little Blue Ribbons and Sister had stirred with the spirit of a new day, I had scurried through the corridor to my delicious salt tub. The ship lay very still. It but just felt the finger-tips of the ocean's caress. A sweet, warm, gentle, alluring air filtered in through the open port-hole and permeated my body with the delicious intoxication of summer. I threw myself into the bath with every pore a-quiver for its cool refreshment, and as the briny water spread its arms about me, I looked out upon the sea, where my first tropical sunrise burst upon me. It was such a businesslike performance that I laughed right in old Sol's face, and splattered water at him through the port-hole; it served him right for being so abominably prosaic. Five minutes before his appearance, there was not the slightest indication in the sky that anything was about to happen, no fireworks, no signals, no red lights, nothing but the dull blue sky of early morning. When, all at once, a bright red tip peeps over the water, and in three minutes the big, round ball is on hand, ready for business, whereupon he blazes away _fortissimo_ from the start. It was rude and ill-mannered of him to intrude upon my bath, but it seemed to be his way with the ladies, so I fled to find Sister and Wee One in wildest joy, on their knees in bed crowding their pretty heads together for a peep at the wonderful land about them. The ship had swung to her anchor, and lay bow-on to Port-au-Prince, while to starboard was a range of lofty mountains which clambered and struggled and budded and blossomed into the white sky of morning. The sudden call of Summer, the eternal loveliness of warmth, the expansion of the soul from out the chill of ice and snow, into the bliss of laughing seas and delicious sunlight; the sight of green, graceful palms bending their stately heads to the summons of the morning, the merry wavelets frolicking, splashing, laughing, calling to us,--Summer--Summer--Summer--was all so intoxicating that, had the choice been possible, who knows but we would have bartered our very souls, with but little hesitancy, for a lifetime of such sensation! There was something akin to emancipation in the pile of airy frocks which lay waiting for Sister and Little Blue Ribbons, and if our fingers hadn't been all thumbs, and if we hadn't been on our knees half the time in the berth, peering out from the port-hole, we could have donned the summer glories a full hour sooner, and might have been on deck in the open with all the sweets of the early tropical morning about us. But, what could one do but look and marvel, when the sea about us was swarming with tiny boats, laden with treasures of the deep and of the forest? What would you do, now, tell me, if, after long dreaming of the Islands of the Blest, you suddenly awakened to find them really true, and your own dear self in the midst of them? Why bless your heart! You would have looked, and laughed, and wondered, just as we did, and have been for ever dressing, too. [Illustration: THE LANDING-PLACE Port-au-Prince, Haïti] Long, long ago, when I was a "Little Sister," my boon companion had a parrot given her, and one day it screamed horribly and bit me, and ever after I held a vengeful spirit for the whole parrot family. But that morning at Haïti--ah! that first soft morning, when the jabbering black Haïtiens came to us with corals and parrots and strange, freaky fruits, a fierce fancy possessed me to buy a parrot. Of course, the morning was to blame for it. I was really not a free agent. It was a delusion that, somehow, if I bought the parrot, the summer would be thrown in with it. But dear, sensible Sister, my judge and jury and supreme court on all occasions, thought it a foolish idea, so we didn't nod "yes" through the port-hole; we only shook our heads and laughed. But the parrot man didn't have time to answer back, for, before he knew it, a newcomer bumped into the bow of his skiff and made him very angry; so he gave way in short order, for the late arrival didn't carry any parrots or coral, or anything to sell; it carried a very tall, black man, who stood immovably in the centre of the craft. "Oh! Come, Sister, I know it's the President, it must be!" He wore a tall silk hat, with an ancient straight brim, and a black frock coat and a terribly solemn expression. But we were mistaken after all; it was only the health officer. We were sure one of those rollicking waves would spill him over, but, alas, the shiny old stovepipe rose and fell with the precision of a clock and nothing happened, and we were so disappointed! Then it disappeared up the ladder, and we buttoned up a bit more and were dressed at last. II. Port-au-Prince is as daintily hidden away in the folds of the mountains, as a lace handkerchief in the chatelaine of a beautiful woman. There seemed to be nothing left undone by Nature to make it, in point of location, a chosen spot, hidden from the curious world: a realm of bliss for lovers to abide in. Port-au-Prince was once called the "Paris of the West Indies;" that is, when the French were its masters and the blacks their slaves. It is not so now, for when the blacks revolted and drove their masters from the land, the death-knell of civilisation was sounded. It is the capital of the Black Republic of Haïti, the paradise of the negro, where to be black is the envied distinction; where the white man can scarcely hold property without confiscation in some form; where the negro is the high-cockalorum. Yes, it was called Paris, but that was long, long ago. Poor little town! It is now the forlornest, dirtiest little rag-a-muffin in the whole world, still trying to strut a bit, but in truth a ridiculous caricature of civilisation. [Illustration: Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co. WAITING FOR CUSTOMERS Port-au-Prince, Haïti] As we approached land, the character of the place was indicated by the boats lying at anchor, and by those which clung, like a forlorn hope, to the rickety old piers along shore. They were the most dilapidated, nondescript lot of craft I have ever seen. The "fort" at the harbour entrance was in a state of collapse, and about big enough to shelter a basket of babies. The Haïtien "man-of-war" anchored near the shore was an absurd old iron gunboat with rusty stacks and dishevelled rigging, painted in many colours and temporarily incapacitated because of leaky boilers and broken engines. The rest of the "Haïtien Navy," _i. e._, another old rusty gunboat, was lying neglected and half sunken near by. The pier where we landed was so shattered by time and water that I had to pick my way very carefully in order to keep from falling through. On shore, we were at once surrounded by a mob of jabbering Haïtiens, speaking--well, it's hard to say just what. It started out French and ended in an incomprehensible jargon, intelligible only to the delicate Haïtien ear. As we picked our way along the tumble-down pier, between piles of coral which had been recently removed from the shoal water near shore (in order that small boats could land at the piers), the tatterdemalion Haïtiens escorted us to the city, under a tumble-down archway, into tumble-down Port-au-Prince, to find waiting for us at the other side of this water gate an assortment of vehicles which I find it quite impossible to describe. They had had an earthquake in Port-au-Prince the preceding October, and those carriages looked as if they had passed through the whole shocking ordeal. The horses, not as high as my shoulder, were simply animated bones,--"articulated equine skeletons" somebody said--harnessed with ropes and strings and old scraps of leather, to what were once "carriages," all of antiquated patterns,--anything from a cart to a carryall; and to the enormous Americans, who doubled up their precious knees in order to sit inside, they seemed like the veriest rattletraps for dolls. Off they moved, the whole wobblety procession, to the cracking of native whips and howls of the admiring vagabonds. The white dust blew about us, and the sun beat down upon our heads, and we were in the Tropics indeed. I do not know whether it was the result of seasickness, or what it was, but everything in Haïti looked crooked. Sister said that the Mother Goose "Crooked Man" must have come from Haïti, and I agreed with her. [Illustration: THE "COACHES" Port-au-Prince, Haïti] III. We preferred to walk up into the town,--not because we were more merciful than those who had wobbled and rattled and jiggled on before us, but because we thought it would be a little more Haïtien than if we drove. We might have taken the tram, but it was more fun to watch it hitch its precarious way along after its stuffy, rusty, leaky little "dummy" engine, down through the crooked streets, than to jerk along with it. The only sensible thing to do was just to stand there within the ruins of a one-time beautiful city and look about us. It was the worst, the forlornest, the most mind-forsaken place of which you can conceive. Earthquakes had cracked and tumbled down some of the best buildings, fire had destroyed many others, and the remains had been left as they had dropped, under the blistering sun, to crumble away into dust; and thronging in and through the ruins like black ants about their downtrodden dwelling, were swarms of rag-tag human beings whom I call such merely because no species of "missing link" has yet been recognised by our anthropologists. It was an official building before which we were standing, and as we were about to move on to a shadier spot, the guards, or the soldiers, or whatever one might call them, approached and presented arms under the crooked arch, and disappeared noiselessly within the inner court. This barefooted squad, some ten strong,--negroes of all shades of blackness,--were equipped in gorgeous red caps. Yes, they all had caps, and muskets, every one of them; the remaining parts of the uniform, unessential parts, were eked out with linen dusters and old rags which happened to be lying around handy. I don't see why they should have bothered about having the dusters, but I suppose it was traditional. [Illustration: MAIN BUSINESS STREET OF THE CAPITAL OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAITI Port-au-Prince, Haïti Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co] Just as we approached the main street under a blazing sun, there came toward us two chariots, with wheels eight or ten feet high, harnessed each to a mixture of tiny, woebegone donkeys and mules, about the size of hairpins, going at full speed with the true negro love of display, for the benefit of the strangers. The charioteers wore shirts and tattered hats, and yelled like wild hyenas at the poor, astonished mules. "Hurrah for Ben Hur!" we shouted, and the triumphant victor rattled ahead in a cloud of dust. Then we went on to the next performance, a Haïtien officer strutting past, bedecked with gold lace and buttons, and great cocked hat, well plumed, and barefooted. There was no use being serious; we couldn't be. We were in the midst of an _opera bouffe_, with negroes playing at government, with the happy-go-lucky African savage fully possessed of his racial characteristics, fondly imagining himself a free and responsible man; and it was one, long pitiful laugh for the poor black children who were taking themselves in such dead earnest. IV. It was not to imitate Mr. F. Hopkinson Smith in the least that we said we must find a white umbrella, and yet even had we wished to imitate Mr. Smith, could we have followed in the way of a more delightsome traveller? It was simply because we were conscious that a white umbrella, with a soft green lining, is a necessary adjunct to life in the tropics. It is in harmony with its environment, because it is almost a necessity; and being such, we were not to be dissuaded from our desire. So, with that definite intent to our steps, we started to find the white umbrella. Was every one else hunting for one, too, that the crowd was all going in our direction,--surely not! No sun could ever blaze strongly enough to penetrate those woolly tops. We go on a little farther, and then we begin to understand from a wave of odours sweeping over us that it's to market we're going with all the rest; and so for the time we are led from the purpose of the morning. The stench grows more pronounced; we become a part of a black host, with babies, children, men, women, and donkeys crowding into the square, where a long, low-tiled market-building and its surrounding dirty pavement becomes the kitchen for the whole of Port-au-Prince; a place where filthy meats and queer vegetables and strange fruits are sold, and where all manner of curious, outlandish dishes are being concocted. The black women crouching on the ground over little simmering pots and a few hot coals, jabbering away at their crouching neighbours, were more like half-human animals than possible mothers of a republic. And in amongst the women were the babies, rolling around on bits of rags, blissfully happy in their complete nakedness. But there was something about those black, naked babies which seemed to dress them up without any clothes. Does a naked negro baby ever look as bare to you as a naked white baby? Stopping a minute, where a louder, noisier mob of women were busy over their morning incantations, my eye chanced to dwell for a second longer than it should have done, on a pudgy little pickaninny, which was lying in its mother's lap, kicking up its heels, with its fat little arms beating the air in very much the same aimless manner that our babies do. Seizing upon my momentary interest in the youngster, its mother caught up the wiggling, naked thing, and with all the eloquence of a language of signs, contrasted her naked baby with what seemed to her the regal splendour of my white shirt-waist. For an instant I weakened and caught at my pocketbook mechanically, but, as I did so, I glanced up just quickly enough to see her ladyship give a laughing wink to one of her neighbours, as much as to say: "Jest see me work 'em!"--and I caught the wink in time to turn the solemn face into a crooning laugh, when, with the worst French I could muster,--and that was a simple matter,--I told the mother her baby was all right. It didn't need any clothes; I was just wearing them because it was a sort of habit. People would be lots more comfortable in Haïti without them. For a minute, those black, beseeching eyes had had me fixed, but, fortunately for our further peace of mind, I looked once too many times. The air was thick with horrible smells and horrible sounds as well. We became a target for begging hands, and "Damn, give me five cents," was every second word we heard. Where the poor creatures ever learned so much English, would be difficult to say, but it was well learned. Over the black heads, over the little cooking breakfasts, over the endless procession of donkeys, carrying sugar-cane and coffee and all sorts of stuff from off somewhere we didn't know about, to the market we did know about--there arose an arch which was even more barbaric than the naked babies and their half-naked mothers. It was just the thing for the market--it fitted in with the smells; it was something incredibly hideous and archaic. It was not French, it was purely an African creation, made of wood, in strange ungraceful points and ornamented with outlandish coloured figures; and yet it was an arch, and we ought to forgive the rest. But the white umbrella! were we never to begin our search? We left the market and took the shady side of the street. But, being a party of four, we all wanted to do different things, yet, being a very congenial party of four, we went from one side of the street to the other, as one or the other happened to catch sight of something novel; thus, back and forth, zigzag, we made for the white umbrella. Laddie, in far-off America, had been promised stamps; in fact he had been promised almost the limit of his imaginary wants, if he would only stay with Grandmamma by the sea, and not mind while we were off for the Islands; so it was not only a white umbrella which kept us moving on up the sunny streets, but Laddie and his stamps. Thus the post-office stepped in where the white umbrella should have been ladies' choice. A nondescript following conducted us to the post-office, where we met a very different type of man. The officials spoke such beautiful French that we became at once hopelessly lost in our idioms. When the Creole postmaster discovered our self-appointed escort of ragamuffins crowding the entrance to the office, his black eyes flashed for a second, and some terrible things must have been said to the crowd, which we did not understand, for the office was emptied in short order. Here, we thought, was the true Haïtien; the market-people were the refuse. [Illustration: A PUBLIC FOUNTAIN Port-au-Prince, Haïti] Another zigzag, and we stopped in at a _pharmacie_ to ask about the white umbrella. We were met by another Haïtien, a courteous, delightful gentleman, the chemist of Port-au-Prince, a man of rare charm and courtly manner. He gave Little Blue Ribbons and Sister some pretty trinkets as souvenirs, at the same time pointing the way to a shop very near, where without fail we could find--you know! Ah! But between that shop and us there was--well, what to call it I find it hard to say, for it certainly wasn't a soda-water fountain, or an ice-cream haven, but into it we went, all of us, and we sat down, while Daddy ordered wonderful things for us to drink, and we had real ice, too; and in my glass there was more than the limes and sugar and ice, which Sister was sipping. There was certainly something more than mere lime-juice in my glass, for I didn't care, after taking one taste, nearly so much about the umbrella as I did before, and Daddy was so relieved. We sat there very contentedly for quite awhile, but the little girls grew restless and said we must go on to something else, so gathering up the fragments of our Northern energy, we were out in the street again. A sleepy, honest little donkey, loaded with baskets of very diminutive bananas, came our way. With malice aforethought, we made a raid to the extent of three pennies' worth. The keeper sold reluctantly, for he said we would surely die, if we ate bananas and walked in the sun. So we walked in the sun and ate bananas, and didn't die; no, indeed not. We lived to be very thankful for those bananas, as you shall hear later. And then we went on past the guard-house, where the slumbering army dozed by their stacks of rusty muskets; past unnumbered hammocks, out of which long black legs hung in listless content; on past the sellers and buyers of coffee who stood marking the weights of enormous sacks, swung on huge, antiquated scales; on past the women, crouching over their stores of pastry, fruits, sweets,--on to the shop where at last we found the white umbrella, with a green lining, and then there was peace in the family for awhile! V. I could not tell you her name, for she did not tell us, and somehow we didn't think to ask for it. She reminded us of Guadeloupe, our Mexican maid, who had carried Laddie in the soft folds of her _rebozo_ so many sweet days through the paradisiacal gardens of old Córdova. Shall I ever forget the music of her voice, when, with Laddie snuggled closely to her, she would stand in the early evening (amidst the flowers and the rich, ripe fruits which seemed to be waiting for her touch), and say, in a voice like a soft lute: "_Mira la luna, Guillermo!_" And his big, brown eyes would turn from the face of the gentle Guadeloupe to where her hand pointed to the high, sailing moon, throwing its silvery kisses upon the willing earth below. The Creole and the Mexican were affinities, although with seas between them. One was Guadeloupe, the other--what shall we call her; Florentine? Proserpine? What mattered a name! We were content. We had been strolling along away from the shops, out to where the tramway came to an abrupt end; out to where the level country took to its heels up the hillsides and went scampering off into the deep green mountains. Out beyond the President's palace, whose one-time glories were not yet quite effaced by the sad fortunes of Haïti, to where a row of houses, evidently homes of the Haïtien "Four Hundred," hidden away behind high French gateways and walls, were dropped from the glare of the white sun under glistening leaves of heavy foliage. Deep red, red flowers high in the tops of the trees hung like drops of blood over the crumbling, broken fountains. A sad little marble Cupid, with his bow and quiver gone, was still pirouetting in stony glee over a stained and dried-up basin. The gateway--her gateway--a wonder in chiselled stone and blossoming work of iron, was all but hidden by a mass of heavy, tangled vines. The white umbrella paused; we stood enchanted before the outspreading garden, and, while there, she of the wondrous face came down the steps of the mansion and out into the garden toward us. Down the path she came with a swift and graceful movement, not walking but gliding; her garments fell from her in loose, sweeping lines of grace. As she approached us, a delicate pink flush spread over her olive face, while with an exquisite charm,--in most perfect French,--she invited us in to the cool seclusion of her veranda. She was the colour of a hazel-nut. Her hair hung in two long, glorious braids, and it was just half-inclined to wave in sweet caresses about her oval face. Her eyes were of a radiant brilliancy, and, as she spoke, the light from them broke full upon us like something sudden and unlooked-for. She was straight as a cypress, and her head was set with the poise of a young palm-tree. Her family came out to meet us,--the brothers and sisters,--they were all very much at ease, but none of them had the charm of our hostess. Our conversation amounted to very little; it was one of the times when words seemed a bit out of place, particularly so with the sudden demand upon our slumbering French verbs. But she was forgiving, and we were appreciative, and the time passed delightfully. In the corner of her garden, there was a little out-of-door school, whither she led us to hear verses and songs by the solemn-eyed Haïtien _noblesse_, and we listened, as it were, to the remnant of a once brilliant people in its last feeble efforts to resuscitate the memories of courtly ancestors. It did not seem credible that there could exist any relation between these intelligent children, this brilliant young goddess, and the half-human beings crouching over their sizzling pots in the market-place. VI. This is the way it read: "HOTEL-CASINO BELLEVUE Champ de Mars--Port-au-Prince. DIRIGÉ PAR FRÄULEIN J. STEIN, DE BERLIN Chambres garnies, avec ou sans pension. Bassin-douche--Jardin d'agrèment. Table d'Hôte de 8 à 9 hs--de 1 à 2 hs--de 6 à 7 hs. Salon de Lecture--Billard--Piano, etc. Journaux français, allemands, americaines et anglais. Cette établissement jadis si bien connu, somptueusement remis à neuf, se recommande aux voyageurs et aux residents par le confort d'un hôtel de 1er ordre et par les divertissements que sa situation et ses dépendances offrent au public." You know there are some things in this world of uncertainties of which one is sure. One is sure of certain things without ever having seen them--something like the pyramids; one takes them for granted. Just how it came about that we took the "Hotel-Casino Bellevue" for granted it would be difficult to say, but we did. It was the one established fact about Port-au-Prince. It had been passed from one to another before we made port that the "Hotel Bellevue" was the _summum bonum_ of Haïti. Thither, never doubting, we faced about at high noon, following the small brother of our lustrous Creole beauty, and we found it, the Hotel Bellevue, as did others. Little Blue Ribbons, Sister, and I were placed--dumped into--three waiting chairs on the white veranda. And then Daddy disappeared, with others, all with the same air of confidence, to order dinner--it was to be dinner, you know, for did not the card say: "_Table d'Hôte de 1 à 2 hs?_"--of course it did. And we all had those little cards and they were all alike. They were our souvenirs. Why the Hotel Bellevue hadn't any shade-trees in front; why it was so glaringly hot and dusty and brazen-faced, we didn't see. Oh, yes! It was on account of the "Bellevue"--out to the ocean! "_Dirigé par Fräulein Stein_;" that was it. She didn't like trees; she wanted the "Bellevue." She had chopped down the trees--we knew she had. "_Dirigé par Fräulein Stein_"--we didn't care for Fräulein Stein at all. Some one on the other side of the veranda drops down an awning, and we drop the awning on our side. Blue Ribbons takes off her hat, and Sister wonders what keeps Daddy so long. I think of Fräulein Stein. She's in there, of course; that's why he's so long. That's why all the other men stay so. She is another Circe. Here he comes. He looks mildly happy. "It's ordered. I ordered it in German first, then French, and then Fräulein Stein,"--but there he hesitated. "Yes, it's Fräulein Stein, of course," I reply. "What did she have to say?" "No, it wasn't Fräulein Stein at all," he answers, "it was Fräulein Stein's manager; he's a Norwegian, so of course he speaks English fluently." "What did you order?" Sister asks. Then Daddy looked a bit sad. "I couldn't order just what I thought you'd like of course, because they didn't have it, but I did the best I could. Let me see--I think the first was sardines. I thought after the bananas you'd need a kind of appetiser, so I ordered sardines first, and some other stuff,--and turkey." "Turkey? Oh, Daddy, this is not Thanksgiving Day!" "No, it's not Thanksgiving, but there was something said about turkey, and I thought we might as well have what the others ordered." We didn't think we cared much for turkey, but we weren't hungry enough to argue, so we let the bill of fare go at that, and started out to investigate the premises. Ever since we had been at the Hotel Bellevue, we were unconsciously aware of curious droning sounds. We scarcely noticed them at first, for they were not aggressive,--they were merely persistent, like the sleepy humming of insects. They fitted in with the white light and the hot stillness of noonday. But, after waiting for Daddy, and thinking about Fräulein Stein, the sounds became more distinct; they grew more insistent. The people on the other side of the veranda quieted down, and there wasn't so much chattering as there had been when we first arrived at the Hotel Bellevue. No, it was much quieter. As the voices ceased with the spreading of the scorching noonday light on the dry walks and the denuded garden,--its few, stiff little lonesome shrubs gasping for water,--the sounds grew to a positive delirium. We stole out into the "_jardin d'agrément_." If I could only glorify that back yard I would,--indeed, from my heart I would! But "_es hat nicht sollen sein_!" It was not La Bellevue there! Oh, no! It was not! There was a little gutter running through the yard, and there was some slimy liquid in the gutter which might once have been water. But the ducks didn't mind; they waddled around in the puddles just the same. By the cook-house, a Witch of Endor was browning some coffee over an open fire. Out of respect to the cook, I say she was browning the coffee. She was indeed browning the coffee with a vengeance; she was burning it black--fairly to cinders. Around with the ducks was _the_ turkey. He was the master of that back yard, but alas! he was having his last fling! He did not know it, nor did we; we knew soon after. [Illustration: Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co. A WEST INDIAN AFRICA Port-au-Prince, Haïti] But what right had we to be in the back yard of the Hotel Bellevue? If we didn't find the gutter agreeable to our over-refined sensibilities why not go where it was "Belle"? But there were those sounds and we were keen on the trail. We should not be thwarted by a flock of waddling ducks. It was evidently from a neighbour's the sound came, so, picking our steps carefully over a heap of rubbish and broken bottles and discarded ducks' feet and hens' feathers, we peeped through a crack in the high board fence and saw in the neighbouring yard one portion of a family party; another crack revealed more, and, putting them together, we counted some eight or ten very serious people sitting around a large oval table, singing a curious chant,--if one dare call it such,--some of them; the others were shaking curious little gourd rattles in time with the monotonous recitative. The "Witch of Endor" tells us that the neighbours are celebrating the birth of twins. Deliver us from triplets! How far are we from the voodoo and all the savagery of Africa? There was a glory in that hotel back yard after all. But, to tell the truth, we didn't discover it until some one behind us, black and half-naked, made a murderous assault upon the turkey. He, the turkey, screaming awful protest, flew into the merciful arms of a breadfruit-tree which hung its great leaves in a sadly apologetic manner over the scene of coffee-burning and waddling ducks. To stand under a breadfruit-tree which was doing its noblest to forget its environment--well, one ought to forgive much, and we did, until we learned that even the breadfruit wasn't ready done--it had to be cooked. At last the cloth was laid and the table set, and Little Blue Ribbons unfolded her napkin, and we all did the same, for Little Blue Ribbons seldom makes a mistake. She is a proper child, and had hitherto fed on proper meat. Then we chatted and sat there,--and sat there and chatted. Presently, when we had talked it all over,--the market and the Creole beauty, and everything else,--we stopped talking and just sat there thinking. Sister had some bananas left, and she graciously suggested that fruit before dinner was in good form, so we each took a banana and sat longer. There was nor sight nor sound of Fräulein Stein, nor of any one belonging to the Stein family. We and our fellow travellers were the silent occupants of the high-ceilinged dining-room. Noon had long since gone with the morning,--one o'clock, and still no signs of life. One-thirty,--from out the silent courtyard, after an hour and a half waiting; from out the back kitchen, near the duck puddle and the breadfruit-tree, there appeared a negro in solemn state. He had been dressing. I suppose he was the one we had been waiting for. He wore an ancient long-tailed coat with brass buttons, a white waistcoat, and very clean trousers--and shoes, too--and a flower in his buttonhole, and he carried in his hand,--yes, dear ones, he carried in his hand (only in one hand, for the other one was needed for purpose of state)--he carried in his hand one small plate of sardines, our appetisers, which had been neatly arranged in two tiny rows of six each. A menial of lower order followed with the bread, enough for one hungry man, and it fell to the first and nearest table. We were hopelessly distant from the sardines and the bread. The solemn head waiter avoided us. We thought we must have offended him. The sardines continued to pass us. Soon a dish of smoking yams was carried on beyond. We knew then that his Majesty had us in disfavour. The "spirit of '76" arose; we would have sardines or perish. We raided the serving-room. Sister captured a whole box of sardines and I a loaf of bread. We waylaid a boy with coffee, took the pot, hunted up sugar, ran into a black woman, who was handing in a few boiled yams, seized all she had and sat down to the finest meal ever spread: yams, sardines, bread, and black coffee. At two-thirty, a faint odour of turkey hovered over the dining-room, but we didn't care for turkey; we had said so from the first, and besides, we had known that turkey in his glory. Sardines we had not despised, and we had sardines. And then the bananas helped out, and so did the bread and the bitter coffee. I would not have had the dinner other than it was--no, not for all the waiting; it was all so in keeping with the whole crazy country. Fräulein Stein never appeared. I do not think there was a Fräulein Stein, or ever had been. She was just made up, along with the "_table d'hôte_" and the "_chambres garnies_" and the "_douche_" and the "_jardin d'agrément_." But in a feminine way we laid it up against Fräulein Stein,--that meal and the trees,--and we always shall. For who else do you think could have cut down the trees? [Illustration: COURTYARD OF THE AMERICAN LEGATION Haïti] There seemed to be a sort of stupefaction over the whole establishment. I know the poor creatures did the very best they knew how, but they didn't know how,--that was the trouble. It didn't occur to them to cook a lot of yams at one time; they cooked enough for one or two, and when those were ready, they cooked some more for somebody else. You can imagine the length of time required for such a meal. But then there's nothing much else to do in Haïti, and why not be willing to wait for dinner? Out of respect to the courtly "_pharmacien_" and to our lovely Proserpine, there's not to be one word more about the "Hotel Bellevue," and not a word more about anything else in poor little Port-au-Prince; but I could not help wishing that some day dear old Uncle Sam would come along and give Haïti a good cleaning up, and whip them into line for a time at least; but Heaven deliver us from ever trying to assimilate or govern such a degenerate and heterogeneous people. Alas, for that ideal Black Republic, where every negro was to show himself a man and a brother! As we were leaving for ship, the Haïtien daily paper was issued--a curious little two-page sheet, some eighteen inches square, printed in French, _Le Soir_--and in it appeared this pitiful paragraph, which seemed in a way to be the hopeless lament of Haïti's remnant for the sad condition of things in this beautiful island: "The Americans who arrived this morning are visiting our city. But what will they see here to admire? Where are our monuments, our squares, our well-watered streets? We blush with shame! They can carry back with them only bad impressions; there is nothing to please or charm them, except our sunny sky, our starry nights, and the exuberance of nature." Is it possible that the writer of those lines had forgotten the Lady Proserpine? [Illustration: A MILL FOR SAWING MAHOGANY Haïti] CHAPTER III. SANTO DOMINGO I. "There's nothing in the least to be afraid of, Mother, nothing in the least. Why, see, even his Excellency doesn't mind." It was Sister who spoke, but even so there was a kind of unearthly qualm creeping over me as I made my way cautiously down the ladder and waited until a generous swell from the big outside sent the ship's boat within stepping distance, and then, with a jump, made for the vacancy next to Little Blue Ribbons. When one is on dry land, fear of the water seems so unreasoning that the timid soul speaks of it in a half-apologetic manner; but never yet when landing in an open boat in an exposed harbour, where the mighty roll of the ocean lifts and drops and there seems but a veil between the great world above and the great world beneath--never yet have I been able to take the step from steamer to boat with any real sensation of pleasure. We had been skirting the southern shore of the great island of Haïti or Santo Domingo since sundown the night before, and at daybreak the word flew around that we were off Domingo City. We must have left all the sunshine with the happy darkies in Port-au-Prince, for, as we glanced from our port-holes, we saw nothing but a tumble of leaden water under a gray sky--just water and sky. Domingo City lay to the other side. Once ready for the day and out on deck, we were met by a gloomy world. Heavy banks of clouds piled on one another as if determined to hide the sun. There were no dancing, rollicking little harbour waves that morning; they were ugly and sullen ground swells, and told of heavy weather somewhere by their grumbling, threatening heavings. A stiff wind blew, for we had come to the region of the "Northeast Trades," and it was no laughing matter to lower the boats and land us safely, especially with such clumsy boats' crews. There is practically no harbour at Santo Domingo, the capital of _la Republica Dominicana_; that is, no harbour for deep-keeled craft. The Ozama River affords a safe inner harbour for light-draught vessels, but on account of a bar at the entrance to this charming stream,--upon whose shores the historic old city slumbers,--we were forced to anchor in the open roadstead and take the ship's boats for land. The fear which had so troubled me when we first left the solid decks of our good ship was soon forgotten as we approached the City of the Holy Sunday,--Santo Domingo,--fairy godmother at the christening of Western civilisation, the first to feel the pulse of those undying souls whose spirits spanned the centuries to come! I recall how I looked with all my eyes and with all my soul at the wondrous picture opening before me as we swung into the river entrance, and wondered if I could keep its beauty for ever. Could it be more lovely, more enchanting, more mysterious under a white sun shining from out a motionless blue heaven? Who shall say? Old! Old! Kissed by the winds of centuries, Santo Domingo rests upon the brow of a verdant plateau, and stretches its sinuous arms dreamily beyond the hills on the shore. Great red rocks, in whose rifts glossy ferns and graceful vines have sought safe harbour, break the roll of the sea into a thousand glistening clouds of spray, enveloping the summit of the cliff in a translucent mist. Like a weather-worn, decrepit, but stately warrior, the ancient fort, with massive towers and mossy turrets and bastions and broken walls, still holds its guard over the harbour; and as we passed from the sea into the placid Ozama River, the enchanting view of Santo Domingo arose in full sight. Cloaked in a faintly shimmering mist, under a gray, tumultuous sky, the ancient city rose to greet us as a dreamy, nebulous siren of the sea. Crumbling ruins of ancient stone stairways led from the fort through a water-gate to the river; down those mossy flights I could all but see a gay troop of Spanish cavaliers approaching their quaint old galleons moored hard by. Truly it was an enchanted city; asleep, untouched by the hand of man since the days of its first great builder; asleep, moss-grown, hoary, throbbing still with the dying passion of mediævalism. [Illustration: THE OLD FORT AT THE RIVER ENTRANCE Santo Domingo] II. Contrary to our prearranged plan, we decided, upon landing, to engage a carriage. Just why, I hardly knew, but there was a subtle power at work in the mind of one of our party, and although it has never been hinted at since then, in calmly going over that carriage-hiring I think I begin to read the riddle. We had left our French at Haïti, and this was our first experiment on this voyage with Spanish, and I suspect some of us were anxious to see how Cervantes's language--_la idioma Castellana_--would work when it came to such a common-place proceeding as the hiring of a carriage. We came off with colours flying, and took seats in a vehicle made some twenty-five or fifty years ago (quite modern as compared with those of Port-au-Prince), bumped up the steep stony hill, under an old archway, and had our first glimpse of the solid Spanish architecture of Santo Domingo. Everything was interesting; the balconies upheld by graceful supports of wrought iron; the neat appearance of the low-roofed, white and blue washed houses; the ever-beautiful palms and banana groves seen in vistas across the river; even our driver was a source of interest, for I expended my entire vocabulary of Spanish--few words indeed--upon that youth, all to no purpose. All he did was to look dazed and answer, "_Si, señora_" to everything, hit or miss, until we came to the Cathedral, when, just to make it right with my conscience for having been the innocent cause of all his awful lies, I asked him, pointing to the building, which could be nothing in the mind of a sane man but a cathedral, if that was the Cathedral, and he said: "_Si, señora_," and I felt relieved. [Illustration: A CLOSER VIEW OF THE OLD FORT Santo Domingo] No description can convey to your mind an adequate impression of the beauty of this wonderful old cathedral, for one needs colour, colour, colour, everywhere for its proper setting. It is built of the yellowest of soft porous stone, to which time has bequeathed a luminosity, the brilliancy of which no language can rightly picture. It is purely Spanish in its style, depending for its beauty entirely on its symmetry of form and not on extraneous ornamentation; it is built rather low to withstand frequent earthquakes, and from its solidity and simplicity and directness of construction has a charm which few of the later Spanish cathedrals possess. Time has laid her kindly hands upon this temple of God gently--ever so gently, and through many a lifetime has fulfilled the priestly office of consecration. I sat down in the shade, for, as we left the carriage, a big cloud tumbled over by mistake and the sun laughingly plunged headlong through the mist before the quarrelsome elements had time to gainsay. With Little Blue Ribbons close by, and Sister and our Spanish Student disappearing within the arches of the Cathedral, I sat there on the base of one of the great pillars at the doorway, and filled my eyes with the beauty of the strong, graceful arches overhead, in whose time-worn curves hung the ancient bells, beautiful bronze bells, now green with age, still pealing forth the praise of God as in the days of Columbus's followers. Down the weather-worn and sun-ripened sides of the Cathedral were long streaks of black, like the silent tears of centuries, shed for glories now no more. Was it not enough to rest there, where one could look at the bells and wait for the quiver of the long tongues, ringing out the hour of mass, and catch the thrill of the mottled gray and blue sky sifting its mellow light through the ancient towers? There are some things so absolutely satisfying that it seems an arrant sacrilege to be discontent and want for more. But Little Blue Ribbons, with the impatience of childhood, began to tug at my hand, and the dear old bells must have gone asleep, for with all our longing they hung there covered by their deep, green silence, and Little Blue Ribbons said we would have our waiting all for nothing. For nothing is it, dear one, to forget the stress of living for awhile, and let one's spirit drop into the peace of a sleeping bell? III. We found that the interior of the Cathedral had a very new, clean face, having been recently "restored" and whitewashed; thus being out of harmony with the venerable exterior; however, some one remarked, it was "gratifying to see that the Dominicans appreciate their ancient monument." That complacent remark struck the ear awry, like the whine of a deacon's report at a Sunday-school convention. Appreciate? Why, the people of Santo Domingo worship this spot! It is the one place of interest to them; it is the one thing they ask the stranger if he has seen; it is the centre of their life and love,--that ancient pile of yellow glory,--for are not the ashes of their great _Cristobal Colon_ guarded there? Would that we Americans had any relic we held as sacredly! [Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AND THE STATUE OF COLUMBUS Santo Domingo] So I suppose we ought not to quarrel with the Dominicans over the new coat of whitewash, for they meant it well, but we can at least wish they hadn't cleaned house so thoroughly. Within those walls rest the bones of Columbus after their many disinterments and post-mortem wanderings--so it is claimed; but whether these are the bones of Columbus, or of some one else, who can say? What does it matter? Somewhere about one hundred years ago,--in 1795,--'tis said, when this island was ceded to the French, the Spaniards took Columbus's bones back to Spain. Later these mortal fragments were returned to Santo Domingo, in accordance with his expressed wish that they finally be buried in this his beloved birthplace and funeral-pyre of his cherished hopes in the New World; which wish had been once before honoured in the first removal of the remains to the then Spanish colony. Sealed in a leaden casket they were imbedded in masonry under the stone floor of the cathedral chancel, and there was no attempt to disturb them until about 1878, when they were _presumably_ removed to Havana to be re-interred there, and, as the Spaniards stoutly maintain, again disinterred from their resting-place in the cathedral at Havana and hurried away to Spain just before the American occupation of Cuba, there to receive the sad honour of a costly mausoleum in Seville. But a few years ago a second box was discovered, buried fast in ancient masonry and cement, about three feet from the place in which the first one was found; and this leaden box, the Dominicans claim, holds the real bones of the real Columbus, for they stoutly maintain that the other box contained the bones _Diego Colon_, nephew to Columbus, or, as some say, his son,--not _Cristobal Colon_, our Columbus--and the inscription on a silver plate found inside seems to bear out the authenticity of the later discovery, as does also the location of this second casket and the pains taken to render it secure. Whosesoever bones they were, I was in the proper frame of mind to venerate them, and it was with a feeling of deep awe and pathos that I stood before the much-disputed leaden box, now enshrined in gold and silver, and covered by a very gorgeous white marble tomb, newly made in Barcelona. The box is about a foot and a half long, one foot high, and one foot wide--rather a small space for so great a man as Columbus, but then,-- [Illustration: Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co. RUINS OF CASTLE BUILT BY DIEGO COLON Santo Domingo] "Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away." And so the Dominicans had a very beautiful and lofty and modern monument built in Spain and brought across the water to San Domingo, as a fitting shrine for their great treasure. With many minarets and dainty arches cut from snowy marble, and ornate with carvings and gilt, it stands more as a monument to the faithful loyalty of the Dominicans than to the memory of that valiant discoverer. He was a world soul. He belongs to all time, as do all the great. The march of Western civilisation is his monument. The Dominicans plan to erect a building which they deem worthier this work of gold and marble than is the sad old cathedral Columbus founded,--worthier the sacred leaden box; but could there be a more fitting sanctuary for the great Genoese, than within these ancient walls whose beginnings he directed and which rose after death in direct fulfilment of his ambition? We found built into the wall a huge cross, rudely hewn of wood, which the stories say was set in a clearing in a little plain by Columbus, before the year 1500, to mark the place where his great church should stand. This primitive cross was afterward built into the wall itself. How constantly memories of the great discoverer hover about these walls; for it was in Santo Domingo that Columbus was imprisoned by his jealous rivals, and thence at last he was taken in chains to Spain, where he died, and hither again came his weary bones. [Illustration: WHERE COLUMBUS PLANTED THE CROSS Santo Domingo] How pathetic, yet how characteristic, is this grim example of the Spaniard's reverence for the past, even if that past may have been so cruelly dishonoured! Columbus, the poor Genoese dreamer; Columbus, still the crazy explorer, but upheld by royal hands; Columbus, the fêted and flattered discoverer of new worlds, giving to Spain greater riches than she dreamed; Columbus, the victim of jealous gossip and intrigue, bound in chains and finally dying,--broken and disgraced. Columbus, in ashes these four hundred years, guarded in pomp, and convoyed by great ships in this final retreat, step by step, from the empire he founded! For with each successive loss of her rich holdings in the New World, Spain has tried to carry with her in her retreat, these precious relics, until the name Columbus, framed in dishonour, disaster, and defeat, has become to her almost a pain. How tragic that Spain should strain to her heart with fierce jealousy, as the last but most precious remnant left of all her American possessions, the few crumbling bones of Columbus! We left the Cathedral reluctantly, but as the day was moving rapidly on we were anxious to see as much as possible of the city; so we reëntered the carriage and drove to the _Correo_ to post letters and get some money changed. While Daddy was in the post-office, I endeavoured, with my four Spanish words, to make our driver understand that I wanted him to move along to the corner, so that we might look out over the river, but he only smiled and said: "_Si, señora_," and went on putting up the rubber curtains to keep out the unexpected shower that had blown up from nowhere. So I sat there in despair, for I did want to get that view, but I did not want to get wet. At that moment, seeing my predicament, a gentleman approached the driver and told him just what to do, and then disappeared into the post-office. When the Spanish Student returned, he was accompanied by my kindly interpreter, to whom we were presented. "Sister," says the smiling Daddy, "this is Señor Alfredo P---- A----, private secretary to the President, and he has most kindly offered to show us about the city." We all bow to the señor, and I wonder if he is really the private secretary, or a private humbug, waiting around to ensnare us. Shame upon my suspicion! May that moment of doubt be for ever fruitless in the process of my gradual regeneration! Señor Alfredo was one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. And this I say not in the enthusiasm of a first meeting, but after carefully weighing my words. Señor Alfredo was dark, and our man blond, so there could be no comparison between dissimilar types and no cause for jealousy, and then I said that the señor was _one_ of the handsomest. That "_one of the_" should make all the difference in the world. The señor was simply one of the procession of nature's adornments in which you are marching. There, now, may I go on, and may I say just what I wish of the señor without offence? The señor had been educated in New York City, and his English was most charming; it had the grace of a rich Spanish accent, and the correctness of a scholar. I hesitate to tell you of the señor's charms, lest you think them over-abundant,--impossible in any one man, and you might not enjoy the day in old Domingo, and that would be an unhappy state, truly. The señor's first question was: "Have you seen the Cathedral?" Yes, we had seen it in our way, but possibly not in his. Then he dismisses the disappointed coachman, and we follow the señor again to the worshipped temple, and have its wonders revealed to us by one who knew every stone in its construction. After long prowling around, through cloisters and shrines, and after hunting up the place in the chancel where those poor old bones were disinterred, and carefully comparing the former hiding-places of each of the disputed caskets, we leave the cathedral and wander about Domingo City. The señor guides us, not at our request, but of his own free will, to all the places of interest in the city; and then to the old fort which we had seen on our arrival. I should have been quite satisfied to have stayed there all day, looking from the massy turrets out to sea, but the señor was solicitous that we should go about with the officer in command of the fort, and see everything of interest. Old as it is, it is still used by the army; the native military school and the naval academy both being within its walls. The smart-looking men presented arms as we passed from the gateway into the street again, and we took pleasure in telling the commandant how much better his troops appeared than the ridiculous Haïtien soldiery. This seemed to please both of our friends, for the Dominicans apparently have a feeling of contempt for their neighbours of the Negro Republic, and rightly, too, judging from what we saw. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE FORT AND MILITARY SCHOOL Santo Domingo] Then, we walked and walked and walked, up one narrow street and down another, catching numerous glimpses of most entrancing gardens through the half-way opened doors. We asked for the daily paper, and were taken at once to the office of the _Listin Diario_, whose editor was the brother of Señor P---- A----. He and our Spanish Student had, to them, an interesting conversation about the political situation in Santo Domingo and in Venezuela; and after having promised to dine with us on the boat at six o'clock, we continued our walk in and about and all around, until, much to our surprise, we were taken into a cool, big courtyard, up a wide flight of worn stone steps into the señor's home. There we met his wife and children, listened to beautiful native dances sympathetically played on the piano by the señor; we rocked in the ever-present Vienna bent-wood chair, talked to the parrot, played with the baby, and drank cocoanut milk from the green cocoanut, and lived to drink from many more. The cocoanut, when used for milk by these Southern people, is cut quite green, before the solid meat has formed and when all is liquid within, and is said to be most healthful. Of our party, the adventurous man and children liked it very much, but the cautious woman a very little. Then we made our _adieux_, not without the promise, however, that the señor would meet us at three o'clock for the trip up the Ozama River in the ship's boats. All day the clouds were reeling heavily in bulky, black heaps, now and then dropping down upon our innocent heads torrents of spattering rain. But we were not to be discomfited by a rain-shower, for were we not prepared? We left the ship with but one umbrella, the white one with the green lining, but as we bade the señor "_Adios_," a sudden shower called forth his best silk umbrella. He was insistent, and there was nothing to do but for Daddy to tuck Sister under his wing, accepting the señor's offer, and for Little Blue Ribbons to trot along by my side, under the Haïtien umbrella. And the green lining proved fast green; it did not run, not a particle! [Illustration: LOOKING ACROSS THE PLAZA Santo Domingo] By three o'clock, Domingo City was a veritable _Port Tarascon_, and it seemed that Daudet must have been here before he wrote of his poor drenched French _émigrés_. The rain still fell. It ran down the streets anywhere it pleased; it dripped off the ruined roof of Diego's Palace; it scampered down the awning of the German Legation; it stood in little pools on the terrace overlooking the river; it trickled down the face of the timeless old sun-dial, and made the long seams on its face dark and wet, as if from tears. What bliss if we could only have set our watches by the hour told on the Dominican sun-dial! But there was no sun and consequently no time. I have an inspiration! It has just come to me. Now my course is plain; now I know what I shall do with the little girls. I have often longed to obliterate for them the thought of time. I have wanted them to grow into a feeling of possession of all the time there ever can be,--countless ages and ages of time, with never a shadow of hurry lurking about; with never a doubt but that the days will be long enough in which to live their fullest measure of happiness. I shall invoke the aid of the gods, in whose arms rests so peacefully this "Island of the Blest," and they shall build for me an enchanted palace somewhere,--perhaps not just here, but somewhere. I think I shall leave that to the little girls, but it shall be an enchanted palace, all overgrown with sweetbrier and moss, and roundabout shall be a garden--a dear garden, with violets and lilies and arbutus and anemones--and then the trees,--there shall be no end of them!--maple and ash, and slender birch and elm, and linden and--but it seems to me I hear you wondering that we should leave out the palms and the breadfruit and banana and citron. I know it does not seem just as it should be, but I am afraid, if we had the palms and the breadfruit, we'd never feel really at home in our palace, and, of course, we must feel at home even in an enchanted palace. We could have two palaces if we wanted to, and have the palms in the company palace, and the cool, sweet maples we could have for our very own. Yes, that is it! That's what we'll do! In the midst of the garden, we will have a Dominican sun-dial, an exact reproduction of this one. I shall make a sketch of it before we move a step further, and it shall he chipped and worn and sun-baked and tear-stained, and it shall look centuries old. Then there must be a Dominican sky; half-sun and half-shade. And then, don't you see, the little girls will never know the time at all,--only just as the clouds run off for a frolic. And I shall arrange an indefinite supply of such weather, and that's just where we'll all live. Yes--Daddy and all the dear ones, and it will be such a relief not to be obliged to wind our watches. "Mother!" said Sister, coming up back of me and peeping under the white umbrella which Little Blue Ribbons was holding resolutely over my head while I sketched; "Mother! what is it you're drawing?" "Do you need to ask? Can't you see it's the sun-dial?" "Oh! I thought it was the boy out there in the rain." IV. What can the señor do without his best umbrella? Will he take the black umbrella of his wife's aunt? No, he will not take the black umbrella of his wife's aunt, dear Mr. Otto, he has taken the umbrella of his wife's sister, we will say, to adhere to tradition; but, to tell the truth, I could never say whose umbrella the señor borrowed, but when he appeared he was really so beaming under the dark covering over him, that I quite forgot to ask him whose umbrella it was. Ah! what would the señor think if he should ever read these words? Would he forswear the friendship? We should sincerely beg forgiveness, for we would sooner never see the walls of Domingo again than to lose the señor's good-will. [Illustration: ALONG THE OZAMA Santo Domingo] The excursion up the Ozama was a world of delight from beginning to end. The Ozama is one of God's most perfect little rivers, deep and rather narrow, winding through an enchanting country. The shore is outlined for miles by never-ending mangroves, and on the higher upper banks are the breadfruit, and palms, and a world of unknown trees and fruits. Had there been no palms, no breadfruit or mangroves, it would have been enough joy to me to know that up this self-same river in centuries long since dead, there had swept the doughty keels of Columbus's crazy little ships. But the Spanish Student was not so easily satisfied; he wanted to know things; how much mahogany and ebony and _lignum vitæ_ was gotten from the outlaying country, and what sort of dyewoods they exported. The señor gave much valuable information, but not much more than the natives themselves, who came gliding down the stream in dugouts, having in tow one or two or three mahogany logs. Who says that all the true Santo Domingo mahogany was cut generations ago? There was a constant and silent passing of these dark craft, for the most part with but a single occupant. Sometimes a woman in the bow, half-buried by a cargo of plantains, bending over a pot of some sort, would be cooking on an improvised camp-fire built on earth above the plantains; and thus busy--one at the fire, the other at the paddle--she and her black mate would slip along out of sight under the dark mysterious shadows of the mangroves, closely hugging the shore. Not far from the city, the señor pointed to a mighty tree, one of the most gigantic of the tropics, a _ceiba_, to which it is said Columbus made fast his ships. There was no reason to doubt the statement, and, besides, it is so much pleasanter to believe such natural things than to be for ever doubting. And why should not Columbus have made his ships thus fast? The _ceiba_ looked a thousand years old. Who knows but that it is even older? A little way down the stream and closer to the city, there was a spring of sweet cool water, and above it a stately canopy of stone, built by Bartholomew Columbus,--Christopher's brother,--and called "The Fountain of Columbus." Oh, such a day, under the rocking, tumbling clouds, ever moving, ever changing, moulding, blending from black to gray and billowy white, under fitful showers and sudden baths of sunlight! It was a dream day of sleeping bells and timeless dials and ruined towers and enchanted palaces, with the bones of poor old Columbus beating time to the hopes of the ambitious San Dominicans of to-day. Evening came, and we were at dinner on the boat with our delightful friend from the shore, drinking to the prosperity of the Dominican Republic, and to the hope that Señor P---- A---- might live to be President of his beloved country. But, alas, how many Presidents they have to have in these Spanish "republics" to round out the tally with Destiny! It seemed to me that, for my part, if all Spaniards were as gracious, as hospitable and genuine as our new-found friend, there would never have been a Spanish-American War. And so next day we sailed away, leaving the City of the Holy Sunday wrapped in peace and good-will; but who can tell the day or hour when the land may again be devastated by revolution? CHAPTER IV. SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO I. [Illustration: LOOKING TO SEA FROM SAN JUAN Puerto Rico Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] We were creeping in toward the entrance of the harbour of San Juan, Puerto Rico, waiting for the pilot, who had sighted us afar off. It was when almost at a standstill that our brown-skinned pilot in his open lug-sail boat came alongside and sprang for our rope ladder with the nimble agility of his prehistoric progenitors. He left two small boys, one at the tiller aft and one in the bow of the boat hanging on to a line dropped them from about midships of our steamer. The pilot continued shouting at the boys as he disappeared over our heads to where the captain stood waiting on the bridge; but things did not seem to go well with the boys below, for instead of at once assuming command of our ship the pilot again turned his attention to the boys. He now followed up his first harangue by a supplement in very angry tones, evidently out of patience with the poor little fellows, who, much excited, could not seem to keep their boat from sheering at a dangerous angle, with her bow against the side of our ship. A quick flash of resentment toward that dusky pilot spread from one to the other of us as we saw how panic-stricken the boys were, and how as our ship suddenly put on a bigger head of steam the little boat alongside had become unmanageable and was in imminent danger of being sucked under our side. To prove that he was powerless to prevent disaster, after incessant yells from his father, the lad in the stern-sheets of the boat jumped to his feet and flung out with tragic despair his two hands, in each of which he held up the fragments of a broken tiller. Then in all the languages of our ship the boys are howled at to let go. Already their narrow boat is beginning to careen dangerously against the side of our moving steamer. Not a moment too soon they let go the rope, and their excited, high-pitched voices sound strangely out of place as they rapidly drift astern of us in the open sea. The pilot had evidently assured his boys that he would look after them, for within a few rods of the harbour entrance a loitering sail is hailed. To our tremendous relief we follow the rescuer until we see that a tow is in progress, and then we feel better. As we approach the harbour, and at the entrance dodge into a channel between yellow reefs plainly visible through the clear water, it is no small thing to see our dear Stars and Stripes peacefully waving over that relic of mediæval Spain, the venerable Morro of San Juan on the bold headlands to our left; its wide-spreading fortifications, gray with centuries and fast going to decay, running in walls and terraces far above the sea. We throw our whole soul into the soft folds of that flag with a deep sense of joy. There are among our company some with whom as loyal Americans we cannot but feel restraint, owing partly to the whisperings afloat that the aliens are envoys from his Majesty the Emperor of Germany, bent on a mission not altogether that of pleasure. However that may be, we are all the more moved to enthusiasm over our flag when we are conscious of the lack of that sentiment among the Germans. So when we are near enough to the fort to hear the wild cheers of welcome issuing from every parapet and tower of that old pile, we know no hounds and answer the welcome as you would have done had you been there. Spontaneously "The Star Spangled Banner," started by the boys on the fort, finds a hearty echo from our ship, and my eyes are blurred so that the restless, shouting, singing boys on shore look dim and indistinct. Yes, we are coming home. Uncle Sam owns Puerto Rico, and I am happy to feel that here in the West Indies he has asserted his rank among the nations of the world, and intends to make this colonial home a sweet clean place for all of his children who wander upon Southern seas. Some day this fair harbour will be filled with ships flying the Stars and Stripes, and again our merchant vessels will be doing their rightful share of the West Indian commerce. The way in which I found my love for those soldier boys expanding was really wonderful. The sight of those old blue flannel shirts, those faded Khaki breeches, those tossing felt hats aroused within me in this strange tropical island unexpected waves of patriotism. There sprung at once a dangerous leak in my affections, and had it not been for the quiet pressure upon my shoulder of a strong hand I so well knew, who can tell what might have happened? Even so, there was not a boy upon the island but I could have mothered with my whole heart, and I could not, however persistently that hand still lingered, quite stifle the upheaval of that undying mother instinct. Although aware that Uncle Sam was fully alive to the great dower that this island alliance would bring him, I must still believe that his choice was not a little influenced by the actual charms of Puerto Rico herself: that, however much he, a man of some years, might appear indifferent to the allurements of lovely women, he is still like the rest of his sex chivalrously bent upon fresh conquests. In this case let us rejoice that he has been so fortunate, and that so pretty a face has brought so much of real worth. Although, womanlike, acknowledging a deeper interest in our troops than in anything else, I could not be indifferent to the city of San Juan as we slipped past the reef at the entrance into the wide expanse of harbour and dropped anchor opposite the beautiful landing quay. _El Puerto Rico del San Juan Bautista_ (The Rich Port of St. John the Baptist), as the Spaniards centuries before had christened her, opened before us like a bespangled fan, and threw from her glittering white walls the swaying efflorescence of stately palms. From the ancient fort on the headland to the _Casa Blanca_ and the city beyond, it was a progression of delicious sights and sounds. II. Has it ever impressed you how rarely nature appeals to one's sense of humour? She brings us infinite delights, but seldom cultivates in us our faculty of laughing. But down here off Puerto Rico, she for once leaves her beaten track of sobriety and indulges in the most extravagant caprices. How she ever thought out such a ridiculous line of hills none but Father Time could tell you; here her centuries of bottled-up giggles have burst forth, and she has made herself the most outlandish head-gear she could contrive, and here she stands, caught in the act of being silly. From this distance I should say the hills are barren, save for now and then a palm, which, dotted irregularly over the epidemic of peaks, gives the hills the forlorn look of a mole on an old woman's cheek. There is every size of these jagged, saw-tooth peaklets jumping up in the air like so many scarecrows, and when our ship swings to her anchor and leaves us broadside to Puerto Rico's shore, the little girls and I enter into the joke and laughingly wonder how it ever happened. Then to match the distant landscape out came the Puerto Rican shore boats with ridiculous little open hen-coop cabins aft, much like the funny "summer cabins" affected by some New Jersey catboats--only more so. There were no end of fine modern launches of all sorts darting about us, some of them waiting for passengers, and others from our ships in the harbour bringing officers and ladies aboard, but Daddy would have none of them. He and the little girls are already under a hen-coop in one of the miserable little boats and nothing will do but I must go too. I protest, but to no avail. The stiff shore breeze makes prompt decision necessary, and I creep down under the coop an unwilling passenger; I would so much rather have been in one of the puffy boats. So off we go heeling well to the breeze as our funny, high-slung lateen sail drives us shoreward at a great rate. We were not alone under the hen-coop, for we had some Puerto Rican musicians with us, and my qualms at the flying boat are actually forgotten in the strange but fascinating music of those natives. They carried not only the universal guitar of the usual form, but also a funny little guitar not a quarter as big as the ordinary sort, and a curious round gourd with shot or pebbles inside, which, attached to a handle, they used as a rattle, and other gourds some eighteen inches long, corrugated with many deep scratches, upon which they accented the strong beat of the measure by scraping with a bit of wire in a most dexterous manner. I can well imagine the contempt of some of our European musicians for such music, but as for myself, although trained in the most conservative of foreign schools, I could but acknowledge the deep influence of these untutored artists, and yielded myself in fascination to the weird rhythm of their music. Music to these peoples is not a dreary taskmaster, as it is to many of their Northern brothers; it is as necessary to them as is the outpouring sunlight, and they use it with a freedom and comradeship and love which is unknown to us. My senses are suffused with strange emotions of pleasure as I listen dreamily to the lullings of the water, percolated through and through by the cadences of low voices and the rhythmic repetition of single notes. I was unreal to myself even after Captain B---- and his wife, friends whom we half-hoped to meet in San Juan, had grasped our hands and led us to an army coach near by. III. Instead of being the dumping-ground for all the garbage of the city and the location for unsightly warehouses, the quay at San Juan is a perfect delight. I happened to-day to turn to a precious volume of Washington Irving's "Life of Columbus." While reading along I came across a letter in which the valiant discoverer endeavours to bring to his king some conception of the beauty of his newly found lands; saying that he fears his Majesty may have reason to doubt the veracity of his statements, for each new island surpasses in beauty the one before; in fact that one could live there for ever. Time cannot efface the noble bearing of Puerto Rico, and although far, far removed from the picture which met the eyes of her early discoverers, she is to-day not only from the standpoint of the picturesque, but from the practical aspect of cleanliness and order, a place to which every American may turn with pride. [Illustration: BOAT LANDING AND MARINE BARRACKS, SAN JUAN Puerto Rico Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] To find upon landing a noble water-front finely paved, relieved by grassy quadrangles in which choice varieties of palms are set with the unfailing intuition of the true nature lover, places one at once _en rapport_ with the best things of life. Why, why are we of the North so blind to the soul's necessity for beauty? Why are we so dumbly indifferent to that craving? If we but looked deeply enough into the psychological influence of beauty, we would be forced to recognise man's necessity for its expression in public places. There is no city among the Spanish-speaking peoples but has its restfully attractive plaza, varying in beauty as the wealth of the community permits--a playground and a club-house and a concert-hall in one for all the people. And when my mind reverts in unwilling retrospection to the innumerable hideous and barren cities large and small of our United States, it seems to me that we are hopelessly lost in the fog of the common-place. If we Americans were a poor people, there might be palliating circumstances, but we are not poor, we have more wealth than any people on earth, and surely a republic should give its equal citizens all the beauty and pleasure possible. We are merely blind, that is all. Pray God that our eyes may be opened and that right soon! In these islands the plaza, where the people live largely in the open air, is the synonym for all that is congenial to the eye and soothing to the ear, and this explains much of the enthusiasm which we starved Northerners express when once within the satisfying influences of such surroundings. Captain B---- and his wife are graciously willing to wait our pleasure, while we linger idly content, but we must not trespass too long upon their indulgence; so we enter the coach and rumble up the steep narrow streets after four lustrous army mules. Our driver, a native Puerto Rican, speaks to the mules in English, and ready with the explanation before I could form the question, Captain B---- says: "Yes, the boys use English, because their mules were brought here from the States, and of course they wouldn't understand if the boys spoke Spanish to them." Stopping for the passage of an army freight wagon, it seemed very comical to me to hear those Puerto Rican lads "gee-hawing" to the sleek American mules. If the politics of our American cities could be as well administered as those of San Juan appear to be from the cleanliness and order of her streets we would indeed have cause to rejoice. The streets of San Juan were so clean that even the trailer of skirts might for once be forgiven her lack of common decency. She could have walked the full length of San Juan and not gathered up as much filth as she would in one block of one of our Northern sidewalks. Such was the cleanliness of the place that again and again we exclaim over the fine condition of the city; and Captain B---- bore out our impression that Uncle Sam had done his house-cleaning most effectively, and was now trying to maintain that condition by educating a force of native police,--"_spigitys_," our boys call them. As we were going through the Plaza we saw a great crowd on the far side, gathered about a regular American "trolley-car," and wondering at their enthusiastic demonstrations, we were told that this was the first trip of the first electric car in Puerto Rico--a great step toward becoming Americanised. IV. We were in the Captain's hands, and although Sister and Daddy were decorously unquestioning as to where we were going and what we were to do when we got there, Little Blue Ribbons and I couldn't refrain from asking, when we found ourselves clattering out of San Juan to the tattoo of the hard little hoofs, if the Captain intended to drive us to Ponce? "Oh, hardly, this evening," he laughingly replied. "I thought we would merely take a spin out a way on the military road to give you a glimpse of the country. The madam has planned a Puerto Rican dinner for you at the Colonial, and afterward there is to be a concert on the Plaza." "Simply fine," I said, "I do so enjoy trying the native bills of fare" (but alas, for their after effects!). [Illustration: THE FIRST TROLLEY CAR IN SAN JUAN Puerto Rico] The military road, a beautiful macadamised highway, swept through a country whose surface was richly covered with broad pasture lands where many cattle were grazing. The plains were fairly peppered with palm-trees, which, owing to their long trunks and pluming tops, interfered but little with the pasture beneath. The military road is fringed by these noble trees, at least as far as we go, and although now to us a necessary feature in the West Indian landscape, I never weary of their aristocratic grace. We must have gone some miles when the madam suggested our return. A crack of the whip, a vociferous shouting to the mules, and the coach faces right about with military precision for San Juan. With many a bewildering twist and turn through the upper town, we reach the Morro headland, and are glad enough to leave the coach and throw ourselves into the deep grass, where we sit a long time looking out to sea. Those of you who have been there know; those of you who have not, never can know the loveliness of that far-spreading vision. No, not if all the poets joined in one grand panegyric, you would never know what it all meant. You would need to feel the dull booming of the sea against the cliffs and hear the cool rattle of the palms crooning over the children in the Casa Blanca; you must run your hands through the stiff deep grass down to the earth which makes so sweet and so warm a bed; you must throw back your face to the uplifting Northeast Trade; then you will know what it means to sink down upon the green carpet of San Juan and look out to sea. A veil dropped over the still water; the sea and sky melted into one substance; then we arouse sufficiently to realise that the madam is waiting. By this time San Juan had made ready for the night; we could see the fitful flicker of her electric lights down near the barracks, and here and there the dull red stare of an olden time street-lamp swinging midway between the dark lanes which intersect the upper town like long tentacles. [Illustration: THE MILITARY ROAD ACROSS PUERTO RICO Near San Juan Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] We ran down along the sea-wall, under the lattice of the stately Casa Blanca, and came into the city; turning abruptly to the left we were about to follow the Captain up the steep street, when I was stopped suddenly with my whole soul ablaze with wonder, for there on the top of the hill, as if on the very stones themselves, there rolled a great yellowish-green moon, and about it there fell a heaven splashed with emerald and gold. There were green and yellow and strange hues of blue all blending into a splendour which dazzled the senses and made one feel dumb. I am so thankful that we saw the moon before dinner. I couldn't have looked in the face of a green moon afterward, no, I could never have done it. I beg of you to be as considerate of me as possible in your judgment. I do not mean to be ungrateful to our dear hosts, or unkind or disagreeable; but after that dinner, planned for us with so much care and pride, all I could say was, "O Lord, have mercy upon us--miserable offenders!" We had things to eat I had never dreamed of, and may I be spared a recurrence of them in my future dreams! There were: Tomatoes and peppers. Pork chops, and peppers. Codfish, vegetables and peppers. Chicken and peas and more peppers and some black coffee and cheese, and the sweetest sweets I ever tasted, with a final dessert of beans with a sugar sauce. After dinner madam had chairs arranged on the balcony over the Plaza. She led the way, and said the concert would be delightful in the moonlight. But as the pepper and the various concoctions of grease and greens and sugar and beans began to make themselves felt, I turned my chair around, saying that I never could look at the moon any length of time, especially a green moon. Then Sister gave me a despairing look and turned her chair around too; gave my hand a hard squeeze, and leaning over, said: "Mother, it's the peppers and sweet things; do you think Daddy could get me some Jamaica ginger?" A whispered consultation is held, after which the Captain and Daddy disappear, and then something warm and comforting is fixed up for Sister and me, and we decide that after all we will turn our chairs around to face the moon, but alas, the inconstant creature had slipped on her black hood and was scurrying off like a little fat nun. She was no more to be seen that night. But her displeasure does not affect the humour of San Juan, for by this time the Plaza is filled with people making "_el gran paseo_" around and around the square in true Spanish fashion. Meantime the Plaza is being filled with chairs--rocking-chairs--which seem to spring up out of nothing. I never saw or expect to see so many rocking-chairs in any one place. Here the "Four Hundred" sit, having paid a small fee for the use of the chairs, and here they rock back and forth and back and forth in endless waves until the music begins. Some rock with the elegant ease of the portly _señora_ and others with the sprightly jerk of the laughing _niñita_, and as seen from the veranda of the Colonial, the eyes ache as they involuntarily follow the moving crowds circling countless times around the improvised barricade of oscillating chairs. But the music begins, the people are suddenly still, and out over the luminous night, still eloquent of the retreating moon, there fall the first notes. I know that it is rank heresy in me to acknowledge to any race but the Germans a preëminence in musical intuition; but I shall do so in spite of all the traditions of my youth. I believe that if the Spanish-American races could be given the skill and the knowledge to formulate their musical ideas to such an extent as has come to the painstaking Germans by generations of grinding, we would have greater music--and certainly more human music--than the world has ever heard. The Puerto Rican, as well as the Mexican, the Cuban, the Dominican, is the natural musician; he feels to his finger-tips every vibration of sound he utters, and he makes you feel what he does. His music is akin to that of the wild sea-bird, it is brother to the moaning of the winds, to the wan song of the dusky maidens in the dance--to dream sounds in cocoanut and palm-tree groves; it is life, moving, quickening, pulsating life their music speaks, and without life, what is the stuff we call music? "Thank you, thank you, you have given us an evening we shall never forget. Shall we not see you in the morning? _Buenas noches._" V. It was high noon as Little Blue Ribbons and I left the empty Plaza and started out with grim determination to do our duty. The streets were silent as the sun crept over our heads and sent its burning, perpendicular rays through the white umbrella. But that was of no consequence. We two had made up our minds to accomplish a certain purpose, and when we make up our minds neither man nor weather can prevail against us. We had been idle long enough. Time and time again we had drifted to the time-ripened Morro. Days had gone by and we lacked the energy to begrudge their inconsequential passing, but now a time of reckoning had come. We would have no more such idleness. Little Blue Ribbons and I had awakened on this particular day to a realisation of our unperformed duty, and although detained through one pretext and another all the morning, by noon we forswore further procrastination and hurriedly left the Plaza before our good intentions could again be lulled by inaction. [Illustration: INLAND COMMERCE Puerto Rico Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] It was to the Square of Ponce de Leon we were going; and although not sure of its exact location, we remembered a fine old church near by, and that was our landmark. It is strange indeed what a web of dreams the past weaves about its heroes, however recent their careers; but when the hand of time leads us back to the remote events of centuries gone by, we are hopelessly bewildered by the discordant wrangling between the real and the improbable. Although the early companion of Christopher Columbus, the discoverer of Florida and the intrepid voyager on many seas, the conqueror and the first governor of Puerto Rico, and later the powerful and hated rival of Columbus's son, Ponce de Leon's one unrealised hope, his tireless search for the fountain whose waters were to contain the elixir of life, has so over-shadowed his actual achievements by the glamour of the legendary, that his very name has become the synonym for the stuff of which dreams are made. Standing thus as the embodiment of the unattainable, the knight errant of roseate hopes and undying aspirations, he has ever been, in spite of the irascible humour given him by history, a figure from whom none could wrest the talisman of romance. Where are his contemporaries, where are those greater discoverers, abler rulers, better men who thronged these alluring waters during the two generations of Ponce de Leon's eventful life? Dead, even in name, many of them, or else safely embalmed in the musty pages of some old history seldom read. But in him there was the spirit of the poet and the mystic, which ever has and ever will appeal to the imagination of mankind and through imagination attains immortality. Thus it suggested much to us to find his statue in San Juan and to have heard some one assert with an air of authority that his bones rested in the old church hard by; all of which bore incontrovertible testimony to the fact of his having once been an actual living personality. So we two decide without saying a word to any one that we will make a pilgrimage to that church of the uneasy shades and prove for ourselves Ponce de Leon's identity with fact. With a feeling of affinity for the doughty old cavalier, and with half a sigh that I can never again lift my feet with the light-hearted grace of the little maid at my side, we wander on through the deserted streets until we come to the square of Ponce de Leon. It looked as it had before, only much whiter, much brighter, and oh, so silent! The church stood passively asleep; there were only the still hot rays reflected into our faces from the sun-baked pavement. The same, and yet not the same, was the empty square, for as we made nearer approach we found that the pedestal upon which before the figure of Ponce de Leon had stood with lofty bearing and haughty mien was now but a bare block of stone glaringly white in the noonday silence with naught but the inscription left. The figure was gone! "Can it be that we have been dreaming, that it was never there?" I ask, in consternation. "No, Mother, surely not, I remember perfectly well a statue was standing there as we drove through only last evening." With a startled tremor I wish the place were not so deserted, I wish some one would come, I dislike being so alone, and I wish that we had Daddy with us. But pulling ourselves together with a frightened glance over our shoulders, we pass the abandoned pedestal and go toward the church, unquestioningly sure of safe sanctuary within its open door. To our amazement we find it barred and locked. We try a side entrance; that too is mysteriously fast; but hearing a faint sound, as of retreating feet within, we venture a timid knock on the door. But our rappings bring no response save a hollow echo and a momentary cessation of the footsteps. Still hesitating as to our next move, we stand there in the white glare, while a sensation of strange unreality creeps over us. Hesitating, but still unwilling to relinquish the pilgrimage without further effort, we spy an ancient iron-bound gate in the high stone wall adjoining the cathedral. We try its rusty latch and find it unlocked. We cautiously push it open. It turns heavily on great creaking hinges stiff from long desuetude, and swings to after us as with an ominous sigh. We find ourselves in the secluded corridors of an ancient cloister. The sun still lingers on a patch of green courtyard dropped in the midst of the shadows, and up from the luminous verdure a cool fountain plays its restful measure. An ancient sun-dial speaks of the deathless tread of time, and in the deeper shade of a dark recess, on tables of venerable age, huge volumes lay, on whose yellow pages were strewn adown the wide-spread lines of the quaint Gregorian staff, the great square notes of an ancient Latin chant. Then,-- "On a sudden, through the glistening Leaves around, a little stirred, Came a sound, a sense of music which was rather felt than heard. Softly, finely it inwound me; From the world it shut me in,-- Like a fountain falling round me--" My hand is held close and with wide eyes Little Blue Ribbons asks if she may drink at the fountain. Half-refusing, half-assenting, we are about to draw near, when from out an opening door, whence seemed to come the music, there appeared a figure bent in contemplation and wrapped in the shadows of the past. It was so like the statue on the square without that the one at my side gasps, "It is he, Mother, what shall we do?" and shrinking spellbound, I hold the dear little hand, glad to feel the human warmth of its pressure. With dread and yet with fascination I watch the lone, sad, weary figure, as it were the phantom of old age eternally unreconciled to the flight of youth. I watch while it moves eagerly toward the fountain to lean forward and drink deep, deep, with an insatiable thirst; and then with a hopeless sigh it paces back and forth among the shadows. [Illustration: A RANCH NEAR SAN JUAN Puerto Rico] A bell clangs out the hour of one, and the great wooden gate swings open of itself, while we two, much affrighted, slip unnoticed behind the columns of the corridor into "the twilight gloom of a deep embrasured window" which for long years had been sealed from the light by the gray masonry of the ancient church. Even as we look the silent figure has vanished, and we are left there with only the sound of the plaintive, ever murmuring fountain. Awed and silent, we creep from our hiding-place and drag open the unwilling gate and once again we are out in the dazzling sunlight. There--wonderful to relate--on its pedestal was the statue as it stood the day before, with outstretched hand and far-away look, scanning the distant horizon where to his ever disappointed eyes was just lifting the palm-fringed shore of that mythical island of Bimini, where at last flowed the long-sought fountain of youth. Lest the unhappy shade again returning should seek sudden vengeance for our bold espionage, we took our flight toward the Plaza, nor stopped to breathe until again we found refuge in the crowded shops. CHAPTER V. CHARLOTTE AMALIE. ST. THOMAS I. After the long stretches of ocean, you from the North will find that there is something positively cosy about these dear islands. You tuck your head under your wing with the parrots at night, off one island, and, the next thing you know, it's morning, the sweet land-breeze steals in through the port-hole, and you're up with the monkeys off another island--perhaps more enchanting than the last. Why, it seems not half the trouble going from port to port that it is to make fashionable calls in the great city, and such a lot more fun. But speaking of parrots and monkeys: the only ones we have seen thus far were some very solemn little creatures which have been brought to the ship for sale,--poor captives, chained and unnaturally pious, sitting alongside their black captors. We have not heard a single bird-note since leaving the North. Is it possible that there are no song-birds here, and in fact no birds of plumage left about the settlements? We fully expected the latter, but not a glimpse have we had of them,--no, not even in the forest along the Ozama, did we distinguish a single bird-note. Can it be that the plume-hunters for our Northern milliners have ranged through all these sunny islands? Ah, my friends of the feather toques and the winged head-gear, what have we to answer for? It all seems so empty without the birds where trees and flowers grow so gladly; just as if Nature's feast were spread to empty chairs. After all, how fondly we do love that particular expression of creation with which we are long familiar! My heart reaches out in homesick yearning for the notes of our dear Northern songsters. How brutal are the details of the "march of civilisation!" From San Juan, Puerto Rico, to St. Thomas it was only a night's journey, and I am sure, had we been so disposed, we might have touched some other islands equally lovely on the way. But there must be some time for rest,--even though Little Blue Ribbons said she did not want to sleep (she knew she couldn't), and Sister thought it a great waste of valuable experience not to make all the ports there were. Nevertheless, when morning came and the sun was wide awake, I had no little trouble in arousing the children. And now it came to pass that all those threatenings and fitful tears and dire forebodings of the day before were simply whims and weather jokes. The sea fell into a gentle calm, and on St. Thomas there never shone a brighter sun or blew a sweeter breeze; and we realised that at last we were under the lee of that smiling windbreak of the Caribbean--"The Windward Islands." Getting our anchor early, we moved from our first stopping-place, well out in the harbour, over to the wharves; where the huge piles of coal rose up before the port-hole, with other ranges of piles, like mimic mountains, farther on, while we were so close to the dock that I could see the gangway being lowered, as I bent over the sleepy little girls. [Illustration: THE HARBOUR Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas] "Look, children!" I said,--"look, wake up, you're losing so much!" And they rub their pretty eyes and want to know what's the matter. "Here we are, dears, at St. Thomas, the coaling-station. Daddy is waiting for us. I'll go up on deck. Send word by Rudolph if you want me to help with the ribbons." So I hurried up the after companion stairs. Close to our side were the mammoth piles of coal, from which we were to make requisition; off about a mile to the other side of the great amphitheatre lay Charlotte Amalie (the chief city of the Danish Islands), making for herself as beautiful a picture as one could wish. We were in a superb harbour, with high, dome-shaped hills embracing us on either side, and the little city of Charlotte Amalie to the right of us on the beautiful slopes above, like a white lady reaching out her jewelled hands in gracious welcome. Whatever tales of buccaneer and pirate, of scuttled galleons, of buried treasure, of maidens fair, of romance, I had ever heard, came hurrying back to me in that delicious spot; and when the Castles of Bluebeard, and that erstwhile king of pirates, Blackboard, came into view, it seemed truly as if we ought to fly at our main-truck the black flag with the skull and cross-bones, and run out the cold bronze nose of a "long-tom" over our bulwarks, just to add the finishing touch. The little girls and I were simply determined to let romance run riot in Charlotte Amalie. We would eat pomegranates and wear flowers in our hair; we would dream dreams on Bluebeard's turret, and win into smiles his villainous, wrinkled, old ghostship. But, firm as was our purpose, it required no small effort to keep it uppermost in our minds. We thought Daddy would certainly be dragged into the water before he had engaged his shore boat. He was howled at, pulled at by the sleeves, jerked at by the coat, by great roaring blacks, fairly gnashing their teeth in impotent rage at Daddy's indecision. But who could decide in such a mob? We were beckoned, at last, to come along, and picking our way down the ladder, plumped ourselves into "Champagne Charlie's" boat, leaving "Uncle Sam," "Honest William," "Captain Jinks," and a score of others screaming a medley of imprecations and their own praises in a mad scramble for the next victim. We were not only beset by those in the boats, but also by a swarm of semi-amphibious imps,--not little imps by any means, but huge, muscular, bronze Tritons, who pursued, with wonderful rapidity, "Champagne Charlie's" catch, and clung to the gunwale of our boat, and dove underneath and about us, wholly indifferent to our terror at the thought of being capsized. They howled, they swore with Southern abandon because we would not throw them pennies to dive for; and away off lay the little White Lady--the beautiful Charlotte Amalie. What a naughty lot of children she had! Daddy told "Charlie" that if he would not hurry us out of that mob, he'd not get a penny for his trouble, and Daddy used forcible English, too; for, strange to say, English is the common as well as the official language of the Danish West Indies. But I must not mislead you. It's not your English or my English they use; it's a funny kind of jargon; a baby talk disguised by Scandinavian intonations and besmirched by generations of African savagery. Sometimes you think you understand it, and then you think you don't, and again you wish you hadn't--so there you are. Well, "Charlie" is at last aroused and a few good strokes of his oars free us from the vermin and bring us into less troubled waters. On the way across the land-locked harbour we passed a Danish man-of-war, a Russian frigate, a Venezuelan cruiser, a little schooner-rigged sailing "packet," which carries the mail to other islands, and a number of powerfully built trading schooners; still nearer shore, there was a fine floating dry dock, where a very shapely little schooner--evidently once a yacht--was out of water being repaired. II. [Illustration: HILLSIDE HOMES Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas] As we stepped on land and walked up under the shade of mahogany and mango trees, while the boatman's fees were being struggled with, it seemed to me that I had never walked in so clean a street, or stood in such delicious shade. Oh, it was so clean and cool and beautiful! The macadamised streets were sprinkled and moist, the houses were all white and green, hugged close by high-walled gardens overflowing with flowering vines,--in particular that marvellous _Bougainvillia_, which flourishes in such triumphant splendour over these tropic walls; and everywhere the odours were sweet. The sky, as it glistened through the heavy, glossy mangoes, was as blue as blue can be, and the women carriers of water moved with rapid, noiseless tread, bearing their burdens upon their turbaned heads, and the little children offered us flowers. I find, as I write, that my mind constantly reverts to the cleanliness of the place. First, I said: "Oh, how charming!" and then, "Oh, how clean!" but, before I proceed further, you should be told that, the widely followed example of Spain--mother of the picturesque--is not responsible for this delightful condition of things, for in the Spanish-speaking islands, alas! it is otherwise! Just here I must make a confession. I couldn't tell you of the petty blemishes on the time-furrowed brow of wonderful old Santo Domingo--no, I could not, for there were those tears that for centuries had worn their cankering way across the face of the weary old Mother Church,--and then the long-suffering bell, and the tired, sad-faced sun-dial! No, I could not tell you then; and now that the memory of those tears comes to me again, I hardly feel it in me to confess to you after all. No, I never can! Those half-forgiven regrets could be told only to the dispassionate bells of the City of the Holy Sunday; you shall never hear them. Yes, Charlotte Amalie's face was clean. She wore a fresh pinafore and a green frock, and her bonnet was pink and starry white; and she was very prim and quiet, was the Lady Charlotte, despite her merry, laughing eyes. But the little lady has a funny lot of children. She doesn't mind, though--not she. She folds her hands, and shakes her pink and white bonnet, and makes no apology. A funny lot of children she has indeed: blond pickaninnies and black babies,--black whites with kinky hair and white blacks with straight hair, all higgledy-piggledy, and they all speak a blond pickaninny's language. Charlotte Amalie herself, when in state, speaks real English, and some of her officials Danish and French, as well. Her little daily paper, which came to us wet from the press,--_Lightbourn's Mail Notes_,--was printed in English; so you see her ladyship knows the real world-language when she sees it, even if she is a foster-child of Denmark and burdened with the everlasting curse of Ham. [Illustration: IN CHARLOTTE AMALIE St. Thomas] III. While some of the party were writing postal cards and letters in a cool, flowery retreat, reached by devious shady passages and looking out into an open court, known as a post-office, I strolled up the quiet street to the first turning, where the cross road came to an abrupt, but very beautiful end in a little white chapel, sheltered by waving palms. There seemed to be but one main street, which followed the shore awhile and then went loitering off up the hill in a most indifferent manner. The houses, with one story in the rear and two in the front, were built on the hillside, so that the chapel before me--well up on the slope--was approached by a long flight of stone steps. Snow-white columns upheld the simple portico, and the royal palms rose higher and higher from one terrace to another, their regular trunks like stately shafts of stone, until their warm plumes met over the golden cross. The picture, with chapel and palms and terraces and flowers and delicately wroughtiron gateway, was so compact, that it seemed as if some one just a little bigger than myself might tuck the whole affair right into a pocket for a keepsake. Turning slowly about to look for the children, I glanced through the half-open blinds of a house on the corner, and there met a pair of very engaging eyes, which besought me in the universal language, to come in and see what there was for sale. The eyes belonged not to a maiden, but to a tiny, stoop-shouldered Spanish-Danish-English woman, who fluttered about in great excitement at the prospect of a sale. Strangers do not drop from the sky every day in these remoter of the West Indies. I bought a piece of needlework, and my change, in St. Thomas silver and Danish copper, was brought me by a regal old negress, in a voluminous red calico gown, standing out like the "stu'nsails" of a full-rigged ship, flying as her proper colours aloft, a brilliant green and yellow bandanna. My! but she was tall--six feet, it seemed, and she smiled all over her face with the meaningless good-nature of her race. What teeth she had left were glistening white. By the way, why is it that on these islands you find so many women, and not necessarily old women by any means, but girls from fourteen up--both white and black--with many of their teeth gone? Has the American dentist yet untrodden fields? Black Susan salaamed me out, and seeing Daddy and the little girls ahead of me, I followed the clean--I repeat, clean--narrow street, as it wound up the well-tilled hillside to "Bluebeard's Castle." IV. It was a long, hot walk, that climb, in spite of the good breeze and the white umbrella's shade, and we stopped a number of times on the way up to cool ourselves, and, incidentally, to envy the carriage of the brisk and leathery old women, who came striding past us up the hill, with great water-cans on their heads and water-jugs in their hands, stolidly indifferent to the hot sun and the heavy burdens they were carrying. It comes to me now that I did not see a young negress in the whole town, but this was explained on our return to the ship. It was next to impossible to be keen enough to appreciate fully the remarkable vegetation and flowers and animal life all about us. The flowers seemed hung at the wrong end, and all the vegetable world strange and topsy-turvy; even some insects that we saw seemed quite outlandish. For a long time, as I sat between two rusty old cannon, dangling my feet with most awful irreverence over Bluebeard's fortress wall, I kept my eye on an old bumblebee--a black and yellow pirate that bumbled of the peaceful present and the strenuous past; but even the every-day bumblebee was twice as big as he had any right to be, and he had the deep-drawn drone of a sleepy country parson. Then, just as the bumblebee hummed himself out of sight into the heart of a deep red _hibiscus_ nodding its heavy head at me from the top of the wall, out of the mouth of one of Bluebeard's piratical cannon there peeped two shining, yellow eyes in a little green body, and they stared at me, and I stared at them, each most curious about the other, until the inspection became rather embarrassing, and I rapped on the rusty, weather-worn old murderer, and away scampered Mr. Eyes, back with the ghosts and memories--all dying together. A little green lizard, with life for a wee bit of awhile; an ancient cannon of curious shape, rusting, but outliving a little longer; a great gray rock underneath, disintegrating piece by piece, going back again into the universe; and an immortal soul in a human body; are we all part and parcel of the same cosmic dust? Twenty cannons dropped into the heavy embrasured masonry of Bluebeard's wall looked down with grim irony upon a pious, self-complacent, twentieth-century gunboat, entering thus unchallenged their own waters. Whether it was the lizard rustling among the grasses inside the cannon, or whether it was a reawakened pirate's ghost, I shall not venture to assert; but there certainly came to me a whisper which translated itself into the most disdainful reproach of our much-vaunted humanitarianism. I tried to explain to this little voice that nowadays we had reduced the killing of men to a science; that it was less painful to be blown to pieces by dynamite shells from a torpedo-boat than to be hacked to pieces by a pirate's cutlass, therefore, more honourable, and that fighting was still necessary because diplomacy was too young to be weaned. But from certain mysterious sounds, very like the chucklings of an old man, I thought best to beat a retreat. Besides there were Daddy and the little girls waving to me from the top of the sturdy old watch-tower, so I gathered my umbrella, hat, and basket, and put to flight the flock of geese which had been examining my umbrella with long-necked curiosity. They, little caring for the sanctity of my far-reaching thoughts, went hissing and squawking down the hill in a most irate humour. I took a long breath, pinched myself to get awake, and started up the steep tower steps. [Illustration: CHARLOTTE AMALIE FROM "BLUE BEARD'S CASTLE" St. Thomas] From the top of this tower of "Bluebeard's Castle" (kept in repair by the Italian consul, whose residence is here), one could look out across the pretty town to the rival fastness of old "Blackbeard," crowning another hill of surpassing beauty. A road, white and smooth and shaded with palms, clung caressingly about the white-crested bay, and I longed to follow it. Yonder another road struggled up a hillside, through sugar-cane and fruit-trees, and tumbled off somewhere on the other side. I longed to follow that one, too. Another, white and edged with tamarinds and oranges, wandered off somewhere else, and I wanted to go there. But the last carriage had clattered off, and it was too hot to walk "over the hills and far away;" so, after a long quiet feast of the glory about us, we leisurely made the descent, and were again among the cannon crowning the ancient parapet. We strolled along down the steep winding highway, stopping now to trim our hats with flowers, gathered with much difficulty from behind a prickly hedge, and then to look with rapture upon the scene below, and again to talk about it all. The sun beat down upon our heads, but we did not mind that, for the cooling breeze came up from the sea, sweetly and gently, as if it loved us, and the mountains and the earth were oh, so richly clad, and the eyes so content with seeing and the nostrils so glad with the fragrant air! V. I wondered then why we Americans should not settle the matter at once with Denmark. As I understand it, there were negotiations for the purchase of these islands approved by General Grant, then President, in 1867; but, for some reason, the proposed treaty with Denmark was not ratified by Congress, and the little island was forgotten; but since the recent growth of our navy and the necessity for its constant care of the Caribbean Sea, and especially now that we seem destined to become sponsors to an Isthmian canal, the island of St. Thomas comes again to the front as one of the most desirable possessions the United States could have in these waters. The harbour of Charlotte Amalie is so protected by mountains and guarded by bold islands, with deep water inside, and an unimpeded channel from the sea, that, with sufficient fortification, it could be made absolutely impregnable, a West Indian Gibraltar, and at the same time a most valuable and protected station for naval supplies, docks, and the like. [Illustration: ON THE TERRACE Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas] I do not believe in war, battle, or bloodshed, but I do most forcibly believe in the present necessity for our policy of expansion,--not alone because of the advantage to ourselves, but as well for the good of the yet unborn West Indians; and if we can extend our power through diplomacy and peaceful measures, I should be glad to see "Old Glory" floating over all the Greater and Lesser Antilles, provided--and this is the terrible _if_--that the present mixed and degenerate population could be miraculously reformed or removed. In the case of Charlotte Amalie, there seems to be among the educated middle classes a sincere desire for American supremacy, and, although there is some opposition--largely sentimental--from leading Danes, the only important points that have arisen seem to be the question of how much we are to give, and whether certain influences in Denmark will permit the confirmation of a treaty for the transfer of the islands to the United States. I was told that the price suggested was somewhere about $5,000,000. This, I presume, does not include the rest of the Danish possessions among the Virgin Islands; but, while we are interested, why not take in the whole family; St. Thomas, St. John, St. Croix, and the other small islands adjacent? Will the Germans try to block our acquisition of this group? The Kaiser's subjects talk fair enough, but they unquestionably want St. Thomas--and who knows? All through this day our fellow passengers, the German officers, were very busy making photographs and writing notes, and their interest even went so far as to lead to the suggestion by one enthusiastic Teuton that some day the German flag would fly over this beautiful harbour--but that was a slip of the tongue, and no doubt he would gladly have recalled the hasty remark a moment later. There is truly no limit to the possibilities of these islands, if only the natives can be taught the value of their soil and the Adam-given necessity of labour. Here the mango grows; the mahogany, tamarind, guava, orange, lignum vitæ, cypress, bay, cocoanut, pomegranate, fig, and palms of all varieties--rare woods and rich fruits. Vegetables would grow more freely if only tilled and encouraged a bit. The export for which St. Thomas seems famous is its bay rum, made from the bay leaves and berries, brought mostly from Lesser St. John's Island, and distilled in great stills well-nigh filling the fragrant cellars of several of Charlotte Amalie's largest establishments. [Illustration: COALING OUR SHIP Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas] VI. "I'll give you a quarter if you'll throw Mary in!" shouted one of the passengers from the rail of our ship to a great powerful negro, the bully among bullies of a crowd of blacks which swarmed as thick as bees on the pier close to our moorings. "Mary" was one of several hundred negro girls who had been coaling our ship since early morning. All day long, the endless procession of short-skirted, straight-backed, flat-hipped, bare-legged, bandannaed negresses, carrying on their heads the baskets of coal to be emptied through the coal-chutes or into a barge, had gone on amidst deafening roars of laughter, insane oaths, and noiseless tread. The barge, when filled, was towed alongside the vessel and unloaded into our starboard coal-bunkers. The port bunkers were filled direct from the dock by similar baskets of coal dumped into the port coal-chutes. We were watching the black children from the deck, and Paterfamilias turning to me, said, in a wholly justified tone: "There, now, my reformer, you see a practical working example of equal rights for women! It means equal or greater labour, as well, and a sad breaking down of all womanliness. The women do the work and the men loaf around at home to spend the money." "Do you mean to infer, my dear, that if we women in America had equal suffrage, you men would stay at home and wait for the money we earn? Surely I'd never believe it of our American men--never!" Whatever other men would do, the negroes of St. Thomas certainly did not do the work, as far as we could see. There were a few fellows who helped with the barge, and who handled the shore boats, but the heavy loads were borne on the heads of the women, and they appeared to be in every way equal to the occasion. We were witnessing a marvellous exhibition of endurance, for the sun was by no means gentle, and the baskets of coal weighed well up toward a hundred pounds each, but they were carried with the ease of so many feathers, with a light, active step, from morning until evening, without cessation. "Throw her in and I'll give you a quarter!" Mary was a young girl, black as night, with a hard, cruel, unsmiling face, and the restless watching eyes of a wild animal. She, too, had been carrying coal all day, and when her work was done, she, with some fifteen or twenty others, had followed along the dock to the ship's bow, where pennies were being tossed to the pier by some of our plethoric passengers. A coin would fly through the air, drop on the pier amidst a scrambling, wriggling pile of howling negroes, with legs and arms and heads in a hopeless heap. Mary fought well; she already had a mouthful of pennies; she was as swift as thought, and as merciless of the others as the unfeeling elements. It was easy to see that she was a match for any man in the crowd, and it was easy, too, to see that, when the promise of "a quarter"--a mighty pile of money to those poor children--was held out to the one who should throw her into the water, there was more willingness to get the money than to approach Mary. She knew enough English to take in the situation, and stood there on the pier, not ten inches from the edge, with her bare arms folded, her thin, powerful legs tense, her head thrown back with defiance in its motionless poise, her fierce eyes rolling from side to side, watching for the first who would dare approach her. One more word from the ship, and Mary was caught around the waist by a black giant who had been waiting his chance. In an instant, she seemed to grow a foot taller. She made a plunge for the man's throat,--bent him down, down, down, with her eyes fiercely terrible; and there she held the unhappy creature until he begged for mercy, and amidst cheers from Mary's admirers, slank away out of sight. Her spring was so sudden, so silent, so fierce, that I could not think of her as being human; she was more of the wild beast than one of her Ladyship's children. And yet we cheered for Mary, too, and she it was who won the quarter. I wish the Lady Charlotte would look after her children better. CHAPTER VI. MARTINIQUE I. There are so many different ways of seeing things--I suppose as many ways as there are souls to see; and yet, in a measure, one can generalise these many ways under two great heads. Just as we call the infinite variations of light, from the first bird-note of breaking day, through all the changing fancies of brilliant sun and wandering clouds--as we call it all day; and the wonders of darkness, night; so can our ways of seeing things be generalised under two great heads. There is the orthodox, scholarly, scientific way, and there is the heterodox, unscholarly, and unscientific way. Following the law of compensation, there is much to be said on both sides. If the mind is fully prepared, through study and research into the nature of the object to be seen, one has the satisfaction of viewing it as one would the face of an old and familiar friend. On the other hand, when the mind greets the object to be seen, unprepared, in an absolutely unprejudiced, plastic state, it has all the delight of surprise, enthusiasm, and novelty, over a newly acquired possession. And none will deny that this unscholarly, unprepared way of seeing things has its merits. In travelling where the countries visited are interesting mainly from an historical standpoint, no doubt much would be lost to the traveller whose knowledge of the background for his picture is indistinct; in that case, truly, the scholar is the one whose enjoyment should be keenest. On the other hand, where the charm of a place lies largely in its picturesque beauty, in its possibilities of surprise, through novel and curious phases of life, I believe that the traveller who is wholly unprepared has pleasures in store for him equalled only by the exquisite and spontaneous enthusiasms of childhood. This long preamble is not so much to explain the two ways of seeing things, as it is to console myself for having known so little of the West Indies before starting on this cruise. There is no use in trying to appear wiser than one is, because, before one knows it, along comes some one who does really know; out flashes the critical knife, and off vanishes that beautifully flimsy wind-bag into thin air. For instance, I might have stood complacently unmoved when the great mountain peaks and the sleeping volcanic craters of Martinique rose in green majesty from the Caribbean Sea, and I might have said: "Why, certainly, that is just as I expected!" But I did not say so, because I had not expected such mountain peaks in the West Indies, though somewhat prepared by the islands we had thus far seen. Once on a time I had a very charming picture in my mind of the West Indies, but, charming as it was, it was not the real islands as I have found them; and ever since having known the reality I have been trying to revitalise that former picture and compare it with the genuine impressions; but I find it of so ephemeral a nature that I can scarcely recall it. All I remember is, that I expected to find the islands low and flat, and mostly of a coral formation. Some of the islands are indeed of this nature, but comparatively few. As we sailed under sunny, cloudless skies, over a brilliantly blue sea, the monarchs of the Caribbees arose one by one in glorious majesty; and especially these Windward Islands, a great windbreak to keep out the big Atlantic, with Martinique the crowning summit. At times, single gigantic rocks, the homes of sea-birds, lonely and desolate, stood out from the deep; and then great ranges of mountains, covered to the summit with densest foliage, lifted themselves to the sky many thousands of feet. It is said with authority that, on these islands--particularly on St. Vincent--there still survive some of the ancient Caribs, the aboriginal West Indian race, no doubt descendants of those brave Indians so harried and murdered by the early Spanish explorers. In Martinique, the mixture of Carib blood is still apparent, showing, even through generations of negro pollution, in many a coppery skin, wild fierce eye, and proud head with straight black locks. To me it seemed that Martinique is an epitome of the whole West Indies. In appearance, in products, in people, in history, it might taken as the highest type of these garden isles, once enjoyed by vast tribes of pure-blooded and self-respecting savages, but now held by the conglomerate descendants of all colours and all nations. II. Now had I been more familiar with the rare though limited treasures of West Indian literature, I would not have marvelled at the glorious mountain summits of Martinique that day we came to picturesque St. Pierre; I might have said to my companion: "Ah! here they are, quite as I expected; old, old friends; little white city, square cathedral tower, narrow, hilly streets; above and beyond little irregular fields--all hanging to the mountainside as they should!" But, instead, I stood fairly on tiptoe in the bow of our great ship, as she cut through high-running waves, with my hair blowing in a thousand directions, grasping for an impish pin to gather up as much as was amenable to reason, marvelling with all my senses at the approach to Martinique, as the dim mountains, coming nearer and nearer, were humanised by the habitations of men. We four were there together. Sister's curls were a flutter of gold in the low afternoon sun, and her sweet gray eyes were straining far ahead at the slopes of Martinique; Little Blue Ribbons clung to Daddy's strong hand, while she leaned over the bow to watch the laughing foam dance up to kiss her pretty lips. How good it was to have them with us!--the two little girls--so keenly joyous in all the new marvels of sea and land. If Laddie had only been there, too--But for the other three boys, far off in our warm Northern nest, I had no longings. With them aboard, life on the ship would have been one vanishing streak of six black-stockinged legs, with an avenging Mother in pursuit from dawn till evening. [Illustration: THE SUGAR MILL NEAR ST. PIERRE Martinique] Now, whether it happened while I was trying to pin my hair together and could see nothing, or whether I was so absorbed with the great wonders that lesser ones failed to attract me, or whether it came by magic, I'll not say; but at all events, in less than no time after we had taken our pilot aboard, the sea seemed to be alive with innumerable small sailing craft. I would look out toward Martinique on the port bow, and see what appeared to be the crest of a combing wave,--for the "Northeast Trades" were blowing fresh, and we were not yet under the lee of the island--a second more and this same white crest would change into a sail, darting off, close-hauled, into the wind, as swiftly as a pelican plunging at his prey. These materialised wave-crests continued to appear until I counted over thirty of them on all sides of us, on the same tack, making for land; low, narrow fishing-boats, coming in with the day's catch. These were replaced, as we finally made port and dropped anchor, about three-fourths of a mile from shore in an open bay or roadstead, by a horde of little canoes, filled with chattering, copper-coloured natives, who came swarming out to us, each in a single boat, except a few who shared some larger canoes, and each arrayed in a bit of loin-cloth. These remarkable natives were so interesting to us all that I cannot resist giving you a description of their peculiarities. As I told you, I came to the islands sadly lacking in information regarding the island of Martinique or the city of St. Pierre. I knew a little about it, to be sure; I knew that the Empress Josephine--the beautiful and unfortunate wife of the great Napoleon--was a creole from the shores of this island; I read in our West Indian guide-book (fortunately a very tiny affair) that Martinique is 43 miles long and 19 miles wide; that it has a population of 175,000; that its mountains rise to the height of some 4,500 feet; that the annual rainfall is great--some 87 inches; that the mean temperature is high, about 81 degrees; that the soil is rich and readily responds to cultivation; that the island was discovered by Columbus in 1502 (or in 1493, as some say), and settled by the French in 1635; that the belligerent English had, at different times, interfered in its peaceful life, capturing it first at the end of the Seven Years' War, and subsequently holding it for two periods covering a considerable part of the Napoleonic wars; that it had been occasionally frightened by volcanic eruptions from Mont Pelée, and more often shaken by earthquakes; all of which sounds very much like an encyclopedia, in fact all of these historical data were copied word for word from our guide-book, which I took down at Daddy's dictation. It is really all his fault. He said I was not definite enough; that people wanted facts, not tinselled trivialities, so I acquiesced: "Very well, read it off," and there it is. You see how it sounds. I don't like it myself, but some people may. [Illustration: COMING TO WELCOME US St. Pierre, Martinique] There was one fact about Martinique which was worth more to me than all the data put together. I had a servant--a French woman--who for years took care of the children. Once upon a time she had lived in the household of the Governor of Martinique, after he had returned to Paris; and she had darned his stockings; think of it! My good Elise had darned the stockings of the Governor of Martinique, and many a time she had darned mine! Wasn't that enough to establish a lasting bond of interest between Martinique and the wanderer from the North? But these dark things in the water--where do they belong? Elise and the Governor of Martinique's stocking could never help us settle that question. As I said, they swarmed about the ship like so many insects. They were an entirely different type of people from the black imps of St. Thomas. At St. Thomas the native was quite as ready with his guffaw as he was with his oaths. He was a big African animal, black as coal, with the flat nose and heavy lips, with all the idiosyncrasies we know so well; a somewhat exaggerated, wilder, freer type than the Ethiopian we meet in our Southern States. But these natives of Martinique were altogether different from the blacks of St. Thomas. Their bodies were often of the most beautiful copper colour, verging on red; their features were regular, and in some cases rather attractive,--rare cases these, however; their expressions were fierce and saturnine, even in the youngest children of eight or ten years. They had to a marked degree that animal trait of fixing their eyes upon an object and never leaving it until what they wished had been granted them. These swarms of men and boys had come out to dive for coins--silver preferred--and how had they come? Mostly in slender canoes, some seven to ten feet in length, varying in dimensions according to the size of the occupant, one boy in each canoe. These flimsy shells were about a foot to fifteen inches wide, and six or eight inches deep, made of thin boards or even the rough sides of light packing-cases skilfully joined together and payed up with pitch. They were flat-bottomed, sharp at both ends and barely wide enough for the single occupant to sit in, and without seats, oars, or paddles. In what one might call the bow--if bow there is to such a craft--the low sides were bridged over and boxed in underneath, with a narrow slit in the top of this tiny locker into which to drop the captured pennies. This was the diver's bank, where he deposited his capital after his mouth was too full to hold more. In lieu of paddles, he had a bit of thin board about the size of a cigar-box cover in each hand; sometimes this artificial fin had a loop to fit back of the hand, and sometimes the little fellows would use only their hands to paddle themselves about, sitting well down, leaning forward, darting rapidly through the water. Meanwhile some bigger boys and men appeared, two or three together, in larger skiffs propelled by oars or paddles. The divers whisk in and out among the host (for there were also other larger boats now come from shore to see us) with marvellous skill, and when we toss a coin into the clear sea, away go the paddles and boats, and down go a half-dozen copper-coloured bodies, each making for the same shining point, and all we can see for awhile is several pairs of whitish soles gleaming under the water, and sometimes the short turmoil of a fight below the surface; then up comes a sputtering heathen with the coin in his hand, to show he has found it. Into his mouth it goes and then off he chases for the abandoned canoe, which by this time is full of water and looks a hopeless derelict. But that is nothing to this semi-aquatic creature, for he grasps the two sides of the boat, gives it a dexterous roll and lift combined, emptying most of the water, bails out the rest with a rapid movement of his hands, throws his body across the canoe and is inside before it has time to capsize. [Illustration: LOOKING FROM THE DECK OF OUR SHIP St. Pierre, Martinique] These boys and men gave us a most remarkable exhibition of swimming. For the consideration of a little silver, they even dove under our steamer amidships, coming up on the other side in about the same time that it took us to walk across the deck. It must be remembered, however, that these divers do not go to the bottom for the coins, as we are often led to believe by traveller's accounts; they dive underneath the coins and catch them as they go zigzagging toward the bottom. It would be well-nigh impossible, so I am told, to recover a coin in thirty-five to fifty feet of water, even were it not very difficult and dangerous for a swimmer to reach the bottom, on account of the pressure of the water at that depth. During the entire performance, the shouting was continuous, at times almost deafening, and yet not a sign of laughter or merriment with it all. They were fearsome creatures, these divers. With no very great stretch of the imagination, I could picture a cannibal feast with these very men the chief actors. Their fierce looks were unlike those of any human being I had ever seen. They suggested at once the ancient inhabitants from whom the Caribbean Sea has taken its name. III. After our ship's papers had been duly passed upon, the process of disembarkation began, and although late in the afternoon, we were all most eager to land and see the charms of Martinique at closer range, and, incidentally, to post our letters. We anchored as I said, quite a distance out, which was rather a surprise, for as we approached the shore we saw that sailing craft of all sizes and descriptions, from sloops to full-rigged ships, were moored within a hundred yards or so of the levee, with anchors ahead from each bow, and stern-lines out to shore. This was a most unusual sight in an open roadstead. It was partly accounted for by the fact of there being deep water close up to the shore, but principally because St. Pierre is in the latitude of the true northeast trade-winds, which at this season are as sure as the rising of the sun, and this harbour is on the leeward side of the island, and thus smooth and protected. We had been sailing under the beneficent care of the trade-wind for many days now, without fully appreciating it, and it was only when the daring of these trading vessels was explained, that we realised why it was that they had nothing to fear from contrary winds, or from the danger of being blown on the rock-paved beach. [Illustration: THE HARBOUR AND SHIPPING St. Pierre, Martinique Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Some years ago, at home, I was quarantined with a case of fever, and I recall most vividly my demand for suitable literature, paper bound, something that could be burned up if necessary; and I can yet see the amused expression on my nautical husband's face as he handed me volume after volume of sea stories. I had no choice in the matter; I read my books and ate my food as it was handed me, and asked no questions. Now, long years after, in the harbour of St. Pierre, with brig and brigantine, and bark and barkentine safely moored to the levee, the charm and fascination of those delightful sea yarns comes stealing over me once again, and I can appreciate how surely the mariners must have counted upon the time when the trade-wind would rise and carry them on their course. Steady and hearty it blows. At ten or eleven o'clock of the morning, the heat of the tropics lifts its hat to the "Doctor" as the natives call the trade-wind. At six o'clock it bids him good night. At eight o'clock, he calls again for the few hours of darkness, so that both day and night are tempered by his salubrious presence. Our joy would now be complete if we could but see the Southern Cross, for we had felt the rushing hurry and the firm caresses of the Northeast Trades, and despite all our former indifference to the sea, the mariner's spirit was surely asserting itself. It was at the close of a long, delicious tropical day that we four stepped from the shore boat to the paved beach of St. Pierre, to the beach where empty the clear streams of mountain water flowing down through the streets of the town above. Had our coming been that of royal guests, our hostess could not have been trimmer or neater. Sister left us at the pretty white lighthouse right on the beach, and ran on ahead to pick up an especially beautiful shell which she could not resist, and we walked on along the street that follows the shore, under the shade of the mangoes, until, when we turned to wait for her, she seemed to have been caught into the very arms of the tower and held there for hostage. To be sure, she was only arranging her shells in the basket, but she was so quiet and the tower beyond was so old, old--so white and so still--that I called to her in a kind of dumb terror at some impending evil: "Sister, come, you must not loiter behind, keep with us!" [Illustration: THE LIGHTHOUSE ON THE BEACH St. Pierre, Martinique] It is possible that had our landing in St. Pierre been at noonday it would not have been so ever-memorable. We might have felt industrious, we might have thought we ought to see things and do things. But, ah! we were spared that! It was at the drop of day when men do not work nor women weep; and so we had nothing to do but follow where the people were going, on beyond the little lighthouse tower dozing by the sea. The bells in the white church under the hill had been ringing as we rowed toward shore, and it was not long before the church emptied itself into the street, nor long before we were part of the happy worshippers who scattered in every direction. St. Pierre arose from the very water's edge. A row of substantial stone buildings shaded by wide-spreading glossy mangoes stretched as far as I could see in the twilight. The street made a turn away from the beach and the buildings followed after. In the other direction it led to the church and then came to an end. But St. Pierre couldn't have built on a straight line had she wished to do so. She has chosen a mountain for her home and she had to plan accordingly. So she builds until her streets become a series of stone steps, up--up--up; and then, when they finally run against a sheer wall of rock, they stop going up and go round, for they seem to go on indefinitely. But we were not to be baffled by stone steps, we only pushed on a little more vigorously, and started the climb into St. Pierre to post the precious letters which had been written under such stress of circumstances. We went up and about, and found the post-office, just too late to satisfy the demands of Martinique red tape; for the black officials were still redolent of sealing wax as the last sack of outgoing mail was closed; and what were we to do next? We were advised to hunt up the American consul, and possibly he could, by special suasion, find some way of caring for our letters. So we went on through the clean, narrow stone streets, passing many a home which shone out in the early twilight very enticingly, through the high gateways, down to the consul's house, which we found barred and bolted for the night. [Illustration: THE STREET ALONG THE WATER-FRONT St. Pierre, Martinique] Oh, these comfortable American consuls of the tropics! They live among flowers and palms, arise late and go to their town offices by noon; then "business" grows dull and they bolt the office at three or four o'clock and take flight to a gardened home, in some cool mountain suburb, to rest from the wearisome grind of diplomacy. Would that we all might rise to the _dolce far niente_ of an American consulate! But after all we need them; for if our flag is now seldom seen in out-of-the-way ports, who but the American consul will protect the wandering American? Two gentlemen, standing in a notary's office hard by the consulate, explained that the ship _Fontabella_, which was to carry the mail, had not yet arrived, and that perhaps our letters must go to New York by way of Southampton. Then it was not too late after all. Why not leave them in the box at the consulate? "Would they be sent?" we ask. An affirmative reply decides us. What mattered a short delay? Those letters couldn't be hurried however urgent their contents. They must wait for the _Fontabella_ until she was ready, and when that time would be none could say. What could be more romantic than to send our letters by this fancifully named ship, however long her voyage, however indolently she loitered in these fair seas; wherever she strayed she was still the _Fontabella_. Who knows but some of her charms might miraculously sift in through a rent in my package and breathe a spell upon my words? Ah, _Fontabella_! Heaven bless you; and I stand sighing over the mysterious music of a name! IV. Do you remember a game we children used to play, which had this little refrain? "Look to the East, Look to the West, And choose the one That you love best!" We, too, were uncertain which way to choose, so we looked to the East, and we looked to the West, and we chose the one that we loved the best; it happened to be a side street up a very steep hill, beguiling us to a broad avenue, evidently one of the approaches to the famous _Jardin des Plantes_, of which our felicitous little pamphlet guide had made particular mention. For fear lest, in our delight over the novel experiences of the evening, I should forget to mention one feature of St. Pierre peculiarly and distinctly unique, we'll stop for a moment to look down the funny little street, up which we have just laboured. You see on each side of the narrow pavement a deep stone gutter, two feet deep and nearly as wide, down which plunges a constant torrent of light bluish water, with the colour peculiar to all mountain streams; this rush and tumble of water you will see not only in this street, but in all the streets of St. Pierre. It gives one a generous sense of well-being. You feel as if you might take a bath on Monday and Tuesday, and all through the week, and the town would not be threatened with the water famine that is ever hanging over one in some of these tropical towns. How delightful for the children, too! It is a positive relief to my mind to have finished telling you about those wayside streams, for, ever since our arrival in St. Pierre I have been followed by the thought of them, until almost in a state of distraction. Something was continually hammering into my ears: "Why don't you tell about the aqueducts? Don't you know they carry down the mountainside and into the city the finest water of the West Indies? Why don't you give more information?" But now we may go on, and would you mind if we didn't try to learn one bit of anything more for the rest of this beautiful evening? Is it not enough to stroll idly on under the shadow of the mountainside, wild with tangled vines and interweaving foliage, black as night and deep as the sea? Would it cause you, in the rush of Western civilisation, a pang to lean with us over this high wall above the city, and watch yon bark lift her sails athwart the blood-red sun, merging his grandeur into the peace of the ocean? Let us call her the _Fontabella_; to be sure the _Fontabella_ is probably a matter-of-fact, puffy, old mail-steamer and is not to arrive for days, but that's no matter. Yonder ship is our _Fontabella_. We shall name her such, truly she is worthy the honour; she is getting ready for sea; her sails rise slowly with the sleepy yards and stand out in black relief against the iridescent sea of glory about her; from afar comes the faint creak of her incoming anchor-chains, and, as she rests there motionless, down drops the sun, and a ship we shall see no more fades into the night. [Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AND WATER-FRONT St. Pierre, Martinique Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Stopping to inquire of a small boy if we are on the main highway, and not on some path which may lead us either to destruction or to nothing at all,--either of which events would be undesirable,--a well-dressed man, of more than middle age, offers to give us the needed information. We are so continually beset by volunteer "guides" of all classes and colours, that we have of late grown most short in our rejection of unasked-for advice; who knows how many angels we may have thus turned away unawares? This evening, our new acquaintance not only tells us where we are going, but calmly joins the party, and, taking the lead, pilots us in spite of our protestations. He speaks the French of a cultivated gentleman, and goes on leading the way and the conversation most agreeably. And so we start along the Boulevard toward the public gardens, which lie back of the town in a gorge of the mountain. We are followed by a half dozen or so children, who, for the most part, stare at us very curiously, and then chatter among themselves in low voices; I noticed that, as our self-appointed guide walked along, he was continually knocking and poking with his long cane at stray bunches of leaves which had fallen upon the road, and now and then he would let fall a remark about "_les serpents_," which he said were often on the road after nightfall. If there is one thing above all others upon this beautiful earth which my feminine soul abhors, it is a snake; the very thought is chilling to my blood! I had no intention of running any risk of an encounter with serpents,--poisonous or otherwise,--if it could be avoided. Still we all felt that this might be something similar to the rattlesnake stories told to trusting travellers in our country, and fancied that our leader shared the popular theory that we were gullible American travellers, who supposed that all tropical forests were alive with venomous reptiles. By this time it was night, heavily black with the deepening curtain of the mountain, hanging over us on one side, and the sombre shade of the trees on the other. Curious sounds came from the undergrowth, and long, low, melancholy whistles dropped from among the trees; heavy odours hung their narcotic spells about us, and our leader, in his long frock coat, was just visible as he strode ahead of us, sweeping the path for serpents. Little Blue Ribbons was clinging to my hand, and her persistent whisper begged me every minute to please not go any further. I called to Daddy: "What's the use going any further? I want to go back. I don't see why we have to follow this man if we don't want to." But Daddy's and Sister's steps rustled among the leaves ahead, and Little Blue Ribbons went on, whispering, and we all kept following. Taking courage, I skipped ahead of Sister, and caught up with our new friend, and very gently expressed to him our wish that he reconduct us to some place a little lighter and less deadly; but it didn't make the least impression upon him; he simply went on and kept up a string of talk about the wonderful Botanical Garden, whither he was leading us, part of which I understood and part of which I didn't. "But," I exclaimed, "we do not wish, desire, expect, or hope to see the Botanical Garden in the night; we have not survived the perils of the deep to be devoured by wild animals, or poisoned by reptiles, or slain by man-eating Caribs, at this late day. All we want is to be peacefully allowed to go home in our own way." But you might as well have talked to yonder bark asleep on the breast of the ocean as to the grim back of our black-coated companion. It was another case of the "Pied Piper of Hamelin," and it would not have surprised me, such was the mood of the night, and the mystery of the place, had he marched us up into the side of Mount Pelée, hanging far above, and slammed the door in thunder behind us. Lights--grateful, beautiful, heartening, most entrancing lights--finally glimmered at the end of our long détour, and we were brought to the gate of the Botanical Garden, which of course we did not enter, but, turning into another way, followed the people who were coming down this road from Morne Rouge into the city. It was remarkable to observe how the conversation revived. We talked about the island and its people, of their various occupations, their exports, their schools; we stopped to lean over the walled-in river, to see through the dark the white clothes drying on the rocks, like much-discouraged ghosts, and then we became hilarious, and as we neared the possibility of food, passed jokes and had a very jolly time. Then our friend--let us now call him "friend"--said that he must leave, that we needed but to follow the road ahead of us and we would reach the Grand Hotel; and he turned his way, and disappeared,--a very tall attenuated figure in a long, black coat. V. We hurried on, still in a state of suppressed excitement, I, for one, wondering if we should ever find the Grand Hotel. But we did find it, to my relief. Why, I was so hysterically glad to see the familiar faces of our friends again that it was all I could do to refrain from embracing Herr Baron von Donnerwetter, who stood with others, sad-faced and dejected, waiting in the hope of a meal. The usual state of things prevailed: hungry Americans were clamouring for impossible foods; helpless waiters were doing their best to pacify the ravenous demands; a feeble, unhappy host was beating the air with oratorical violence, and the Americans--always good-humoured, in spite of their clamourings--waited and waited, only to be satisfied with poor stuff at last; and finding it thus we fled. The man of the family had, it seems, been quietly reading the signs as we first wandered up into St. Pierre, and the name of a modest little inn had stuck well in his memory; but, manlike, he kept still about it. So with his bump of locality well in evidence, we followed his sturdy steps; in short, found the place in question, and entered a dark, covered, arched passageway, which opened into a number of dimly lighted apartments. The room we first entered was a kind of _salle à manger_ and _salon_ combined, for it had a sofa--a very hard, rock-like affair--a number of chairs, a quaint old sideboard, a table in the centre, and a lamp on the wall which gave a feeble, flickering light. Do you remember about the children who followed us so silently on our long walk? Well, when our tall friend left us, the children kept right along, and, as soon as it was discovered that we were trying to find a place all on our own responsibility, their number was augmented by others--big grown men, black men--whose services being rejected, quietly but firmly joined the procession. The keeper of the inn was a magnificent, great creole woman, well on in years, with a pleasant, winning smile, and an air of hospitality more for the guest than the purse. She said, if we could wait for awhile until the noisy students in the adjoining rooms were pacified, she would do her best for us, but she feared she had nothing suitable. Ah, friends, how humble doth an empty stomach make the human animal! We told her that we adored fried eggs. In fact we could not picture to ourselves anything more delectable. (We hadn't had fried eggs at every turn in the West Indies for nothing, our stomachs were becoming acclimated.) Whereupon she bowed her gracefully turbaned head and leisurely left the room. Then the process began, and we may as well keep you right in the room, for to adequately appreciate the repast that followed, good appetite must be seasoned by hilarity and waited upon by patience. We had on the table a red oilcloth cover, various well-used salt-cellars, and a motley array of knives and forks. Two long-limbed negresses began to arrange our feast, speaking as usual one of their home-made languages, impossible to comprehend as a whole and difficult even in part. These two black cupbearers began, as I said, to arrange the feast, and we sat by, looking on, hungrier every moment, as the prospect grew less promising. After a while some bread, several big chunks,--or loaves, I suppose I ought to say,--were laid on the table. They were shaped like small turtles with heads pulled out at both ends. Next came a bottle of red wine (from the old country!) and the glasses. Then we sat there and sat there fully three-quarters of an hour. The dusky nymphs had flippety-flapped off; the hostess with the smile had also disappeared, and there was silence. I began to think that, perhaps, the bread and wine was the first course, that so things were served in St. Pierre; and besides there wasn't even a whiff of garlic anywhere. I was confident that no creole cooking was going on; and, the more I thought, the more I became convinced that we ought to begin. But Daddy thought we ought to wait, and Sister and Blue Ribbons thought so, too, they are such proper lassies. Why did they ever have a mother who would be so unconventional? But I was famished and that bread turtle was put there to eat. I knew it. So in awful silence, with the family holding its bated breath, I began to pull at the bread. I got one of the heads off the turtle, and poured forth the ruddy nectar into the pressed-glass goblet, and took my first delightsome taste of French wine in Martinique. I was just about to continue, when into the room sauntered the black waitress with a steaming dish of soup, and as she discovered my glass of wine well begun, she set her bowl down on the table, fastened a reproving look on me, and putting her arms akimbo, exclaimed: "_Oh, lá, la!_" Then the other black heathen came in, and with her eye upon me, added her astonished: "_Oh, lá, la!_" And then the head of the family said, in a "told you so" tone: "_Oh, lá, la!_" And then the youngsters joined with a choice duet of: "_Oh, lá, la!_" And I said, "Why, certainly, '_Oh, lá, la_,'" and took another swallow of wine. I felt perfectly justified in my conduct under the circumstances, but no amount of explanation, I am convinced, could have ever placed me in the proper light in the minds of those two black women. I had even some difficulty in explaining the matter satisfactorily to my own family. I do not think there are in all the French language three small words which can express quite the scorn and derision of "_Oh, lá, la!_" From the high courts of justice to the dim little dining-room of a Martinique inn, "_Oh, lá, la!_" withers and humiliates. So I took my bowl of soup very meekly, and said: "_Merci, mille fois_," and went to work. After the soup, we waited again long, and, with appetite appeased, more patiently. VI. A noise in the dark passageway caused me to look in that direction, and I saw, leaning one at each side of the doorway, two big, black negroes--two of the crowd of an hour before. They stood there silent and motionless; they had "standing-room only," but they were there to see the finish. "What are these?" I exclaimed. "Cherubs," replied his lordship. "Go 'way!" I say. "We don't want you!" Then comes a humble voice from the dark: "Gif me dol' an' half. Gif me dol' an' half!" "Go 'way, go 'way, Cherub! We don't want you!" again we cry out. "Gif me two cents! Gif me two cents!" comes from the cherub. What a fall, my countrymen! At that juncture, her Royal Highness, the big landlady, swept through, her very presence clearing the premises, and peace was restored. Then the dinner progressed through the invariable course of eggs and the delicious sidedish of fried bananas, until we came to the salad, which, I confess, has been my inspiration for many pages. Now, here was a case where the wholly unexpected created a sensation which no amount of information, regarding the relative merits of the dish in question could produce. In a way, I rather expected to find in the West Indies all manner of curious fruits and vegetables, but I did not expect to eat immature palm-leaf fans with French dressing. We had finished with our bananas, and were waiting with that good humour which characterises the third course of dinner, when the black heathen appeared, flanked by the entire retinue of kitchen retainers, the big creole hostess bringing up the rear, bearing in her hand a deep dish, in which she had prepared our salad. It was none less than the famous palm salad, about which so many travellers have told. We, too, must add our encomiums. It is taken from the centre of the palm head when the inner leaves are very young. It looked very much like fine cabbage as our hostess sliced it in long strips for salad; in colour it was creamy-white, and in flavour as delicate as a rose. It was so tender that it seemed to melt in the month, having none of the tough qualities of either lettuce or watercress or cabbage. The taste is something I could never describe, for it was a combination of such sweet flavours that even those who partook thereof were at a loss afterward to recall its peculiar delicacy. The following day, we tried to buy some palm in the market and went from one group to another, asking for palm salad; but it had all been sold early in the morning, and, as I recall the experience, I am quite content that we were not successful in our morning's marketing, for who knows but the dressing had something to do with the irresistible palm salad--or perchance even the surroundings--and who but those replete with the blood of many sunny races could give that touch? Guava jelly made by the madame herself, black coffee from berries roasted freshly for us; ripe, mellow, richly flavoured mangoes, sweet honey oranges, and star-apples finished the dinner. Do you think we noticed the red oilcloth table cover, the dingy lamp, and the rock-bottom sofa? There are so many different ways of seeing things! CHAPTER VII. MARTINIQUE, "LE PAYS DES REVENANTS" I. Beautiful, beautiful Martinique! Well named art thou, _Le Pays des Revenants_, for my spirit will ne'er rest content until I have again revisited thy marvellous treasure-trove of beauty! If I were asked where in all the West Indies I would return with greatest delight, where I would wish to remain indefinitely, where I would choose to live, I should say first and last, in fair Martinique,--Empress of the Caribbees--with, however, an occasional visit to our dear Lady Charlotte of St. Thomas. In the brilliant morning light when the sun crept to the tip of the deep green mountains and threw its slanting streams of glory over the white walls of St. Pierre, it seemed that, for the first time, my eyes were beholding the true essence of beauty. I had never before known what colour meant, I had never seen blue before, nor azure, nor green. I was in the mixing-room of Nature, where her first, and deepest, and richest dyes were thrown together in experiment; where, freed from all schools, she let loose the riot of her senses, producing effects of colour never dreamed of in her saner moods. It has been my desire in these sketches to reproduce, as nearly as my powers permit, the exact impression which the Islands of the Caribs have left with me. I have hoped to take you to the islands with the same surprises awaiting you which awaited me, wishing thus to cling to Nature hand to hand, and to draw the picture freshly as our eyes first beheld its wonder. This has been my desire. But now I intend to change my habits for a moment. Instead of asking you to join us in our morning walk, in sweet innocence of what might befall the traveller were he always to go thus unprepared on the island of Martinique, I shall ask you to sit with us here upon the broad white deck of our good ship, to talk over some of the marvellous tales which have been whispered to us, sullying the name of yonder fair isle. I cannot say that it will increase our pleasure, but it will certainly heighten the interest of the morning excursion. Do you recall the warnings of our black-coated friend of last evening--warnings against "_les serpents_," as he called them? He spoke from experience. Our derisive remarks about people who are for ever looking for snakes in every brush-pile were ill-timed, to say the least. It seems that there is upon the island a species of reptile classed by the scientists as one of the family of _Trigonocephalus_, and known to the natives as the "_Fer de Lance_." The bite of this serpent is so deadly that, unless immediate help is procured, the victim cannot recover, and even with prompt medical aid recovery is doubtful. The island, one might say, is fairly under the domination of the _Fer de Lance_. [Illustration: THE CITY AND ROADSTEAD St. Pierre, Martinique] True, the East Indian mongoose has been imported in the hope of exterminating this common enemy; but when it was found that this little rascal, after a short period of snake-hunting, preferred to content himself with eggs and chickens,--a less dangerous prey,--leaving the forest wilds and taking up quarters in the more congenial surroundings of the farmyard, the hope of help from the mongoose was abandoned. The West Indian cannot live without chickens and eggs,--at least so he thinks,--and consternation prevailed when it was discovered that instead of his deadly enemy, his pet object of diet was being imperilled. So the mongoose, however worthy, must go. Just why the tiller of the soil could not, in the face of such danger, erect fortified chicken-houses, to protect his fowls against the felonious depredations of the mongoose, I cannot quite understand, unless it was too much trouble. At all events, he prefers to keep his chickens and the _Fer de Lance_, and do away with the mongoose, rather than run the risk of an occasional raid upon the hen-coop. So now the question is, how shall he get rid of the mongoose? The mongoose is a plucky little fellow; and so Kipling vividly pictured him as "_Rikki-tiki-tavi_,"--a bright-eyed, big, brown weasel in appearance,--very efficient in killing the dangerous snakes of India. We saw them in confinement, the snappiest, most vicious little animals one could imagine. It is inexplicable to me that the inhabitants of Martinique should be willing to give up the fight against this great danger for the sake of a few hens; for my part, I would not object if all the fowls were destroyed and the feathers flew away to far Jamaica, if only after the little robber had had his feast, he would be willing to hunt his legitimate prey, the _Fer de Lance_. From the various forms in which chicken appears on a West Indian table, and from the frequency of that appearance, I have come to the conclusion that, to do without fowls would be a greater grief than to be in constant peril from the bite of a snake. As for me, well--there are times when I feel that, without the least sacrifice, I could miss an occasional meal of fried eggs and stewed chicken. In fact, I am convinced that, if I had had fried eggs three hundred and sixty-three days of the year, I might not pine if the hens didn't lay the last two days. But there is no accounting for tastes. The West Indian doesn't look at it in that light. The _Fer de Lance_ has been described as a rat-tailed, red-skinned, powerful-looking brute, from four to eight feet long; and, unlike most snakes, he is fearless, and as a rule will not get out of the way when he hears one coming. He takes his walks at night, unfortunately preferring the open road to the garden; the smooth patch before the house to the brushwood; and he even comes down into the gardens and paths about the city. This is the great danger of Martinique; yet, while it may seem more sure, more quickly certain to us, than the danger of other places, I do not know that it is so. Wherever the foot of man finds habitation, danger goes hand in hand with beauty. Unseen danger of a thousand kinds, in poisonous vapours, in decaying flesh and vegetation, lurks hidden within the dwellings of all mankind; deeper, deadlier danger, too, than bolt of _Fer de Lance_, looks sullenly forth from the soul of God's own image--man; danger unto himself more terrible than the writhing, striking reptile of the night-shade; and, as knowledge comes only from an understanding of comparisons, I do not feel that Martinique, afflicted as she is, can vie in her troubles with the clangers which threaten mankind in some of her sister isles. II. The little girls and their father have all but lost their patience. "I'm ready now," I call to the beckoning eyes. "Just wait until I get the St. Thomas basket, and I'll be there." After a quick dash to the stateroom and back, I'm armed with the basket and umbrella. But after all these snake stories you would rather not join us in our morning walk? You're not nervous? That's fine; I like your spirit! Suppose we go first to the market, and then in a roundabout way to the Botanical Gardens. There are always guide-books to be bought in every town; there are always those on shipboard who never separate themselves from a red cover; there are always those who tell you what you ought to see, and especially afterward what you ought to have seen; but we four are born dissenters; we kind o' forget about the mummies when there are live human beings to watch. We know the mummies will be there when we're tired of the rest, but we're not so sure of the people. It's such fun to find out what the natives are doing, thinking, saying; what they wear, what they eat, how they live, how they dance, and walk, and play, and work. Here in Martinique we find the market a perfect babel of voices, all speaking a curious French _patois_. It is next to impossible to distinguish one word from another in all that hum of highly pitched creole voices. The famous "_porteuses_"--long-limbed, slender, shapely, tall, and agile half-caste and negro girls--have brought their heavy burdens from the mountains and the country roundabout; and here they sit, like flowers in a garden, surrounded by their goods. Some have little piles of fruits, or of vegetables, cooked and ready to be eaten, wrapped in banana leaves; some have a stock of dried meats, made up into tiny portions; some sell fancy cakes; some, pies; others crouch down, fairly hidden by showy piles of calico and bright silks, with needles, threads, coarse laces, and beads scattered about them in great confusion. And here are the sinewy men; the fishers with heaps of fish. Such beautiful fish! Does it seem credible that you can stand in a smelly fish-market, and be fairly enchanted by the colour and beauty of great trays of fish spread out upon a stone pavement? Their beauty is amazing. Here are enormous trays of flying fish, glittering silver, sweeter to the taste than any trout; here are others, all pink and red, and here are wee bits of fish sold by the glass--some sort of "white bait," maybe. We elbow on through the babel of voices, looking, as I told you we did, for the palm salad, but there is none to be had. Still I remember its flavour, and I remember that the creole madame brought us a piece which she had bought in the market for four _sous_. It was very like a round stick of ivory, a foot and a half long and two inches in diameter. We shall have to be content with that one sight. But what is the use in going to a market unless we can buy something? So we stop in front of a _porteuse_ as she squats behind her pile of fruit on the market floor, and buy oranges, and get almost a pint of coppers in change for one silver piece; but not without grave doubts on the part of the seller. She looks at our silver and shakes her head, and all her neighbours come together, and the colours of their bright turbans and the little funny ends of handkerchiefs tied so that they stand up on top of the head like plumes,--all these ends flutter and bob as they comment in their funny French, while we tell the women that our money is good, good silver. Finally a big-eyed, handsome girl comes elbowing along and proudly explains to her doubting sisters that we are right; then at last we get our change, distribute it in our various pockets, take our oranges, and leave the market. III. Eager as the children are to reach _Le Jardin des Plantes_, the famous Botanical Gardens of Martinique, we must stop on our way for a closer inspection of one of these bright birds of the forest,--the Martinique _porteuse_. The women of the tropics have an affinity for nature such as we of the North cannot comprehend. As the forest and the flowers and the birds and the insects abound in marvellous hues, so do these children of the sun love to bedeck themselves in all the schemes of colour known to the dyer's art. Let us, just for the sake of the picture it will give us, stop this woman coming and make excuse to buy one of the green cocoanuts of which she seems to carry a great load on her head. Look at her! Isn't she magnificent! Have you heard of the feats of endurance which these young girls perform? How they will carry upon their heads, over one hundred pounds out from St. Pierre across the mountains, a distance of fifty miles in one day? And this while barefooted and at all times of the year, through all kinds of weather, through dry seasons and wet seasons. Not only on such days as these, when the air is sweet and cool in the shade, but days when the sun scorches and withers, even under the deep recesses of vine-clad porch and lattice. She is the ever-willing burden-bearer, the unloader of ships, the handler of cargoes, the welcome carrier of bread for the early breakfast in mountain homes, the vender of all stuffs and utensils by the roadside where no cart could well be taken; where even the patient donkey might refuse to go. Agile, nimble, erect of body, motionless of head, with eyes that pierce into every crook and turn of the way, and poised like a queen, she is the dweller among the green, yellow, red, and purple of the forest, and in her love of colour she follows in her adornments the strong instincts of nature. She it is whose burden is so great that were she herself to attempt to lift it or take it from her head, it might mean a rupture, a dislocation, or a broken vein; she it is whom all men, from the richest to the poorest, help to unload, so great is the respect in which she is held. [Illustration: NEAR THE LANDING-PLACE St. Pierre, Martinique] And yet we talk of the idleness, the weakness bred in the tropics! It is true that continual summer enervates, and necessitates slow methods of living; but I can truthfully say, that (outside of Haïti), I saw less vagabond-age, less indolence, in the West Indies, than in any of our Southern States. We were constantly witnessing most remarkable feats of endurance in both men and women. In these countries the horse is scarce, and the donkey costs money, so that the human back becomes the carry-all for the plunder of man. This motionless bronze statue before us, with the great tray of fruit, appears--to one unaccustomed--more than indifferent whether we buy or not, for she stands there, mute, her fruits higher than our own heads; she is tall to begin with, and the great tray itself is six inches higher, and the head pad on which it rests is more than an inch thick; so, altogether, it is so high that we can only make a guess at the fruit she carries, from the fringe on the edge and the pyramid on top. This is our first experience with _la porteuse_, and we wait for her to stoop, camel-like, to unload. But not she! She knows too well the possible penalty of such rashness, and quietly stands with her quick eyes questioning us, and we stand wondering what she wants us to do. The kerchief about her shoulders over a light chemise rivals the rainbow. I try to fix my eyes on some predominating colour, but when I decide that it is yellow, in will blaze a green stronger than the yellow, and then huge red roses splash their lurid colour into the yellow and green, and royal purple and blue daisies and magenta buttercups career around in wild indifference as to conventional form and tint. A loose calico frock hangs to her ankles, with the bare, tireless feet, straight, shapely and well-formed, showing beneath. Intelligence dawns upon us at last, and the tall man reaches for a green cocoanut, just toppling on the edge of the tray, for we realise we must reach for the fruit if we want it. This cocoanut, encased in its green husk, is just about the size of a small melon, and has a striated, light-green, smooth skin. A vender near by, interested in the purchase, and charitable to the strangers, takes the cocoanut, and, with a sharp knife, dexterously pares off one end, and with a slash straight across the top, cuts through the still soft shell, and hands it to us ready to quench our thirst with a long pull, for there is as yet no meat in the cocoanut, only a quantity of the rich milk. I cannot say that it is particularly good, or particularly bad; it has an inoffensive sweet taste, is said to be perfectly harmless, and is one of the few fruits of the tropics that the uninitiated can eat with impunity. After we have all drunk, there seems to be quite a bit of the milk left. So it goes to the most insistent of the crowd of small boys, who are, as usual, escorting us with much enjoyment, and a constant merry chatter of French. Let us move on now up the clean stone street, up, and up, and up, passing many a walled recess where sparkling jets of water fill the jars brought to the fountain by barefooted girls,--up and on, on and up, past votive shrines--_les chapelles_--and high-walled gardens, coming finally to the broad avenue leading to the Botanical Garden,--the same road from which we were so glad to escape the night before. We follow the white, dusty road in the bright sunlight, with now and then glimpses of the mountains above, and come at last to the broad stone gateway of _Le Jardin des Plantes_, which, entering, plunges us at once into the deep shades and marvellous beauty of a tropical forest. IV. Oh, that I had words and power and skill to paint even a shadow of the beauty before me to a likeness of itself! Here Nature defies all art of pen, of thought, and brush of man! She seems to glory in the impossible loveliness of her face and form--impossible to reproduce through art or reason. Here one should find new words--words more intense, more poignant, more vividly keen to cut into the heart of the matchless colours and shades. No description can ever bring accurately to the mind the wealth, the magnificent beauty of such a spot upon God's earth. With skilful art, the French have utilised the hand of Nature in the formation of this wonderful garden to such a degree of perfection that none can tell, unless a master, where the two fair sisters, Art and Nature, first embraced. The natural tropical forest, running up a great ravine into the mountains, is intersected by broad and winding paths that lead from one fair view to another by mossy flights of rough stone steps. Through a rift in the hillside, down an abyss of heavy, wet foliage of a green so intense that the eye can scarcely conceive its depth of colour, cataracts of water leap through the abiding shade, through the ever-growing, ever-dying processes of nature, down into a pool whose depths reflect the blue glimmering sky and the vivid green of over-hanging vines in opalescent sheen. Great clumps of bamboo, with long, slim, arrow-shaped leaves, hang gracefully, waving like giant grass, over the walk; and an ancient bridge, ablaze with purple vines, reaches out from under the rustling thickets and spans a branch of the _Rivière Roxelane_, a delicious mountain stream which murmurs on through the forest, filling one with poetic musings as to whence came its romantic name. On we sauntered heedless as to time, sheltered from the sun by the impenetrable shade of arborescent ferns and towering palms, and lured ever deeper into the forest, into the wonders of God's marvellous creation by some unspeakable burst of beauty just beyond. Here we find not only the trees indigenous to the soil, but trees native to all tropical climates, from all parts of the world, for this garden is the pride of the island and a wonder of the Indies. The names and habitations of foreign trees are most skilfully marked on enamelled plates fastened to the trees, part of the plate bearing the carefully engraved botanical name, the lower part containing a coloured map, indicating the country to which the tree is native. What a pitiably weak understanding we have of God's unending and infinite creation! However much we read of life in remoter countries the mind, like a rubber ball, ever reverts with persistent force to its original point of view. So that we, the dwellers in the North, in the land of ice and snow, of pines and duller hues, where Nature bestows her gifts with somewhat sparing hand,--we of the North forget the limitless power of creative energy, and when we come into such an overwhelming feast of colour as in this mighty forest, sighing and breathing for very burden of beauty, we try in vain to reconcile our former crude conceptions of the Creator with this new, vast revelation of his unspeakable power. As we penetrate deeper and ever deeper into the forest, the mind reels under the effort to grasp the marvels of plant and tree and earth. Vines hang in long festoons from tree to tree, and drop down before the face in thousands of living ropes, which seem to have the power of returning upon themselves and growing up again without any visible support. Parasites, air-plants, and orchids--not singly, but in millions--cover giant trunks so that the tree itself is lost in the growth external. Off through a break in the deepest green, I see for the first time that queen of the tropics, the _Amherstia nobilis_, called--and well named, indeed--"the Flamboyant," the most magnificent flowering tree in the world: tall and heavenly leafed, of graceful form, its top covered by a mass of brilliant flowers so vividly red and of such size as to seem like a blaze of fire in the forest shade. And taller than all the others of its kind, the Royal Palm lifts its regal head out into the freedom of light and air, and sways its majestic plumes in rhythmic motion. How well the Spanish do to call it "_the palm_," in distinction from all others. Everywhere about you, life, life ever coming, ever going. A deep, impenetrable wall of green, denser, thicker than any fretwork, keeps you to the path. A native lad springs into the black, green, brown depth, and you shudder involuntarily; there might be danger. The two figures--hand in hand, Life and Death--haunt the dim green shadows about you. V. We are joined by friends as we wander on, following the sound of tumbling water. It comes to us as a surprise, for the forest has been wrapped in a deep silence; its slumberous shade has not been broken by a single bird-note; all animal life is quiescent. A few steps more and we come to a cleft in the mountain, an opening in the green vault, and a veil of glistening water drops between us and a wall of cool, sweet ferns. The spell of the forest is about us. We turn down a steep path in silent awe before so great a masterpiece. Our party separate, we linger behind while our friends stroll on and are lost in an abrupt turn of the path. The straight noonday sun makes white patches upon the walk; strange heavy odours, as of earth dead a thousand years lifting up her soul again in rebellion against her long, deep sleep, steal about us. Suddenly from the deathlike stillness of the forest there comes a shriek, followed by sounds of commotion. We run quickly in the direction of the voices. My friend's white face tells the story; it was the _Fer de Lance_. We could see nothing. The flight had been swift; it was impossible for her to say how it ever came there, whether it had dropped from the limb of a tree, as she thought, or had sprung from a bush, but suddenly it was there, lying in a double coil at her feet. It made a strange rapping sound upon the earth, and darted swiftly off into the undergrowth. A few of us, much affrighted, lead the way most precipitately down the ravine to the gateway. We carry our umbrellas aloft in spite of the shade, and, shuddering, secretly envy the one who saw the _Fer de Lance_. VI. After all, I am glad that we did not accept the offer of a carriage for Morne Rouge, for it is a long drive to the summit of the mountain,--fully four hours there and back,--and had we gone, the journey must needs be made with great haste; so we chose rather to leave before satiety deadened our enjoyment. But there will come other days in Martinique--there must come other days, for is not this _Le Pays des Revenants_? Must we not see Gros Morne, Capot, Marigot, and La Grande Anse, hidden away in the mountains, asleep in their sunlit valleys, and the wild forest--_le grand bois_--and _La Pelée_, the old volcano with the queer lake in its extinct crater, and the cavern-like opening in its cleft side, where it is said that even yet there may be occasionally heard strange groanings and fearsome hissings--shall we not come some day to see all this? [Illustration: THE RIVIÈRE ROXELANE Near St. Pierre, Martinique] We take the road to the left and follow down the _Rivière Roxelane_ to St. Pierre. As we join our friends returning from the mountain, they share with us a calabash of wild red strawberries which they bought by the roadside. The berries have that rare, delicious _bouquet_ found only in the wild fruits, and, as one would naturally suppose, have their own funny way of growing; small and pointed and very compact. We hover around the one who holds the calabash until all are gone, and then indolently follow the stream, passing a group of women under a shady mango-tree, spreading heaps of cacao (chocolate) beans on the ground to dry; where we linger, tasting the beans and trying to chat, ever fascinated by the natives and their ways; and then wander on toward the stony pavements and narrow streets of the city; and thence down to the landing-place. Night draws over. The quickly falling luminous night of the tropics. How can I bring again the witchery of that vision? The greenly liquid sky, the great yellow moon, the near, the brilliant stars, and the deep, dark Morne, covering her wild luxuriance with violet clouds, and back of all "_La Montagne_"--_Pelée_, the sleeping; the sounds--distant, low, mellow; the moving, glistening phosphorescent water, and Martinique, in white slumber, fading astern. CHAPTER VIII. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD. PORT OF SPAIN I. "I'se here, Missus; I'se here, waitin' fo' you" (from one of a crowd of chattering Spanish, English, French, Portuguese creoles, outnumbered by the ever-present black, in every shade, from deep chocolate to light saffron), greets us as we step on land at Port of Spain, Trinidad. We do not feel quite sure which particular one, in all that pushing, scrambling, good-natured crowd, is waiting for us; whether it is the man with the two monkeys, or the man with the green and blue parrot, or the woman with the baskets, or the boy with the shells; but whichever one it is, he's there, and all his friends are there, with everything salable they possess, strung around them, fastened to them, hitched to them, in some fashion--any way to allow them free use of their arms. "Well, we're glad you're waiting, Sambo. We fully expected to find you here. It wouldn't be Trinidad without a monkey or a parrot. We'll buy later. Oh, no! Not the monkey; we have one at home, and Heaven knows that's enough! But maybe, by and by, we'll see about a basket." If there is one thing in the world Sister and I can never resist, it's a basket. That distressing mania breaks forth at the slightest provocation; it doesn't seem to make any difference where we are, or how impossible it is to gratify it; difficulties only whet the appetite. The more inopportune the occasion, the more we want the basket. [Illustration: THE DRAGON'S MOUTH, ENTRANCE TO GULF OF PARIA Between South America and Trinidad] So we stood there on the quay at Port of Spain, with the lofty headlands of grand old South America away to the south of us, taking their morning bath among the clouds, and off in the north the mountain sweep of Trinidad, watching the queer old city at its feet, and betwixt the two, the Gulf of Paria, loosened from the Dragon's Mouth, spreading and expanding, with its waters a commingling of the blue of the Caribbean and the brown of the near-by Orinoco, washing the outstretched feet of the great mother and child; and we stood there, with all this grandeur ablaze in the first light of the morning, wondering if we would better buy the basket right then, on the spot, or whether we should wait until our return. To be sure, we had one big basket--and a beauty, too--from St. Thomas, but it was always full, a sort of catch-all for our curious leaves, and seeds, and coral, and beads, and newspapers, and precious bills of fare,--treasured reminders of old balconies and lingering melodies; and it really seemed to be our duty to provide a number two size to carry to market. We could use it in so many ways, and then we wanted another basket. But, before we had time to strike a bargain,--for it's a half-day's work in these ideal lands to buy anything,--some one cried out: "If you are going to the Coolie Village, you'd better come right now, or the carriages will all be taken!" "Who are the coolies?" Blue Ribbons asked, as we rattled along up Frederick Street. The answer to her question was squatting not far distant, where some cars, just arrived from San Fernando, were being unloaded. His hands were clasped around his thin bare legs; his face, serious, dark, immovable; his hair, black as ink, and straight; on his head, a voluminous white turban bespoke the worshipper of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. It was with mingled sensations of awe and fear that I beheld this unexpected Hindoo. His apparent unconcern of mundane affairs recalled not only deeply treasured teachings from his great masters, but, in his eyes, there was the black, unforgotten story of Lucknow. It was hard to reconcile the two. It seems that the Hindoo "coolie" is imported by the ship-load into Trinidad, and indentured for a period of ten years; at the expiration of which time he may return to India at his company's expense, if he so chooses (and he usually does choose to do so, taking home with him a goodly store of gold). He makes a most valuable and reliable labourer, and has really been the salvation of the vast sugar and cacao estates on the island. It has been next to impossible to exact any continuous labour from the negro, without some system of slavery, and had it not been for the Hindoo, the resources of Trinidad would have been practically undeveloped. The coolies were in evidence everywhere. In fact, they seemed to form a considerable proportion of the population. We do not wonder any longer at the emaciated pictures of the famine-stricken East Indians, for here, in a land of plenty, where food, almost ready cooked, is only waiting to drop, the Hindoo is the sparest, leanest creature imaginable. His ever-bare legs are not like flesh and blood, but small-boned and thin to emaciation, and almost devoid of calves below the knee; they have the hard statuesque look of bronze stilts. And the arms, too, are thin, and terminate in slender little hands that seem incapable of heavy and prolonged labour. II. Port of Spain, compactly, squarely built, and well paved, extends for quite a distance over a flat, alluvial plain to a grassy _savannah_, two and a half miles wide; one side of which, facing the Botanical Garden and the Governor's Mansion, brings you to the base of the mountain. The city is neither beautiful nor clean. Its architecture, dominated by the taste of the Englishman, is about as unattractive as that of our own country. The business streets are dusty, shadeless, and devoid of cleaners, except for the vulture, who, with his long, bare legs, his skinny neck and head, and huge black body, plays the part of city scavenger. These ungainly, hideous, repulsive creatures stalk around everywhere; they are under the horses' feet; they roost on the eave troughs asleep in the sun, sit reflectively on chimney-tops, or come swooping down after some horrible piece of carrion in the street. How can a civilised people be willing to turn the civic house-cleaning over to a lot of vultures? No wonder that plagues and fevers rage upon these beautiful islands. Under existing conditions, they surely have the right of way. [Illustration: THE BUSINESS SECTION Port of Spain, Trinidad Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Did I understand you to say that the carriages were all gone when you came ashore? Come in with us! There, the front seat with the driver is just waiting for you, and really, to walk is hardly safe under this vertical sun. Would you mind if we make a stop or two on the way out to the village, for the man of the family must have some fresh white ducks to wear in South America; let us wait for him here in the carriage. It seems pleasant to-day not to make any exertion. I've no doubt we can get a lot of information from the driver, if we question him. He responds, oh! yes, he responds with great ardour, but with what result? One word in ten, we recognise. He thinks, of course, he's speaking English, and I suppose we might better let him think so, but, bless you, if that's English, what are we speaking? It's just another of the West Indian surprises. You come to a country which has been under the beneficent English rule for over one hundred years, and you find the natives--the men who drive for you, who row you ashore, who carry your plunder, the women in the market--all speaking an almost unintelligible jargon of French, Spanish, Portuguese, English, with a little Hindustani and Chinese thrown in. Try the native on your best French, and at every five or six words he brightens up with understanding. Take any of the other languages and you have the same result; for your Trinidadian understands when he wants to, but woe betide you when you ask a question and want to know the answer. The native in Trinidad is bright and quick; he is not like his big lazy lout of a brother down in our Southland. He is a mix-up of many people, intelligent and active, and his language tells what a conglomerate he is, and what a happy-go-lucky life he leads. III. What can be keeping the shoppers so long? We shall certainly have to hunt them up; let us look inside. I have often wondered what our mammoth cheap stores of the North do with their leftover plush albums, china shepherdesses, antiquated ready-made clothing, tin jewelry, their untold unnumbered tons of clap-traps; and now I know. It's all dumped right here in the West Indies. From South America to Cuba, there is one vast collection of trash imported to catch the pennies of these long-suffering people. It is always difficult to obtain any of the native work; we have to go among the natives themselves for that. One glance at Port of Spain's emporium, the _Great Colonial Stores of Blank and Co. Limited_, is enough! "Mother," said Sister, "I have an idea! Let's try the deaf and dumb sign-language on the cabby." And she does. It works like a charm. Off we swing for the savannah, a great, green, grassy plain, the playground for the Trinidadians. Here, they have their horse-racing and golf and cricket and polo under the fierce, tropical sun; here, the merry-go-round and pop-stands burst forth every Saturday afternoon; here the inevitable "picnic" is held, and as we happen here on a festival day, we see the children--big and little--gathering from every direction. There is something indestructible about the customs of an Englishman. He does not change his methods of living, as do other races, but, wherever he goes, he carries from pole to equator the customs and habits of his own country. So he plays golf and cricket and polo in Trinidad, when, at its mildest, the heat is about equal to our August. It is on this savannah that we have our first good opportunity of viewing the mighty ceiba tree near at hand. You remember it was a great ceiba to which Columbus made fast his ships on the bank of the Ozama River in Santo Domingo? The ceiba may not be the largest tree in the tropics. I do not wish to say it is, for it would seem then that one was limiting to a given scale the grandeur of the tropical tree. There is apparently no limit to anything in the way of size or beauty under these skies. There may be greater trees in the "High Wood" than the ceiba, but, in our experience, it was by far the most wide-stretching of anything we had yet seen. One stands before it awed, stupefied by its immensity, its age, its strange manner of growing. And we think over all the words we know to express its size and beauty, and we feel so poor and powerless in expression. [Illustration: A VILLAGE GREETING San Fernando, Trinidad] The ceiba on the wide savannah has endless room in which to spread. It is perfect in form, like a mammoth gray and green umbrella, and reaches out its immense branches toward every side in perfect symmetry. And such branches! They alone are as large as our forest oaks, and they throw themselves out from the trunk horizontally, in stupendous strength. Its foliage is rather thin; the power of the tree seems to be spent in trunk and branch. Its bark is like an elephant's hide, and its trunk has a strange way of buttressing out its side in huge wings. It is even said to be the worshipped tree of the superstitious black natives--a mysterious sort of _fetich_, the mighty, silk-cotton ceiba. IV. Fine residences skirt the savannah, each garden a marvel of beauty, in palms and trees whose names we do not know. Each little villa, has its English name plastered upon the gateway. This part of the city is clean, and the road is fine, so we will try to forgive and forget the shabby appearance of the lower town. We pass countless gardens, and then the houses grow fewer, and the gardens turn into banana patches, and the people begin to look different; the negroes disappear, and we are in the beginning of the "Coolie Village," where a row of thatched roofs, supported by bamboo poles, ranges on either side of a long street, which disappears under an avenue of palms and breadfruit-trees, quite out of sight. And here are the Hindoo men and women,--quiet, serious people, displaying very little curiosity about us, going on with their work, just as if we were not near them. What a relief from the hideous faces of the negro are these straight-featured, well-poised East Indians! The men dress in white and are not overly clean. It does not look to me as if shirt and turban were often washed, but as their artisans work sitting on the ground, there is really small chance for immaculate linen. It is upon the women that the Hindoo displays his sensuous love for colour and jewels. She is his savings-bank. Every bit of silver or gold earned is taken to the jeweller to be fashioned into ornaments for her. Let us leave the carriage and wander about among these interesting, silent people. Little Blue Ribbons would like to carry away one of those curious silver bracelets the women wear, and as if our thoughts are divined, we are in no time surrounded by a lot of girls who are simply covered with silver and gold. They wear as many as twenty bracelets on each arm, of different designs, some very beautifully twisted into serpents' coils and heads, others engraved with intricate arabesques, others merely crude bands, with a few ornamental lines. Every part of the body, where a ring can hang, is covered with ornaments; head, ears, nose, fingers, arms, waist, ankles, toes. And some of the dear little brown babies, from two to five years old, were dressed only in pretty silver whistles, tied about the waist with a black string. We examine many bracelets. The arms held out are more beautiful than any bits of silver about them, and the women have low, sweet voices, and their eyes are brilliant, and their skin is lustrous, and the fascination of the Orient is about them. The Hindoo women may have a hard time of it in some ways, perhaps, off in East India where the missionaries are, but here in Trinidad they have every appearance of being well cared for. Daddy is the one who buys the trinkets. He has a way of finding always the most curious and the most beautiful things, and the Hindoo women crowding about him, and the little girls, too, seem to have suspected his talent. After examining the wealth of a dozen arms, two silver bands are selected, which, after being carefully washed by a very particular Daddy, are snapped about the white wrists of the expectant girlies. He has not only a way with him for finding beautiful curios, but, alas! I must confess he has a decided talent also for discovering beautiful women. My only consolation in the matter is his catholicity of taste, for he shows no preference, as a rule. His is a universal admiration, the simple homage to beauty of an artistic soul, and that comforts me. There is safety in numbers! So it did not surprise me, while we are prowling around back of the huts, in search of some Hindoo needlework, to return and discover him chatting in a one-sided conversation with a little girl, about the age of Little Blue Ribbons. She was leaning in a dreamy attitude in the doorway of a shop--the most prosperous one in the village. Just then he spies hanging in the shop some odd pipes made of clay. He goes in and buys one or two. The proprietor and his wife are standing behind the counter; she, fat and comfortable, a mass of silver bracelets, smiled at us as we approached; but he, thin as a churchwarden pipe, and solemn, my! solemn enough to be Buddha himself, with long, gray hair, curled up at the end, and impassive face, answered our questions about the pipes in precise, curiously clipped Oriental English, without once looking at us. His eyes were fixed on something beyond us, and they were the eyes that speak but rarely, and then terribly. Daddy praises the shop, the wife's ornaments, and finally the little girl, and asks if he may take her picture. The mother smiles a "Yes;" the father just looks outside. Immediately the little one is called into an inner room by her mother. She stands in the doorway so we can see what is going on. I cannot tell you how much the mother loads upon her. The straight, low forehead is covered by three circlets of gold and silver; the little ears are weighed down by filigree hoops of gold, reaching to her shoulders; her pretty pierced nostrils hold a delicately fashioned gold plate, which drops below the sweet red lips; a tiny jewelled rose screws into the side of her straight little nose; her graceful neck is loaded with chain after chain, hung with many silver dollars of different countries, while one necklace is of twenty-dollar United States gold pieces. Ten of these necklaces drop from the round throat to the slender waist. A band of silver, two inches wade, spans her upper arm, and from the tapering wrist to the shapely little elbow, the brown, soft skin is covered with bracelets. A bright silk skirt falls to the ankles, which, in turn, are encircled by bracelets or anklets, while little rings are fitted to each toe of her slender, shapely feet; and then, to cap the climax, the mother brings out a long yellow scarf and starts to wind it about the little one's head. That was too much. Daddy begs the mother off. He wanted to catch the beautiful oval outline of that little head. So the yellow scarf was discarded, and the little one came outside, and stood under the porch against a green, leafy background, and her small hands were folded before her very demurely, and she looked at us with her father's black, serious eyes. All the while, he stands within, like a motionless gray shadow,--absolutely unmoved by our admiration of his daughter. A few feet beyond there is the goldsmith, squatting cross-legged on the ground outside the door of his shanty. This is his shop,--this dirt floor. Here, on a bit of cloth, are his wares, very beautiful some of them, masterful pieces of work, and this diminutive bed of charcoal is his furnace, these tiny hammers and pincers are his tools, and that little black anvil is the scene of his daily toil. Can it be that, with these few crude tools, he can fashion so wonderfully? His pattern is the insect that hovers for an instant on its flight at noonday; or the sleeping serpent, hidden under the bamboo; or the palm above the village; or the spider's web over the doorway. Nature close to him--dear to him--is the master of his art. V. The road on through the village is too beautiful to leave; we must go farther, deeper down among this strangely silent, mysterious people; and we drive on to where the palms meet over our heads, and we get glimpses of the blue and green Gulf beyond, and some one tells us--or have we dreamed it?--that, farther on, we shall come to the Big White House, and we wonder if we are really ourselves, or some one very unreal out of a book. Surely we shall soon awake and rub our eyes and find that we have just been asleep in the library corner, and that we never reached the Leper House, and never heard the whispering of Hindoo feet; that it was all a daydream, a sweet heavenly dream, made long by some good fairy; but, no, we look at one another, and it must be true, for we hear the waves lapping the beach near by, and the brown, naked coolie babies look wonderingly at us, and we jog along under the fitful showers and sun, and Blue Ribbons raises the white umbrella, and Sister looks ruefully at the sad, discouraged, rain-bespattered ribbons, so it must be real. Yes, real; and yet to see the Big White House, now visible through the mangoes, and know that within its walls live victims of the most awful disease of all time,--a disease whose origin is lost in the dim vistas of antiquity,--to come thus unexpectedly, in the twentieth century, upon a manifestation of the "sins of the fathers" of thousands of years, we cannot make it seem real to us. Had we been off in the South Seas, sailing toward Molokai, or had we been looking over the hills of Galilee, it might have seemed more probable. But to find a leper settlement here, not three miles from a thickly peopled modern city,--a settlement which must be a constant and deadly menace to society,--was beyond my powers of credence. I remember so well, in reading Stevenson's account of his visit to the leper settlement in the Sandwich Islands, that I wondered how he dared go among them, for even so great an object as the vindication of Father Damien, and lo, here we were, without any warning, almost in the midst of the same plague. Although fully aware that leprosy did exist, just as we know that the moon must have form and solidity, it still seemed an uncertain, far-removed possibility,--in a way half-legendary, half fact, a tradition of the far East, a memory of the days of the Holy One of Nazareth; not a tangible awful reality, to be met and battled with all the force of modern knowledge. I could not convince myself that within a stone's throw were lepers whom we might see, to whom we might speak, and I wondered if it would be safe to enter the enclosure. All this time we drew nearer to the gateway, while the white house in the centre of a large, shady park, fenced in by high iron pickets, seemed to us like the great Cross on Calvary, raised for the sins of the world. In various parts of the yard, inside that fence, groups of men are sitting on the grass under the shade of great trees. It is white noon. It cannot be possible that these men, lolling about and visiting together, are _lepers_, for, from a distance, they bear no signs of disease about them. They look like the rest of the people we have been amongst all day. They are mostly Hindoos (some with a touch of negro blood), very dark of skin, and apparently in good health, that is, viewed at a distance. I must confess that a terrible feeling comes over me as the man of the family--for here we are at the gate, with the horse's head facing the sad white house--suggests that we enter the enclosure. I remember how it was said that the lepers in olden time must cry out: "Unclean!" "Unclean!" and that he whose garments but swept the shadow of one thus afflicted must undergo a long purification before he could be allowed intercourse with the world once more. As these old stories recur to my memory, and beseech me for my life not to take so great a risk,--but how long it takes to tell it all!--a big, jolly-faced black gatekeeper quiets my apprehensions by saying that we would not be exposed to the least danger whatever; that some of the labourers and attendants have been employed to work among the lepers for years with no bad results. With this comfortable assurance of a doubtful safety from the gateman, the driver whips up, and we move on into the yard, and up the avenue to the hospital, made gruesome by horrid buzzards perching on its roof and eaves in grim expectancy. But it is the coming closer into the deep shade which reveals to us its true significance. From without, this white house is long and low and restful to the eye, and the trees bending over it, with clinging arms, seem to breathe only life and beauty, and the white-coated men here and there under the shade are the labourers resting during the still noon hour. But a nearer approach and a closer acquaintance changes the whole scene. Was it upon such wrecks of life that the gentle _Saviour_ gazed in pitying love? These are not men; they are pieces,--parts of men, hung together by the long-suffering cord of life. The first leper we see near at hand seems to take an interest in us. The others we have passed lie around in a dull, listless way. I presume they see us, but they evidence no concern other than keeping in the shade. But this leper--I hardly know how to designate him--has more life in him than the others; he is walking about and nods to us as we pass. He has strange, unnatural ears; they are twice the normal size and have nodules on the outer edge. His face is swollen into mushroom-like patches, and deeply seamed by ridges, and yet the skin has apparently the same appearance it had in a state of health, except a little grayer and more lifeless looking. Another patient hobbles toward us, and we find that he is walking on stumps of feet, without toe. We throw some pennies to another group, and the one nearest the coin picks it up by making a scoop of his flipper-like palm. His fingers are gone, only little points are left, as if they had been whittled off with a jack-knife. An old man looks at us with one eye, the other eye, eaten away by the relentless advance of the disease, has commenced to run out. These are only the moderately sick patients. [Illustration: WHERE THE LEPERS LIVE AND DIE Trinidad] As we drive nearer to the hospital, a dozen or so horrible-looking creatures crowd to the end of an upper gallery and stand there, leaning out over the railing, a ghastly picture of misery. I scarcely dare look at them, their faces have been so mutilated by the disease; and others worse there are inside, whom the heroic Sisters--Romish and Protestant--care for and comfort until the living hideous death is at an end and life begins. We move slowly along up the drive, and come quite near to the great archway which leads into the courtyard. There we call to the cabby to stop, and the tall man, who is never afraid of anything, gets out, and his leaving the carriage becomes, unwittingly to us, a signal for the poor lepers to approach. One hurries away from his companion--an emaciated, becrutched Hindoo--and comes to within a few feet of us, and just as he does so, our protector turns to me and says: "Did you ever think I would find myself talking to a leper just three feet from me?" and, interesting as the experience is, I recoil within myself for fear that the money which we want to give them may necessitate a closer proximity than we desire. But the unfortunate victim understands the situation and keeps his distance, while the tall man coming back to us, stands there with one foot on the carriage-step, still turning toward the leper. By a certain sort of mental telepathy, I know that he cannot say good-bye without leaving some word of cheer for the poor fellow, and just what to say, how to say it, how to express a wish which we know can never be fulfilled, makes a moment's very embarrassing silence. If you had ever been in the presence of such a living, unpitying death, such a picture of horrible hopelessness, and felt it your duty to make the burden easier by some word of cheer, when you had all things--life, health, and happiness--about you, and he only the refuse of a rotten body, if you must presume to tell such a martyr to be brave and all that sort of thing, when you know that his absolutely uncomplaining silence is greater bravery than you, in all your health and vigour, know how to comprehend--well, I tell you it's no use! However optimistic by nature, it's hard to find the words. Why, even a parson would be dumb! And so he lingers there uneasily. He looks at the two dear little sweet-faced maidens at my side, so white and clean and fresh and young, and then at the gray, misshapen, mutilated silent figure before him, living his lonely death of agony each day, and says, with a choke, "Good-bye,"--that is all. Tell me, what would you have said? END OF VOLUME I. INDEX Botanical Garden, The, St. Pierre, 228, 235-236, 254, 257, 264-270. Boulevard, The, St. Pierre, 233. Cape Hatteras, 27, 29. Capot, Martinique, 270. Casa Blanca, San Juan, 144. Castle, The, Charlotte Amalie, 179-185. Cathedral, The, Santo Domingo, 90-105. Ceiba-Tree, The, 288. Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas, 164-196. Castle, The, 179-185. Columbus, Christopher, 97-105, 288. Columbus, Diego, 98. Coolies of Trinidad, 279-281, 292-297. Coolie Village, The, Port of Spain, 292-297. Fer de Lance, The, Martinique, 248, 252-253, 269-270. Grand Hotel, The, St. Pierre, 237-238. Grande Anse, La, Martinique, 270. Gros Morne, Martinique, 270. Gulf Stream, 29. Hotel Casino Bellevue, Port au Prince, 66-79. Leper House, The, Port of Spain, 298-307. Marigot, Martinique, 270. Martinique, Island of, 197-271. Capot, 270. Fer de Lance, 248, 252-253, 269-270. Grande Anse, La, 270. Gros Morne, 270. Marigot, 270. Morne Rouge, 236, 270. Mount Pelée, 236, 270, 274. Natives, The, 205, 210-215, 254-263. Rivière Roxelane, 266, 273. Morne Rouge, Martinique, 236, 270. Morro Castle, San Juan, 128, 153. Mount Pelée, Martinique, 236, 270, 274. Natives, The, of Martinique, 205, 210-215, 254-263; of St. Thomas, 193-196, 210; of Trinidad, 275-276, 285-286. Ozama River, 85, 86, 112, 118-122, 163, 288. Plaza, The, San Juan, 140, 148-150. Ponce de Leon, 154-156; Square of, San Juan, 153-160. Port au Prince, Haïti, 35, 42-80, 84, 89. Hotel Casino Bellevue, 66-79. Port of Spain, Trinidad, 275-307. Coolie Village, The, 292-297. Leper House, The, 298-307. Savannah, The, 287-291. Quay, The, San Juan, 134-136. Rivière Roxelane, Martinique, 266, 273. St. Croix, Island of, 189. St. John, Island of, 189, 190. St. Pierre, 205, 216, 219, 220-245, 246, 273. Botanical Garden, The, 228, 235-236, 254, 257, 264-270. Boulevard, The, 233. Grand Hotel, The, 237-238. St. Thomas, Island of, 164, 186, 189, 190. Natives of, 193-196, 210. San Salvador, 33. San Juan, Puerto Rico, 124-161, 163. Casa Blanca, 144. Morro Castle, 128, 153. Plaza, The, 140, 148-150. Quay, The, 134-136. Square of Ponce de Leon, 153-160. Santo Domingo, 84-123, 173. Cathedral, The, 90-105. Savannah, The, Port of Spain, 287-291. Southern Cross, The, 219. Square of Ponce de Leon, San Juan, 153-160. Trinidad, Island of, 275-307. Coolies, The, 279-281, 292-297. Natives, The, 275-276, 285-286. Windward Passage, 29, 35. * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: her persisent whisper=> her persistent whisper {pg 235} Hayti=> Haïti {pg 310} 
38631	----	public domain material generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com/) Note: Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work. Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38632 Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38633 Images of the original pages are available through the the Google Books Library Project. See http://books.google.com/books?vid=PCYCAAAAYAAJ&id THE MONARCHS OF THE MAIN; Or, Adventures of the Buccaneers. by GEORGE W. THORNBURY, ESQ. "One foot on sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never." MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. In Three Volumes. VOL. I. London: Hurst and Blackett, Publishers, Successors to Henry Colburn, 13, Great Marlborough Street. 1855. London: Sercombe and Jack, 16 Great Windmill Street. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER I.--THE PRECURSORS OF THE BUCCANEERS. History of Tortuga--Description of the island--Origin of the Buccaneers--Conquest of Tortuga by the French and English--Hunters, planters, and corsairs--Le Basque takes Maracaibo--War with the Spaniards of Hispaniola--The French West Indian Company buy Tortuga--Their various governors 1 CHAPTER II.--MANNERS OF THE HUNTERS. Indian derivation of the word Buccaneer--Flibustier--The three classes--Dress of the hunters--West Indian scenery--Method of hunting--Wild dogs--Anecdotes--Wild oxen--Wild boars and wild horses--Buccaneer dainties--Cow-killing, English, French, and Spanish methods--Amusements--Duels--Adventures--Conflicts with the Fifties, or Spanish militia--The hunters driven to sea--Turn corsairs--The hunters' _engagés_, or apprentices--Hide curing--Hardships of the bush life--The planters' _engagés_--Cruelties of planters--The _matelotage_--Huts, manners, and food 35 CHAPTER III.--THE FLIBUSTIERS, OR SEA ROVERS. Originated in the Spanish persecution of French hunters--Customs--"No peace beyond the line"--"No prey, no pay"--Pay and pensions--Their helots the Mosquito Indians--Lewis Scott, an Englishman, the first Corsair--John Davis takes St. Francis in Campeachy--Their debauchery--Gambling--Religion--Classes from which they sprang--Equality at sea--Mode of fighting--Food--Dress 111 CHAPTER IV.--PIERRE-LE-GRAND, THE FIRST BUCCANEER. Plunder of Segovia--Pierre-le-Grand--Peter Francis--Captures of Spanish vessels--Mode of capture--Barthelemy Portugese--His escapes and victories--Roche the Brazilian--Fanatical hatred of the Spaniards--His wrecks and adventures 152 CHAPTER V.--LOLONNOIS THE CRUEL. Lolonnois' stratagems--His cruelty--His partner, Michael le Basque--Takes Maracaibo--Tortures the citizens--Sacks the town--Takes Gibraltar--Attempt on Merida--Famine and pestilence--Retreat--Division of spoil--Ransom--Takes St. Pedro--Burns Veragua--Wrecked in the Gulf of Honduras--Attacked by Indians--Killed and eaten by the savages 188 CHAPTER VI.--ALEXANDRE BRAS DE FER, AND MONTBARS THE EXTERMINATOR. Bras de Fer compared by French writers to Alexander the Great--His exploits and stratagems--Montbars--Anecdote of his childhood--Goes to sea--His first naval engagement--Joins the Buccaneers--Defeats the Spanish Fifties--His uncle killed--His revenge--Anecdote of the negro vessel--Adam and Anne le Roux plunder Santiago 267 PREFACE. I claim for this book, at least originality. But this originality, unfortunately, if it attaches interest to an author's labours, adds also to his responsibilities. The history of the Buccaneers has hitherto remained unwritten. Three or four forgotten volumes contain literally all that is recorded of the wars and conquests of these extraordinary men. Of these volumes two are French, one Dutch, and one in English. The majority of our readers, therefore, it is probable, know nothing more of the freebooters but their name, confound them with the mere pirates of two centuries later, and derive their knowledge of their manners from those dozen lines of the Abbé Reynal, that have been transferred from historian to historian, and from writer to writer, for the last two centuries. The chief records of Buccaneer adventurers are drawn literally from only three books. The first of these is _Oexmelin's Histoire des Aventuriers_. 12mo. Paris, 1688. Oexmelin was a Frenchman, who went out to St. Domingo as a planter's apprentice or _engagé_, and eventually became surgeon in the Buccaneer fleet--knew Lolonnois, and accompanied Sir Henry Morgan to Panama. The second is _Esquemeling's Zee Roovers_. Amsterdam. 4to. 1684.--A book constantly mistaken by booksellers and in catalogues for Oexmelin. Esquemeling was a Dutch _engagé_ at St. Domingo, and his book is an English translation from the Dutch. The writer appears of humbler birth than Oexmelin, but served also at Panama. The third is _Ringrose's History of the Cruises of Sharpe, &c._ This man, who served with Dampier, seems to have been an ignorant sailor, and a mere log-keeper. The fourth is _Ravenau de Lussan's Narrative_. De Lussan was a young French officer of fortune, who served in some of Ringrose's cruises. This is a book written by a vivacious and keen observer, but is less complete than Oexmelin's, but equally full of anecdote, and very amusing. For secondary authorities we come to the French Jesuit historians of the West Indian Islands, diffuse Rochefort, the gossiping _bon vivant_ Labat; Tertre, dry and prejudiced; Charlevoix, careful, condensed, and entertaining; and Raynal, polished, classical, second-hand, and declamatory. The English secondaries are, Dampier, with his companions, Wafer and Cowley. Several old pamphlets contain quaint versions of Morgan's conquest of Panama; and in 1817, Burney, in his "History of Discoveries in the South Sea," devotes many chapters to a dry but very imperfect abridgment of Buccaneer adventure, omitting carefully everything that gives either life or colour. Captain Southey, in his "History of the West Indies," supplies many odd scraps of old voyages, and presents many scattered figures, but attempts no picture. Nor has modern fiction, however short of material, discovered these new and virgin mines. Mrs. Hall has a novel, it is true, called _The Buccaneer_, the scene of which is, however, laid in England; and Angus B. Reach has skimmed the same subject, but has evidently not even read half the three existing authorities. Dana, the American poet, has a poem called the Buccaneer, but this is merely a collection of lines on the sea. Sir Walter Scott's Bertram, although he had been a Buccaneer, is a mere ruffian, who would do for any age, and Scott himself places Morgan's conquest of Panama in the reign of Charles I., when it actually took place in that of Charles II., fifty years later. Defoe himself, little conscious of the rich region he was treading, sketched a Buccaneer sailor when he re-christened Alexander Selkirk Robinson Crusoe, and condensed all the spirit of Dampier into a book still read as eagerly by the man as by the boy. When I find a writer of Scott's profundity of reading and depth of research placing the great event of Buccaneer history fifty years before its time, booksellers mistaking a Dutch for a French writer, and living historians confounding the Flibustiers of Tortuga, who attacked only the Spaniards, with their degraded successors the pirates of New Providence, who robbed all nations and even their own without mercy, I think I have proved that my book is not a superfluity. It is seldom that an author can invite the whole reading world to peruse the self-rewarding labour of his student life. Mine is no book for a sect, a clique, a profession, or a trade. It brings new scenes and new creations to the novel reader, jaded with worn-out types of conventional existence. It supplies the historian with a page of English, French, and Spanish history that the capricious muse of history has hitherto kept in MS. It traces the foundation of our colonial empire. To the psychologist it furnishes deep matter for thought, while the philosopher may see in these pages humanity in a new aspect, and man's soul exposed to new temptations. What Dampier has described and Defoe drawn materials from, no man can dare to assert is wanting in interest. The readers to whom these books are new will be astonished to find the adventures of Xenophon paralleled in De Lussan's retreat over the Isthmus, and Swift forestalled in his conception of some of the oddest customs of Lilliput. Oexmelin, I may boldly assert, is a much more amusing writer than half our historians, a keen and enlightened observer, who looked upon Buccaneering as a chivalrous life, in which the sea knight got equally hard knocks as the land hero, but more money. If my characters are not so grand as those of history, I can present to my reader men as greedy of gold, ambitious and sagacious as Pizarro or Cortes, and as reckless as Alexander, and as cruel as Cæsar. If the Buccaneers were but insects, bred from the putrefactions of a decaying empire, their plans were at least gigantic, and their courage unprecedented. Anomalous beings, hunters by land and sea, scaring whole fleets with a few canoes, sacking cities with a few grenadiers, devastating every coast from California to Cape Horn, they only needed a common principle of union to have founded an aggressive republic, as wealthy as Venice and as warlike as Carthage. One great mind and the New World had been their own. But from the first Providence sowed amongst them the seeds of discord--difference of religion and difference of race. Never settling, their race had its ranks renewed, not by descendants, but by fresh recruits, men with new interests and lower aims. In less than a century the Brotherhood had passed away, their virtues were forgotten and their vices alone remembered. The Buccaneers were robbers, yet they sought something beyond gold. Mansvelt took the island of St. Catherine, and planned a republic, and Morgan contemplated the destruction of the Bravo Indians. They were outlaws, and yet religious robbers, yet generous and regardful of the minutest delicacies of honour; lovers of freedom, yet obeying the sternest discipline; cruel, yet tender to their friends. All the light and shade of the darkest fiction look poor beside the adventures of these men. Catholics, Protestants, Puritans, gallants, officers, common seamen, farmers' sons, men of rank, hunters, sailors, planters, murderers, fanatics, Creoles, Spaniards, negroes, astrologers, monks, pilots, guides, merchants--all pass before us in a motley and ever-changing masquerade. The backgrounds to these scenes are the wooded shores of the West Indian Islands, woods sparkling at night with fire-flies, broad savannahs dark with wild cattle, the volcanic islands peopled by marooned sailors, stormy promontories, the lonely sand "keys" of Jamaica, and the rocky fastnesses of Tortuga. MONARCHS OF THE MAIN. CHAPTER I. HISTORY OF TORTUGA. The precursors of the Buccaneers--Description of Tortuga--Origin of the Buccaneers--Conquest of Tortuga by the French--The hunters, planters, and corsairs--Le Basque takes Maracaibo--War in Hispaniola--French West Indian Company buy Tortuga--The Governor, M. D'Ogeron. Drake, Cavendish, and Oxenham, indeed all the naval heroes of Elizabeth's reign, were the precursors of the Buccaneers. The captains of those "tall ships" that sailed from Plymouth Sound, and the green nooks of the sunny coast of Devon, to capture stately carracks laden deep with silks, spices, pearls, and precious stones, the treasure of Potosi and Peru, were but Buccaneers under another name, agreeing with them in the great principle of making war on none but Spaniards, but on Spaniards unceasingly. "No peace beyond the line" was the motto on the flag of both Drake and Morgan. Sir John Hawkins, who began the slave trade, and who was Drake's earliest patron, took the town of Rio de la Hacha, and struggled desperately with the galleons in the port of St. Juan d'Ulloa. Drake sacked Nombre de Dios, and, passing across the isthmus, stormed Vera Cruz. He destroyed St. Domingo and Carthagena, burnt La Rancheria, and attacked Porto Rico. But still more truly a Buccaneer was John Oxenham, one of Drake's followers, who, cruising about Panama, captured several bullion vessels; but was at last slain, with all his men, having fallen in love with a Spanish captive, and liberated her son, who surprised him with reinforcements from Nombre de Dios. Then came Raleigh, more chivalrous than them all--looser in principle, but wiser in head. He planned an attack on Panama, and ravaged St. Thomas's. The first Buccaneers were poor French hunters, who, driven by the Spaniards out of Hispaniola, fled to the neighbouring island of Tortuga, and there settled as planters. This Buccaneer colony of Tortuga arose rather by accident than by the design of any one ambitious mind. The French had established a colony in the almost deserted island of St. Christopher's, which had begun to flourish when the Spaniards, alarmed at a hostile power's vicinity to their mines, to which their thoughts then alone tended, put a stop to the prosperity of the French settlements by frequent attacks made by their fleets on their way to New Spain. From the just hatred excited by these unprovoked forays sprang the first impulse of retaliation. These injuries provoked the French, as they had done the Dutch, to fit out privateers. But a still more powerful motive soon became paramount. A spirit of cupidity arose, which was stimulated by the heated imaginations of men poor and angry. Before them lay regions of gold, timidly guarded by a vindictive but feeble enemy; and Spain became to these pioneer settlers what a bedridden miser is to the dreams of a needy bravo. The report of the Dutch successes spread through all the ports of France. Sailors were the ready bearers of wild tales they had themselves half invented. Some hardy adventurers of Dieppe fitted out vessels to carry on a warfare that retaliation had now rendered just, war made legal, and chance rendered profitable. The sailor who was to-day munching his onion on the quays of Marseilles might, a few weeks hence, be lord of Carthagena, or rolling in the treasures of a Manilla galleon, clothed in Eastern silks, and delighted with the perfumes of India. Finding their enterprise successful, but St. Kitt's too distant to form a convenient depôt for their booty, they began to look about for some nearer locality. At first they found their return voyages to the West Indian islands frequently occupying three months, which seemed years to men hurrying to store up old plunder, and to sally forth for new. In search of an asylum, these privateersmen touched at Hispaniola, hoping to find some lonely island near its shores; but as soon as they had landed, and saw the great forests full of game, and broad savannahs alive with wild cattle, and finding it abandoned by the Spaniards, and the Indians nearly all dead or emigrated, they determined to settle at a place so full of advantages, where they could revictual their ships, and remain secure and unobserved. The sight of Tortuga, a small neighbouring island, rocky, and yet not without a harbour, convinced them that nature had constructed for their growing empire at once a magazine, a citadel, and a fortress. They had now a sanctuary and a haven, shelter for their booty, and food for their men. The Spaniards, although not occupying the island, were anxious that it should not be occupied by others. They had long had a foreboding that this island would become a resort for pirates, and had just garrisoned it with an alfarez and twenty-five men. The French had, however, little difficulty in getting rid of this small force, the soldiers being enraged at finding themselves left by their countrymen, without provisions or reinforcements, upon a barren rock. Once masters of the heap of stones, the French began to deliberate by what means they could retain it. The sight of buildings already begun, and the prospect of more food than they could get at St. Christopher's, determined these restless men to settle on the spot they had won. Part of them returned to Hispaniola to kill oxen and boars, and to salt the flesh for those who would remain to plant; and those men who determined to build assured the sailors that stores of dry meat should always be ready to revictual their ships. The adventurers, having a nucleus for their operations, began to widen their operations. They became now divided into three distinct classes, always intermingling, and never very definitely divided, but still for the main part separate: the _sea rovers_, or flibustiers; the _planters_, or habitans; and the _hunters_, or buccaneers. For the first class, there were many names: the English, following an Indian word, called them Buccaneers, from the Indian term _boucan_ (dried meat); the Dutch denominated them Zee Roovers, and the French Flibustiers, or Aventuriers. A fourth class, growing by degrees either into the Buccaneers or the planters, were the apprentices, or _engagés_. A few French planters could not have retained the island had not their numbers been swelled by the addition of many English. In a short time, French vessels touched at the island, to trade for the booty that now arrived more frequently, unintermittingly, and in greater quantities. The trade grew less speculative and uncertain. French captains found it profitable to barter not only for hides and meat with the Buccaneers, but with the Flibustiers for silver-plate and pieces of eight. The high prices paid for wine and brandy soon rendered the commerce with Bordeaux a matter worthy the attention of the French Government. In a few days of Buccaneer excess more was spent in barter than could have been realised in months of average traffic with the more cautious. The Spaniards, fully alive to the danger of this planter settlement, determined to destroy it at a single blow. The design was easy of accomplishment, for the Buccaneers had grown careless from long impunity, and had long since crowned themselves undisputed kings of Hispaniola and its dependencies. Taking advantage of a time when the English corsairs were at sea and the French Buccaneers hunting on the mainland, the Spanish General of the Indian Fleet landed with a handful of soldiers and retook the island in an hour. The few planters were overpowered before they could run together, the hunters before they could seize their arms. Some were at once put to the sword, and others hung on the nearest trees. The larger portion, however, taking advantage of well-known lurking places, waited for the night, and then escaped to the mainland in their canoes. The Spaniards, satisfied with the terror they had struck, left the island un-garrisoned, and returned exultingly to St. Domingo. Hearing, however, that there were a great many Buccaneers still settled as hunters in Hispaniola, and that the wild cattle were diminishing by their ravages, the general levied some troops to put them down. To these men, who were known as the Spanish _Fifties_, we shall hereafter advert. The Spanish fleet was scarcely well out of sight before the Buccaneers, angry but unintimidated, flocked back to their now desolated island, full of rage at the sight of the bodies of their companions and the ashes of their ruined houses. The English returned headed by a Buccaneer named Willis, who gave an English character to the new colony. The French adventurers, jealous of English interference, and fearful that the island would fall into the possession of England, left Tortuga, and, going to St. Christopher's, informed the Governor, the Chevalier de Poncy, of the ease with which it could be conquered. De Poncy, alive to the scheme and jealous for French honour, fitted out an expedition, and intrusted the command to M. Le Vasseur, a brave soldier and good engineer, just arrived from France, who levied a force of forty French Protestants, and agreed to conquer the island for De Poncy and to govern in his name, as well as to pay half the expenses of the conquest. In a few days he dropped anchor in Port Margot, on the north side of Hispaniola, about seven leagues from Tortuga. He instantly collected a force of forty French Buccaneers from the woods and the savannahs, and, having arranged his plans, made a descent upon the island in the month of April, 1640. As soon as he had landed, he sent a message to the English Governor to say that he had come to avenge the insults received by the French flag, and to warn him that if he did not leave the island with all those of his nation in twenty-four hours, he should lay waste every plantation with fire and sword. The English, feeling their position untenable, instantly embarked in a vessel lying in the road, without (as Oexmelin, a French writer, says) striking a blow in self-defence. The French population of the island then, rising in arms, welcomed the invaders as friends. Le Vasseur, the bloodless conqueror of this new Barataria, was received with shouts and acclamations. He at once visited every nook of the island that needed defence, and prepared to insure it against reconquest either by the Spaniards or the English. He found it inaccessible on three sides; and on the unprotected quarter built a fort, on a peak of impregnable rock, rising 600 feet above the narrow path which it commanded. The summit of this rock was about thirty feet square, and could only be ascended by steps cut in the stone or by a moveable iron ladder. The fort held four guns. A spring of water completed the advantages of the spot, which was surrounded with walls and fenced in with hedges, woods, precipices, and every aid that art or nature could furnish. The only approach to this steep was a narrow avenue in which no more than three men could march abreast. The Buccaneers now flocked to Tortuga in greater numbers than before, some to congratulate the new governor on his victory, and others to enrol themselves as his subjects: all who came he received with promises of support and protection. The Spaniards, in the meanwhile, determined to crush this wasp's nest, fitted out at St. Domingo a new armament of six vessels, having on board 500 or 600 men. They at first anchored before the fort, but, receiving a volley, moored two leagues lower down, and landed their troops. In attempting to storm the fort by a _coup de main_, they were beaten off with the loss of 200 men, the garrison sallying out and driving them back to their ships. The now doubly victorious governor was hailed as the defender and saviour of Tortuga. The news of victory soon reached the ears of M. de Poncy, at St. Christopher's, who, at first rejoiced at the success, became soon afraid of the ambition of his new ally. Fearing that he would repudiate the contract, and declare himself an independent sovereign, he took the precaution of testing his sincerity. He sent two of his relations to Tortuga to request land as settlers, but really to act as spies. Le Vasseur, subtle and penetrating, at once detected their object. He received the young men with great civility, but took care to secure their speedy return to St. Christopher's. Having now attained the summit of his wishes, he became, as many greater men have been, intoxicated with power. His temper changed, and he grew severe, suspicious, intolerant, and despotic. He not only bound his subjects in chains, but delighted to clank the fetters, and remind them of their slavery. He ill-used the planters, loaded the merchants with taxes, punished the most venial faults, and grew as much hated as he had been once beloved. He went so far in his tyranny as to forbid the exercise of the Catholic religion, to burn the churches and expel the priests. The murder of such a persecutor has always been held a sin easily forgiven by the confessor, and lust and superstition soon gave birth to murder. Charlevoix relates an amusing instance of the governor's contumacy. De Poncy, informed that his vessels had taken a silver idol (a Virgin Mary) from some Spanish cathedral, wrote to demand its surrender. Le Vasseur returned a wooden image by the messenger, desiring him to say, that for religious purposes, wood or silver was equally good. One of his most cruel inventions Le Vasseur called his "hell." It seems to have resembled the portable iron cages in which Louis XI. used to confine his state prisoners. M. de Poncy, informed of the extraordinary change in the character of Le Vasseur, endeavoured to beguile him by promises, threats, and entreaties. Justice gave him now a pretext of enforcing what self-interest had long meditated. The toils were growing closer round the doomed man, but Heaven sent a speedier punishment. Le Vasseur, still waiving all openings for formal complaint, was exulting in all the glory of a small satrapy, when two nephews conspired against his life. Cupidity inspired the crime, and they easily persuaded themselves that God and man alike demanded the expiation. One writer calls them simply captains, "companions of fortune," and another, the nephews of Le Vasseur. These ungrateful men had already been declared his heirs, but they had quarrelled with him about a mistress he had taken from them, and one fault in a friend obliterates the remembrance of many virtues. They believed that the inhabitants, rejoiced at deliverance from such tyranny, would appoint them joint governors in the first outburst of their gratitude. They shot him from an ambush as he was descending from the rock fort to the shore, but, only wounding him slightly, were obliged to complete the murder with a poignard. The wounded man called for a priest, and declared himself, with his last breath, a steadfast Catholic. He seems to have been a dark, wily man, of strong passions, tenacious ambition, and ungovernable will. While this crime was perpetrating, De Poncy, determined to recover possession of at least his share of Tortuga, and weary and angry at the subterfuges of Le Vasseur, had resolved upon a new expedition. The leader was a Chevalier de Fontenoy, a soldier of fortune, who, attracted by the sparkle of Spanish gold, had just arrived at St. Kitt's in a French frigate. Full of chivalry, he at once proposed to sail, although informed that the place was impregnable, and could only be taken by stratagem. While the armament was fitting up, he made a cruise round Carthagena, on the look out for Spanish prizes, and joined M. Feral, a nephew of the general, at Port de Paix, a rendezvous twelve leagues from Tortuga. Informed there of the murder of Le Vasseur, they at once sailed for the harbour, and landed 500 men at the spot where the Spaniards had formerly been repulsed. The two murderers immediately capitulated, on condition of being allowed to depart with all their uncle's treasure. The Chevalier was proclaimed governor, and received with as many acclamations as Le Vasseur had been before him. The old religion was restored, and commerce patronized and protected, by royal edict. Two bastions were added to the fort, and more guns mounted. The Buccaneers crowded back in greater numbers than even on Le Vasseur's arrival. Before they had only imagined the advantages of this conquest, but now they had tasted them. The Chevalier hailed all Buccaneers as friends and brothers, and even himself fitted out privateers. The Spanish ships could scarcely venture out of port, and one merchant alone is known to have lost 300,000 crowns' worth of merchandise in a single year. It is easier to conquer than to retain a conquest, and vigilance grows blunted by success. The Chevalier, too confident in his strength, allowed half his population to embark in cruisers. The sick, the aged, the maimed, laboured in the plantations with the slaves. The Spaniards, informed of this, landed in force, without resistance. The few Buccaneers crowded into the fort, which the enemy dared not approach. Discovering, however, a mountain that commanded the rock, precipitous, but still accessible, they determined to plant a battery upon it, and drive the Buccaneers from their last foothold. With infinite vigour and determination they hewed a road to the mountain between two rocks. Making frames of wood, they lashed on their cannons, and forced the slaves and prisoners to drag them to the summit, and, with a battery of four guns, suddenly opened a fire upon the unguarded fort. The Chevalier, not expecting this enterprise, had just deprived himself of his last defence, by cutting down the large trees that grew round the walls. In spite of all the threats and expostulations of the governor, the garrison, galled by this plunging fire, at once capitulated. They left the island in twenty-four hours, with arms and baggage, drums beating, colours flying, and match burning, and set sail in two half-scuttled vessels lying in the road, having first given hostages not to serve against Spain for a given time. In another vessel, but alone, set sail the two murderers, who, being short of food, consummated their crimes by leaving the women and children of their company on a desert island. The Spanish general, repairing the fort, garrisoned it with sixty men, whom he supplied with provisions. Fontenoy, repulsed in an attempt to recover the island, soon afterwards returned to France. In 1655, when Admiral Penn appeared off St. Domingo with Cromwell's fleet, the Spaniards, to increase their forces in Hispaniola, recalled the troop which had held Tortuga eighteen months--the commander first blowing up the fort, burning the church, the houses, and the magazines, and devastating the plantations. Not long afterwards, an English refugee of wealth, Elias Ward (or, as the French call him, _Elyazouärd_), came from Jamaica, with his family and a dozen soldiers, and with an English commission from the general, and was soon joined by about 120 French and English adventurers. The treaty of the Pyrenees, in 1659, brought no repose to the hunters of Hispaniola from Spanish inroads. The planters were compelled to work armed, and to keep watch at night for fear of being murdered in their beds. In 1667 the war recommencing, let the bloodhounds, who had long been straining in the leash, free to raven and devour. De Lisle again plundered St. Jago, and obtained 2,500 piastres ransom, each of his adventurers secured 300 crowns, the Spaniards abandoning the defiles and carrying off their treasure to Conception. This was the golden age of Buccaneering. Vauclin, Ovinet, and Tributor, plundered the towns of Cumana, Coro, St. Martha, and Nicaragua. Le Basque, with only forty men, surprised Maracaibo by night. He seized the principal inhabitants and shut them in the cathedral, and threatened to instantly cut off their heads if the citizens ventured to rise in arms. Daylight discovering his feeble force, he could obtain no ransom. The Flibustiers then retreated, each man driving a prisoner before him, a pistol slung in one hand and a naked sabre raised over the Spaniard's head in the other. These hostages were detained twenty-four hours, and released at the moment the French departed. This is the same Le Basque whom Charlevoix describes as cutting out the Margaret from under the cannon of Portobello, and winning a million piastres. At another time, they retreated laden with booty and carrying with them the Governor and the principal citizens of St. Jago; but the Spaniards, rallying, placed themselves, 1,000 in number, in an ambuscade by the way, trusting to their numbers and expecting an easy victory. The French, turning well, scarcely missed a shot, and in a short time killed 100 of the enemy's men, and, wounding a great many more, drove them off after two hours' fighting. They rallied and returned in a short time, determined to conquer or die; but the French, showing the prisoners, declared that if a shot was fired by the enemy they would kill them before their eyes, and would then sell their own lives dearly. This menace frightened the Spaniards, and the Flibustiers continued their retreat unmolested. Having waited some time in vain on the coast for the ransom, they left the prisoners unhurt, and returned gaily to Tortuga. In 1663, Spain, finding that France in secret encouraged the Buccaneers of Hispaniola, gave orders to exterminate every Frenchman in the island, promising recompence to those who distinguished themselves in the war. An old Flemish officer, named Vandelinof, who had served with distinction in the Low Country wars, took the command. His first stratagem was to attempt to surprise the chief French boucan, at Gonaive, on the Brûlé Savannah, with 800 men. The hunters, observing them, gave the alarm, and, collecting 100 "brothers," advanced to meet them in a defile where the Spanish numbers were of no avail. The Fleming was killed at the first volley, and after an obstinate struggle the Spaniards fled to the mountains. The enemy, after this defeat, returned to their old and safer plan of night surprises--which frequently succeeded, owing to the negligent watch kept by the Buccaneers. The hunters, much harassed by the constant sense of insecurity, began to retire every night to the small islands round St. Domingo, and seldom went alone to the chase. Some boucans, such as those at the port of Samana, grew rapidly into towns. Near this excellent harbour the cattle were unusually abundant, and in a few hours the Flibustier could carry his hides to his market at Tortuga. Gradually French and Dutch vessels began to visit the port to buy hides and to trade. Every morning before starting to the savannah, the hunters climbed the highest hill to see if any Spaniards were visible. They then agreed on a rendezvous for the evening, arriving there to the moment. If any one was missing he was at once known to be taken or killed, and no one was permitted to return home till their comerade's death had been avenged. One evening the hunters of Samana, missing four of the band, marched towards St. Jago, and, discovering from some prisoners that their companions had been massacred, entered a Spanish village and slew every one they met. The Spaniards too had sometimes their revenge. "The river of massacre" near Samana was so called from thirty Buccaneers who were slain there while fording the river laden with hides. Another band of hunters, led by Charles Tore, had been hunting at a place called the Bois-Brûlé Savannah, and having completed the number of skins the merchants had contracted for, returned to Samana. Crossing a savannah they were surprised by an overwhelming force of Spaniards, and, in spite of a desperate resistance, slain to a man. The Buccaneers, irritated by these losses, began to think of revenge. When the Spaniards destroyed the wild cattle, some turned planters about Port de Paix, others became Flibustiers. The death of De Poncy threw the French colonies into some disorder, and Tortuga was for awhile forgotten both by the home and colonial government. During this interval a gentleman of Perigord, named Rossy, a retired Buccaneer, resolved to resume his old profession. Returning to St. Domingo, he was hailed as a father by the hunters, who proposed to him to recover Tortuga. Rossy, knowing that fidelity is the last virtue that forsakes the heart, accepted their proposal with the enthusiasm of a gambler accustomed to such desperate casts. He was soon joined by five hundred refugees, burning for conquest and revenge. They assembled in canoes at a rendezvous in Hispaniola, and agreed to land one hundred men on the north side of the island and surprise the mountain fort. The Spaniards in the town, not even entrenched, were soon beaten into the fort. The garrison of the rock were rather astonished to be awoke at break of day by a salute from the neighbouring mountain, when they could see the enemy still quietly encamped below. Sallying out, they could discern no opponents, but before they could regain the fort were all cut to pieces or made prisoners. The survivors were at once thrust into a boat and sent to Cuba, and Rossy declared governor. He soon after received a commission from the French king, together with a permission to levy a tax, for the support of his dignity, of a tenth of all prizes brought into Tortuga. Rossy governed quietly for some years, and eventually retired to his native country to die, and La Place, his nephew, reigned in his stead. In 1664, the French West India Company became masters of Tortuga and the Antilles, and appointed M. D'Ogeron, a gentleman of Anjou who had failed in commerce, as their governor. He proved a good administrator, and built magazines and storehouses for his grateful and attached people. D'Ogeron soon established order and prosperity in the island, which became a refuge for the red flag and the terror of the Spaniards. He colonised all the north side of Hispaniola, from Port Margot, where he had a house, to the three rivers opposite Tortuga. He attracted colonists from the Antilles, and brought over women from France, in order to settle his nomadic and mutinous population. In 1661, the West India Company, dissatisfied with the profits of their merchandize, resolved to relinquish the colony and call in their debts; and it was in the St. John, sent out for this purpose, that the Buccaneer historian Oexmelin, whom we shall have frequently to quote, first visited Tortuga. D'Ogeron, determined not to relinquish a settlement already beginning to flourish, hastened to France, and persuaded some private merchants to continue the trade. They promised to fit out twelve vessels annually, if he would supply them with back freight. He on his part agreed to provide the colonists with slaves and to destroy the wild dogs, which were committing great ravages among the herds of Hispaniola. This new company did not answer. The inhabitants suffered by the monopoly, and grew discontented at only being allowed to trade with certain vessels, and being obliged to turn their backs on better bargains or cheaper merchandize. An accident lit the train. M. D'Ogeron attempted to prevent their trading with some Dutch merchants, and they rose in arms. Shots were fired at the governor, and the revolters threatened to burn out the planters who would not join their flag. But succours from the Antilles soon brought them to their senses, and, one of their ringleaders being hung, they surrendered at discretion. The governor, alarmed even at an outbreak that he had checked, made in his turn concessions. He permitted all French merchants to trade upon paying a heavy harbour due, and the number of ships soon became too numerous for the limited commerce of the place. M. D'Ogeron next procured colonists from Brittany and Anjou, and eventually, after some further exploits, very daring but always unfortunate, he was succeeded in command by his nephew M. De Poncy. There are several Tortugas. There is one in the Caribbean sea, another near the coast of Honduras, a third not far from Carthagena, and a fourth in the gulf of California; they all derived their names from their shape, resembling the turtle which throng in these seas. The Buccaneer fastness with which we have to do is the Tortuga of the North Atlantic Ocean, a small rocky island about 60 leagues only in circumference, and distant barely six miles from the north coast of Hispaniola. This Tortuga was to the refugee hunters of the savannahs what New Providence became to the pirates, and the Galapagos islands to the South Sea adventurers of half a century later. It had only one port, the entrance to which formed two channels: on two sides it was iron-bound, and on the other defended by reefs and shoals, less threatening than the cliffs, but not less dangerous. Though scantily supplied with spring water--a defect which the natives balanced by a free use of "the water of life"--the interior was very fertile and well wooded. Palm and sandal wood trees grew in profusion; sugar, tobacco, aloes, resin, China-root, indigo, cotton, and all sorts of tropical plants were the riches of the planters. The cultivators were already receiving gifts from the earth, which--liberal benefactor--she gave without expecting a return, for the virgin soil needed little seed, care, or nourishment. The island was too small for savannahs, but the tangled brushwood abounded in wild boars. The harbour had a fine sand bottom, was well sheltered from the winds, and was walled in by the Coste de Fer rocks. Round the habitable part of the shore stretched sands, so that it could not be approached but by boats. The town consisted of only a few store-houses and wine shops, and was called the _Basse Terre_. The other five habitable parts of the island were Cayona, the Mountain, the Middle Plantation, the Ringot, and Mason's Point. A seventh, the Capsterre, required only water to make it habitable, the land being very fertile. To supply the want of springs, the planters collected the rain water in tanks. The soil of the island was alternately sand and clay, and from the latter they made excellent pottery. The mountains, though rocky, and scarcely covered with soil, were shaded with trees of great size and beauty, the roots of which clung like air plants to the bare rock, and, netting them round, struck here and there deeper anchors into the wider crevices. This timber was so dry and tough that, if it was cut and exposed to the heat of the sun, it would split with a loud noise, and could therefore only be used as fuel. This favoured island boasted all the fruits of the Antilles: its tobacco was better than that of any other island; its sugar canes attained an enormous size, and their juice was sweeter than elsewhere; its numerous medicinal plants were exported to heal the diseases of the Old World. The only four-footed animal was the wild boar, originally transplanted from Hispaniola. As it soon grew scarce, the French governor made it illegal to hunt with dogs, and required the hunter to follow his prey single-handed and on foot. The wood-pigeons were almost the only birds in the island. They came in large flocks at certain periods of the year; Oexmelin says that, in two or three hours, without going eighty steps from the road, he killed ninety-five with his own hand. As soon as they eat a certain berry their flesh became bitter as our larks do when they move from the stubbles into the turnips. A Gascon visitor, once complaining of their sudden bitterness, was told by a Buccaneer as a joke that his servant had forgot to remove the gall. Fish abounded round the island, and crabs without nippers; the night fishermen carrying torches of the candle-wood tree. The shell fish was the food of servants and slaves, and was said to be so indigestible as to frequently produce giddiness and temporary blindness; the turtle and manitee, too, formed part of their daily diet. The planters were much tormented by the white and red land-crabs, or tourtourons, which lived in the earth, visited the sea to spawn, and at night gnawed the sugar-canes and the roots of plants. Their only venomous reptile was the viper, which they tamed to kill mice; in a wild state, it fed on poultry or pigeons. From the stomach of one Oexmelin drew seven pigeons and a large fowl, which had been swallowed about three hours before, and cooked them for his own dinner, verifying the old proverb of "robbing Peter to pay Paul." In times of scarcity these snakes were eaten for food. Besides chameleons and lizards, there were small insects with shells like a snail. These were considered good to eat and very nourishing. When held near the fire, they distilled a red oily liquid useful as a rheumatic liniment. Though the scorpions and scolopendrias were not venomous, nature, always just in her compensations, covered the island with poisonous shrubs. The most fatal of these was the noxious mançanilla. It grew as high as a pear tree, had leaves like a wild laurel, and bore fruit like an apple; this fruit was so deadly, that even fish that ate of it, if they did not die, became themselves poisonous, and were known by the blackness of their teeth. The only antidote was olive oil. The Indian fishermen used, as a test, to taste the heart of the fish they caught, and if it proved bitter they knew at once that it had been poisoned, and threw it away. The very rain-drops that fell from the leaves were deadly to man and beast, and it was as dangerous to sleep under its shadow as under the upas. The friendly boughs invited the traveller (as vice does man) to rest under their shade; but when he awoke he found himself sick and faint, and covered with feverish sores. New-comers were too frequently tempted by the sight and odour of the fruit, and the only remedy for the rash son of Adam was to bind him down, and, in spite of heat and pain, to prevent him drinking for two or three days. The body of the sufferer became at first "red as fire, and his tongue black as ink," then a great torment of thirst and fever came upon him, but slowly passed away. Another poisonous shrub resembled the pimento; its berries were used by the Indians to rub their eyes, giving them, as they believed, a keener sight, and enabling them to see the fish deeper in the water and to strike them at a greater distance with the harpoon. The root of this bush was a poison, so deadly that the only known antidote for it was its own berries, bruised and drunk in wine. Of another plant, Oexmelin relates an instance of a negro girl being poisoned by a rejected lover, by merely putting some of its leaves between her toes when asleep. CHAPTER II. MANNERS OF THE HUNTERS. Derivation of the words Buccaneer and Flibustier--The three classes--Dress of the hunters--West Indian scenery--Method of hunting--Wild dogs--Anecdotes--Wild oxen, wild boars, and wild horses--Buccaneer food--Cow killing--Spanish method--Amusements--Duels--Adventures with the Spanish militia--The hunters driven to sea--The _engagés_, or apprentices--Hide curing--Hardships of the bush life--The planter's _engagés_--Cruelties of planters--The _matelotage_--Huts--Food. The hunters of the wild cattle in the savannahs of Hispaniola were known under the designation of Buccaneers as early as the year 1630. They derived this name from _boucan_,[1] an old Indian word which their luckless predecessors, the Caribs, gave to the hut in which they smoked the flesh of the oxen killed in hunting, or not unfrequently the limbs of their persecutors the Spaniards. They applied the same term, from the poverty of an undeveloped language, to the _barbecue_, or square wooden frame upon which the meat was dried. In course of time this hunters' food became known as _viande boucanée_, and the hunters themselves gradually assumed the name of Buccaneers. [1] Charlevoix's "Histoire de l'Ile Espagnole," p. 6, vol. ii Their second title of Flibustiers was a mere corruption of the English word freebooters--a German term, imported into England during the Low Country wars of Elizabeth's reign. It has been erroneously traced to the Dutch word _flyboat_; but the Jesuit traveller, Charlevoix, asserts that, in fact, this species of craft derived its title from being first used by the Flibustiers, and not from its swiftness. This, however, is evidently a mistake, as Drayton and Hakluyt use the word; and it seems to be of even earlier standing in the French language. The derivation from the English word freebooter is at once seen when the _s_ in Flibu_s_tier becomes lost in pronunciation. In 1630, a party of French colonists, who had failed in an attack on St. Christopher's, finding, as we have shown, Hispaniola almost deserted by the Spaniards, who neglected the Antilles to push their conquests on the mainland, landed on the south side and formed a settlement, discovering the woods and the plains to be teeming with wild oxen and wild hogs. The Dutch merchants promised to supply them with every necessary, and to receive the hides and tallow that they collected in exchange for lead, powder, and brandy. These first settlers were chiefly Normans, and the first trading vessels that visited the coast were from Dieppe. The origin of the Buccaneers, or hunters, and the Flibustiers, or sea rovers, as the Dutch called them, was contemporaneous. From the very beginning many grew weary of the chase and became corsairs, at first turning their arms against all nations but their own, but latterly, as strict privateersmen, revenging their injuries only on the Spaniards, with whom France was frequently at war, and generally under the authority of regular or forged commissions obtained from the Governor of St. Domingo or some other French settlement. Between the Buccaneers and Flibustiers no impassable line was drawn; to chase the wild ox or the Spaniard was the same to the greater part of the colonists, and on sea or land the hunter's musket was an equally deadly weapon. Two years after the French refugees from St. Christopher's had landed on the half-deserted shores of Hispaniola, the Flibustiers seized the small adjoining island of Tortuga, attracted by its safe and well-defended harbour, its fertility, and the strength of its natural defences. The French and English colonists of St. Christopher's began now to cultivate the small plantations round the harbour, encouraged by the number of French trading vessels that visited it, and by the riches that the Flibustiers captured from the Spaniards. These vessels brought over young men from France to be bound to the planters for three years as _engagés_, by a contract that legalized the transitory slavery. There were thus at once established four classes of men--_Buccaneers_, or hunters; _planters_, or inhabitants; _engagés_, who were apprenticed to either the one or the other; and _sea-rovers_. They governed themselves by a sort of democratic compact--each inhabitant being monarch in his own plantation, and every Flibustier king on his own deck. But the latter was not unfrequently deposed by his crew; and the former, if cruel to his _engagés_, was compelled to submit to the French governor's interference. Before giving any history of the various revolutions in Tortuga, or the wars of the Spaniards in Hispaniola, we will describe the manners of each of the three classes we have mentioned. And first of the Buccaneers, or hunters, of Hispaniola. These wild men fed on the bodies of the cattle they killed in hunting, and by selling their hides and tallow obtained money enough to buy the necessaries and even the luxuries of life,--for the gambling table and the debauch. While the Flibustiers called each other "brothers of the coast," the Buccaneers were included in the generic term "_gens de la côté_," and in time the names of Buccaneer and Flibustier were used indiscriminately. The hunter's dress consisted of a plain shirt, or blouse (Du Tertre calls it a sack), belted at the waist with a bit of green hide. It was soon dyed a dull purple with the blood of the wild bull, and was always smeared with grease. "When they returned from the chase to the boucan," says the above-named writer, "you would say that these are the butcher's vilest servants, who have been eight days in the slaughterhouse without washing." As they frequently carried the meat home by cutting a hole in the centre, and thrusting their heads through it, we may imagine the cannibals that they must have looked. They wore drawers, or frequently only tight mocassins, reaching to the knee; their sandals were of bull's hide or hog skin, fastened with leather laces. In Oexmelin's _Histoire des Aventuriers_, the hunter is represented with bare feet, but this could not have been usual, when we remember the danger of chigoes, snakes, and scorpions, not to speak of prickly pear coverts and thorny brakes. From their leather waist belt hung a short, heavy _machete_ or sabre, and an alligator skin case of Dutch hunting knives. On their heads they wore a leather skull-cap, shaped like our modern jockey's, with a peak in front. They wore their hair falling wildly on their shoulders, and their huge beards increased the ferocity of their appearance. Oexmelin particularly mentions the beard, although no existing engraving of the Buccaneer chiefs represents them with this grim ornament. According to Charlevoix, some of them wore a shirt, and over this a sort of brewer's apron, or coarse sacking tunic, open at the sides. From this shirt being always stained with blood, perhaps sometimes purposely dipped into it, the Abbé Reynal supposes that such a shirt was the necessary dress of the Buccaneer. Oexmelin says that as his vessel approached St. Domingo, "a Buccaneers' canoe came off with six men at the paddles, whose appearance excited the astonishment of all those on board, who had never before been out of France. They wore a small linen tunic and short drawers, reaching only half down the thigh. It required one to look close to see if the shirt was linen or not, so stained was it with the blood which had dripped from the animals they kill and carry home. All of them had large beards, and carried at their girdle a case of cayman skin, in which were four knives and a bayonet." Like the Canadian trappers, or, indeed, sportsmen in general, they were peculiarly careful of their muskets, which were made expressly for them in France, the best makers being Brachie of Dieppe, and Gelu of Nantes. These guns were about four feet and a half long, and were known everywhere as "Buccaneering pieces." The stocks were square and heavy, with a hollow for the shoulder, and they were all made of the same calibre, single barrel, and carrying balls sixteen to the pound. Every hunter took with him fifteen or twenty pounds of powder, the best of which came from Cherbourg. They kept it in waxed calabashes to secure it from the damp, having no shelter or hut that would keep out the West Indian rains. Their bullet pouch and powder horn hung on either side, and their small tents they carried, rolled up tight like bandoliers, at their waist, for they slept wherever they halted, and generally in their clothes. We have no room and no colours bright enough to paint the chief features of the Indian woods, the cloven cherry, that resembles the arbutus, the cocoa with its purple pods, the red _bois immortel_, the stunted bastard cedar, the logwood with its sweet blossom and hawthorn-like leaf, the cashew with its golden fruit, the oleander, the dock-like yam, and the calabash tree. What Hesperian orchards are those where the citron, lemon, and lime cling together, and the pine-apple grows in prickly hedges, soft custard apples hang out their bags of sweetness, and the avocada swings its pears big as pumpkins; where the bread-fruit with its gigantic leaves, the glossy star apple, and the golden shaddock, drop their masses of foliage among the dewy and fresh underwood of plantains, far below the tall and graceful cocoa-nut tree. Michael Scott depicts with photographic exactness and brilliancy every phase of the West Indian day, and enables us to imagine the light and shade that surrounded the strange race of whom we write. At daybreak, the land wind moans and shakes the dew from the feathery palms; the fireflies grow pale, and fade out one after the other, like the stars; the deep croaking of the frog ceases, and the lizards and crickets are silent; the monkeys leave off yelling; the snore of the tree toad and the wild cry of the tiger-cat are no more heard; but fresh sounds arise, and the woods thrill with the voices and clatter of an awaking city; the measured tap of the woodpecker echoes, with the clear, flute-like note of the pavo del monte, the shriek of the macaw, and the chatter of the parroquet; the pigeon moans in the inmost forest, and the gabbling crows croak and scream. At noon, as the breeze continues, and the sun grows vertical, the branches grow alive with gleaming lizards and coloured birds, noisy parrots hop round the wild pine, the cattle retreat beneath the trees for shelter, to browse the cooler grass, and the condouli and passion flowers of all sizes, from a soup plate to a thumb ring, shut their blossoms; the very humming-birds cease to drone and buzz round the orange flowers, and the land-crab is heard rustling among the dry grass. In the swamps the hot mist rises, and the wild fowl flock to the reeds and canes in the muddy lagoons, where the strong smell of musk denotes the lurking alligator; the feathery plumes of the bamboos wave not, and the cotton tree moves not a limb. The rainy season brings far different scenes: then the sky grows suddenly black, the wild ducks fly screaming here and there, the carrion crows are whirled bodingly about the skies, the smaller birds hurry to shelter, the mountain clouds bear down upon the valleys, and a low, rushing sound precedes the rain. The torrents turn brown and earthy, all nature seems to wait the doom with fear. The low murmur of the earthquake is still more impressive, with the distant thunder breaking the deep silence, and the trees bending and groaning though the air is still. Besides the rains and the earthquakes, the tornadoes are still more dreadful visitants, when the air in a moment grows full of shivered branches, shattered roofs, and uptorn canes. The great features of the West Indian forests are the fireflies and the monkeys. At night, when the wind is rustling in the dry palm leaves, the sparkles of green fire break out among the trees like sparks blown from a thousand torches; the gloom pulses with them as the flame ebbs and flows, and the planters' chambers are filled with these harmless incendiaries. The yell of the monkeys at daybreak has been compared to a devils' holiday, to distant thunder, loose iron bars in a cart in Fleet Street, bagpipes, and drunken men laughing. To Coleridge we are indebted for word pictures of the cabbage tree, and the silk cotton tree with their buttressed trunks; the banyan with its cloistered arcades; the wild plantain with its immense green leaves rent in slips, its thick bunches of fruit, and its scarlet pendent seed; the mangroves, with their branches drooping into the sea; the banana, with its jointed leaves; the fern trees, twenty feet high; the gold canes, in arrowy sheaves; and the feathery palms. Nor do we forget the figuera, the bois le Sueur, or the wild pine burning like a topaz in a calix of emerald. Beneath the broad roof of creepers, from which the oriole hangs its hammock nest, grow, in a wild jungle of beauty, the scarlet cordia, the pink and saffron flower fence, the plumeria, and the white datura. The flying fish glided by us, says H.N. Coleridge, speaking of the Indian seas, bonitos and albicores played around the bows, dolphins gleamed in our wake, ever and anon a shark, and once a great emerald-coloured whale, kept us company. Elsewhere he describes the silver strand, fringed with evergreen drooping mangroves, and the long shrouding avenues of thick leaves that darkly fringe the blue ocean. By the shore grow the dark and stately manchineel, beautiful but noxious, the white wood, and the bristling sea-side grape, with its broad leaves and bunches of pleasant berries. The sea birds skim about the waves, and the red flamingoes stalk around the sandy shoals, while the alligators wallow on the mud banks, and the snowy pelicans hold their councils in solemn stupidity. Leaving the sea and the shore we wander on into the interior, for the West Indian vegetation has everywhere a common character, and see delighted the forest trees growing on the cliffs, knotted and bound together with luxuriant festoons of evergreen creepers, connecting them in one vast network of leaves and branches, the wild pine sparkling on the huge limbs of the wayside trees, beside it the dagger-like Spanish needle, the quilted pimploe, and the maypole aloe shooting its yellow flowered crown twenty feet above the traveller, or amid the dark foliage, twines of purple wreaths or lilac jessamine; and the woods ringing with the song of birds, interrupted at times by strange shrieks or moanings of some tropic wanderer; we see with these the snowy amaryllis, the gorgeous hibiscus with its crown of scarlet, the quivering limes and dark glossy orange bushes; we rest under the green tamarind or listen to the mournful creaking of the sand box tree. The Buccaneers went in pairs, every hunter having his _camerade_ or _matelot_ (sailor), as well as his _engagés_. They had seldom any fixed habitation, but pitched their tents where the cattle were to be found, building temporary sheds, thatched with palm leaves, to defend them from the rain and to lodge their stock of hides till they could barter it with the next vessel for wine, brandy, linen, arms, powder, or lead. They would return three leagues from the chase to their huts, laden with meat and skins, and if they ate in the open country it was always with their musket cocked and near at hand for fear of surprise. With their _matelots_ they had everything in common. The chief occupation of these voluntary outlaws was the chase of the wild ox, that of the wild boar being at first a mere amusement, or only followed as the means of procuring a luxurious meal; at a later period, however, many Frenchmen lived by hunting the hog, whose flesh they boucaned and sold for exportation, its flavour being superior to that of any other meat. The Buccaneers sometimes went in companies of ten or twelve, each man having his Indian attendant besides his apprentices. Before setting out they arranged a spot for rendezvous in case of attack. If they remained long in one place, they built thatched sheds under which to pitch their tents. They rose at daybreak to start for the chase, leaving one of the band to guard the huts. The masters generally went first and alone (sometimes the worst shot was left in the tent to cook), and the _engagés_ and the dogs followed; one hound, the _venteur_, went in front of all, often leading the hunter through wood and over rock where no path had ever been. When the quarry came in sight the dogs barked round it and kept it at bay till the hunters could come up and fire. They generally aimed at the breast of the bull, or tried to hamstring it as soon as possible. Many hunters ran down the wild cattle in the savannah and attacked it with their dogs. If only wounded the ox would rush upon them and gore all he met. But this happened very seldom, for the men were deadly shots, seldom missed their _coup_, and were always sufficiently active, if in danger, to climb the tree from behind which they had fired. The _venteur_ dog had a peculiar short bark by which he summoned the pack to his aid, and as soon as they heard it the _engagés_ rushed to the rescue. When the beast was half flayed, the master took out the largest bone and sucked the hot marrow, which served him for a meal, giving a bit also to the _venteur_, but not to any other dogs, lest they should grow lazy in hunting; but the last lagger in the pack had sometimes a bit thrown him to incite him to greater exertion. He then left the _engagés_ to carry the skin to the boucan, with a few of the best joints, giving the rest to the carrion crows, that soon sniffed out the blood. They continued the chase till each man had killed an ox, and the last returned home, laden like the rest with a hide and a portion of raw meat. By this time the first comer had prepared dinner, roasted some beef, or spitted a whole hog. The tables were soon laid; they consisted of a flat stone, the fallen trunk of a tree, or a root, with no cloth, no napkin, no bread, and no wine; pimento and orange juice were sufficient sauce for hungry men, and a contented mind and a keen appetite never quarrelled with rude cooking. This monotonous life was only varied by a conflict with a wounded bull, or a skirmish with the Spaniards. The grand fête days were when the hunter had collected as many hides as he had contracted to supply the merchant, and carried them to Tortuga, to Cape Tiburon, Samana, or St. Domingo, probably to return in a week's time, weary of drinking or beggared from the gambling table, tired of civilization, and restless for the chase. The wild cattle of Hispaniola--the oxen, hogs, horses, and dogs--were all sprung from the domestic animals originally brought from Spain. The dogs were introduced into the island to chase the Indians, a cruelty that even the mild Columbus practised. Esquemeling says, those first conquerors of the New World made use of dogs "to range and search the intricate thicket of woods and forests for those their implacable and unconquerable enemies; thus they forced them to leave their old refuge and submit to the sword, seeing no milder usage would do it. Hereupon they killed some of them, and, quartering their bodies, placed them on the highways, that others might take a warning from such a punishment. But this severity proved of ill consequence, for, instead of frighting them and reducing them to civility, they conceived such horror of the Spaniards that they resolved to detest and fly their sight for ever; hence the greatest part died in caves and subterraneous places of the woods and mountains, in which places I myself have often seen great numbers of human bones. The Spaniards, finding no more Indians to appear about the woods, turned away a great number of dogs they had in their houses; and they, finding no masters to keep them, betook themselves to the woods and fields to hunt for food to preserve their lives, and by degrees grew wild." The young of these maroon dogs the hunters were in the habit of bringing up. When they found a wild bitch with whelps, they generally took away the puppies and brought them to their tents, preferring them to any other sort of dog. They seem to have been between a greyhound and a mastiff. The Dutch writer whom we have just quoted mentions the singular fact, that these dogs, even in a wild state, retained their acquired habits. The _venteur_ always led the way, and was allowed to dip the first fangs into the victim. The wild dogs went in packs of fifty or eighty, and were so fierce that they would not scruple to attack a whole herd of wild boars, bringing down two or three at once. They destroyed a vast number of wild cattle, devouring the young as soon as a mare had foaled or a cow calved. "One day," says Esquemeling, "a French Buccaneer showed me a strange action of this kind. Being in the fields hunting together, we heard a great noise of dogs which had surrounded a wild boar. Having tame dogs with us we left them in custody of our servants, being desirous to see the sport. Hence my companion and I climbed up two several trees, both for security and prospect. The wild boar, all alone, stood against a tree, defending himself with his tusks from a great number of dogs that enclosed him, killed with his teeth and wounded several of them. This bloody fight continued about an hour, the wild boar meanwhile attempting many times to escape. At last flying, one dog leaped upon his back; and the rest of the dogs, perceiving the courage of their companion, fastened likewise on the boar, and presently killed him. This done, all of them, the first only excepted, laid themselves down upon the ground about the prey, and there peaceably continued till he, the first and most courageous of the troop, had eaten as much as he could. When this dog had left off, all the rest fell in to take their share till nothing was left." In 1668, the Governor of Tortuga, finding these dogs were rendering the wild boar almost extinct, and alarmed lest the hunters should leave a place where food was growing scarce, sent to France for poison to destroy these mastiffs, and placed poisoned horse flesh in the woods. But although this practice was continued for six months, and an incredible number were killed, yet the race soon appeared almost as numerous as before. The wild horses went in troops of about two or three hundred. They were awkward and mis-shapen, small and short-bodied, with large heads, long necks, trailing ears, and thick legs. They had always a leader, and when they met a hunter, stared at him till he approached within shot, then gallopped off all together. They were only killed for their skins, though their flesh was sometimes smoked for the use of the sailors. These horses were caught by stretching nooses along their tracks, in which they got entangled by the neck. When taken, they were quickly tamed by being kept two or three days without food, and were then used to carry hides. They were good workers, but easily lamed. When a Buccaneer turned them adrift from want of food to keep them through the winter, they were known to return ten months after, or, meeting them in the savannah, begin to whine and caress their old masters, and suffer themselves to be recaptured. They were also killed for the sake of the fat about the neck and belly, which the hunters used for lamp oil. The wild oxen were tame unless wounded, and their hides were generally from eleven to thirteen feet long. They were very strong and very swift, in spite of their short and slender legs. In the course of a single century from their introduction, they had so increased, that the French Buccaneers, when they landed, seldom went in search of them, but waited for them near the shore, at the salt pools where they came to drink. The herds fed at night on the savannahs, and at noon retired to the shelter of the forests. A wounded bull would often blockade, for four hours, a tree in which a hunter had taken refuge, bellowing round the trunk and ploughing at the roots with his horns. The French hunters generally shot them; but the Spanish "hocksers" rode them down on horseback, and hamstrung them with a crescent-shaped spear, in form something like a cheese-knife with a long handle. The wild boars, when much pressed, adopted the same military stratagem as the oxen. They threw themselves into the form of a hollow square, the sows in the rear and the sucking pigs in the middle, the white sabre tusks of the boars gleaming outwards towards the foe. The dogs always fastened upon the defenceless sow in preference to the ferocious male, whom they seldom attacked if it got at bay under a tree, though it might be alone, glaring before the red jaws of eighty yelping dogs. The wild boar hunting was less dangerous than that of the wild oxen, and less profitable. The hogs soon grew scarce, a party of hunters sometimes killing 100 in a day, and only carrying home three or four of the fattest. It was not uncommon for solitary hunters or _engagés_ who had lost their way in the woods to amuse themselves by training up the young hogs they found basking under the trees, and teaching them to track their own species and pull them down by tugging at their long leathery ears. Oexmelin, the most intelligent of the few Buccaneer writers, relates his own success in training four pigs, whom he taught to follow at his heels like dogs, to play with him, and obey his orders. When they saw a herd of boars they would run forward and decoy them towards him. On one occasion, one of them escaped into the plains, but returned three days after, very complacently heading a herd of hogs, of which his master and his _matelot_ killed four. It is not many years since that an English gamekeeper brought up a pig to get his own bread as a pointer. At first, when the green savannahs were spotted black with cattle, the hunters were so fastidious that they seldom ate anything but the udders of cows, considering bull meat too tough. Many a herd was killed, as at present in Australia or California, for the hide and tallow. If the first animal killed in the day's hunt was a cow, an _engagé_ was instantly sent to the tent with part of the flesh to cook for the evening. When the _engagés_ had each gone home with his joint and his hide, the Buccaneer followed with his own load, his dogs, tired and panting, lagging at his heels. If on his way back he met a boar, or more oxen, he threw down his fardel, slew a fresh victim, and, flaying it, hung the hide on a tree out of reach of the wild dogs, and came back for it on the morrow. On returning to the boucan, each man set to work to stretch (_brochéter_) his hide, fastening it tightly out with fourteen wooden pegs, and rubbing it with ashes and salt mixed together to make it dry quicker. When this was done, they sat down to partake of the food that the first comer had by this time cooked. The beef they generally boiled in the large cauldron which every hunter possessed, drawing it out when it was done with a wooden skewer. A board served them for a dish. With a wooden spoon they collected the gravy in a calabash; and into this they squeezed the juice of a fresh picked lemon, a crushed citron, or a little pimento, which formed the hunter's favourite sauce, _pimentado_. This being done with all the care of a Ude, they seized their hunting knives and wooden skewers, and commenced a solemn attack upon the ponderous joint. The residue they divided among their dogs. Père Labat, an oily Jesuit if we trust to his portrait, describes, with great gusto, a Buccaneer feast at which he was present, and at which a hog was roasted whole. The boucaned meat was used in voyages, or when no oxen could be met with. When they wanted to boucan a pig, they first flayed it and took out all the bones. The meat they cut in long slips, which they placed in mats, and there left it till the next day, when they proceeded to smoke it. The boucan was a small hut covered close with palm-mats, with a low entrance, and no chimney or windows: it contained a wooden framework seven or eight feet high, on which the meat was placed, and underneath which a charcoal fire was lit. The fire they always fed with the animal's own skin and bones, which made the smoke thick and full of ammonia. The volatile salt of the bones being more readily absorbed by the meat than the mere ligneous acid of wood, the result of this process was an epicurean mouthful far superior to our Westphalia hams, and more like our hung beef. Oexmelin waxes quite eloquent in its praise. He says it was so exquisite that it needed no cooking; its very look, red as a rose, not to mention its delightful fragrance, tempted the worst appetite to eat it, whatever it might be. The only misfortune was that six months after smoking, the meat grew tasteless and unfit for use; but when fresh, it was thought so wholesome that sick men came from a distance to live in a hunter's tent and share his food for a time. The first thing that passengers visiting the West Indies saw was a Buccaneers' canoe bringing dry meat for sale. The boucaned meat was sold in bales of sixty pounds' weight, and their pots of tallow were worth about six pieces of eight. Labat--no ordinary lover of good cheer, if we may judge from his portrait, which represents him with cheeks as plump as a pulpit cushion, and with fat rolls of double chin--describes the Buccaneer fare with much unction, having gone to a hunter's feast,--a corporeal treat intended as a slight return for much spiritual food. Each Buccaneer, he says, had two skewers, made of clean peeled wood, one having two spikes. The boucan itself was made of four stakes as thick as a man's arm, and about four feet long, struck in the ground to form a square five feet long and three feet across. On these forked sticks they placed cross bars, and upon these the spit, binding them all with withes. The wild boar, being skinned and gutted, was placed whole upon this spit, the stomach kept open with a stick. The fire was made of charcoal, and put on with bark shovels. The interior of the pig was filled with citron juice, salt, crushed pimento, and pepper; and the flesh was constantly pricked, so that this juice might penetrate. When the meat was ready, the cooks fired off a musket twice, to summon the hunters from the woods, while banana leaves were placed round for plates. If the hunters brought home any birds, they at once picked them and threw them into the stomach of the pig, as into a pot. If the hunters were novices, and brought home nothing, they were sent out again to seek it; if they were veterans, they were compelled to drink as many cups as the best hunter had that day killed deer, bulls, or boars. A leaf served to hold the pimento sauce, and a calabash to drink from, while bananas were their substitute for bread. The _engagés_ waited on their masters, and one of the penalties for clumsy serving was to be compelled to drink off a calabash full of sauce. The English "cow killers" and the French hunters were satisfied with getting as many hides as they could in the shortest possible time, but the Spanish _matadores_ gave the trade an air of chivalrous adventure by rivalling the feats of the Moorish bull-fighters of Granada. They did not use firearms, but carried lances with a half-moon blade, employing dogs, and, being generally men of wealth and planters, had servants on foot to encourage them to the attack. When they tracked an ox in the woods, they made the hounds drive him out into the prairie, where the matadors could spur after him, and, wheeling round the monster, hamstring him or thrust him through with a lance. Dampierre describes minutely the Spanish mode of hocksing. The horses were trained to retreat and advance without even a signal. The hocksing-iron, of a half-moon shape, measuring six inches horizontally, resembled in form a gardener's turf-cutter. The handle, some fourteen feet long, was held like a lance over the horse's head, a matador's steed being always known by its right ear being bent down with the weight of the shaft. The place to strike the bull was just above the hock; when struck the horse instantly wheeled to the left, to avoid the charge of the wounded ox, who soon broke his nearly severed leg, but still limped forward to avenge himself on his formidable enemy. Then the hockser, riding softly up, struck him with his iron again, but this time into a fore leg, and at once laid him prostrate, moaning in terror and in pain. Then, dismounting, the Spaniard took a sharp dagger and stabbed the beast behind the horns, severing the spinal marrow. This operation the English called "polling." The hunter at once remounted, and left his skinners to remove the hide. The stately Spaniard delighted in this dangerous chase, with all its stratagems, surprises, and hair-breadth escapes, when life depended on a turn of the bridle or the prick of a spur. However pressed for food or endangered by enemies, he practised it with all the stately ceremonies of the Madrid arena. The fiery animal, streaming with blood and foam, bellowing with rage and pain, frequently trampled and gored the dogs and slew both horse and rider. Oexmelin mentions a bull at Cuba which killed three horses in the same day, the lucky rider making a solemn pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Guadaloupe when he had given his victim the _coup de grace_. These Spanish hunters did not rough it like the Buccaneers, and kept horses to carry their bales. They were particular in their food, and ate bread and cassava with their beef; drank wine and brandy; and were very choice in their fruit and preserves. Gay in their dress, they prided themselves on their white linen. Every separate hunting field had its own customs. At Campeachy, where the ground was swampy, the logwood-cutters frequently shot the oxen from a canoe, and were sometimes pursued by a wounded beast, who would try to sink the boat. When the woodmen killed a bull, they cut it into quarters, and, taking out all the bones, cut a hole in the centre of each piece large enough to pass their heads through, and trudged home with it to their tents on the shore. If they grew tired or were pursued, they cut off a portion of the meat and lightened their load. The Spaniards, less poor, greedy, and thoughtless than the English and French adventurers, killed only the bulls and old cows, and left the younger ones to breed. The French were notorious for their wanton waste, using oxen merely as marks for their bullets, and as utterly indifferent to the future as Autolycus, who "slept out the thought of it." About 1650 the wild cattle of Jamaica were entirely destroyed, and the Governor procured a fresh supply from Cuba. Whenever the oxen grew scarce, they became wilder and more ferocious. In some places no hunter dared to fire at them if alone, nor ever ventured into their pastures unattended. All animals grow shy if frequently pursued, and no fish are so unapproachable as those of a much frequented stream. Dampierre says that at Beef Island the old bulls who had once been wounded, when they saw the hunters or heard their muskets, would instantly form into a square, with their cows in the rear and the calves in the middle, turning as the hunters turned, and presenting their horns like a cluster of bayonets. It then became necessary to beat the woods for stragglers. A beast mortally wounded always made at the hunter; but if only grazed by the bullet it ran away. A cow was thought to be more dangerous than a bull, as the former charged with its eyes open, and the latter with them closed. The danger was often imminent. One of Dampierre's messmates ventured into the savannah, about a mile from the huts, and coming within shot of a bull wounded it desperately. The bull, however, had strength enough to pursue and overtake the logwood-cutter before he could load again, to trample him, and gore him in the thigh. Then, faint with loss of blood, it reeled down dead, and fell heavily beside the bleeding and groaning hunter. His comerade, coming the next morning to seek for the man, found him weak and almost dying, and, taking him on his back, bore him to his hut, where he was soon cured. The rapidity of such cures is peculiar to savages, or men who devote their whole life to muscular exertion; for the flesh of the South Sea Islanders is said to close upon a sword as india-rubber does upon the knife that cuts it. Often, in the heat and excitement of these pursuits, the solitary hunter, and still more often, from want of experience and from youthful rashness, the _engagé_, would lose his way in the woods, or, falling into a forest pool, become a prey of the lurking cayman, if not alarmed by the premonitory odour of musk that indicated its dangerous vicinity. Nature is full of these warnings: and the vibrating rattle of the Indian snake has saved the life of many a Buccaneer. Besides an unceasing supply of beef on shore, and salted turtle at sea, the Buccaneers ate the flesh of deer and of peccavy. On the mainland wild turkeys were always within shot, and fat monkeys and plump parrots were resources for more hungry and less epicurean men. The rich fruits of the West Indies, needing no cultivation to improve their flavour, grew around their huts, and were to be had all the year round for the picking. The parched hunters delighted in the resinous-flavoured mango and the luscious guava as much as our modern sailors. In such a country every one is a vegetarian; for when dinner is over, to be a fruit eater needs no hermit-like asceticism. The plantain and the yam served them instead of the bread-fruit of the Pacific, or the potato of Virginia, and the custard-apple took the place of pastry; but the great dainty which all their chroniclers mention was the large avocado pear, which they supposed to be an aphrodisiac. This prodigious lemon-coloured fruit was allowed to mellow, its soft pulp was then scooped out and beaten up in a plate with orange and lime juice; but hungry and more impatient men ate it at once, with a little salt and a roast plantain. A Buccaneer never touched an unknown fruit till he had seen birds pecking it on the tree. No bird was ever seen to touch the blooming but poisonous apples of the manchineel, which few animals but crabs could eat with impunity; as this tree grew by the sea-shore, even fish were rendered poisonous by feeding on the fruit that fell into the water. The verified stories of the manchineel excel the fables related of the upas of Batavia. The very dew upon its branches poisoned those upon whom it dropped. Esquemeling says: "One day, being hugely tormented with mosquitoes or gnats, and being as yet unacquainted with the nature of this tree, I cut a branch to serve me for a fan, but all my face was swelled the next day, and filled with blisters as if it were burnt, to such a degree that I was blind for three days." The hunters tormented by mosquitoes and sand flies used leafy branches for fans, and anointed their faces with hog's grease to defend themselves from the stings. By night in their huts they burned tobacco, without which smoke they could not have obtained sleep. The mosquitoes were of all sorts, the buzzing and the silent, the tormentors by day and night; but they dispersed when the land breeze rose, or whenever the wind increased. The common mosquito was not visible by day, but at sunset filled the woods with its ominous humming. Oexmelin describes on one occasion his lying for eight hours in the water of a brook to escape their stings; sitting on a stone or on the sand, and keeping his face, which was above water, covered with leaves to protect him from the fiery stings. The Buccaneers made their pens of reeds, and their paper of the leaves of a peculiar sort of palm, the outer cuticle of which was thin, white, and soft; their ink was the black juice of the juniper berries, letters written with which turned white in nine days. They kept harmless snakes in their houses to feed on the rats and mice, just as we do cats, or the Copts did the ichneumons. They frequently used a handful of fire-flies instead of a lantern: Esquemeling, himself a Buccaneer, says, that with three of these in his cottage at midnight he could see to read in any book, however small the print. The Buccaneers carried in their tobacco pouches the horn of an immense sort of spider, which Esquemeling describes as big as an egg, with feet as long as a crab, and four black teeth like a rabbit, its bite being sharp but not venomous. These teeth or horns they used either as toothpicks or pipe-cleaners; they were supposed to have the property of preserving the user from toothache. They are described as about two inches long, black as jet, smooth as glass, sharp as a thorn, and a little bent at the lower end. Their favourite toy, the dice, they cut from the white ivory-like teeth of the sea-horse. Great observers of the use of things, and well lessoned in the bitter school of experience, they turned every new natural production they met with to some useful purpose, uniting with the keen sagacity of the hunter the shrewd instinct of the savage. Their horsewhips they formed from the skin of the back of a wild bull or sea-cow. The lashes were made of slips of hide, two or three feet long, of the full thickness at the bottom, and cut square and tapering to the point. These thongs they twisted while still green, and then hung them up in a hut to dry; in a few weeks they shrank and became hard as wood, and tough as an American cowhide, an Abyssinian scourge, or the far-famed Russian knout. From the skin of the manitee they cut straps, which they used in their canoes instead of the ordinary tholes. The wild boar hunters frequently lived in huts four or five together, and remained for months, frequently a year, in the same place, supplying the neighbouring planters by contract. The most perfect equality reigned between the _matelots_; and if one of them wanted powder or lead, he took it from the other's store, telling him of the loan, and repaying it when able. When a dispute arose between any of them, their associates tried to reconcile the difference. A dispute about a shooting wager, or the smallest trifle, might give rise to deadly feuds between such lawless and vindictive exiles, unaccustomed to control, and ready to resort to arms. If both still determined to have revenge, the musket was the impassive arbiter appealed to. The friends of the duellists decided at what distance the combatants should stand, and made them draw lots for the first fire. If one fell dead, the bystanders immediately held a sort of inquest, at which they decided whether he had been fairly dealt with, and examined the body to see that the death-shot had been fairly fired in front, and not in a cowardly or treacherous manner, and handled his musket to see whether it was discharged and had been in good order. A surgeon then opened the orifice of the wound, and if he decided that the bullet had entered behind, or much on one side, they declared the survivor a murderer; Lynch law was proclaimed, they tied the culprit to a tree, and shot him with their muskets. In Tortuga, or near a town, this rude justice was never resorted to, and, even in the wilder places, was soon abandoned as the hunters grew more civilized. These duels generally took place on the sea beach if the Flibustiers were the combatants. As these men took incessant exercise, were indifferent to climate, and fed chiefly on fresh meat, they enjoyed good health. They were, however, subject to flying fevers that passed in a day, and which did not confine them even to their tents. With the Spanish Lanceros, or Fifties as they were called by the Buccaneers, the hunters were perpetually at war, their intrepid infantry being generally successful against the hot charges of these yeomanry of the savannahs. There were four companies of them in Hispaniola, with a hundred spearmen in each company; half of these were generally on the patrol, while the remainder rested, and from their number they derived their nickname. Their duty was to surprise the isolated hunters, to burn the stores of hides, make prisoners of the _engagés_, and guard the Spanish settlers against any sudden attack. At other times they were employed in killing off the herds of wild cattle that furnished the Buccaneers with food, and drew fresh bands to the plains where they abounded. In great enterprises the whole corps cried "boot and saddle," and they took with them at all times a few muleteers on foot, either to carry their baggage, or to serve as scouts in the woods, where the cow-killers built their huts. But, in spite of Negro foragers and Indian spies, the keener-eyed Buccaneers generally escaped, or, if met with, broke like raging wolves through their adversaries' toils. Accustomed to the bush, inured to famine and fatigue, and more indifferent than even the Spaniards to climate, the Buccaneers were seldom taken prisoners. Unerring marksmen, with a spice of the wild beast in their blood, they preferred death to flight or capture. It is probable that even for this toilsome and dangerous pursuit the Spaniards easily obtained recruits. Constant sport with the wild cattle, abundant food, and a spirit of adventure would prove an irresistible bait to the bravos of Carthagena, or the matadors of Campeachy. The hangers-on of the wineshops and the pulque drinkers of Mexico would readily embark in any campaign that would bring them a few pistoles, and give them good food and gay clothing. Oexmelin relates several instances of the daring escapes of the Buccaneer hunters from the blood-thirsting pursuit of the Fifties. It was their custom, directly that news reached the tents that the Lanceros were out, to issue an order that the first man who caught sight of the horsemen should inform the rest, in order to attack the foe by an ambuscade, if they were too numerous to meet in the open field. The great aim, on the other hand, of the Lanceros, was to wait for a night of rain and wind, when the sound of their hoofs could not be heard, and to butcher the sleepers when their fire-arms were either damp or piled out of reach. Frequently they surrounded the hunters when heavy after a debauch, and when even the sentinels were asleep at the tent doors. The following anecdote conveys some impression of these encounters. A French Buccaneer going one day into the savannahs to hunt, followed by his _engagé_, was suddenly surrounded by a troop of shouting Lanceros. He saw at once that the Fifties had at last trapped him. He was surrounded, and escape from their swift pursuit, with no tree near, was hopeless. But he would not let hope desert him so long as the spears were still out of his heart. His _engagé_ was as brave as himself, and both determined to stand at bay and sell their lives dearly. The hunter of mad oxen, and the tamer of wild horses, need not fear man or devil. The master and man put themselves back to back, and, laying their common stock of powder and bullets in their caps between them, prepared for death. The Spaniards, who only carried lances, kept coursing round them, afraid to narrow in, or venture within shot, and crying out to them with threats to surrender. They next offered them quarter, and at last promised to disarm but not hurt them, saying they were only executing the orders of their general. The two Frenchmen replied mockingly, that they would never surrender, and wanted no quarter, and that the first lancer who approached would pay dear for his visit. The Spaniards still hovered round, afraid to advance, none of them willing to be the first victim, or to play the scapegoat for the rest. "C'est le premier pas qui coute," and the first step they made was backward. After some consultation at a safe distance, they finally left the Buccaneers still standing threateningly back to back, and spurred off, half afraid that the Tartars they had nearly caught might turn the tables, and advance against them. The steady persistency of the Buccaneer infantry was generally victorious over the impetuous but transitory onslaught of the Spanish cavalry. Another time a wild Buccaneer while hunting alone was surprised by a similar party of mounted pikemen. Seeing that there was some distance between him and the nearest wood, and that his capture was certain, he bethought himself of the following _ruse_. Putting his gun up to his shoulder he advanced at a trot, shouting exultingly, "_à moi, à moi!_" as if he was followed by a band of scattered companions who had been in search of the Spaniards. The cavaliers, believing at once that they had fallen into an ambush, took flight, to the joy of the ingenious hunter, who quickly made his escape, laughing, into the neighbouring covert. The Spaniards were worn out at last with this border warfare, unprofitable because it was waged with men who were too poor to reward the plunderer, and dangerous because fought with every disadvantage of weapon and situation. In the savannahs the Spaniards were formidable, but in the woods they became a certain prey to the musketeer. Unable to drive the plunderers out of the island, the Spaniards at last foolishly resolved to render the island not worth the plunder. Orders came from Spain to kill off the wild cattle that Columbus had originally brought to the island, and particularly round the coast. If the trade with the French vessels and the barter of hides for brandy could once be arrested, the hunters would be driven from the woods by starvation, or perish one by one in their dens. They little thought that this scheme would succeed, and what would be the consequence of such success. The hunters turned sea crusaders, and the sea became the savannah where they sought their human game. Every creek soon thronged with men more deadly than the Danish Vikinger: wrecked on a habitable shore, they landed as invaders and turned hunters as before; driven to their boats, they became again adventurers. In this name and in that of "soldiers of fortune" they delighted: a more honest and less courteous age would have termed them pirates. By the year 1686, the change from Buccaneer to Flibustier had been almost wholly effected. The Buccaneers' _engagés_ led a life very little better than those white slaves whom the glittering promises of the planters had decoyed from France. The existence of the former was, however, rendered more bearable by their variety of adventure, by better food, and by daily recreation. If all day in the hot sun he had to toil carrying bales of skins from his master's hut towards the shore, we must remember that American seamen still work contentedly at the same labour in California for a sailor's ordinary wages. Mutual danger produced necessarily, except in the most brutal, a kind of fellowship between the master and the servant of the boucan. Up at daybreak, the _engagé_ sweltered all day through the bush, groaning beneath his burden of loathsome hides, but the good meal came before sunset, and then the pipes were lit, and the brandy went round, and the song was sung, and the tale was told, while the hunters shot at a mark, or made wagers upon the respective skill of their _matelots_ or their _engagés_. We hear from Charlevoix, that young prodigals of good family had been known to prefer the canvas tent to the tapestried wall, and to have grasped the hunter's musket with the hand that might have wielded the general's baton or the marshal's staff. The Buccaneer's life was not one of mere revelry and ease; no luxurious caves or safe strongholds served at once for their treasure house, their palace, and their fortress. They were wandering outlaws; hated both by the Spaniards and the Indians, they ate with a loaded gun within their reach. The jaguar lurked beside them, the coppersnake glared at them from his lair. If their foot stumbled, they were gored by the ox or ripped up by the boar; if they fled they became a prey to the cayman of the pool; they were swept away as they forded swollen rivers; they were swallowed up by that dreadful foretype of the Judgment, the earthquake. The shark and the sea monster swam by their canoe, the carrion crow that fed to-day upon the carcase they had left, too often fed to-morrow on the slain hunter. The wildest transitions of safety and danger, plenty and famine, peace and war, health and sickness, surrounded their daily life. To-day on the savannah dark with the wild herds, to-morrow compelled to feast on the flesh of a murdered comerade; to-day surrounded by revelling friends, to-morrow left alone to die. The present system of hide curing practised in California seems almost identical with that employed by the Buccaneers. The following extract from Dana's "Three Years before the Mast" will convey a correct impression of what constituted the greater portion of an _engagé's_ labour. He describes the shore piled with hides, just out of reach of the tide; each skin doubled lengthwise in the middle, and nearly as stiff as a board, and the whole bundles carried down on men's heads from the place of curing to the stacks. "When the hide is taken from the bullock, holes are cut round it, near the edge, and it is staked out to dry, to prevent shrinking. They are then to be cured, and are carried down to the shore at low tide and made fast in small piles, where they lie for forty-eight hours, when they are taken out, rolled up in wheelbarrows, and thrown into vats full of strong brine, where they remain for forty-eight hours. The sea water only cleans and softens them, the brine pickles them. They are then removed from the vats, lie on a platform twenty-four hours, and are then staked out, still wet and soft; the men go over them with knives, cutting off all remaining pieces of meat or fat, the ears, and any part that would either prevent the packing or keeping. A man can clean about twenty-five a-day, keeping at his work. This cleaning must be done before noon, or they get too dry. When the sun has been upon them for a few hours they are gone over with scrapers to remove the fat that the sun brings out; the stakes are then pulled up and the hides carefully doubled, with the hair outside, and left to dry. About the middle of the afternoon, they are turned upon the other side, and at sunset piled up and turned over. The next day they are spread out and opened again, and at night, if fully dry, are thrown up on a long horizontal pole, five at a time, and beaten with flails to get out the dust; thus, being salted, scraped, cleaned, dried, and beaten, they are stowed away in the warehouses." The Buccaneer's life was not spent in quaffing sangaree or basking under orange blossoms--not in smoking beside mountains of flowers, where the humming-birds fluttered like butterflies, and the lizards flashed across the sunbeams, shedding jewelled and enchanted light. No Indian in the mine, no Arab pearl-diver, no worn, pale children at an English factory, no galley-slave dying at the oar, led such a life as a Buccaneer _engagé_ if bound to a cruel master. Imagine a delicate youth, of good but poor family, decoyed from a Norman country town by the loud-sounding promises of a St. Domingo agent, specious as a recruiting sergeant, voluble as the projector of bubble companies, greedy, plausible, and lying. He comes out to the El Dorado of his dreams, and is at once taken to the hut of some rude Buccaneer. The first night is a revel, and his sleep is golden and full of visions. The spell is broken at daybreak. He has to carry a load of skins, weighing some twenty-six pounds, three or four leagues, through brakes of prickly pear and clumps of canes. The pathless way cannot be traversed at greater speed than about two hours to a quarter of a league. The sun grows vertical, and he is feverish and sick at heart. Three years of this purgatory are varied by blows and curses. The masters too often loaded their servants with blows if they dared to faint through weakness, hunger, thirst, or fatigue. Some hunters had the forbearance to rest on a Sunday, induced rather by languor than by piety; but on these days the _engagé_ had to rise as usual at daybreak, to go out and kill a wild boar for the day's feast. This was disembowelled and roasted whole, being placed on a spit supported on two forked stakes, so that the flames might completely surround the carcase. Most Buccaneers, even if they rested on Sunday, required their apprentices to carry the hides down as usual to the place of shipment, fearing that the Spaniards might choose that very day to burn the huts and destroy the skins. An _engagé_ once complained to his master, and reminded him that it was not right to work on a Sunday, God himself having said to the Jews, "Six days shalt thou labour and do all thou hast to do, for the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God." "And I tell you," said the scowling Buccaneer, striking the earth with the butt-end of his gun and roaring out a dreadful curse, "I tell you, six days shalt thou kill bulls and skin them, and the seventh day thou shalt carry them down to the beach," beating the daring remonstrant as he spoke. There was no remedy for these sufferers but patience. Time or death alone brought relief. Three years soon run out. The mind grows hardened under suffering as flesh does under the lash. Nature, where she cannot heal a wound, teaches us where to find unfailing balms. Some grew reckless to blows, or learned to ingratiate themselves with their masters by their increasing daring or sturdy industry. An apprentice whose bullet never flew false, or who could run down the wild ox on the plain, acquired a fame greater than that of his master. They knew that in time they themselves would be Buccaneers, and could inflict the very cruelties from which they now suffered. There were instances where acts of service to the island, or feats of unusual bravery, raised an _engagé_ of a single year to the full rank of hunter. An apprentice who could bring in more hides than even his master, must have been too valuable an acquisition to have been lost by a moment of spleen. That horrible cases of cruelty did occur, there can be no doubt. There were no courts of justice in the forest, no stronger arm or wiser head to which to appeal. But there are always remedies for despair. The loaded gun was at hand, the knife in the belt, and the poison berries grew by the hut. There was the unsubdued passion still at liberty in the heart--there was the will to seize the weapon and the hand to use it. Providence is fruitful in her remedies of evils, and preserves a balance which no sovereignty can long disturb. No tyrant can shut up the volcano, or chain the earthquake. There were always the mountains or the Spaniards to take refuge amongst, though famine and death dwelt in the den of the wild beasts, and, if they fled to the Spaniards, they were often butchered as mere runaway slaves before they could explain, in an unknown language, that they were not spies. But still the very impossibility of preventing such escapes must have tended to temper the severity of the masters. A Flibustier, anxious for a crew, must have sometimes carried off discontented _engagés_ both from the plantations and the ajoupas. The following story illustrates the social relations of the Buccaneer master and his servant. A Buccaneer one day, seeing that his apprentice, newly arrived from France, could not keep up with him, turned round and struck him over the head with the lock of his musket. The youth fell, stunned, to the ground; and the hunter, thinking he was dead, stripped him of his arms, and left his body where it had fallen and weltering in the blood flowing from the wound. On his return to his hut, afraid to disclose the truth, he told his companions that the lad, who had always skulked work, had at last _marooned_ (a Spanish word applied to runaway negroes). A few curses were heaped upon him, and no more was thought about his disappearance. Soon after the master was out of sight the lad had recovered his senses, arisen, pale and weak, and attempted to return to the tents. Unaccustomed to the woods, he lost his way, got off the right track, and finally gave himself up as doomed to certain death. For some days he remained wandering round and round the same spot, without either recovering the path or being able to reach the shore. Hunger did not at first press him, for he ate the meat with which his master had loaded him, and ate it raw, not knowing the Indian manner of procuring fire, and his knives being taken from his belt. Ignorant of what fruits were safe to eat, where animals fit for food were to be found, and not knowing how to kill them unarmed, he prepared his mind for the dreadful and lingering torture of starvation. But he seems to have been of an ingenious and persevering disposition, and hope did not altogether forsake him. He had too a companion, for one of his master's dogs, which had grown fond of his playmate, had remained behind with his body, licking the hand that had so often fed him. At first he spent whole days vainly searching for a path. Very often he climbed up a hill, from which he could see the great, blue, level sea, stretching out boundless to the horizon, and this renewed his hope. He looked up, and knew that God's sky was above him, and felt that he might be still saved. At night he was startled by the screams of the monkeys, the bellowing of the wild cattle in the distant savannah, or the unearthly cry of some solitary and unknown bird. Superstition filled him with fears, and he felt deserted by man, but tormented by the things of evil. The tracks of the wild cattle led him far astray. Long ere this his faithful dog, driven by hunger, had procured food for both. Sometimes beneath the spreading boughs of the river-loving yaco-tree, they would surprise a basking sow, surrounded by a wandering brood of voracious sucklings. The dog would cling to the sow, while the boy aided him in the pursuit of the errant progeny. When they had killed their prey, they would lie down and share their meal together. The boy learned to like the raw meat, and the dog had acquired his appetite long before. Experience soon taught them where to capture their prey in the quickest and surest manner. He caught the puppies of a wild dog, and trained them in the chase; and he even taught a young wild boar that he had caught alive to join in the capture of his own species. After having led this life for nearly a year, he one day suddenly came upon the long-lost path, which soon brought him to the sea-shore. His master's tents were gone, and, from various appearances, seemed to have been long struck. The lad, now grown accustomed to his wild life, resigned himself to his condition, feeling sure that, sooner or later, he should meet with a party of Buccaneers. His deliverance was not long delayed. After about twelve months' life in the bush, he fell in with a troop of skinners, to whom he related his story. They were at first distrustful and alarmed, as his master had told them that he had _marooned_, and had joined the Indians. His appearance soon convinced them that his story was true, and that he was neither a _maroon_ nor a deserter, for he was clothed in the rags of his _engagé's_ shirt and drawers, and had a strip of raw meat hanging from his girdle. Two tame boars and three dogs followed at his heels, and refused to leave him. He at once joined his deliverers, who freed him from all obligations to his master, and gave him arms, powder, and lead to hunt for himself, and he soon became one of the most renowned Buccaneers on that coast. It was a long time before he could eat roasted meat, which not only was distasteful, but made him ill. Long after, when flaying a wild boar, he was frequently unable to restrain himself from eating the flesh raw. When an apprentice had served three years, his master was expected to give him as a reward a musket, a pound of powder, six pounds of lead, two shirts, two pairs of drawers, and a cap. The _valets_, as the French called them, then became comerades, and ceased to be mere _engagés_. They took their own _matelots_, and became, in their turn, Buccaneers. When they had obtained a sufficient quantity of hides, they either sent or took them to Tortuga, and brought from thence a young apprentice to treat him as they themselves had been treated. The planters' _engagés_ led a life more dreadful than that of their wilder brethren. They were decoyed from France under the same pretences that once filled our streets with the peasants' sons of Savoy, and the peasants' daughters from Frankfort, or that now lure children from the pleasant borders of Como, to pine away in a London den. The want of sufficient negroes led men to resort to all artifices to obtain assistance in cultivating the sugar-cane and the tobacco plant. In the French Antilles they were sold for three years, but often resold in the interim. Amongst the English they were bound for seven years, and being occasionally sold again at their own request, before the expiration of this term, they sometimes served fifteen or twenty years before they could obtain their freedom. At Jamaica, if a man could not pay even a small debt at a tavern, he was sold for six or eight months. The planters had agents in France, England, and other countries, who sent out these apprentices. They were worked much harder than the slaves, because their lives, after the expiration of the three years, were of no consequence to the masters. They were often the victims of a disease called "coma," the effect of hard usage and climate, and which ended in idiotcy. Père Labat remarks the quantity of idiots in the West Indies, many of whom were dangerous, although allowed to go at liberty. Many of these worse than slaves were of good birth, tender education, and weak constitutions, unable to endure even the debilitating climate, and much less hard labour. Esquemeling, himself originally an _engagé_, gives a most piteous description of their sufferings. Insufficient food and rest, he says, were the smallest of their sufferings. They were frequently beaten, and often fell dead at their masters' feet. The men thus treated died fast: some became dropsical, and others scorbutic. A man named Bettesea, a merchant of St. Christopher's, was said to have killed more than a hundred apprentices with blows and stripes. "This inhumanity," says Esquemeling, "I have _often seen_ with great grief." The following anecdote of human suffering equals the cruelty of the Virginian slave owner who threw one slave into the vat of boiling molasses, and baked another in an oven:-- "A certain planter (of St. Domingo) exercised such cruelty towards one of his servants as caused him to run away. Having absconded for some days in the woods, he was at last taken, and brought back to the wicked Pharaoh. No sooner had he got him but he commanded him to be tied to a tree; here he gave him so many lashes on his naked back as made his body run with an entire stream of blood; then, to make the smart of his wounds the greater, he anointed him with lemon-juice, mixed with salt and pepper. In this miserable posture he left him tied to the tree for twenty-four hours, which being past, he began his punishment again, lashing him as before, so cruelly, that the miserable creature gave up the ghost, with these dying words, 'I beseech the Almighty God, Creator of heaven and earth, that He permit the wicked spirit to make thee feel as many torments before thy death as thou hast caused me to feel before mine.' "A strange thing, and worthy of astonishment and admiration: scarce three or four days were past, after this horrible fact, when the Almighty Judge, who had heard the cries of that tormented wretch, suffered the evil one suddenly to possess this barbarous and inhuman homicide, so that those cruel hands which had punished to death the innocent servant were the tormentors of his own body, for he beat himself and tore his flesh after a miserable manner, till he lost the very shape of a man, not ceasing to howl and cry without any rest by day or night. Thus he continued raving till he died." It was by the endurance of such sufferings as these that the early Buccaneers were hardened into fanatical monsters like Montbars and Lolonnois. In the early part of his book, Esquemeling gives us his own history. A Dutchman by birth, he arrived at Tortuga in 1680, when the French West India Company, unable to turn the island into a depôt, as they had intended, were selling off their merchandise and their plantations. Esquemeling, as a bound _engagé_ of the company, was sold to the lieutenant-governor of the island, who treated him with great severity, and refused to take less than three hundred pieces of eight for his freedom. Falling sick through vexation and despair, he was sold to a chirurgeon, for seventy pieces of eight, who proved kind to him, and finally gave him his liberty for 100 pieces of eight, to be paid after his first Flibustier trip. Oexmelin was probably sold almost at the same time as Esquemeling, and was bought by the commandant-general. Not allowed to pursue his own profession of a surgeon, he was employed in the most laborious and painful work, transplanting tobacco, or thinning the young plants, grating cassava, or pressing the juice from the banana. Overworked and under fed, associating with slaves, and regarded with hatred and suspicion, he scarcely received money enough to procure either food or clothing; his master refusing, even for the inducement of two crowns a-day, to allow him to practise as physician. A single year of toil at the plantations threw him into dangerous ill health; for weeks sheltered only under an outhouse, he was kept alive by the kindness of a black slave, who brought him daily an egg. Feeble as he was, the great thirst of a tropical fever compelled him often to rise and drag himself to a neighbouring tank, that he might drink, even though to drink were to die. Recovering from this fever, a wolfish hunger was the first sign of convalescence, but to appease this he had neither food, nor money to buy it. In this condition he devoured even unripe oranges, green, hard, and bitter, and resorted to other extremities which he is ashamed to confess. On one occasion as he was descending from the rock fort, where his master lived, into the town, he met a friend, the secretary of the governor, who made him come and dine with him, and gave him a parting present of a bottle of wine; his master, who had seen what had passed, by means of a telescope, from his place of vantage, when he returned, took away the wine, and threw him into a dungeon, accusing him of being a spy and a traitor. This prison was a cellar, hollowed out of the rock, full of filth and very dark. In this he swore Oexmelin should rot in spite of all the governors in the world. Here he was kept for three days, his feet in irons, fed only by a little bread and water that they passed to him through an aperture, without even opening the door. One day, as he lay naked on the stone, and in the dark, he felt a snake twine itself, cold and slimy, round his body, tightening the folds till they grew painful, and then sliding off to its hole. On the fourth day they opened the door and tried to discover if he had told the governor anything of his master's cruelties; they then set him to dig a plot of ground near the Fort. Finding himself left unguarded, he resolved to go and complain to the governor, having first consulted a good old Capuchin, who took compassion on his pale and famished aspect. The governor instantly took pity on the wretched runaway, fed and clothed him, and on his recovery to health placed him with a celebrated surgeon of the place, who paid his value to his master; the governor being unwilling to take him into his own service, for fear he should be accused to the home authorities of taking away slaves from the planters. The _engagés_ were called to their work at daybreak by a shrill whistle (as the negroes are now by the hoarse conch shell); and the foreman, allowing any who liked to smoke, led them to their work. This consisted in felling trees and in picking or lopping tobacco; the driver stood by them as they dug or picked, and struck those who slackened or rested, as a captain would do to his galley slaves. Whether sick or well they were equally obliged to work. They were frequently employed in picking mahot, a sort of bark used to tie up bales. If they died of fatigue they were quietly buried, and there an end. Early in the morning one of the band had to feed the pigs with potato leaves, and prepare his comerades' dinner. They boiled their meat, putting peas and chopped potatoes into the water. The cook worked with the gang, but returned a little sooner to prepare his messmates' dinner, while they were stripping the tobacco stalk. On feast-days and Sundays they had some indulgences. Oexmelin relates an instance of a sick slave being employed to turn a grindstone on which his master was sharpening his axe; being too weak to do it well, the butcher turned round and clove him down between the shoulders. The slave fell down, bleeding profusely, and died within two hours; yet this master was one of a body of planters deemed very indulgent in comparison to those of some other islands. One planter of St. Christopher, named Belle Tête, who came from Dieppe, prided himself on having killed 200 _engagés_ who would not work, all of whom, he declared, died of sheer laziness. When they were in the last extremities he was in the habit of rubbing their mouths with the yolk of an egg, in order that he might conscientiously swear he had pressed them to take food till the very last. Upon a priest one day remonstrating with him on his brutality, he replied, with perfect effrontery, that he had once been a bound _engagé_, and had never been treated better; that he had come all the way to that shore to get money, and provided he could get it and see his children roll in a coach, he did not care himself if the devil carried him off. The following anecdote shows what strange modifications of crime this species of slavery might occasionally produce. There was a rich inhabitant of Guadaloupe, whose father became so poor that he was obliged to sell himself as an _engagé_, and by a singular coincidence sold himself to a merchant who happened to be his son's agent. The poor fellow, finding himself his son's servant, thought himself well off, but soon found that he was treated as brutally as the rest. The son, finding the father was old and discontented, and therefore unable to do much work, and afraid to beat him for the sake of the scandal, sold him soon after to another planter, who treated him better, gave him more to eat, and eventually restored him to liberty. Of the ten thousand Scotch and Irish whom Cromwell sent to the West Indies, many became _engagés_, and finally Buccaneers. Many of the old Puritan soldiers, who had served in the same wars, were enrolled in the same ranks. The same principle of brotherhood applied to the planters as to the ordinary Buccaneers. They called each other _matelots_, and, before living together, signed a contract by which they agreed to share everything in common. Each had the power to dispose of his companion's money and goods, and an agreement signed by one bound the other also. If the one died, the survivor became the inheritor of the whole, in preference even to heirs who might come from Europe to claim the share or attempt to set up a claim. The engagement could be broken up whenever either wished it, and was often cancelled in a moment of petulance or of transitory vexation. A third person was sometimes admitted into the brotherhood on the same conditions. By this singular custom, friendships were formed as firm as those between a Highlander and his foster-brother, a Canadian trapper and his comerade, or an English sailor and his messmate. The _matelotage_, or _compagnon à bon lot_, being thus formed, the two planters would go to the governor of the island and request a grant of land. The officer of the district was then sent to measure out what they required, of a specified size in a specified spot. The usual grant was a plot, two hundred feet wide and thirty feet long, as near as possible to the sea-shore, as being most convenient for the transport of goods, as well as for the ease of procuring salt water, which they used in preparing the tobacco leaf. When the sea-shore was covered with cabins the planters built their huts higher up and four deep, those nearest to the beach being obliged to allow a roadway to those who were the furthest back. Their lodges, or _ajoupas_, were raised upon ground cleared from wood, the thicket being first burnt with the lower branches of the larger trees. The trunks, too large to remove, were cut down to within two or three feet of the earth, and allowed to dry and rot for several summers, and finally also consumed by fire. The savages, on the other hand, cut down all the trees, let them dry as they fell, and then, setting the whole alight, reduced it at once to ashes, without any clearing, lopping, or piling. When about thirty or forty feet of ground was thus cleared, they began to plant vegetables and cultivate the ground--peas, potatoes, manioc, banana, and figs being the daily necessaries of their lives. The banana they planted near rivers, no planter residing in a place where there was not some well or spring. Their _casa_, or chief lodge, was supported by posts fifteen or sixteen feet high, thatched with palm branches, rushes, or sugar-canes, and walled either with reeds or palisades. Inside, they had _barbecues_, or forms rising two or three feet from the ground, upon which lay their mattresses stuffed with banana leaves, and above it the mosquito net of thin white linen, which they called a _pavillon_. A smaller lodge served for cooking or for warehousing. Friends and neighbours always assisted in building these cabins, and were treated in return with brandy by the planter. The laws of the society obliged the settlers to help each other, and this kindness was never refused. The same system of mutual support originated the Scotch penny weddings and the English friendly custom of ploughing a young farmer's fields. Now the _ajoupa_ was built, the tobacco ground had to be dug. An enclosure of two thousand plants required much care, and was obliged to be kept clean and free from weeds. They had to be lopped, and transplanted, and irrigated, and finally picked and stored. The people of Tortuga, the Buccaneers' island, exchanged their tobacco with the French merchants for hatchets, hoes, knives, sacking, and above all for wine and brandy. From potatoes, which the planters ate for breakfast, they extracted maize, a sour but pleasant beverage. The cassava root they grated for cakes, making a liquor called _veycon_ of the residue. From the banana they also extracted an intoxicating drink. With the wild boar hunters they exchanged tobacco leaf for dried meat, often paying away at one time two or three hundred weight of tobacco, and frequently sending a servant of their own to the savannahs to help the hunter and to supply him with powder and shot. CHAPTER III. THE FLIBUSTIERS, OR SEA ROVERS. Originated in the Spanish persecution of French Hunters--Customs--Pay and Pensions--The Mosquito Indians, their Habits--Food--Lewis Scott, an Englishman, first Corsair--John Davis: takes St. Francisco, in Campeachy--Debauchery--Love of Gaming--Religion--Class from which they sprang--Equality at Sea--Mode of Fighting--Dress. The Flibustiers first began by associating together in bands of from fifteen to twenty men. Each of them carried the Buccaneer musket, holding a ball of sixteen to the pound, and had generally pistols at his belt, holding bullets of twenty or twenty-four to the pound, and besides this they wore a good sabre or cutlass. When collected at some preconcerted rendezvous, generally a key or small island off Cuba, they elected a captain, and embarked in a canoe, hollowed out of the trunk of a single tree in the Indian manner. This canoe was either bought by the association or the captain. If the latter, they agreed to give him the first ship they should take. As soon as they had all signed the charter-party, or mutual agreement, they started for the destined port off which they were to cruise. The first Spanish vessel they took served to repay the captain and recompense themselves. They dressed themselves in the rich robes of Castilian grandees over their own blooded shirts, and sat down to revel in the gilded saloon of the galleon. If they found their prize not seaworthy, they would take her to some small sand island and careen, while the crew helped the Indians to turn turtle, and to procure bull's flesh. The Spanish crew they kept to assist in careening, for they never worked themselves, but fought and hunted while the unfortunate prisoners were toiling round the fire where the pitch boiled, or the turtle was stewing. The Flibustiers divided the spoil as soon as each one had taken an oath that nothing had been secreted. When the ship was ready for sea, they let the Spaniards go, and kept only the slaves. If there were no negroes or Indians, they retained a few Spaniards to wait upon them. If the prisoners were men of consequence, they detained them till they could obtain a ransom. Every Flibustier brought a certain supply of powder and ball for the common stock. Before starting on an expedition it was a common thing to plunder a Spanish hog-yard, where a thousand swine were often collected, surrounding the keeper's lodge at night, and shooting him if he made any resistance. The tortoise fishermen were often forced to fish for them gratuitously, although nearly every ship had its Mosquito Indian to strike turtle and sea-cow, and to fish for the whole boat's crew. "No prey, no pay," was the Buccaneers' motto. The charter-party specified the salary of the captain, surgeon, and carpenter, and allowed 200 pieces of eight for victualling. The boys had but half a share, although it was either their duty or the surgeon's, when the rest had boarded, to remain behind to fire the former vessel, and then retire to the prize. The Buccaneer code, worthy of Napoleon or Justinian, was equal to the statutes of any land, insomuch as it answered the want of those for whom it was compiled, and seldom required either revision or enlargement. It was never appealed from, and was seldom found to be unjust or severe. The captain was allowed five or six shares, the master's mate only two, and the other officers in proportion, down to the lowest mariner. All acts of special bravery or merit were rewarded by special grants. The man who first caught sight of a prize received a hundred crowns. The sailor who struck down the enemy's captain, and the first boarder who reached the enemy's deck, were also distinguished by honours. The surgeon, always a great man among a crew whose lives so often depended on his skill, received 200 crowns to supply his medicine chest. If they took a prize, he had a share like the rest. If they had no money to give him, he was rewarded with two slaves. The loss of an eye was recompensed at 100 crowns, or one slave. The loss of both eyes with 600 crowns, or six slaves. The loss of a right hand or right leg at 200 crowns, or two slaves. The loss of both hands or legs at 600 crowns, or six slaves. The loss of a finger or toe at 100 crowns, or one slave. The loss of a foot or leg at 200 crowns, or two slaves. The loss of both legs at 600 crowns, or six slaves. Nothing but death seems to have been considered as worth recompensing with more than 600 crowns. For any wound, which compelled a sailor to carry a _canulus_, 200 crowns were given, or two slaves. If a man had not even lost a member, but was for the present deprived of the use of it, he was still entitled to his compensation as much as if he had lost it altogether. The maimed were allowed to take either money or slaves. The charter-party drawn up by Sir Henry Morgan before his famous expedition, which ended in the plunder and destruction of Panama, shows several modifications of the earlier contract. To him who struck the enemy's flag, and planted the Buccaneers', fifty piastres, besides his share. To him who took a prisoner who brought tidings, 100 piastres, besides his share. For every grenade thrown into an enemy's port-hole, five piastres. To him who took an officer of rank at the risk of his life, proportionate reward. To him who lost two legs, 500 crowns, or fifteen slaves. To him who lost two arms, 800 piastres, or eighteen slaves. To him who lost one leg or one arm, 500 piastres, or six slaves. To him who lost an eye, 100 piastres, or one slave. For both eyes, 200 piastres, or two slaves. For the loss of a finger, 100 piastres, or one slave. A Flibustier who had a limb crippled, received the same pay as if it was lost. A wound requiring an issue, was recompensed with 500 piastres, or five slaves. These shares were all allotted before the general division. If a vessel was taken at sea, its cargo was divided among the whole fleet, but the crew first boarding it received 100 crowns, if its value exceeded 10,000 crowns, and for every 10,000 crowns' worth of cargo, 100 went to the men that boarded. The surgeon received 200 piastres, besides his share. The Mosquito Indians were the helots of the Buccaneers; they employed them to catch fish, and their vessels had generally a small canoe, kept for their use, in which they might strike tortoise or manitee. These Indians used no oars, but a pair of broad-bladed paddles, which they held perpendicularly, grasping the staff with both hands and putting back the water by sheer strength, and with very quick, short strokes. Two men generally went in the same boat, the one sitting in the stern, the other kneeling down in the head. They both paddled softly till they approached the spot where their prey lay; they then remained still, looking very warily about them, and the one at the head then rose up, with his striking-staff in his hand. This weapon was about eight feet long, almost as thick as a man's arm at the larger end, at which there was a hole into which the harpoon was put; at the other extremity was placed a piece of light (bob) wood, with a hole in it, through which the small end of the staff came. On this bob wood a line of ten or twelve fathoms was neatly wound--the end of the one line being fastened to the wood, and the other to the harpoon, the man keeping about a fathom of it loose in his hand. When he struck, the harpoon came off the shaft, and, as the wounded fish swam away, the line ran off from the reel. Although the bob and line were frequently dragged deep under water, and often caught round coral branches or sunk wreck, it generally rose to the surface of the water. The Indians struggled to recover the bob, which they were accustomed to do in about a quarter of an hour. When the sea-cow grew tired and began to lie still, they drew in the line, and the monster, feeling the harpoon a second time, would often make a maddened rush at the canoe. It then became necessary that the steersman should be nimble in turning the head of the canoe the way his companion pointed, as he alone was able to see and feel the way the manitee was swimming. Directly the fish grew tired, they hauled in the line, which the vexed creature drew out again a dozen times with ferocious but impotent speed. When its strength grew quite exhausted, they would drag it up the side of their boat and knock it on the head, or, pulling it to the shore, made it fast while they went out to strike another. From the great size of a sea-cow it was always necessary to go to shore in order to get it safely into their boats; hauling it up in shoal water, they upset their canoes, and then rolling the fish in righted again with the weight. The Indians sometimes paddled one home, and towed the other after them. Dampierre says he knew two Indians, who every day for a week brought two manitee on board his ship, the least not weighing less than six hundred pounds, and yet in so small a canoe that three Englishmen could row it. If the fishermen struck a sea-cow that had a calf they generally captured both--the mother carrying the young under her side fins, and always regarding their safety before her own; the young, moreover, would seldom desert their mother, and would follow the canoe in spite of noise and blows. The least sound startled the manitee, but the turtles required less care. These fish had certain islands near Cuba which they chose to lay their eggs in. At certain seasons they came from the gulf of Honduras in such vast multitudes, that ships, which had lost their latitude, very often steered at night, following the sound of these clattering shoals. When they had been about a month in the Caribbean sea they grew fat, and the fishing commenced. Salt turtle was the Buccaneers' healthiest food, and was supposed to free them from all the ailments of debauchery. The Indians struck the turtle with a short, sharp, triangular-headed iron, not more than an inch long, which fitted into a spear handle. The lance head was loose and had the usual line attached. Their lines they made of the fibrous bark of a tree, which they also used for their rigging. The manitee, or sea-cow, was a favourite article of food with these wandering seamen. It was a monster as big as a horse, and as unwieldy as a walrus, with eyes not much larger than peas, and a head like a cow. Its flesh was white, sweet, and wholesome. The tail of a young fish was a dainty, and a young sucking-calf, roasted, was an epicure's morsel. The head and tail of older animals were tough, yet the belly was frequently eaten. Dampierre speaks of his companions feasting on pork and peas, and beef and dough-boys, and this nautical coarseness was generally found associated with occasional tropical luxuriousness. In cases of necessity, wrecked sailors fed on sharks, which they first boiled and then squeezed dry, and stewed with pepper and vinegar. The oil of turtle they used instead of butter for their dumplings. The best turtle were said to be those that fed on land; those that lived on sea-weed, and not on grass, being yellow and rank. The larger fish needed two men to turn them on their backs. The Flibustiers also ate the iguanas, or large South American lizards. Vast flocks of doves were found in many of the islands, sometimes in such abundance that a sailor could knock down five or six dozen of an afternoon. The Buccaneers' history is a singular example of how evil generates evil. The Spaniards destroyed the wild cattle, and the hunters turned freebooters. Spain discontinued trading to prevent piracy, and the adventurers, starved for want of gold, made descents upon the mainland. The evil grew by degrees till the worm they had at first trod upon arose in their path an indestructible and devastating monster of a hundred heads. First single ships, then fleets, were swept off by these locusts of the deep; first, islands were burnt, then villages sacked, and at last cities conquered. First the North and then the South Pacific were visited, till the whole coast from Panama to Cape Horn trembled at the very flutter of their flag. The first Flibustier, Lewis Scott, scared Campeachy with a few canoes. Grognet grappled the Lima fleet with a whole squadron of pirate craft. The Buccaneer spirit arose from revenge, and ended in robbery and murder. At first fierce but merciful, they grew rapacious, loathsome, and bloody. Their early chivalry forsook them--they sank into the enemies of God and all mankind, and the last refuse of them expired on the gallows of Jamaica, children of Cain, unpitied by any, their very courage despised, and their crimes detested. At their culminating point, united under the sway of one great mind, they might have formed a large empire in South America, or conquered it as tributaries to France or England. Always thirsty for gold, they were often chivalrous, generous, intrepid, merciful, and disinterested. A greater evil soon cured the lesser. The Spaniards, dreading robbery worse than death, ceased in a great measure to trade. The poorer merchants were ruined by the loss of a single cocoa vessel; the richer waited for the convoy of the plate fleets, or followed in the wake of the galleon, hoping to escape if she was captured, as the chickens do when the hen goes cackling up in the claws of the kite. For every four vessels that once sailed not more than one could be now seen. What with the war of France on Holland, and England on France, and all on Spain, there was little safety for the poor trader. Yet those who could risk a loss still made great profits. This cessation of trade was a poor remedy against the sea robber: it was to rob oneself instead of being robbed, to commit suicide for fear of murder. It was a remedy that saved life, but rendered life hateful. The Buccaneers, starving for want of prey, remained moodily in the rocky fastnesses of Tortuga, like famished eagles looking down on a country they have devastated. To accomplish greater feats they united in bodies, and made forays on the coast. They had before remained at the threshold--they now rushed headlong into the sanctuary, and they got _their_ bread, or rather other people's bread, by daring dashes and surprises of towns, leaving them only when wrapped in flames or swept by the pestilence that always followed in their train. We may claim for our own nation the first pioneer in this new field of enterprise. Lewis Scott, an Englishman, led the way by sacking the town of St. Francisco, in Campeachy, and, compelling the inhabitants to pay a ransom, returned safely to Jamaica. Where the carcase is there will the eagles be gathered together, for no sooner had his sails grown small in the distance than Mansweld, another Buccaneer, made several successful descents upon the same luckless coast, unfortunate in its very fertility. He then equipped a fleet and attempted to return by the kingdom of New Granada to the South Sea, passing the town of Carthagena. This scheme failed in consequence of a dispute arising between the French and English crews, who were always quarrelling over their respective share of provisions; but in spite of this he took the island of St. Catherine, and attempted to found a Buccaneer state. John Davis, a Dutchman, excelled both his predecessors in daring. Cruising about Jamaica he became a scourge to all the Spanish mariners who ventured near the coasts of the Caraccas, or his favourite haunts, Carthagena and the Boca del Toro, where he lay wait for vessels bound to Nicaragua. One day he missed his shot, and having a long time traversed the sea and taken nothing--a failure which generally drove these brave men to some desperate expedient to repair their sinking fortunes--he resolved with ninety men to visit the lagoon of Nicaragua, and sack the town of Granada. An Indian from the shores of the lagoon promised to guide him safely and secretly; and his crew, with one voice, declared themselves ready to follow him wherever he led. By night he rowed thirty leagues up the river, to the entry of the lake, and concealed his ships under the boughs of the trees that grew upon the banks; then putting eighty men in his three canoes he rowed on to the town, leaving ten sailors to guard the vessels. By day they hid under the trees; at night they pushed on towards the unsuspecting town, and reached it on the third midnight--taking it, as he had expected, without a blow and by surprise. To a sentinel's challenge they replied that they were fishermen returning home, and two of the crew, leaping on shore, ran their swords through the interrogator, to stop further questions which might have been less easily answered. Following their guide they reached a small covered way that led to the right of the town, while another Indian towed their canoes to a point to which they had agreed each man should bring his booty. As soon as they arrived at the town they separated into small bands, and were led one by one to the houses of the richest inhabitants. Here they quietly knocked, and, being admitted as friends, seized the inmates by the throat and compelled them, on pain of death, to surrender all the money and jewels that they had. They then roused the sacristans of the principal churches, from whom they took the keys and carried off all the altar plate that could be beaten up or rendered portable. The pixes they stripped of their gems, gouged out the jewelled eyes of virgin idols, and hammered up the sacramental cups into convenient lumps of metal. This quiet and undisturbed pillage had lasted for two hours without a struggle, when some servants, escaping from the adventurers, began to ring the alarm bells to warn the town, while a few of the already plundered citizens, breaking into the marketplace, filled the streets with uproar and affright. Davis, seeing that the inhabitants were beginning to rally from that panic which had alone secured his victory, commenced a retreat, as the enemy were now gathering in armed and threatening numbers. In a hollow square, with their booty in the centre, the Buccaneers fought their way to their boats, amid tumultuous war-cries and shouts of derision and exultation. In spite of their haste, they were prudent enough to carry with them some rich Spaniards, intending to exchange them for any of their own men they might lose in their retreat. On regaining their ships they compelled these prisoners to send them as a ransom 500 cows, with which they revictualled their ships for the passage back to Jamaica. They had scarcely well weighed anchor before they saw 600 mounted Spaniards dash down to the shore in the hopes of arresting their retreat. A few broadsides were the parting greetings of these unwelcome visitors. This expedition was accomplished in eight days. The booty consisted of coined money and bullion amounting to about 40,000 crowns. Esquemeling computes it at 4,000 pieces of eight, and in ready money, plate, and jewels to about 50,000 pieces of eight more. Thus concluded this adventurous raid, in which a town forty leagues inland, and containing at least 800 well-armed defenders, was stormed and robbed by eighty resolute sailors. Davis reached Jamaica in safety with his plunder, which was soon put into wider circulation by the aid of the dice, the tavern keepers, and the courtesans. The money once expended, Davis was roused to fresh exertion. He associated himself with two or three other captains, who, superstitiously relying on his good fortune, chose him as admiral of a small flotilla of eight or nine armed gunboats. The less fortunate rewarded him with boundless confidence. His first excursion was to the town of St. Christopher, in Cuba, to wait for the fleet from New Spain, in hopes to cut off some rich unwieldy straggler. But the fleet contrived to escape his sentinels and pass untouched. Davis then sallied forth and sacked a small town named St. Augustine of Florida, in spite of its castle and garrison of 100 men. He suffered little loss; but the inhabitants proved very poor, and the booty was small. In making war against Spain, the hunters were mere privateersmen cruising against a national enemy; but in their endurance, patience, and energy, they stood alone. In their onset--rushing, singing, and dancing through fire and flame--they resembled rather the old Barsekars or the first levies of Mohammed. But in one point they were very remarkable; that they did more, and were yet actuated by a lower motive. Almost devoid of religion, they fought with all the madness of fanaticism against a people themselves constitutionally fanatic, but already enervated by climate, by sudden wealth, and a long experience of contaminating luxury. The galleons of Manilla were their final aim, as they gradually passed from the devastated shores of South America to the Philippine Islands and the coasts of Guinea. They had been the instrument of Providence, and knew themselves so, to avenge the wrongs of the Indian upon the Spaniard; they were soon to become the first avengers of the Negro. Long years of plunder had made the Spaniard and the Creole as secretive as the Hindu. At the first intelligence of some terrified fisherman, the frightened townsman threw his pistoles into wells, or mortared them up in the wall of his fortresses. Laden mules were driven into the interior; the women fled to the nearest plantation; the old men barred themselves up in the church. Their first thought was always flight; their second, to turn and strike a blow for all they loved, valued, and revered. The debauchery of the Buccaneers was as unequalled as their courage. Oexmelin relates a story of an Englishman who gave 500 crowns to his mistress at a single revel. This man, who had earned 1,500 crowns by exposing himself to desperate dangers, was, within three months, sold for a term of three years to a planter, to discharge a tavern debt which he could not pay. A conqueror of Panama might be seen to-morrow driven by the overseer's whip among a gang of slaves, cutting sugar canes, or picking tobacco. Another Buccaneer, a Frenchman, surnamed Vent-en-Panne, was so addicted to play that he lost everything but his shirt. Every pistole that he could earn he spent in this absorbing vice--so tempting to men, who longed for excitement, were indifferent to money, and daily risked their lives for the prospect of gain. On one occasion he lost 500 crowns, his whole share of some recent prize-money, besides 300 crowns which he had borrowed of a comerade who would now lend him no more. Determined to try his fortune again, he hired himself as servant at the very gambling-house where he had been ruined, and, by lighting pipes for the players and bringing them in wine, earned fifty crowns in two days. He staked this, and soon won 12,000 crowns. He then paid his debts and resolved to lose no more, shipping himself on board an English vessel that touched at Barbadoes. At Barbadoes he met a rich Jew who offered to play him. Unable to abstain, he sat down, and won 1,300 crowns and 100,000 lbs. of sugar already shipped for England, and, in addition to this, a large mill and sixty slaves. The Jew, begging him to stay and give him his revenge, ran and borrowed some money, and returned and took up the cards. The Buccaneer consented, more from love of play than generosity; and the Jew, putting down 1,500 jacobuses, won back 100 crowns, and finally all his antagonist's previous winnings--stripping him even to the very clothes he wore. The delighted winner allowed him for very shame to retain his clothes, and gave him money enough to return, disconsolate and beggared, to Tortuga. Becoming again a Buccaneer, he gained 6,000 or 7,000 crowns. M. D'Ogeron, the governor, treating him as a wayward child, taking away his money, sent him back to France with bills of exchange for the amount. Vent-en-Panne, now cured of his vice, took to merchandise; but, always unfortunate, was killed in his first voyage to the West Indies, his vessel being attacked by two Ostende frigates, of twenty-four or thirty guns each, which were eventually, however, driven off by the dead man's crew of only thirty Buccaneers. When the pleasures of Tortuga or Jamaica had swallowed up all the hard-earned winnings of these men, they returned to sea, expending their last pistoles in powder and ball, and leaving heavy scores still unsettled with the cabaretiers. They then hastened to the quays, or small sandy islands off Cuba, to careen their vessels and to salt turtle. Sometimes they repaired to Honduras, where they had Indian wives; latterly, to the Galapagos isles, to the Boca del Toro, or the coast of Castilla del Oro. Some Buccaneers, Esquemeling says, would spend 3,000 piastres in a night, not leaving themselves even a shirt in the morning. "My own master," he adds, "would buy a whole pipe of wine, and, placing it in the street, would force every one that passed by to drink with him, threatening also to pistol them in case they would not do it. At other times he would do the same with barrels of ale or beer; and very often with both his hands he would throw these liquors about the street, and wet the clothes of such as walked by, without regard whether he spoiled their apparel or not, or whether they were men or women." Port Royal was a favourite scene for such carousals. Even as late as 1694, Montauban gives us some idea of the wild debaucheries committed by the Buccaneers even at Bourdeaux. "My freebooters," he says, "who had not seen France for a long time, finding themselves now in a great city where pleasure and plenty reigned, were not backward to refresh themselves after the fatigues they had endured while so long absent from their native country. They spent a world of money here, and proved horribly extravagant. The merchants and their hosts made no scruple to advance them money, or lend them as much as they pleased, upon the reputation of their wealth and the noise there was throughout the city of the valuable prizes whereof they had a share. All the nights they spent in such divertisements as pleased them best; and the days, in running up and down the town in masquerade, causing themselves to be carried in chairs with lighted flambeaux at noon--of which debauches some died, while four of my crew fairly deserted me." This, it must be remembered, was at a time when buccaneering had sunk into privateering--the half-way house to mere piracy. The distinguishing mark of the true Buccaneer was, that he attacked none but Spaniards. Of the Buccaneers' estimation of religion, Charlevoix gives us some curious accounts. He says, "there remained no traces of it in their heart, but still, sometimes, from time to time, they appeared to meditate deeply. They never commenced a combat without first embracing each other, in sign of reconciliation. They would at such times strike themselves rudely on the breast, as if they wished to rouse some compunction in their hearts, and were not able. Once escaped from danger, they returned headlong to their debauchery, blasphemy, and brigandage. The Buccaneers, looking upon themselves as worthy fellows, regarded the Flibustiers as wretches, but in reality there was not much difference. The Buccaneers were, perhaps, the less vicious, but the Flibustiers preserved a little more of the externals of religion; _with the exception of a certain honour among them, and their abstinence from human flesh, few savages were more wicked, and a great number of them much less so_." This passage shows a very curious jealousy between the hunters and the corsairs, and a singular distinction as to religious feeling. Père Labat, however, speaks of the Flibustiers as attending confession immediately after a sea-fight with most exemplary devotion. A more important distinction than that made by Charlevoix was that between the Protestant and Roman Catholic adventurers, the latter being as superstitious as the former were irreverent. Ravenau de Lussan always speaks with horror of the blasphemy and irreligion of his English comerades, one of whom was an old trooper of Cromwell's; and Grognet's fleet eventually separated from the English ships, on account of the latter crews lopping crucifixes with their sabres, and firing at images with their pistols. A Flibustier captain, named Daniel, shot one of his men in a Spanish church for behaving irreverently at mass; and Ringrose gives an instance of an English commander who threw the dice overboard, if he found his men gambling on a Sunday. We find Ravenau de Lussan's troop singing a _Te Deum_ after victories, and Oexmelin tells us that prayers were said daily on board Flibustier ships. It is difficult to say from what class of life either the Buccaneers or the Flibustiers sprang. The planters often became hunters, and the hunters sailors, and the reverse. Morgan was a Welsh farmer's son, who ran away to sea; Montauban, the son of a Gascon gentleman; D'Ogeron had been a captain in the French marines; Von Horn, a common sailor in an Ostende smack; Dampierre was a Somersetshire yeoman, and Esquemeling a Dutch planter's apprentice. Charlevoix says, "few could bear for many years a life so hard and laborious, and the greater part only continued in it till they could gain enough to become planters. Many, continually wasting their money, never earned sufficient to buy a plantation; others grew so accustomed to the life, and so fond even of its hardships and painful risks, that, though often heirs to good fortunes, they would not leave it to return to France." The life of M. D'Ogeron, the governor of Tortuga, is an example of another class of Buccaneers, and of the causes which led to the choice of such a profession. At fifteen, he was captain of a regiment of marines, and in 1656, joining a company intending to colonize the Matingo river, he embarked in a ship, fitted out at the expense of 17,000 livres. Disappointed in this bubble, he tried to settle at Martinique, but deceived by the governor, who withdrew a grant of land, he determined to settle with the Buccaneers of St. Domingo. Embarking in a ricketty vessel, he ran ashore on Hispaniola, and lost all his merchandise and provisions. Giving his _engagés_ their liberty, he joined the hunters, and became distinguished as well for courage as virtue. His goods sent from France were sold at a loss, and he returned to his native country a poor man. Collecting his remaining money, he hired _engagés_, and loaded a vessel with wine and brandy. Finding the market glutted, he sold his cargo at a loss, and was cheated by his Jamaica agent. Returning again to France, he fitted out a third vessel, and finally settled as a planter in Hispaniola. At this juncture the French West India Company fixed their eyes upon him, and in 1665 made him governor of their colony. Ravenau de Lussan illustrates the motives that sometimes led the youth of the higher classes to turn Buccaneers. He commences his book with true French vanity, by saying, that few children of Paris, which contains so many of the wonders of the world (ten out of the eight, we suppose), seek their fortune abroad. From a child he was seized with a passionate disposition for travel, and would steal out of his father's house and play truant when he was yet scarce seven. He soon reached La Vilette and the suburbs, and by degrees learnt to lose sight of Paris. With this passion arose a desire for a military life. The noise of a drum in the street transported him with joy. He made a friend of an officer, and, offering him his sword, joined his company, and witnessed the siege of Condé, ending his campaign, still unwearied of his new form of life. He then became a cadet in a marine regiment. The captain drained him of all his money, and his father, at a great expense, bought him his discharge. Under the Count D'Avegeau he entered the French Guards, and fought at the siege of St. Guislain. Growing, on his return, weary of Paris, he embarked again on sea, having nothing but voyages in his head; the longest and most dangerous appearing to his imagination, he says, the most delightful. Travelling by land seemed to him long and difficult, and he once more chose the sea, deeming it only fit for a woman to remain at home ignorant of the world. His affectionate parents tried in vain to reason him out of this gadding humour, and finding him only grow firmer and more inflexible, they desisted. Not caring whither he went, so he could get to sea, he embarked in 1697 from Dieppe for St. Domingo. Here he remained for five months _engagé_ to a French planter, "more a Turk than a Frenchman." "But what misery," he says, "soever I have undergone with him, I freely forgive him, being resolved to forget his name, which I shall not mention in this place, because the laws of Christianity require that at my hand, though as to matters of charity he is not to expect much of that in me, since he, on his part, has been every way defective in the exercise thereof upon my account." But his patience at last worn out, and weary of cruelties that seemed endless, De Lussan applied to M. de Franquesnay, the king's lieutenant, who himself gave him shelter in his house for six months. He was now in debt, and thinking it "honest to pay his creditors," he joined the freebooters in order to satisfy them, not willing to apply again for money to his parents. "These borrowings from the Spaniards," he says, "have this advantage attending them, that there is no obligation to repay them," and there was war between the two crowns, so that he was a legal privateersman. Selecting a leader, De Lussan pitched on De Graff, as a brave corsair, who happened to be then at St. Domingo, eager to sail. Furnishing himself with arms, at the expense of Franquesnay, he joined De Graff. "We were," he says, "in a few hours satisfied with each other, and became such friends as those are wont to be who are about to run the same risk of fortune, and apparently to die together." The 22nd of November, the day he sailed from Petit Guave, seemed the happiest of his life. Dampierre mentions an old Buccaneer, who was slain at the taking of Leon. "He was," he says, "a stout, grey-headed old man, aged about eighty-four, who had served under Oliver Cromwell in the Irish rebellion; after which he was at Jamaica, and had followed privateering ever since. He would not accept the offer our men made him to tarry ashore, but said he would venture as far as the best of them; but when surrounded by the Spaniards he refused "to take quarter, but discharged his gun amongst them, keeping a pistol still charged; so they shot him dead at a distance. His name was Swan (_rara avis_). He was a very merry, hearty old man, and always used to declare he would never take quarter." When the adventurers were at sea, they lived together as a friendly brotherhood. Every morning at ten o'clock the ship's cook put the kettle on the fire to boil the salt beef for the crew, in fresh water if they had plenty, but if they ran short in brine; meal was boiled at the same time, and made into a thick porridge, which was mixed with the gravy and the fat of the meat. The whole was then served to the crew on large platters, seven men to a plate. If the captain or cook helped themselves to a larger share than their messmates, any of the republican crew had a right to change plates with them. But, notwithstanding this brotherly equality, and in spite of the captain being deposable by his crew, there was maintained at all moments of necessity the strictest discipline, and the most rigid subordination of rank. The crews had two meals a day. They always said grace before meat: the French Catholics singing the canticles of Zecharias, the Magnificat, or the Miserere; the English reading a chapter from the New Testament, or singing a psalm. Directly a vessel hove in sight, the Flibustiers gave chase. If it showed a Spanish flag, the guns were run out, and the decks cleared; the pikes lashed ready, and every man prepared his musket and powder, of which he alone was the guardian (and not the gunner), these articles being generally paid for from the common stock, unless provided by the captain. They first fell on their knees at their quarters (each group round its gun), to pray God that they might obtain both victory and plunder. Then all lay down flat on the deck, except the few left to steer and navigate--proceeding to board as soon as their musketeers had silenced the enemy's fire. If victorious, they put their prisoners on shore, attended to the wounded, and took stock of the booty. A third part of the crew went on board the prize, and a prize captain was chosen by lot. No excuse was allowed; and if illness prevented the man elected taking the office, his _matelot_, or companion, took his place. On arriving at Tortuga, they paid a commission to the governor, and before dividing the spoil, rewarded the captain, the surgeons, and the wounded. The whole crew then threw into a common heap all they possessed above the value of five sous, and took an oath on the New Testament, holding up their right hands, that they had kept nothing back. Any one detected in perjury was marooned, and his share either given to the rest, to the heirs of the dead, or as a bequest to some chapel. The jewels and merchandise were sold, and they divided the produce. "It was impossible," says Oexmelin, "to put any obstacle in the way of men who, animated simply by the hope of gain, were capable of such great enterprises, having _nothing but life_ to lose and all to win. It is true that they would not have persisted long in their expeditions if they had had neither boats nor provisions. For ships they never wanted, because they were in the habit of going out in small canoes and capturing the largest and best provisioned vessels. For harbours they could never want, because everybody fled before them, and they had but to appear to be victorious." This intelligent and animated writer concludes his book by expressing an opinion that a firm and organized resistance by Spain at the outset might have stopped the subsequent mischief; but this opinion he afterwards qualifies in the following words, which, coming from such a writer so well acquainted with those of whom he writes, speaks volumes in favour of Buccaneer prowess: "Je dis _peut-être_, car les aventuriers sont de terribles gens." Charlevoix describes the first Flibustiers as going out in canoes with twenty-five or thirty men, without pilot or provisions, to capture pearl-fishers and surprise small cruisers. If they succeeded, they went to Tortuga, bought a vessel, and started 150 strong, going to Cuba to take in salt turtle, or to Port Margot or Bayaha for dried pork or beef--dividing all upon the _compagnon à bon lot_ principle. They always said public prayer before starting on an expedition, and returned solemn thanks to God for victory. "They were," says a Jesuit writer, "at first so crowded in their boats that they had scarcely room to lie down; and, as they practised no economy in eating, they were always short of food. They were also night and day exposed to the inclemency of the weather, and yet loved so much the independence in which they lived, that no one murmured. Some sang when others wished to sleep, and all were by turns compelled to bear these inconveniences without complaint. But one may imagine men so little at their ease spared no pains to gain more comforts; that the sight of a larger and more convenient vessel gave them courage sufficient to capture it; and that hunger deprived them of all sense of the danger of procuring food. They attacked all they met without a thought, and boarded as soon as possible. A single volley would have sunk their vessels; but they were skilful in manoeuvre, their sailors were very active, and they presented to the enemy nothing but a prow full of fusiliers, who, firing through the portholes, struck the gunners with terror. Once on board, nothing could prevent them becoming masters of a ship, however numerous the crew. The Spaniards' blood grew cold when those whom they called, and looked upon as, demons came in sight, and they frequently surrendered at once in order to obtain quarter. If the prize was rich their lives were spared; but if the cargo proved poor, the Buccaneers often threw the crew into the sea in revenge." Their favourite coasts were the Caraccas, Carthagena, Nicaragua, and Campeachy, where the ports were numerous and well frequented. Their best harbours at the Caraccas were Cumana, Canagote, Coro, and Maracaibo; at Carthagena, La Rancheria, St. Martha, and Portobello. Round Cuba they watched for vessels going from New Spain to Maracaibo. If going, they found them laden with silver; if returning, full of cocoa. The prizes to the Caraccas were laden with the lace and manufactures of Spain; those from Havannah, with leather, Campeachy wood, cocoa, tobacco, and Spanish coin. The dress of the Buccaneer sailors must have varied with the changes of the age. Retaining their red shirts and leather sandals as the working dress of their brotherhood, we find them donning all the splendour rummaged from Spanish cabins, now wearing the plumed hat and laced sword-belt of Charles the Second's reign, and now the tufts of ribbons of the perfumed court of Louis Quatorze. Sprung from all nations and all ranks, some of them prided themselves upon the rough beard, bare feet, and belted shirt of the rudest seaman, while others, like Grammont and De Graff, flaunted in the richest costumes of their period. They must have passed from the long cloak and loose cassock of the Stuart reign to the jack-boots and Dutch dress of William of Orange; from the laced and flowing Steenkirk to the fringed cock-hat and deep-flapped waistcoat of Queen Anne. In the English translation of Esquemeling, Barthelemy Portugues, one of the earliest sea-rovers, is represented as having his long, lank hair parted in the centre and falling on his shoulders, and his moustachios long and rough. He wears a plain embroidered coat with a neck-band, and carries in his arms a short, broad sabre, unsheathed, as was the habit with many Buccaneer chiefs. Roche Braziliano appears in a plain hunter's shirt, the strings tying it at the neck being fastened in a bow. Lolonnois has the same shirt, showing at his neck and puffing through the openings of his sleeve, and he carries a naked broadsword with a shell guard. In the portrait of Sir Henry Morgan we see much more affectation of aristocratic dress. He has a rich coat of Charles the Second's period, a laced cravat tied in a fringed bow with long ends, and his broad sword-belt is stiff with gold lace. The hunter's shirt, however, still shows through the slashed sleeves. CHAPTER IV. PETER THE GREAT, THE FIRST BUCCANEER. Plunder of Segovia--Pierre-le-Grand--Pierre François--Barthelemy Portugues--His Escapes--Roche, the Brazilian--Fanatical hatred of Spaniards--Wrecks and Adventures. The date of the first organized Buccaneer expedition is uncertain. We only know that about the year 1654, a large party of Buccaneers, French and English, joined in an expedition to the continent. They ascended, in canoes, a river on the Mosquito Shore, a small distance on the south side of Cape Gracias à Dios, and after labouring for a month against a strong stream, full of torrents, left their boats and marched to the town of Nueva Segovia, which they plundered, and then returned down the river. It is difficult to trace the exact beginning of the Flibustiers, or, as they were soon called, the Buccaneers. According to most writers, the first successful adventurer known at Tortuga was Pierre-le-Grand (Peter the Great). He was a native of Dieppe, and his greatest enterprise was the capture of the vice-admiral of the Spanish _flota_, while lying off Cape Tiburon, on the west side of Hispaniola. This he accomplished in a canoe with only twenty-eight companions. Setting out by the Carycos he surprised his unwieldy antagonist in the channel of Bahama, which the Spaniards had hitherto passed in perfect security. He had been now a long time at sea without obtaining any prize worth taking, his provisions were all but exhausted, and his men, in danger of starving, were almost reduced to despair. While hanging over the gunwale, listless and discontented, the Buccaneers suddenly spied a large vessel of the Spanish fleet, separated from the rest and fast approaching them. They instantly sailed towards her to ascertain her strength, and though they found it to be vastly superior to theirs, partly from despair and partly from cupidity they resolved at once to take it or die in the attempt. It was but to die a little quicker if they failed, and the blood in their veins might as well be shed in a moment as slowly stagnate with famine. If they did not conquer they would die, but if they did not attack, and escaped notice, they would also perish, and by the most painful and lingering of deaths. Being now come so near that flight was impossible, they took a solemn oath to their captain to stand by him to the last, and neither to flinch nor skulk, partly hoping that the enemy was insufficiently armed, and that they might still master her. It was in the dusk of the evening, and the coming darkness facilitated their boarding, and concealed the disadvantage of numbers. While they got their arms ready they ordered their chirurgeon to bore a hole in the sides of the boat, in order that the utter hopelessness of their situation might impel them to more daring self-devotion, that they might be forced to attack more vigorously and board more quickly. But their courage needed no such incitement. With no other arms than a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, they immediately climbed up the sides of the Spaniard and made their way pell-mell to the state cabin. There they found the captain and his officers playing at cards. Setting a pistol to their breasts, they commanded them to deliver up the ship. The Spaniards, surprised to hear the Buccaneers below, not having seen them board, and seeing no boat by which they could have arrived (for the surgeon had now sunk it, and rejoined his friends through a porthole), cried out, in an agony of superstitious fear, "Jesu, bless us, these are devils!" thinking the men had fallen from the clouds, or had been shaken from some shooting star. In the mean time Peter's kinsfolk fought their way into the gunroom, seized the arms, killed a few sailors who snatched up swords, and drove the rest under hatches. That very morning some of the Spanish sailors had told their captain that a pirate boat was gaining upon them, but when he came up to see, and beheld so small a craft, he laughed at their fears of a mere cockle shell, and went down again, despising any vessel, though it were as big and strong as their own. Upon a second alarm, late in the day, when his lieutenant asked him if he should not get a cannon or two ready, he grew angry, and replied, "No, no, rig the crane out, and hoist the boat aboard." Peter, having taken this rich prize, detained as many of the Spanish seamen as he needed, and put the rest on shore in Hispaniola, which was close at hand. The vessel was full of provisions and great riches, and Pierre steered at once for France, never returning to resume a career so well begun. The news of this capture set Tortuga in an uproar. The planters and hunters of Hispaniola burned to follow up a profession so glorious and so profitable. It had been discovered now that a man's fortune could be made by one single scheme of daring and enterprise. Not being able to purchase or hire boats at Tortuga, they set forth in their canoes to seek them elsewhere. Some began cruising about Cape de Alvarez, carrying off small Spanish vessels that carried hides and tobacco to the Havannah. Returning with their prizes to Tortuga, they started again for Campeachy or New Spain, where they captured richer vessels of greater burden. In less than a month they had brought into harbour two plate vessels, bound from Campeachy to the Caraccas, and two other ships of great size. In two years no less than twenty Buccaneer vessels were equipped at Tortuga, and the Spaniards, finding their losses increase and transport becoming precarious, despatched two large men-of-war to defend the coast. The next scourge of the Spaniard in these seas was Pierre François, a native of Dunkirk, whose combinative, far-seeing genius and dauntless heart soon raised him above the level of the mere footpads of the ocean. His little brigantine, with a picked crew of twenty-six men--hunters by sea and land--cruised generally about the Cape de la Vela, waiting for merchant ships on their way from Maracaibo to Campeachy. Pierre had now been a long time afloat and taken no prize, the usual prelude to great enterprises amongst these men, who defied all dangers and all enemies. The provisions were running short, the boat was leaky, the captain moody and silent, and the crew half mutinous. To return empty-handed to Tortuga was to be a butt for every sneerer, a victim to unrelenting creditors; to the men beggary, to Pierre a loss of fame and all future promotion. But, there being a perfect equality in these boats, the crews seldom rose in open rebellion; and as every one had a voice in the proposal of a scheme, there was no one to rail at if the scheme failed. At last, amid this suspense, more tedious than a tropic calm, one more daring or more far-seeing than the rest stood up and suggested a visit to the pearl-fishings at the Rivière de la Hache. History, always drowsy at critical periods, does not say if François was the proposer of this scheme or not. We may be sure he was a sturdy seconder, and that the plan was carried amid wild cheering and waving of hats and guns and swords enough to scare the sharks floating hungrily round the boat, and frighten the glittering flying-fish back into the sea. These Rancheria fishings were at a rich bank of pearl to which the people of Carthagena sent annually twelve vessels, with a man-of-war convoy, generally a Spanish armadilla with a crew of 200 men, and carrying twenty-four pieces of cannon. Every vessel had two or three Negro slaves on board, who dived for the pearls. These men seldom lived long, and were frequently ruptured by the exertion of holding breath a quarter of an hour below the waves. The time for diving was from October till May, when the north winds were lulled and the sea calm. The large vessel was called the _Capitana_, and to this the proceeds of the day were brought every night, to prevent any risk of fraud or theft. Rather than return unsuccessful, Pierre resolved to swoop down upon this guarded covey, and carry off the ship of war in the sight of all the fleet; a feat as dangerous as the abduction of an Irish heiress on the brink of marriage. He found the fishing boats riding at anchor at the mouth of the River de la Hache, and the man-of-war scarcely half a league distant. In the morning he approached them, and they, seeing him hovering at a distance like a kite above a farmyard, ran under shelter of their guardian's guns, like chickens under the hen's wing. Keeping still at a distance, they supposed he was afraid to approach, and soon allowed their fears to subside. The captain of the armadilla, however, took the precaution of sending three armed men on board each boat, believing the pearls the object of the Buccaneer, and left his own vessel almost defenceless. The hour had come. Furling his sails, Pierre rowed along the coast, feigning himself a Spanish vessel from Maracaibo, and when near the pearl bank, suddenly attacked the vice-admiral with eight guns and sixty men, and commanded him to surrender. The Spaniards, although surprised, made a good defence, but at last surrendered after half an-hour's hand-to-hand fight, before the almost unmanned armadilla could approach to render assistance. Pierre now sank his own boat, which had only been kept afloat by incessant working at the pumps. Many men would have rested satisfied with such a prize, but Pierre knew no Capua, and "thought naught done while aught remained to do." He at once resolved, by a stratagem, to capture the armadilla, and then the whole fleet would be his own. The night being very dark, and the wind high and favourable, he weighed anchor, forcing the prisoners to help his own crew. The man-of-war, seeing one of its fleet sailing, followed, fearing that the sailors were absconding with the pearls. As soon as it approached, Pierre made all the Spaniards, on pain of instant death, shout out "_Victoria, victoria!_ we have taken the ladrones," upon which the man-of-war drew off, promising to send for the prisoners in the morning. Laughing in his sleeve, Pierre gave orders for hoisting all sail, and stood away for the open sea, putting forth all his strength to get out of sight by daybreak. But the blood of the murdered Spaniards, yet hot upon the deck, was crying to heaven against him, and he was pursued. He had not got a league before the wind fell, and his ship lay like a log on the water, just within sight of his pursuers, who kept a long way off, burning with impatience and shame, and fretting like hounds in leash when the boar breaks out. About evening the wind rose, after much invocatory whistling, many prayers, many curses. Pierre, ignorant of the power of his prize, and what canvas she could bear, hoisted at random every stitch of sail and ran for his life, pursued by the armadilla, wrathful, white-winged, and swift. Like many a fleet runner, Pierre stumbled in his very eagerness for speed. He overloaded his vessel with sail. The wind grew higher, and howled like an avenging spirit, and his mainmast fell with the crash of a thunder-split oak. But Pierre held firm; he threw his prisoners into the hold, nailed down the hatches, and, trusting to night to escape, stood boldly at bay. He despaired of meeting force by force, having only twenty-two sound men, the rest being, before long, either killed or wounded. All in vain; the great bird of prey bore down upon him like a hawk upon a throstle, gaining, gaining every moment. Pierre defended himself courageously, and at last surrendered on condition. The Spanish captain agreed that the Buccaneers should not be employed in carrying, building-stones for three or four years like mere negroes, but should be set safe on dry land. As yet, the deep animosity of the two races had not sprung up. The prize they so nearly bore off contained above 100,000 pieces of eight in pearls, besides provisions and goods. At first the captain would have put them all to the sword, but his crew persuaded him to keep his word. The Frenchmen were then thrust down with curses into the same dark hold from whence the imprisoned Spaniards were now released; so "the whirligig of time brings about its revenge." When the crestfallen Buccaneers were brought before the governor of Carthagena, an outcry arose among the populace that the robbers should all be hung, to atone for an alfarez whom they had killed, and who, they said, was worth the whole French nation put together. The governor, however, though he did not put them to death, ungenerously broke the terms of his agreement, and compelled his prisoners to work at the fortifications of St. Francisco, in his own island. After about three years of this painful slavery, amid the jeers and contumely of the very negroes, they were sent to Spain, and from thence escaping one by one to France, made their way back to the Spanish main, more eager than ever to revenge their wrongs at the hands of a nation whose riches furnished a ready means of expiation, and whose cowardice rendered them incapable of frequent retaliation. The third hero on our stage, equally bold and no less memorable, was Barthelemy Portugues, a native of Portugal, as his name implied. Roused by the rumours of adventures which insured gold and glory, Barthelemy (no saint, and certainly more ready to flay others than to submit to flaying) sought out a small vessel at Jamaica, and fitted it up at his own expense. As only his most remarkable enterprises are recorded it is probable, from his having money, that he was already known as a successful Flibustier. This boat he armed with four three-pounders, and embarked with a crew of thirty men. Leaving Kingston with a good wind at his back, he set sail to cruise off Cape de Corriente, which he knew was the high road where he should meet vessels coming from the Caraccas or Carthagena, on their way to Campeachy, New Spain, or the Havannah. He had not been long beating about the Cape--a point rounded with as much care by a Spanish merchantman, afraid of Buccaneers, as Cape St. Vincent was by the European captain, dreading the Salee rovers--before a great vessel, bound from Maracaibo and Carthagena to the Havannah, hove in sight. It had a crew of seventy men, and carried twenty guns, and many passengers and marines. The Flibustiers, thinking a Spaniard so well armed and manned to be more than their match, held one of their republican councils round the mast, and refused to attack unless the captain wished. He decided that no opportunity should be lost, for that nothing in any part of the world could be won without risk. They instantly gave chase to the vessel that quietly awaited their approach, as astonished at the attack as a swallow would be if it were pursued by a gnat. Receiving one flaming broadside, noisy but harmless, the half-stripped rovers instantly threw themselves on board, but were repulsed by the Spaniards, who were numerous, hopeful, and brave. Returning to their vessel and throwing down their cutlass for the musket, they kept up a close fire of small arms for five hours without ceasing. Every gunner and every reefer was picked off, the decks were red, the return fire grew slack as the defence grew weaker, and the foe's proud courage cooled; the Buccaneers again threw themselves on board, and made themselves masters of the ship, with the loss of only ten men and four wounded. They had now only fifteen men left to navigate a vessel containing nearly forty prisoners. This number was all that were left alive, and of these many were maimed with shot wounds or gashed with sword cuts. The conquerors' first act was to throw the dead overboard, officer and sailor, just as they fell, stripping off the jewels and ransacking pockets for the dead men's doubloons. The living Spaniards, wounded and dying, they drove into one small boat, and gave them their liberty, afraid to keep them as prisoners and unwilling to shed their blood. They then set to work to splice the rigging and piece the sails, and lastly, to rummage for the plunder. They found the value of their prize to be 75,000 crowns, besides 120,000 pounds of cocoa, worth about 5000 additional. Having refitted the shattered vessel, they would have sailed round the island of Jamaica, but a contrary wind and current obliged them to steer to Cape St. Anthony, the west extremity of Cuba, where they landed and took in water, of which they were in great want. They had scarcely hoisted sail to resume their course, probably intending to return to port to sell their spoil before starting afresh, when they unexpectedly fell upon three large vessels coming from New Spain to the Havannah, who gave chase, as certain of victory as three greyhounds bounding after a single hare. The Flibustiers, heavy laden with plunder, and unable to make way, were almost instantly retaken, falling as easy a prey as a gorged wolf does to the hunter. In a few hours the Buccaneers were under hatches, stripped of even their very clothes, and counting the moments before execution--the Puritan doling out his hymns, the Catholic muttering his Miserere, and the rude Cow-killer vowing vengeance if he could but escape. Two evenings after a storm arose and separated the leash of armed merchantmen. The vessel containing the luckless Portugues arrived first at St. Francisco, Campeachy. Barthelemy, who spoke Spanish, had been well treated by the captain, who did not know what a prize he had taken. The news of the capture soon ran through the town, the captain became a public man, the bells rang, the people flocked to see the caged lions, and the principal merchants of the place crowded to congratulate him on his success. Among the curious and timid visitors was one who recognised Barthelemy, in spite of all his oaths and denials, and demanded his surrender. No hate can match the hate of injured avarice and frustrated cupidity. "This is Barthelemy the Portuguese," he told every one, "the most wicked rascal in the world, and who has done more harm to Spanish commerce than all the other pirates put together." He ran everywhere and declared they had at last got hold of the man so famous for the many insolences, robberies, and murders he had committed on their coast, and by whose cruel hands many of their kinsmen had perished. The captain, rather distrustful--somewhat favourable to Barthelemy, perhaps, considering him as a brother seaman, worth any ten land-lubbers, and annoyed at the arrogance of the merchant's demand--refused to surrender the Portuguese, or to send him on shore. The enraged merchant upon this proceeded to the governor, who, listening to his complaint, sent to demand the Buccaneers in the king's name. He was instantly arrested, spite of the captain's entreaties, and placed on board another vessel, heavily ironed, for fear he should escape, as he had done on a former occasion. A gibbet was erected, and the next day it was resolved to lead him at once from his cabin to the place of execution, without the hypocritical and useless ceremony of even a prejudged trial. For some time Portugues remained uncertain of his fate, till a Spanish sailor (for he seems to have had the power of winning friends) told him that the gibbet was already putting together, and the rope was ready noosed. In that delay was his safety; that very night he resolved to escape, or perish by a quicker or less disgraceful death. No doubt, with that strange mixture of religion remaining in the minds of most Buccaneers, he prayed to God or the saints to aid him. He soon freed himself from his irons. Discovering in his cabin two of those large earthen jars in which wine was brought from Spain to the Indies, he closed over the orifices, and hung them to his side with cords, being probably unable to swim, and the distance too far to the shore. Finding that he could not elude the vigilance of the sleepless sentinel that paced at his door, he stabbed him with a knife he had secretly purchased, and let himself noiselessly down, from the mainchains into the water, floating to land without the splash that a swimmer would have made in still water. Once on land he concealed himself in a wood, prepared to bear any danger, and glad at heart to endure starvation rather than suffer a public and shameful death. He was too cunning to set off at once on a route that would be explored, but hid himself among trees half covered with water, in order to prevent the possibility of his being tracked by the maroon bloodhounds--a common stratagem with the moss-troopers, who found the sound of running water drown the noise of their movements and the murmur of their breathing, and destroy all traces of their track. Bruce and Wallace had long before escaped by the artifice that now saved a robber and a murderer. His must have been anxious nights, varied by the shouts of negroes, the deep bay of the dogs, the oaths of the Spaniards, the discharge of fire-arms, the toll of the alarm bell, the glare of beacons; and the flash of torches. For these three days he lived on yams and other roots growing around him. From a tree in which he sometimes harboured he had the satisfaction of seeing his pursuers search the wood in vain, and finally relinquish the pursuit. Believing that the danger had now in some degree decreased, the lion-hearted sailor determined to push for the Golpho Triste, forty leagues distant, where he hoped to find a Buccaneer ship careening. He arrived there after fourteen days of incredible endurance. He started in the evening from the seashore, within sight of the lit-up town where a black gibbet was still standing bodingly against the sky. His forced marches were full of terrible dangers and perils. He had no provisions with him, and nothing but a small calabash of water hung at his side. Hunger and thirst strode beside him, the wild beast glared in his path, the Spanish voices seemed to pursue him. His subsistence was the raw shell-fish that he found washed among the rocks upon the shore, fresh or putrid he had no time to consider. He had streams to ford, dark with caymans, and he had to traverse woods where the jaguars howled. Whenever he came to a stream unusually dark, deep, and dangerous, and where no ford was visible (for he could not swim), he threw in large stones as he waded to scare away the crocodiles that lurked round the shallows. In one spot he travelled five or six leagues swinging like a sloth from bough to bough of a pathless wood of mangroves, never once setting foot upon the ground. His day's progress was often scarcely perceptible. At one river more than usually deep he found an old plank, which had drifted ashore when the seaman was washed off, and from this he obtained some large rusty nails. Extracting these nails, he sharpened them on a stone with great labour, and used them to cut down some branches of trees, which he joined together with osiers and pliable twigs, and slowly constructed a raft. Hunger, thirst, heat, and fear beset him round; and the voice of the sea, always on his right hand, came to him like the hungry howl of death. In these fourteen nights he must have literally tasted death, and anticipated the horrors of hell. "Fortune favors the brave." He found a Buccaneer vessel in the gulf, and he was saved. The crew were old companions of his, newly arrived from Jamaica and from England. He related to them his adversities and his misfortunes. All listened eagerly to adventures that might to-morrow be their own. He thought alone of revenge, and told them that if they chose he would give them a ship worth a whole fleet of their canoes. He desired their help. He only asked for one boat and thirty men. With these he promised to return to Campeachy and capture the vessel that had taken him but fourteen days before. They soon granted his request, the boat was at once equipped, and he sailed along the coast, passing for a smuggler bringing contraband goods. In eight days he arrived at Campeachy, undauntedly and without noise boarding the vessel at midnight. They were challenged by the sentinel. Barthelemy, who spoke good Spanish, replied, in a low voice, "We are part of the crew returning with goods from land, on which no duty has been paid." The sentinel, hoping for a share, or at least some hush-money, did not repeat the question. Allowing him no time to detect the trick, they stabbed him, and, rushing forward, overpowered the watch. Cutting the cable, they surprised the sleepers in their cabins, and, weighing anchor, soon compelled the Spaniards, by a resolute attack, to surrender; and, setting sail from the port, rejoined their exulting comrades, unpursued by any vessel. Great was the joy of the adventurers in becoming possessors of so brave a ship. Portugues was now again rich and powerful, though but lately a condemned prisoner in the very vessel upon whose deck he now stood the lord of all. With this cargo of rich merchandise Barthelemy intended to achieve enterprises, for though the Spaniards' plate had been all disembarked at Campeachy, the booty was still large. But let no hunter halloo till he is out of the wood, and no sailor laugh till he gets into port. While he was making his voyage to Jamaica, and already counting his profits as certain, a terrible storm arose off the isle of Pinos, on the south of Cuba, which drove his prize against the Jardine rocks, where she went to pieces. Portugues and his companions escaped in a canoe to Jamaica, and before long started on new adventures. What eventually became of him we know not, but we are told that "he was never fortunate after." Whether he swung on the Campeachy gibbet after all, became a prey to the Darien man-eater, was pierced by the Greek bullet, or was devoured by the sea, long expecting its victim, we shall never know. He sails away from Kingston with colours flying, and wanders away into unknown deeps. Of this wild man's end nothing was ever known. He was living at Jamaica when Esquemeling left for England. His bones, perhaps, still whiten on some Indian bay, with the sea moaning around that nameless dust for ever--doomed to destroy man, but lamenting the very desolation it occasions. This Roche Braziliano (or Roc, the Brazilian, as the English adventurers called him,) was born at Groninghen, in East Friezeland; and his own name being forgotten, he was called the Brazilian, because his parents had been Dutch settlers in the Brazils. Roche was taught the Indian and Portuguese languages at an early age, and, when the latter nation retook the Brazils, removed with his parents to the French Antilles, where he learned French. Disliking the nation, he passed into Jamaica. Here he learned to speak English, and, settling among our more congenial race, became attached to the country of his adoption. But he had lingered too long in the desert to have much taste for even Goshen. He had already acquired the Arab's love for wandering, and poverty combined to lead him into an adventurer's ship. Into this mode of life all restless talent and love of enterprise was now driven. After only three voyages, Roche became commander of a brig whose crew had mutinied from their captain and offered him the command. In a few days, this almost untried man had the good fortune to capture a large vessel coming from New Spain with a great quantity of plate on board. On his arrival in Jamaica, Roc became at once the acknowledged leader of all the Vikinger of the Spanish main--their first sailor, their hero, and their model. He soon grew so terrible that the Spanish mothers used his name as a hushword to their children. Roc is described as having a stalwart and vigorous body. He was of ordinary height, but stout and muscular. His face was wide and short, his cheek-bones prominent, and his eyebrows bushy and of unusual size. He was skilful in the use of all Indian and Catholic (Spanish) arms, a good hunter, a good fisherman, and a good shot--as skilful a pilot as he was a brave soldier. He generally carried a naked sabre resting on his arm, and made no scruple of cutting down any of his crew who were idle, mutinous, or cowardly. He was much dreaded even in Jamaica, and particularly when drunk, says his candid biographer. At those times he would frequently run a-muck through the streets, beating and wounding any one he met, especially if they dared to oppose or resist him. In his sober moments he was esteemed and feared, but he too often abandoned himself to every sort of debauchery. In Roc we see the first indication of a new phase of Buccaneering life--_a fanatical hatred of the Spaniard_. The sailor, at first a mere privateersman at sea, and a hunter on shore, was now a legal robber, with a spice of the crusader: a chivalrous Vendetta feeling had become superadded to the mere love of booty. A thirst for gold had proved irresistible: what would it be now when it became heightened by a thirst for blood? To the Spaniards Roc was always very barbarous and cruel, out of an inveterate hatred to that nation. He seldom gave them quarter, and treated them with untiring ferocity. He taxed his invention for new modes of torture, revenging upon them by a rather indirect mode of retaliation the wrongs inflicted upon his parents by the Portuguese. He is said to have even roasted alive some of his prisoners on wooden spits, like boucaned boars, because they refused to disclose the hog-yards where he might victual his ships. By the Spaniards he was reported to be really an apostate outlaw of their own nation, this being the only way in which they could account for his needless and useless cruelties. On one occasion, as he was cruising on the coast of Campeachy, a dismal tempest, says the chronicler, "surprised him so violently" that his ship was wrecked, himself and his crew only escaping with their muskets, a little powder, and a few bullets, much more useful, however, than gold on such a coast. They reached shore not far from Golpho Triste, the scene of Barthelemy's escape. Roc was not the man to be cast down by an accident no more regarded by true adventurers than the upsetting of a coach by an ordinary traveller. Getting ashore in a canoe, he determined to march quickly along the coast, and repair to the gulf, a well-known haunt of the members of their craft. Roc bade his men be of good heart, and he would bring them safe out of every danger, and, giving them hope, the promise was already half accomplished. Getting on the main road, they proceeded on their march through a hostile country, with the air of men who had conquered the whole Indies. They had already reached a desert track, and were grown fatigued, hungry, and thirsty, when some Indians gave the alarm, and the Spaniards were soon down upon them, to the number of one hundred well-armed and well-mounted horsemen, while the Buccaneers were but thirty men. As soon as Roc saw the enemy, the Brazilian cried out, "Courage, _mes frères_, we are hungry now, but, Caramba, you shall soon have a dinner if you follow me," and then, perceiving the imminent danger, he encouraged his men, telling them they were better soldiers than the Spaniards, and that they ought rather to die fighting under their arms as became men of courage, than to surrender, and have their lives pressed out by the extremest torments. Seeing their commander's courage, the wrecked men resolved to attack, instead of waiting tamely for the enemy's approach, and, facing the Spaniards, they at once discharged their guns so dexterously, that they killed a horseman with almost every shot. After an hour's hot fighting, the Spaniards fled. The adventurers lost only two men, two more being lamed. Stripping the dead, they took from them every valuable, and despatched the wounded with the butt-end of their muskets. They then feasted on the wine and brandy they found in their knapsacks, or at their saddle bows, and declared themselves ready to attack as many again; and having finished their meal, they mounted on the stray horses, and proceeded on their march. The victors had not gone more than two days' journey before they caught sight of a well-manned Spanish vessel, lying off the shore beneath. It had come to protect the boats which landed the men who cut the Campeachy dyewood. Roc saw that the poultry-yard knew nothing of the kite that was hovering near. He instantly concealed his band, and went with six comerades into a thicket near the beach to watch. Here they passed the night. At daybreak the Spaniards, pulling to shore in their canoe, were received in a courteous but unexpected manner by the Buccaneers. Roc instantly summoned his men, boarded and took the vessel. The little man-of-war contained little plate, but, what was of equal use, two hundred weight of salt, with which he salted down a few of the horses which he killed. The remaining horses he gave to his Spanish prisoners, telling them laughingly, that the beasts were worth more than the vessel, and that once on their backs on dry land no rascal need fear drowning. A Buccaneer's first thought on obtaining one prize was to gain another as soon as possible. Roc had still twenty-six man by him, and a good vessel to move in. He soon took a ship, bound to Maracaibo from New Spain, laden with merchandise and money designed to buy a cargo of cocoa-nuts. With this they repaired to Jamaica, letting the vessel scorch in harbour till their money was all gone. Having spent all, Braziliano put out to sea again, impatient of poverty and resolved to trust to fortune, for he was her favourite child. He sailed for the rendezvous at Campeachy, and after fifteen days started in a canoe to hover round the port, beating about like a hawk in search of prey. He was soon after captured and taken with his men before a Spanish governor, who cast them into a dungeon, intending to hang them every one. But fortune only hid her smiles for a moment, and had not deserted him. Roc, as subtle as he was intrepid, had not yet exhausted his wiles. He was at bay and the dogs were gathered round, but they had not yet got him by the throat. He made friends with the slave who brought him food, and promised to give him money to buy his freedom if he would aid his scheme. He did not wish to compromise the slave: he only wished him to be the bearer of a letter to the governor. The slave told the governor that he had been put on shore in the bay by some Buccaneers and had been ordered to deliver the letter. The letter was an angry threat, supposed to be indited by the captain of a French vessel lying in the offing. It advised the governor "to have a care how he used those persons he had in his custody, for in case he should do them any harm, they did swear unto him, they would never give quarter unto any person of the Spanish nation that should fall into their hands." The governor, lifting up his eyes and twisting his moustachios at the threat, was intimidated, and became anxious to get rid as soon as possible of such dangerous prisoners, for Campeachy had already been taken once by the adventurers, and he feared what mischief the companions who visited Spanish towns might do. He began now to treat his prisoners with greater kindness, and on the first opportunity sent for them, and, exacting a simple oath that they would abandon piracy, shipped them on board the galleon fleet bound for Spain. Roc, with his usual versatility, soon made himself so much beloved that the Spanish captain offered to take him as a sailor, and he accepted the offer. During this single voyage to Spain he made a sum of no less than 500 crowns by selling the officers fish that he struck in the Indian manner with arrows and harpoons from the main-chains. His comerades, whom he never forgot, were treated with consideration on his account. On his arrival in Spain, Roc, in spite of his oath, which had been exacted by fear of death, and therefore absolvable by any priest, lost no time in getting back to Jamaica, where he arrived without a vessel to call his own, but in other respects in better circumstances than when he left. He joined himself at once to two French adventurers. The chief of these, named Tributor, was an old Buccaneer of great experience. They determined to land upon the peninsula of Yucatan, in hopes of taking the town of Merida. Roc, who had been there before as a prisoner, and had doubtless proposed the scheme, served as guide, but some Indians got upon their trail and alarmed the Spaniards, who fortified the place and prepared for an attack. On the Buccaneers' arrival they found the town well garrisoned and defended, and while they were still debating whether to advance or retreat, the question was abruptly decided for them by a body of the enemy's horsemen who fell upon their rear, cut half of them to pieces, and made the rest prisoners. The wily Roc, never taken much by surprise, contrived to escape, but old Tributor and his men were all captured. Oexmelin expresses his wonder at Roc's escape, because he had always held it vile cowardliness to allow another man to strike before himself. "Hitherto he had been the last to yield, even when he was overborne by enemies, and had been heard to say that he preferred death to dishonour." _Nemo mortalium_, &c. CHAPTER V. LOLONNOIS THE CRUEL. Lolonnois--His stratagem--His cruelty--His partner, Michael le Basque--Takes Maracaibo--Tortures the citizens--Sacks the town--Takes Gibraltar--Attempt on Merida--Famine and pestilence--Division of spoil--Takes St. Pedro--Burns Veragua--Wrecked in Honduras--Attacked by Indians--Killed and eaten by the savages. The Spanish ships now decreased in number, merchants relinquishing a trade so uncertain and perilous. The consequence of this was that the Buccaneers, finding their sea cruises grow less profitable, began to venture upon the mainland, and attack towns and even cities. The first Buccaneer who distinguished himself in this wider field of action was Francis Lolonnois. He was born among the sands of Olonne, in Poictou, and drew his _nom de guerre_ from that wild and fitting birthplace. He quitted France in early life, and embarked at Rochelle as an _engagé_ for the Caribbean Islands, where he served the customary slavery of three years. Having heard much during this servitude of the hunters of Hispaniola, he sailed for that island as soon as his apprenticeship had expired, and he was again a free adventurer. He first bound himself as a valet to a hunter, and finally became himself a Buccaneer, having now passed through all the usual experiences of a young West Indian colonist. Spending some time upon the savannahs, he became restless and tired of shore, and desirous of enlisting as a freebooter under the red flag. Repairing to Tortuga, the head-quarters of Flibustier enterprise, he enrolled himself among the rovers of the sea, with whom he made many voyages as simple mariner or companion. From the first day he trod plank he is said to have shown himself destined to attain high distinction, surpassing all the "Brothers" in adroitness, agility, and daring. In these floating republics talent soon rose to the surface. Lolonnois was elected master of a vessel, with which he took many prizes, but at last lost everything by a storm which wrecked his ship, drowned his men, sank his cargo, and cast him bleeding and naked upon a savage shore. His courage and conduct, however, had won the admiration of the Governor of Tortuga, M. de la Place, whose island he had enriched by the frequent sale of prizes, and who launched him again in a new ship to encounter once more all the fury of the sea, the hurricane, and the Spaniard. Fortune was at first favourable to him, and he acquired great riches. His name became so dreaded by the Indians and the Spaniards that they chose rather to die or drown than surrender to one who never knew the word mercy. He never learned how to chain fortune to his mast, and was soon a second time wrecked at Campeachy. The men were all saved, but on reaching land were pursued and killed by the Spaniards. Lolonnois, himself severely wounded, saved his life by a stratagem. Mixing the sand of the shore with the blood flowing from his wounds, he smeared his face and body, and hid himself dexterously under a heap of dead, remaining there till the Spaniards had carried off one or two of his less severely wounded companions into Campeachy. As soon as they were gone he arose with a grim smile from his lurking place among the slain, and betook himself to the woods. He then washed his now stiffened wounds in a river, and bound up his gashes as he could. As soon as they were healed (the flesh of these men soon healed), he put on the dress of a slain Spaniard, and made his way boldly into the neighbouring city. In the suburbs he entered into conversation with some slaves he met, whom he bribed by an offer of freedom if they would obey him and follow his guidance. They listened to his proposal, and, stealing their master's canoe, brought it to the sea-shore, where Lolonnois lay concealed. But before this the disguised Buccaneer had gone rambling fearlessly through the enemy's town, witnessing the rejoicings made at his own supposed death; for his companions, who were kept close prisoners in a dungeon, had been asked what had become of their captain, to which they had always replied that he was dead, upon which the Spaniards lit up bonfires in their open squares, thanking God for their deliverance from so cruel a pirate. The flames of these fires were red upon the bay when Lolonnois and the slaves pushed off their canoe and made haste to escape. They reached Tortuga in safety, and Lolonnois kept his promise, and set the slaves at liberty--although, if he had been base and worthless enough, he could have refitted his boat with the profits of their sale. He now thought only of revenging himself on the Spaniards for their cruelty in murdering the survivors of a wreck. He spent whole days in considering how he could capture a vessel and restore himself to his former reputation for skill and fortune. By some extraordinary plan, Esquemeling--who writes always with affected horror of the men amongst whom he lived--says, with "craft and subtlety," he soon obtained a third ship, with a crew of twenty-one men and a surgeon. Being well provided with arms and necessaries--how provided by a penniless man it is impossible to guess--he resolved to visit De Los Cayos, a village on the south side of Cuba, where he knew vessels from the Havannah passed to the port of Boca de Estera, where they purchase tobacco, sugar, and hides, coming generally in small boats, for the sea ran very shallow. At this place meat was also obtained to victual the Spanish fleets. Here Lolonnois was very sanguine of booty, but some fishermen's boats, observing him, alarmed the town. One of these canoes they captured, and, placing in it a crew of eleven men, proceeded to coast about the Bayes du Nord. The Buccaneers kept at some distance from each other, in hopes of sooner surrounding their prey, for each of their crews was strong enough to capture any merchant vessel that had not more than fifteen or sixteen unarmed men on board. They remained some months beating off and on Cuba, but caught nothing, although this was the very height of the commercial season. After a long delay of wonder and vexation, they learned the cause of their failure from the crew of a fishing-boat which they captured, who told them that the people of Cayos would not venture to sea because they knew that they were there. It would be dangerous for them to remain, they added, for the chief merchants of the port had instantly despatched a "vessel overland" to the Governor of Havannah, telling him that Lolonnois had come in two canoes to destroy them, and begging him to send and destroy the "ladrones." The governor could with difficulty at first be persuaded to listen to the petition, because he had just received letters from Campeachy bidding him rejoice at the death of that pirate; but, aroused by the continued importunities of his angry petitioners, he at last sent a ship to their relief. This ship carried ten guns, and had a crew of ninety young, vigorous, and well-armed men, to whom he gave at parting an express command that they should not return into his presence without having first destroyed those pirates. He sent with them a negro hangman, desiring him to kill on the spot all they should take, except Lolonnois, the captain, who was to be brought alive in triumph to the Havannah. The ship had scarcely arrived at Cayos when the pirate, advertised of its approach, came to seek it at its moorings in the river Estera. Lolonnois cried out, when he saw it loom in the distance, "Courage, mes camarades! courage, mes bons frères! we shall soon be well mounted." Capturing some fishermen busy with their nets, he forced them at night to show him the entrance of the port. Rowing very quietly in the shadow of the trees that bordered the river's banks and hid their approach, they arrived under the vessel's side a little after two o'clock in the morning--not long before daybreak. The watch on board the ship hailed them, and asked them whence they came and if they had seen any pirates? They made one of the fishermen who guided them reply in Spanish that they had seen no pirates or anything else; and this made the Spaniards believe that Lolonnois had fled at their approach. The Buccaneers instantly began to open fire on both sides from their canoes. The Spaniards, who kept good guard, returned the fire, but without much effect, for their enemies lay down flat in their boats, and the trees served them as gabions. The Spaniards fought bravely, in spite of the suddenness and vigour of the attack, and made some use of their great guns. The combat lasted from dawn till midday, the crew of the vessel discharging ineffectual volleys of musketry, which seldom injured the assailants, whose bullets, on the other hand, killed or wounded every moment some of the Havannah youth. When the firing began to slacken, Lolonnois pulled his canoes out into the stream, and boarded the vessel, which almost instantly surrendered. Those who survived were beaten down under the hatches, while the wounded on the decks received the _coup de grace_. When this had been done, Lolonnois commanded his men to bring up the prisoners one by one from the hold, cutting off their heads as they came up with his own hand, and tasting their blood. The negro hangman, seeing the fate of his predecessors, threw himself passionately at the feet of the Buccaneer chief, and exclaimed in Spanish, "If you will not kill me I will tell you the truth." Lolonnois, supposing he had some secret to tell, bade him speak on. But he refused to open his lips further till life were promised him; upon the promise being made, the trembling wretch exclaimed, "Senor capitan, Monsieur, the governor of the Havannah, not doubting but that this well-armed frigate would have taken the strongest of your vessels, sent me on board to serve as executioner, and to hang all the prisoners that his men took, in order to intimidate your nation, so that they should not dare ever to approach a Spanish vessel." Esquemeling, who always exaggerates the cruelty of his quondam companions, says, Lolonnois, making the black confess what he thought fit, commanded him to be murdered with the rest; but Oexmelin gives a more probable version. At the negro's mention of his being a hangman he grew furious, and but for his words, "I give thee quarter and even liberty because I promised it thee," would certainly have put him to death. He then slew all the rest of the crew but one man, whom he spared in order to send him back with a letter to the governor of the Havannah. The letter ran thus: "I have returned your kindness by doing to your men what they designed to do to me and my companions. I shall never henceforward give quarter to any Spaniard whatsoever, and I have great hopes of executing upon your own person the very same punishment I have done upon those you sent against me. It would be better for you to cut your throat than to fall into my power." The governor, enraged at the loss of his ship and crew, and exasperated by the insolent daring of the letter, swore in the presence of many that he would not grant quarter to any pirate who fell into his hands. Furious that two canoes, with twenty-two half-naked men, should be able to deride the might of Spain in his person, he instantly sent round word to the neighbouring Indian forts to hang all their French and English prisoners, instead of, as usual, embarking them for Spain. The citizens of Havannah, hearing of this imprudent bravado, sent a deputation to the governor to represent to him that, for one Englishman or Frenchman that the Spaniards captured, the Buccaneers took every day a hundred of their people, that the men of Havannah were obliged to get their living by trading, that life was far dearer to them than mere money, which was all the Buccaneers wanted; and lastly, that all their fishermen would be daily exposed to danger, the Buccaneers having frequent opportunity for reprisal. Upon this the angry governor was at last persuaded to bridle his passion and remit the severity of his oath. Lolonnois, now provided with a good ship, resolved to cruise from port to port to obtain provisions and men. Off Maracaibo he surprised a ship laden with plate, outward-bound to buy cocoa-nuts, and with this prize returned to Tortuga, much to his own satisfaction and the general joy of that strange colony of runaway slaves, disbanded soldiers, hunters, privateersmen, pirates, Puritans, and papists. He had not been long in port before he planned an expedition to Maracaibo, joining another adventurer in equipping a body of five hundred men. In Tortuga he found prisoners for guides, and disbanded adventurers resolute enough to be his companions. His partner was Michael le Basque, a Buccaneer who had retired very rich, and was now major of the island. He had done great actions in Europe, and bore the repute of being a good soldier. Lolonnois was to rule by sea and Le Basque by land. Le Basque knew all the avenues of Maracaibo, and had lately taken in a prize two Indians, who knew the port well and offered to act both as pilots and guides. Le Basque had consented to join Lolonnois, struck by the daring and comprehension of his plans, and Lolonnois was overjoyed at the alliance of so tried a man. Notice was instantly given to all the unemployed Buccaneers that they were planning a great expedition with much chance of booty. All who were willing to join them were to come by a certain day to the rendezvous either at Tortuga or Bayala, on the north side of Hispaniola; at the latter place he revictualled his fleet, took some French hunters as volunteers into his company, careened his vessels, and procured beef and pork by the chase. His fleet consisted of eight small ships, of which his own, the largest, carried only twenty pieces of cannon; his crews amounted altogether to about four hundred men. Setting sail from Bayala the last day in July, while doubling Ponta del Espada (Sword Point), the eastern cape of Hispaniola, Lolonnois overtook two Spanish vessels coming from Porto Rico to New Spain, and one of these Lolonnois insisted on capturing with his own hand, sending in his fleet to Savona. The Spaniards, although they had an opportunity for two whole hours, refused to fly, and, being well armed, prepared for a desperate resistance; the combat lasted for three hours. The ship carried sixteen guns, and was manned by fifty fighting men. They found in her a cargo of 120,000 pounds' weight of cocoa, 40,000 pieces of eight, and the value of 10,000 more in jewels. Lolonnois instantly sent this prize back to Tortuga to be unloaded, with orders to return to the rendezvous at Savona. On their way to this place, his vanguard had also been in luck, having met with a Spanish vessel bringing military stores and money from Cumana for the garrisons of Hispaniola. In this vessel, which they took without any resistance, though armed with eight guns, they found 7,000 pounds' weight of powder, a great number of muskets and other arms, together with 12,000 pieces of eight. These successes encouraged the adventurers, and to superstitious men seemed like promises of good fortune and success. The generosity of the governor of Tortuga also tended to heighten their spirits. M. D'Ogeron, the French governor, had been greatly delighted at the early arrival of so rich a prize, worth, at the lowest calculation, 180,000 livres, and threw open all his store-houses for the use of the prize crew. Ordering her to be quickly unloaded, he sent her back to Lolonnois full of provisions and necessaries. Many persons who had come from France with the governor now joined an expedition which had begun so auspiciously, desirous of gaining a fortune with the same rapidity as the older colonists. By hazarding a little money a planter could obtain a chance of sharing in the plunder of a distant city without moving from under the shadow of his tamarind tree, and the governor's approval threw an air of legal government patronage over the expedition. D'Ogeron even sent his two nephews on board, young gallants newly arrived from France, and one of whom afterwards ruled the island in the room of his uncle. With a fleet recruited with men in room of those killed by the fever or the Spaniards, and full of hope and spirits, Lolonnois sailed for Maracaibo. His own vessel he gave to his comrade Anthony du Puis, and went himself on board the _Cacaoyere_, as the largest prize was called. Before sailing, he reviewed his little invincible armada. His own new frigate carried sixteen guns and 120 men. His vice-admiral, Moses Vauclin, had ten guns and ninety men; and his _matelot_, Le Basque, sailed in a vessel called _La Poudrière_, because it contained all the powder, the ammunition, and the money for the sailors' pay. It carried twenty pieces of cannon and ninety men. Pierre le Picard steered a brigantine with forty men. Moses had equipped another of the same size, and the two other smaller vessels were each managed by a crew of thirty men. Every sailor was armed with a good musket, a brace of pistols, and a strong sabre. At this review Lolonnois first disclosed his whole plan, which was to visit Maracaibo, in the province of New Venezuela, and to pillage all the towns that border the lake. He then produced his guides, one of whom had been a pilot over the bar at Maracaibo, and who vouched for the ease with which the attack could be made. Shouts and clamour announced the universal satisfaction at the proposal. They all agreed to follow him, and took an oath that they would obey him implicitly on the penalty of being mulcted of their booty. The usual _chasse-partie_, or Buccaneers' agreement, was then drawn up, specifying the exact share that each one should receive of the spoil, from the captain down to the boys of the ships, and not forgetting the wounded and the guides. Venezuela, or "little Venice," derived its name from its being very low land, and only preserved from frequent inundation by artificial means. At six or seven leagues' distance from the Bay of Maracaibo, or Gulf of Venezuela, are two small islands--the island of the Watch Tower and the island of the Pigeons. Between these two islands runs a channel of fresh water--as wide across as an eight-pound shot can carry, about sixty leagues long, and thirty broad--which empties itself into the sea. On the Isla de las Vigilias stood a hill surmounted by a watch-tower; on the Isla de las Palombas a fort to impede the entrance of vessels, which were obliged to come very near, the channel being narrowed by two sand-banks, which left only fourteen feet water. The sand-drifts were very numerous; some of them, particularly one called El Tablazo, not having more than six feet water. "West hereof," says Esquemeling--for we must describe the past, not the present city--"is the city of Maracaibo, very pleasant to the view, its houses being built along the shore, having delightful prospects all round. The city may contain three or four thousand persons, slaves included, all which make a town of reasonable bigness. There are judged to be about 800 persons able to bear arms, all Spaniards. Here are one parish church, well built and adorned, four monasteries, and one hospital. The city is governed by a deputy-governor, substituted by the governor of the Caraccas. The trade here exercised is mostly in hides and tobacco. The inhabitants possess great numbers of cattle and many plantations, which extend thirty leagues in the country, especially towards the great town of Gibraltar, where are gathered great quantities of cocoa nuts, and all other garden fruits, which serve for the regale and sustenance of the inhabitants of Maracaibo, whose territories are much drier than those of Gibraltar. Hither those of Maracaibo send great quantities of flesh, they making returns in oranges, lemons, and other fruits; for the inhabitants of Gibraltar want flesh, not being capable of feeding cows and sheep." The inner lake within the great bar, so difficult to cross, was fed by upwards of seventy streams, of which several were navigable. The two capes on either side of the gulf were named respectively Cape St. Roman and the Cape of Caquibacoa. The east side, though frequently flooded, was unhealthy, but very fertile, something resembling the Maremma, where, according to an Italian proverb, a man gets rich in six months and dies in seven. In the bay itself, ten or twelve leagues from the lake, are the two islands of Onega and Las Monges. On the east side, near the _embouchure_, there was a fishermen's village called Barbacoa, where the Indians lived in trees to escape the floods; for, after great rains, the lands were often overflowed in broad tracts of two or three leagues. A few miles from this was the town of Gibraltar, where the best cocoa in the Indies was grown, as well as the celebrated "priests' tobacco." Beyond this twenty leagues of jurisdiction, rose mountains perpetually covered with snow, contrasting remarkably with the swampy fields and the rich tropical vegetation of the well-irrigated district below. On the other side of these mountains lay the mother city of Merida, between which, during the summer alone, mules carried merchandise to Gibraltar; the cocoa and tobacco of Merida being exchanged for Peruvian flour and the fruits of Gibraltar. Near this latter town were rich plantations and wooded districts, abounding with the tall cedars from which the Indians scooped out solid _piraguas_, or canoes, capable of carrying thirty tons, which were rigged with one large sail. The territory of Gibraltar was flat, and naturally fertile, watered by rivers and brooks, besides being artificially irrigated by small channels, necessary in the frequent droughts. Everything desirable for food and pleasant to the sight grew here in abundance, the air was filled with birds as beautiful as wandering blossoms, and the rivers teemed with many-coloured fish. But into this Indian Paradise death had entered, and these swamps were the lairs of the deadliest fevers that devastate humanity. In the rainy season the merchants left Gibraltar, just as the rich do Rome, and retired to Merida or Maracaibo to escape the pestilence that walked not merely in darkness but even in the bright noon. At six leagues from this town and its 1,500 inhabitants, ran a river navigable by vessels of fifty tons' burthen. Maracaibo itself had a spacious and secure port, and was well adapted for building vessels, owing to the abundance of timber in the neighbourhood. In the small island of Borrica were fed great numbers of goats, which were bred chiefly for their skins. In curious contradistinction to all this bustle of commerce, life, and wealth, on the south-east border of the lake lived the Bravo-Indians, a savage race, who had never been subdued by the Spaniard. They also, like the fishermen, dwelt in huts built in the branches of the mangrove trees at the very edge of the water, safe from the floods, and from the equally annoying, though less fatal, visitation of the mosquitoes. Beyond them to the west spread a dry and arid country--where nothing but cacti and stunted, bitter shrubs grew, so thorny as to be almost impassable by the traveller--waste and barren. Here the Spaniards pastured a few flocks, and the only houses were the huts of the armed shepherds who tended the lonely herds. These cattle were killed chiefly for their fat and hides, the flesh being left for the flocks of merchant birds--a sort of vulture, four or five of whom would pick an ox to the bone in a day or two. Lolonnois, arriving at one of the islands in the gulf, landed and took in provisions, not wishing to arrive at the bar till daybreak, in hopes of surprising the fort; and anchoring, out of sight of the watch-tower weighed anchor in the evening from the island of Onega, and sailed all night, but was seen by the sentinels, who immediately made signals to the fort, which discharged its cannon and announced the approach of an enemy. Mooring off the bar, Lolonnois lost no time in landing to attack the fort that guarded the very door through which he must pass. The batteries consisted of simple gabions or baskets masked with turf, and concealing fourteen pieces of cannon and 250 men, with flanking earthworks thrown up to protect the gunners. Lolonnois and Le Basque landed at a league from the fort, and advanced at the head of their men. The governor, seeing them land, had prepared an ambuscade, in hopes of attacking them at the same time in flank and rear. The Buccaneers, discovering this, got before the Spaniards, and routed them so utterly that not a single man returned to the fort, which was instantly attacked "with the usual desperation of this sort of people," says Esquemeling. The fighting continued for three hours. The Buccaneers, aiming with hunters' precision, killed so many of the Spaniards, and reduced their numbers so terribly, that the survivors could not prevent the savage swordsmen storming the embrasures, slaying half the survivors, and taking the rest prisoners. A few survivors are said by one writer to have fled in confusion into Maracaibo, crying, "The pirates will presently be here with 2,000 men." The rest of the day Lolonnois spent in destroying the fort he had captured, first signalling his ships to come in as the danger was over. His men levelled the earth ramparts, spiked the guns, buried the dead, and sent the wounded on board the fleet. The next day, very early in the morning, the ships weighed anchor and directed their course, in close-winged phalanx, like a flock of locusts, towards the doomed city of Maracaibo, now only six leagues distant. They made but slow way, in spite of all their impatience, for there was very little wind; and it was not till the next morning that they drew in sight of the town, standing pleasantly on the cool shore, with its galleries of shaded balconies, its towers and steeples--the goal to which they steered. Suspicious of ambuscades after the danger at the bar, Lolonnois put his men into canoes, and pulled to shore under protection of salvos from his great guns, which he ordered to be pointed at the woods which lined the beach. Half the men went in the canoes, and half remained on board; but these furious discharges were thrown away, the Spaniards having long since fled. To their great astonishment, the town itself was deserted. The people, remembering the horrors of a former Buccaneer descent, when Maracaibo had been "sacked to the uttermost," had escaped to Gibraltar in their boats and canoes, taking with them all the jewels and money they could carry. To the alarmed friends who received them, they said that the fort of the bar had been taken, and nothing been saved, nor any soldiers escaped. At Gibraltar they believed themselves safe, thinking the Buccaneers would pillage the unfortunate and defenceless town and then retreat over the bar. The hungry sailors, who had lived scantily for four weeks, found the deserted houses well provided with flour, bread, pork, poultry, and brandy, and with these they made good cheer. The warehouses were brimming with merchandise, the cellars were flowing with Spanish wine. The more prudent fell to plunder, the more thoughtless to revel. The former class probably embraced the older, and the latter the younger men. Each party abused the vice from which he abstained, and gave himself up without scruple to his own more favourite indulgence. But soon the man weary of wine began to plunder, and the man loaded with pieces of eight began to drink. The moment that plunder ceased, waste began, and prudence and folly alike ended the day,--poor and drunk. The commanders at once seized on the best houses, indulging their natural love of order and justice, by placing sentinels at the larger shops and warehouses. The great monastery of the Cordeliers served them as a guard-house, for a long time the abode of thieves, yet never so manifestly as now; for a long time the shrine of mammon, yet now for the first time filled by his avowed worshippers. Had the town not been deserted, that night would have heard the groans of the victim of cruelty; as it was, it echoed only with the songs and shouts of debauchery. The Buccaneer had reached his Capua, but there were no Judiths ready to slay these Holofernes in their drunken sleep. Perhaps a night surprise would have failed. These men were still the vigilant hunters and the watchful sailors; sunken rocks and lurking Spaniards, breakers and wild bulls, reefs and wild panthers had taught them never to sleep unguarded and unwatched. The next day a fresh source of plunder was opened. Lolonnois--for Le Basque's command, even by land, seems to have been secondary--sent a body of 160 men to reconnoitre the neighbouring woods, where some of the inhabitants were, it was supposed, concealed. They returned the same night, discharging their guns, and dragging after them a miserable weeping train of twenty prisoners, men, women, and children; and, besides this, a sack of 20,000 pieces of eight, and many mules, laden with household goods and merchandise. Some of the prisoners were at once racked, to make them confess where they had hidden their riches, but neither pain nor fear could extort their secret. Lolonnois, who valued not murdering, though in cold blood, ten or twelve Spaniards, drew his cutlass and hacked one of them to pieces before all his companions; and while the pale, tortured men were still writhing and groaning by his side, declared, "If you do not confess and declare where you have the rest of your goods, I will do the like to all your companions." In spite of all these horrible cruelties and inhuman threats, only one was found base enough to offer to conduct the Buccaneers to a place where the rest of the fugitives were hidden. When they arrived there, they found their coming had been announced, the riches had been removed to another place, and the Spaniards had fled. The exiles now changed their hiding-places daily, and, amid the universal danger and distrust, a father would not even rely on his own son. After fifteen days "taking stock" at Maracaibo, Lolonnois marched towards Gibraltar, intending afterwards to sack Merida, as at these places he expected to find the wealth transported from the City of the Lake. Several of his prisoners offered to serve as guides, but warned him that he would find the place strong and fortified. "No matter," cried the Buccaneer, "the better sign that it is worth taking." Gibraltar was already prepared. The inhabitants, expecting Lolonnois, had entreated aid from the governor of Merida, a stout old soldier who had served in Flanders. He sent back word, that they need take no care, for he hoped in a little while to exterminate the pirates. He had soon after this hopeful bravado entered the town at the head of 400 well-armed men, and was soon joined by an equal number of armed townsmen, whom he at once enrolled. On the side of the town towards the sea he raised with great rapidity a battery, mounting twenty guns, well protected by baskets of earth, and flanked by a smaller traverse of eight pieces. He lastly barricaded a narrow passage to the town, through which the pirates, he knew, must pass, and opened another path leading to a swampy wood that was quite impassable. Three days after leaving Maracaibo Lolonnois approached Gibraltar, and, seeing the royal standard hung out, perceived there were breakers ahead, and called a general council, one of those republican gatherings that distinguished the Buccaneer armies, and remind us of the less unanimous consultations that Xenophon describes. He confessed that the difficulty of the enterprise was great, seeing the Spaniards had had so much time to put themselves in a state of defence, and had now got together a large force and much ammunition; "but have a good courage," said he, "we must either defend ourselves like good soldiers or lose our lives with all the riches we have got. Do as I shall do, who am your captain. At other times we have fought with fewer men than we have now, and yet have overcome a greater number of enemies than can be in this town; _the more they are the more riches we shall gain_." His men all cried out, with one voice, that they would follow and obey him. "'Tis well," he replied, "but know ye, the first man who will show any fear or the least apprehension thereof, I will pistol him with my own hands." The Buccaneers cast anchor near the shore, about three-quarters of a league from the town, and the next day before sunrise landed to the number of 380 determined men, each armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols, and thirty charges of powder and bullets. On the shore they all shook hands with one another, many for the last time, and began their march, Lolonnois exclaiming, "Come, _mes frères_, follow me and have good courage." Their guide, ignorant of what the governor of Merida had done, led them in all good faith up the barricaded way, where, to his surprise, he found the paths in one place blocked up with large trees, newly cut, and in another swamped so that the soft mud reached up above their thighs. Lolonnois, seeing the passage hopeless, attempted the narrow way, which had been carefully cleared as a trap for them. Here only six men could go abreast, and the shots of the town ploughed incessantly down the path. At the same time the Spaniards, in a small terraced battery of six guns, beat their drums and hung out their silk flags. The adventurers, harassed by the fire that they could not return, and slipping on the swampy path, grew vexed and impatient. "Courage, my brothers," cried their leader, "we must beat these fellows or die; follow me, and if I fall don't give in for that." With these words he ran full butt, with head down like a mad bull, against the Spaniards, followed by all his men, as daring but less patient than himself. Cutting down boughs they made a rude pathway, firm and sure, over the deep mud. When within about a pistol shot from the entrenchments, they began again to sink up to their knees, and the enemy's grape-shot fell thick and hot upon the impeded ranks. Many dropped, but their last words were always, "Courage, never flinch, _mes frères_, and you'll win it yet." All this time they could scarce see or hear, so blinded and deafened were they by the thunder and fire. In the midst of this discomfiture the Spaniards suddenly broke through the gloom, just as they got out of the wood and trod upon firmer ground, and drove them back by a furious onslaught, many of them being killed and wounded. They then attempted the other passage again, but without success, and finding the Spaniards would not sally out, and the gabions too heavy to tear up by hand, Lolonnois resorted to the old stratagem, so successful at Hastings, by which the very impatience of courage is made to prove fatal to an enemy. At a preconcerted signal the Buccaneers began to retreat, upon which the defenders of the battery, exclaiming, "They fly, they fly; follow, follow," sallied forth in disorder to the pursuit, shouting and firing like an undisciplined rabble. Once out of gun-shot of the batteries, the pursued turned into pursuers, and falling on the foe, sword in hand, slew about 200. Fighting their way through those who survived, the Buccaneers soon became masters of all the fortifications. Not more than 100 out of the 600 defenders remained alive, and these, as Falstaff says, would have to limp to the town-end and beg for life. The brave old governor lay dead among his foremost men. The survivors who could crawl or run hid themselves in the woods, impeded in their flight by the very obstructions they had themselves raised. The men in the battery surrendered, and obtained quarter. Neither Lolonnois nor Le Basque was scratched, but forty of their companions perished, and eighty were grievously wounded. The greater part of these died through the fevers and subsequent pestilence. 500 dead Spaniards were found, but many more had hidden themselves, to die alone in peace. The Buccaneers, now masters of Gibraltar, pulled down the Spanish colours from tower and steeple, and hoisted their own red or black flag. Making prisoners of all they met, they shut them up under guard in the chief church, where they erected a battery of great guns, in case the Spaniards should attempt to rally in a fit of despair. They then collected the dead bodies of the Spaniards, and, piling them up, scarred and gashed, in two large canoes, towed them out a quarter of a league to sea, and scuttled them. They then gathered from every house, rich or poor, all the plate, merchandise, and household stuff, which was not too hot or too heavy to carry off, as rapacious as the borderer who stopped wistfully opposite the hay-stack, wishing it had but four legs, that he might make it "gang awa' wi' the rest." The Spaniards having buried their treasure, as usual, armed parties were sent into the surrounding woods to search for buried money, and to bring in hunters and planters as prisoners to torture. Hung up by the beard, or burnt with gun-matches, the wretched sufferers were forced to confess the hiding-places. Lolonnois soon turned the fertile country into a smoking black desert, and, still insatiable for money and blood, planned an expedition over the snow mountains to Merida, but reluctantly relinquished it when he found his men unwilling to risk what they had got for the mere uncertainly of getting more, though Merida was only forty leagues distant. They had now 150 prisoners, besides 500 slaves, and many women and children, many of whom were dying daily of famine, so short were provisions already in a city in which the small army had been encamped only eighteen days. When they had spent six weeks in the town, Lolonnois determined to return, nothing now being left to pillage. Disease and famine were worse enemies than the Spaniard or the Indian, and cared for neither steel nor lead. A pestilential disease appeared in consequence of the numerous dead bodies left in the woods exposed to the wild beasts and the birds. Those that lay nearest to the walls had been strewn over with earth, the rest were left to taint the air, and slay the living--a putrid fever broke out; the Spaniards killed more of the enemy after their death than they had done in their life. The Frenchmen's wounds, already closing, began now to re-open, the sick died daily, and the strongest pined and sickened; all longed to return, even plunder grew distasteful to them without health, and once more at sea they hoped soon to be well. Men who had been revelling in the plenty of two captured cities, could not return without impatience to the restraints of a time of scarcity. Gibraltar always depending upon Maracaibo for its meat, and not well supplied with flour, was, in fact, like a miser dying for want of a loaf, while his storehouses were brimmed over with gold. The little meat and flour were quickly consumed by the Buccaneers, who left their prisoners to shift for themselves. The cattle they soon appropriated, giving the mules' and asses' flesh to those Spaniards whose hunger was strong enough to conquer their disgust. A few of the women were allowed better fare, and many who had become the mistresses of their captors were well treated by their lovers. Some of these were mere slaves, others were voluntary concubines, but the greater part had been compelled, by poverty and fear, to abandon their fathers and husbands. Lolonnois, sending four of his prisoners into the woods, demanded a ransom of 80,000 pieces of eight within two days, threatening the fugitives to burn the town to ashes if his desire was not acceded to. The Spaniards, already half-beggared, disagreed about the ransom; the bolder and the more avaricious refused to pay a piastre, the old, the timid, and the more generous preferred poverty to such a loss. Some said it would serve as a mere bribe to allure a third adventurer, and others declared it was the only means of saving Merida. While they were thus disputing the two days passed, and the debate was put an end to by the sight of flame ascending above the roofs. The city was already fired in two or three places, when the inhabitants, promising to bring the ransom, persuaded the Buccaneers to assist in quenching the flames, not, however, till the chief houses were burned, and the chief monastery was ruined. Oexmelin merely says that Lolonnois set fire to the four corners of the town, and in six hours reduced the whole to ashes. Palm-thatch and cedar walls burn quick, and the sea-breeze was there to fan the flames, while the Buccaneers were learned in the art of destruction. Lolonnois then collected his men by beat of drum, and embarked his booty. Before he sailed, he sent two of his prisoners again into the woods, to tell the inhabitants that all the prisoners in his hands would be at once put to death if the ransom were not paid. All prisoners who had not paid their ransom he took with him, even the slaves being valued at so much, and having put on board all riches that were movable, and a large sum of money as a ransom for what was immovable, the Buccaneer fleet returned to Maracaibo. The city, now partly repeopled, was thrown again into disorder, nor much lessened when three or four prisoners came to the governor, bearing a demand from Lolonnois to pay at once 30,000 pieces of eight down upon his deck, or to expect a second sack, and the fate of Gibraltar. While these terms were under concession, and the Spanish merchants were chaffering with the sailors, as a lowland farmer might have done with a highland _cateran_, a party of well-inclined Flibustiers, unwilling to waste their time, rowed on shore, and stripped the great church of its pictures, images, carvings, clocks, and bells, even to the very cross on its steeple, piously desiring to erect a chapel at Tortuga, where there was much need of spiritual instruction. The Spaniards at last agreed to pay for their ransom and liberty 20,000 piastres, 10,000 pieces of eight, and 500 cows, provided the fleet would do no further injury, and depart at once, and the blessing of Maracaibo with them. We can imagine the trembling and suppressed joy with which the people of Maracaibo must have beheld the fleet sail slowly out of their harbour, all eyes on board bent onward to the horizon and the golden future--none looking back with a moment's regret upon the misery and the black ruin left behind. How many orphans must have cursed them as they sailed, and how many widows! Three days after the embarkation, to the horror of the city, a vessel with a red flag at its masthead was seen re-entering the harbour, but only, as it soon appeared, to demand a pilot to take the fleet over the bar. On their way to Hispaniola, Lolonnois touched at the Isle de la Vacca, intending to stay there and divide the spoil. This island was inhabited by French Buccaneers, who sold the flesh of the animals they killed to vessels in want of victual. But a dispute arising here, the fleet again set out to disband the crew at Gouaves in Hispaniola. They arrived in two months, and, unlading the whole "cargazon of riches," proceeded to make a dividend of their prizes and their gains. Lolonnois and the other captains began by taking a solemn oath in public, that they had concealed and held back no portion of the spoil, but had thrown all without reserve into the public stock. The ceremony of this oath must have been an imposing sight: wild groups of half-stripped sailors, wounded men, and female captives, negroes and Indians, Spanish soldiers and mulatto fishermen, and in the middle piled bales of silks, heaps of glittering coin, and rich stuffs streaming over scattered arms and costly jewels, while, looking on, perhaps wistfully, leaning on their muskets, a few hunters fresh from the savannahs, bull's-hide sandals on their feet, and long knives hanging from their belts. After the captains had taken the oath, the common _matelots_, down even to the cabin boys, took the vow that they had given up all their spoil, to be shared equally by those who had equally ventured their lives to win it. After an exact calculation, the total value of their profits in jewels and money was discovered to be 260,000 crowns, not including 100,000 crowns' worth of church furniture and a cargo of tobacco. On the final division every man received money, silk, and linen to the value of about 100 pieces of eight. The surgeon and the wounded were as usual paid first. The slaves were then sold by auction, and their purchase-money divided among the various crews. The uncoined plate was weighed, and sold at the rate of ten pieces of eight to a pound; the jewels were sold at false and fanciful prices, and were generally undervalued, owing to the ignorance of the arbitrators. A Buccaneer always preferred coin to jewels, and jewels, as being portable, to heavy merchandise, which they often threw overboard or wantonly destroyed. The adventurers then all took the oath a second time, and proceeded to apportion the shares of such as had fallen, handing them to the _matelots_, or messmate, to forward to their heirs or nearest relations. We do not know whether, in peculiar cases, a _matelot_ became his _camarade's_ heir. The dividend over, they returned to Tortuga, amid the general rejoicing of all over whom love or cupidity had any power. "For three weeks, while their money lasted," says Oexmelin, probably an eye witness of the scene, "there was nothing but dances, feasts, and protestations of unceasing friendship." The _cabaretiers_ and the gambling-house keepers soon revenged the cruelties of Maracaibo. The proud captors of that luckless city in a few weeks were hungry beggars, basking on the quay of Tortuga, straining their eyes to catch sight of some vessel that might take them on board, and relieve them from that reaction of wretchedness. They were jeered at as mad spendthrifts by the very men who had urged them to their folly. The love of courtesans grew colder as the pieces of eight diminished, and men were refused charity by the very wretches whom their foolish generosity had lately enriched. No doubt watches were fried and bank-bills eaten as sandwiches, just as they were during the war at Portsmouth or at Dover. The prudent were those who made the money spin out a day longer than their fellows, and the wildest were those who had found out that two dice-boxes and two fiddlers ran through the burdensome money a little faster than only one dice-box and one fiddler. Some of the Buccaneers, skilful with the cards, added to their store and returned at once to France, resolved to turn merchants, and trade with the Indies they had wasted. The extravagant prices paid by these men for wine, and particularly brandy, rendered that trade a source of great profit. Just before the return of the fleet two French vessels had arrived at Tortuga laden with spirits, which at first sold at very moderate rates, but ultimately, from the great demand and the limited means of supply, reached an exorbitant price, a gallon selling for as much as four pieces of eight. The tavern-keepers and the _filles de joie_ obtained most of the money so dearly earned, and lavished it as those from whom they won it had done. Cards and dice helped those who had not struck a blow at the Spaniard, to now quietly spoil the captors. The story of Sampson and Dalilah was daily acted. Even the governor hastened to benefit by the expedition. He bought a cargo of cocoa of the Buccaneers, and shipped it at once to France in Lolonnois' vessel, giving scarcely a twentieth part of its value, and realising a profit of £120,000. The adventurers did not grudge him this bargain, as he had risked everything for Tortuga, and had suffered considerable losses. "M. D'Ogeron," says Oexmelin, with some _naïveté_, "aimait les 'honnêtes gens,' les obligeait sans cesse, et ne les lassait jamais manquer de rien." Neither Lolonnois' talent, rank, nor courage kept him further from the tavern door than the meanest of his crew. The poor drudge of a negro that served as a butt to the sailors could not give way to baser debauchery. It was the voice of the cannon alone that roused him to great actions. On land he was a Caliban, at sea a Barbarossa. In spite of his great booty, in a few short weeks he was poorer than his crew. Tortuga was to him the Circe's island that transformed him into a beast. As soon as his foot trod the plank, he became again the wily and the wise Ulysses: the first in daring or in suffering, ready to endure or to attack, above his fellow men in patience and impatience. His expenses were large, and when the prizes ceased to come in he was soon reduced to live upon his capital, and that quickly melted away in open-house feasting and entertainments given to the governor. He had been before he returned, moreover, so burdened with debts that even his prize-money could not have defrayed them. There was but one means of release--another expedition. Let the Spanish mother clasp her child closer to her breast, for she knows not how soon she may have to part with it for ever. Is there no comet that may warn an unprepared and a doomed people? Lolonnois had now acquired great repute at Tortuga. He was known to be brave, and, what is a rare combination, prudent. Under his guidance men who had forgot his previous misfortunes, thought themselves secure of gold, and without glory gold is not to be won. He needed now no entreaties to induce men to fill his ships; the difficulty was in selecting from the volunteers. Those who had before stayed behind now determined to venture; those who had once followed him were already driven by mere poverty to enlist. The privations of land were intolerable to men who had just revelled in riches--the privations of sea could be endured by the mere force of habit. The planters threw by their hoes, and quitted the hut for the cabin. The towns of Nicaragua were now to share the fate of those of Venezuela. About 700 men and six ships formed the expedition. Lolonnois himself sailed in a large "flute" which he had brought from Maracaibo with 300 men; the other adventurers embarked in five smaller vessels. Having careened and revictualled at Bayala, in Hispaniola, he steered for Matamana, a port on the south side of Cuba. He here informed his companions of the plan of the expedition, and produced an Indian of Nicaragua who had offered to serve as guide. He assured them of the riches of the country, and expressed his belief that they could surprise the place before the inhabitants had secreted their money. His proposal was received with the usual unhesitating applause. At Matamana, Lolonnois collected by force all the canoes of the tortoise fishermen, much to their grief and dismay, these poor men having no other means of subsistence but fishing. These boats he needed to take him up the channel of Nicaragua, which was too shallow for vessels of any larger burthen. While attempting to round Cape Gracias à Dios, the fleet was arrested by what the Spanish sailors call a "furious calm"--a sad and tedious imprisonment to men to whom every delay involved the success of their enterprise. In spite of all their endeavours, they were carried by the current into the Gulf of Honduras. Both wind and tide being against them, the smaller vessels--better sailers and more manageable than that of Lolonnois--made more way than he could do; but were obliged to wait for him, and stay for his orders, being quite powerless without him and his 300 men. They spent nearly a month in trying to recover their path, but all in vain, losing in two hours what they gained in two days, and, their provisions running short, put ashore to revictual. Touching at the first land they could reach, they sent their canoes up the river Xagua--their guides bringing them to the villages of the "long-eared Indians," a race tributary to Spain, whose traders bartered knives and mirrors with them for cocoa. The Buccaneers burned their huts and carried off their millet, hogs, and poultry, loading the canoes with all the food they could bring away to their impatient comerades, who determined to remain here till the unfavourable weather had passed, and burn and pillage along the whole borders of the gulf. The Indian provisions proved but scanty for so numerous a band, but were divided equally among the ships that were seeking food like locusts, and moving daily on to new pastures. A council of war was now held to discuss their position. Some were for discontinuing the expedition, since the provisions ran so short. The oldest and most experienced proposed plundering round the gulf till the bad season had passed; and this plan was decided on. Having rifled a few villages, they came to Puerto Cavallo, a place where Spanish ships frequently anchored, and which contained two storehouses full of cochineal, indigo, hides, &c., from Guatimala. There happened then to be lying in the port a Spanish vessel of twenty-four guns and sixteen patarerros. Its cargo, however, was nearly all unloaded and carried up into the interior to be exchanged in barter with the Indians. This ship was instantly seized; and Lolonnois, landing without any resistance, burned the magazines and all the houses, and made many prisoners. The Spaniards he put to the torture to induce them to confess. If any refused to answer, he pulled out their tongues, or cut them to pieces with his hanger, "desiring," says Esquemeling, "to do so to every Spaniard in the world." Many, terrified by the rack, promised to confess, really having nothing to disclose. These men were always cruelly put to death in revenge. One mulatto was bound hand and foot and thrown alive into the sea to intimidate the rest, and to induce two survivors to show the French chief the nearest road to the neighbouring town of San Pedro. For this expedition Lolonnois selected 300 men, leaving his lieutenant, Moses Vauclin, to govern in his absence, and despatching a few of his small flotilla to help him by a diversion on the coast. Before starting, he told his companions that he would never refuse to march at their head, but that he should kill with his own hand "the first who turned tail." San Pedro was only ten leagues distant. He had not proceeded three before he fell into an ambuscade. The Spaniards' favourite scheme of attack was the treacherous surprise--a mere sort of attempt at wholesale assassination--seldom successful, and always exasperating the enemy to greater cruelties. They had now entrenched themselves behind gabions in a narrow road, impassable on either side with trees and strong thickets. Lolonnois instantly striking down the guides, whether innocent or guilty, charged the enemy with desperate courage, and put them to flight after a long encounter, ending in a total rout. They killed a few Buccaneers and left many of their own men dead upon the ground. The wounded Spaniards, being first questioned as to the distance from San Pedro, and the best way to get there, were instantly beheaded. The prisoners informed him that some runaway slaves, escaped from Porto Cavallo, had told them of the intended attack on San Pedro. Determined to prevent this, they had planned the ambuscade, and two other still stronger earthworks which awaited him further on. To prevent connivance, or any possible treachery, Lolonnois then had the Spaniards brought before him one by one, and demanded of each in turn if there was no means of getting into another and less guarded road. On their each denying that there was, he grew frenzied and almost mad at the thoughts of such inevitable danger, and had them all murdered but two; and then, in ungovernable passion, he ripped open with his cutlass the breast of one of these survivors, who was bound to a tree. Esquemeling asserts that he even tore out his heart and gnawed it "like a ravenous wolf," swearing and shouting that he would serve them all alike if they did not show him another way. The miserable survivor, willing to save his life at any risk, his memory or invention quickened by the imminent danger, conducted him into another path, but so bad a one that Lolonnois preferred to return to the old one in spite of all its perils, so difficult, slow, and laborious was the march. He now seems to have grown almost fevered with rage, anxiety, and vexation. "Mon Dieu," he growled, "les Espagnols me le payeront," and he cursed the delay that kept him from the enemy. There is no doubt that in these men a fanatical and almost superstitious hatred of the enemy had sprung up, inflamed by mutual cruelties, for forgiveness was not the chief virtue of the victorious Spaniard. To the Buccaneer the Spaniard seemed cruel, cowardly, treacherous, and degraded; to the Spaniard the Buccaneer seemed a monster scarcely human--bloody, voluptuous, faithless, and rapacious. That same evening the chief fell into a second ambuscade, which, says Esquemeling, "he assaulted with such horrible fury" that in less than an hour's time he routed the Spaniards and killed the greater part of them, the rest flying to the third ambush, which was planted about two leagues from the town. The Spaniards had thought, by these repeated attacks, to destroy the enemy piecemeal, and for this object, which they did not attain, frittered their forces into small and useless detachments. Lolonnois and his people, weary with fighting and marching, and half-fainting with hunger and thirst, lay down in the wood that night, and slept till the morning, the _matelots_ keeping good watch and ward, and guarding their sleeping companions. At daybreak they resumed their journey, with confidence increased by the clear light and with bodies invigorated by rest. The third ambuscade was stronger and more advantageously placed than even the two preceding. They attacked it with showers of fire-balls, and drove out the enemy, slaying without mercy, and giving no quarter. "No quarter, no quarter," cried their ferocious leader, still thirsty for human blood, when they would have stayed their hands, from exhaustion rather than from pity. "The more we kill here, the less we shall meet in the town," was his war-cry. Very few of the enemy escaped to San Pedro, the greater part being either slain or wounded. Before they ventured to make the final attack, the Buccaneers rested to look to their arms and prepare their ammunition. In vain they attempted to discover a second approach. There was but one, and that was well barricaded, and planted all round with thorny shrubs, which the best shod traveller could not pass, much less barefooted men, clad only in a shirt and drawers. These thorns, Oexmelin says, were more dangerous than those crow's-feet used in Europe to annoy cavalry. Lolonnois, seeing that no other way was left, and that delay would imply fear in his own men, and excite hope in the enemy, resolved to storm the works, in spite of the rage and despair of a well-armed and superior force, sheltered from shot and commanding his approach. "The Spaniards," says Esquemeling, "posted behind the said defences, seeing the pirates come, began to ply them with their great guns; but these, perceiving them ready to fire, used to stoop down, and then the shot was made to fall upon the defendants with fire-balls and naked swords, killing many of the town." Driven back for a time, they renewed the attack with fewer men; husbanding their shot, for they were now short of powder; never shooting at a long distance; and seldom firing but with great deliberation when an enemy's head appeared above the rampart; and occasionally giving a general discharge, in which nearly every bullet killed an enemy. Several times the Buccaneers advanced to the very mouths of the guns, and, throwing down fire-balls into the works, leaped after them, sword in hand, through the embrasures; but only to be again driven back. This obstinate combat, so eager on both sides, had lasted about four hours, and night was fast approaching, when Lolonnois, ordering a last furious attack, put the now weakened Spaniards to flight, a great number of them being killed as soon as they turned their backs. The citizens then hung out a white flag, and, coming to a parley, agreed to surrender the town on condition of receiving two hours' respite. During this time, Lolonnois found that he had lost about thirty men, ten more being wounded. This demand of two hours was employed by the towns-people in loading themselves with their riches and preparing for flight--the Buccaneers virtuously abstaining from any molestation till the time had duly expired, and then pursuing the fugitives and plundering them of every _maravedi_. But neither their self-denial nor their vigilance was well rewarded, for fortune gave them nothing but a few leather sacks full of indigo, the rest, even in that short time, having been buried or destroyed--a disappointment which, we think, no reasonable person can regret. Lolonnois had particularly ordered that not only all the goods should be seized, but that every fugitive should be made prisoner. The Buccaneer chief, having stayed a few days at San Pedro, and "committed most horrid insolences," was anxious to send for a new reinforcement, and attack the town of Guatimala--a place a long way distant, and defended by 400 men. On his men as usual refusing to accede to an apparently rash project, Lolonnois contented himself by pillaging San Pedro, intending to impress a recollection of his visit upon the grateful inhabitants by burning their town. He obtained no great booty, for the inhabitants were a poor people, trading in nothing but dyes. If he had chosen to carry away their stores of indigo, he might have realised more than 40,000 crowns; but the Buccaneers cared for nothing but coin and bullion, and were too ignorant, too lazy, and too improvident to stop their debauches by loading their vessels with a perishable cargo of uncertain value. Having remained now eighteen days in San Pedro without obtaining much, for the West Indian Spaniard had already learned to hide as skilfully as the Hindoo ryot, Lolonnois called together his prisoners, and demanded from them a ransom as the condition of sparing their town. They doggedly answered, with all the insolence of despair, that he had taken from them all they had, and that they had nothing more to give; that they could not coin without gold, and that, as far as they went, he might do what he liked to the town. Lolonnois then reduced the town to ashes, and, marching to the sea-side to rejoin his companions, found that they had been employing their time, innocently and usefully, in capturing the fishing-boats of Guatimala. Some Indians, newly taken, informed him that a _hourque_, a vessel of 800 tons, bringing goods from Spain to the Honduras, was then lying in the great river of Guatimala. Resolving to careen and victual at the islands on the other side of the gulf, they left two canoes at the mouth of the river to give notice when the vessel should venture forth. The time spent in thus watching outside the covert, they devoted to turtle fishing, dividing themselves into parties, each having his own station to prevent disputes. Their nets they made of the bark of the macoa tree; a natural pitch or bitumen for their boats they found in fused heaps upon the shore. The formation of this pitch, or "wax," as Esquemeling calls it, the sailors attributed to wild bees; the hollow trees in which they built being torn down by storms and swept down into the sea. The rest of their time--which never seems to have been wearisome, unless the subsequent mutiny indicates it, for these men had the tenacity of a slot-hound in the pursuit of blood--was spent in cruises among those Indians of the coast of Yucatan, who seek for amber on the shore. These tribes were the willing serfs of Spain, having served them without resistance for a full century. The Spaniards had, as they believed, converted the whole nation to Christianity by sending a priest to them once a-week, but, on their sudden return to idolatry, had begun to persecute them, angry at their own failure. According to the Buccaneers' account, these Indian chiefs worshipped each a peculiar spirit, to whom they offered sacrifices of fire, burning incense of sweet-scented gums. They had a singular custom of carrying their new-born children into their temples, and leaving them for a night in a hole filled with wood-ashes, generally in an open place, untended, and where wild beasts could enter. Leaving the child here they found in the morning the foot-prints of some wild beast on the ashes. To this animal, whatever it might be, jaguar, snake, or cayman, they dedicated the child, whose patron god it became. To this animal the child prayed for vengeance against its enemies, and to it he offered sacrifices. Their marriages were accompanied by a very beautiful and simple ceremony. A young man, having satisfied his intended bride's father as to his fitness to manage a plantation, was presented with a bow and arrow. He then visits the maiden, and puts on her head a wreath of green leaves and sweet-smelling flowers, taking off the crown usually worn by virgins. A meeting of her relations is then called, the maize juice is drunk, and the day after marriage the bride's garland is torn to pieces with cries and lamentations. In these islands the Buccaneers found canoes of the Aregues Indians, which must have drifted 600 leagues. They had remained turtle-fishing and amber-seeking about three months, when the welcome tidings came that the enemy's vessel had ventured out. All hands were now employed in preparing the careening ships. It was, however, at last agreed to wait for its return, when, as they expected, it would not only contain merchandise but money. They therefore sent their canoes to observe her motions, and, hearing of the ambuscade, the Spaniards returned to port. Lolonnois, as weary of delay as a greyhound is vexed by a hare's repeated doubling, determined to do what Mahomet did when the mountain would not go to him; since the Spaniards would not come to him, he went himself to the Spaniards. Informed of their approach by spies, Indians or fishermen, the vessel was prepared to receive him. The decks were cleared, the boarding-nettings up, and the guns double-shotted. The Spaniard carried fifty-six pieces of cannon, and the crew were well provided with hand grenades, torches, fusees, and fire-balls, especially on the quarter-deck and bows, and a crew of some 130 men stood armed and threatening at their quarters. But Lolonnois cared for none of these things, and the rich cargo shone, to his eye, through the ship's transparent sides. With his small craft of twenty-two guns, with a single fly-boat as his only ally, he boldly attacked the enemy, but was at first beaten off. To the Buccaneer a slight check was almost a certain precursor of victory; waiting till about sixty of the Spanish sailors had fallen from the fire of his deadly musketry, when their courage slackened, and the smoke of their powder lay in a dark mist round the bulwarks, hiding his movements, he boarded with four canoes, well manned. In spite of the brave defence, the Buccaneers fought with such fury that they forced the Spaniards to surrender. Lolonnois then sent his boats up the river to secure a small patache, which they knew lay near at hand, laden with plate, indigo, and cochineal. But the inhabitants, alarmed at the capture of the larger vessel, swept away from under their very eyes, saved the patache by preventing her departure. The booty of the prize was much less than was expected, the vessel being already almost entirely unladen. Its cargo consisted of iron and paper, and it still contained 20,000 reams of paper, and 100 tons of iron bars, which had served as ballast. The few bales of merchandise were nothing but linens, serges, and cloth, thread, and a few jars of wine. In the return cargo there would have been at least a million in specie. These heterogeneous articles were of no use to men who wanted nothing but coin or jewels, lead or powder. Dividing the paper, they used it for napkins, and other useless trifles, and several jars of almond and olive-oil were wasted in the same reckless manner. Having now accomplished their purpose, without much return for their three months' patience, Lolonnois called a general council of the fleet, and declared his intention of going to Guatimala. Upon this announcement a division arose in the assembly, and the hoarse murmurs of a coming tempest were heard around the speaker. Many of the adventurers, new to the trade, could no longer conceal their weariness and their disappointment. They had set sail from Tortuga with the feeling with which a country boy comes to London. They had believed that pieces of eight grew on the trees like pears, and had overlooked the dragons that guarded the Hesperian trees. Having seen their predecessors return home laden with the plunder of Maracaibo, many had overlooked the toil and dangers by which it was won, in the sight of the joy and prodigality with which it was lavished; they had seen only the rich pearls, and forgotten the stormy seas from which they had been gathered. They were weary of the hardships, and mutinous for want of food. The mere seeker for gold could not endure what was submitted to by those who were desirous of earning distinction. The older hands laughed at their pinings, derided their complaints, and swore that they would rather die and starve there, than return home with empty purses, to be the scorn and laughing-stock of all Hispaniola. The majority of the experienced men, foreseeing that the voyage to Nicaragua would not succeed, and was "little to their purpose," separated from Lolonnois, and set sail secretly in the swift sailing vessel that Moses Vauclin had captured in the port of Cavallo, and which he now commanded, boasting, with reason, that it was the swiftest sailing vessel that had been seen in the West Indies for fifty years. With Moses Vauclin went Pierre le Picard, who, seeing others desert Lolonnois, resolved to do the same. Steering homewards, the fugitives coasted along the whole continent till they came to Costa Rica, where they landed a good party, marched up to Veraguas, and burnt the town, pillaging the Spaniards, who made a stout resistance, carrying off a few prisoners, and obtaining a scanty booty of some seven or eight pounds' worth of gold, which their slaves washed from the mud of the rivers. Alarmed at the multitude of Spaniards that began to gather round them, the marauders abandoned their design of attacking the town of Nata, on the south sea-coast, although many rich merchants lived there, whose slaves worked in the gold-washings of Veraguas. Returning to Tortuga, these undisciplined men, impatient of poverty, united themselves under the flag of a noble adventurer, the Chevalier du Plessis, who had just arrived in the Indies, poor and proud, and prepared to cruise against the Spaniard in those seas. Vauclin being an experienced pilot, well acquainted with the turtle islands, and every key and reef the surf washed from California to Cape Horn, was taken into favour by the titled privateersman, who promised him the first prize he captured, if he would sail in his company. But a serious difficulty arose in the execution of this liberal promise, for the Chevalier was soon after shot through the head while grappling with a Spanish ship of thirty-six guns, and Moses was elected captain in his stead. In his first cruise, the brave deserter was fortunate enough to take a cocoa vessel from the Havannah, with a cargo valued at 150,000 livres. During this time, Lolonnois and his men remained alone and deserted in the gulf of Honduras. He was now in some distress, short of provisions, and in a vessel too "great to get out at the reflux of those seas." His 300 men had no food but that which they contrived to kill daily on shore, living chiefly on the flesh of parrots and monkeys. By day they generally fished or hunted, by night, taking advantage of the land breeze, they sailed painfully on till they rounded Cape Gracias à Dios, and slowly the Pearl Islands hove in sight. Staunch and inexorable, Lolonnois, amid all the tedium of this enervating idleness, still nourished the project of making a swoop down upon Nicaragua, intending to leave his cumbrous vessel behind, and row up the river St. John in canoes, until he reached the lake. But the same reason that made his vessel lag behind those of his companions, now drove it ashore in a shallow near Cape Gracias, where it drew too much water to be extricated. In vain he unloaded his guns and iron, and used every means that experience and ingenuity could suggest to lighten the ship, and float her again into deep water. Always firm and resolute, Lolonnois at once determined to break her to pieces on the sand-shoal, and with her planks and nails to construct a boat. His men, with perfect _sang froid_, not even impatient at the loss, much less afraid of danger, escaping to land, began to build Indian _ajoupas_, or huts. Lolonnois, accustomed to such reverses, concealed his chagrin, if he even felt any. Regardless of himself, he adjured his men to lose no courage, for he knew of a means of escape, and, what was more, a way to make their fortune yet, before they returned to Tortuga. Prepared for every emergency, and even for the longest delay, part of the crew were at once employed in planting peas and other vegetables, the remainder in fishing and hunting, all but the few who worked busily at the boat in which Nicaragua was to be visited. In spite of desertion, failure, wreck, and famine, Lolonnois held on to the plan of the expedition, which he deemed cowardly and shameful to abandon. The men, confident in the sagacity and courage of their leader, surrendered themselves like children to his guidance. The Indians of the Perlas Islands, on which they had struck, were a fierce and untamable race, strong and agile, swift as horses, hardy divers, brave but cruel, warlike, and man-eaters. Their wooden clubs were jagged with crocodiles' teeth; they had no bows or arrows, but used lances a fathom and a-half long. They built no huts, and lived on fruits grown in plantations cleared from the forest. Fishers and swimmers, they were so dexterous as to be able to bring up with a rope an anchor of 600 cwt. from a rock, a feat which Esquemeling himself saw a few of them perform. The seamen in vain attempted to propitiate these wild freemen, to serve them as guides or hunters. At last, finding a great number together, and pursuing the fugitives, they tracked five men and four women to a cave, and took much pains to propitiate them. The captives remaining obstinately silent, as if from fear, in spite of the food that was given them, were dismissed with presents of knives and beads. They left, promising to return; "but soon forgot their _benefactors_," says Esquemeling, disgustfully. The sailors believed that at night all the Indians swam to a neighbouring island, as they never saw either boat or Indian again. Some time before this the Frenchmen's terror had been excited by the discovery that these Indians were cannibals. Two Buccaneers, a Frenchman and a Spaniard, had straggled into the woods in search of game. Pursued by a troop of savages, the latter, after a desperate struggle, was captured, and heard of no more; the former, the swifter footed of the two, escaped. A few days after, an armed party of a dozen Flibustiers, led by this survivor, went into the same part of the forest to see if they could find any traces of the Indian encampment. Near the place where the Spaniard had fallen into the ambush they discovered the ashes of a fire, still warm, and among the embers some human bones, well scraped, and a white man's hand with two fingers half roasted, but still unconsumed. For six months, till the long-boat was completed, the Buccaneers lived on Spanish wheat, bananas, and on the fruits and green crops which they had sown on landing. Their bread they baked in portable ovens saved from the wreck. Lolonnois now once more prepared to carry out his unabandoned project. With part of his crew he resolved to row up the river of Nicaragua, to capture some canoes, and return to fetch away those whom the new boat would not hold. The men cast lots for the choice of sailing with him. He took about one-half of the shipwrecked crew with him, part in the long-boat and part in a skiff which had been saved when the larger vessel drove on the bank. They arrived in a few days at Desaguadera, near Nicaragua, but attacked on the beach by an overpowering number of Spaniards and Indians, they were driven back to their boats, with the loss of many men, and escaped with difficulty, beaten and desponding. Lolonnois, now fairly at bay with fortune, still resolved neither to return to Tortuga ragged and penniless, nor to rejoin his comerades till he had obtained a sufficient number of canoes to embark his companions. In order the better to obtain provisions he divided his men into two bands. The one party proceeded to the Cape Gracias à Dios, where they were well received; the other sailed to Boca del Toro, on the coast of Carthagena, where adventurers frequently repaired for turtle and other provisions, intending to embark in the first friendly vessel that should arrive. Nicaragua was still destined to remain unscathed. "God Almighty," says Esquemeling, who writes with some bitterness, and probably much hypocrisy, "the time of His divine justice being now come, had appointed the Indians of Darien to be the instruments and executioners thereof." Landing at a place called the La Pointe à Diegue to obtain fresh water, Lolonnois and his men, weary of "wave, and wind, and oar," drew their canoes to land, and threw up entrenchments, knowing that they were now in the neighbourhood of the Bravo Indians, the most savage race known on the mainland--as cruel as sharks, and as numerous and greedy of blood as the vultures. He himself and a few others, passing the river, near the Gulf of Darien, landed in order to sack a town and obtain provisions. Here this modern Ulysses found a termination to his troubles and his life, for, being taken prisoner by the Indians, he was killed, chopped to pieces, and devoured. Many of his companions were also burnt alive, and but a few escaped to Tortuga, by the detail of their horrors to check for a few days the love of adventure in the minds of its restless and impetuous adventurers. Esquemeling, or his English translator--who generally considers it necessary to conclude his chapters with a sanctimonious moral, a snuffle of the nose, and a lifting up of the eyes--says, "Hither Lolonnois came (brought by his evil conscience that cried for punishment), thinking to act his cruelties; but the Indians, within a few days after his arrival, took him prisoner, throwing his body limb by limb into the fire, and his ashes into the air (_virtuous indignation_), that no trace or memory might remain of such an infamous, inhuman creature.... Thus ends the history, the life, and the miserable death of that infernal wretch, Lolonnois, who, full of horrid, execrable, and enormous deeds, and debtor to so much innocent blood, died by cruel and butcherly hands, such as his own were in the course of his life." Towards the conclusion of his malediction Esquemeling's wrath unfortunately gets much the better of his grammar. The men left behind in the island de las Perlas, after long waiting for their companions--who had only escaped Scylla to run into Charybdis--were taken off by an English adventurer, who, collecting a body of 500 men, resolved on an expedition to the mainland. Ascending the river Moustique, near Cape Gracias, he sailed on, expecting to find some inlet to the lake of Nicaragua, round which Lolonnois' men still hovered. The expedition started full of hope, for the shipwrecked men were rejoiced at ending ten months of suffering, anxiety, and privation. The result was worse than mere disappointment. In fifteen days they reached no Spanish town, but only some poor Indian villages, which they found deserted by the natives, who, aware of their coming, had fled, carrying off all the produce of their plantations. These they burnt in their rage, and marched recklessly onwards. They had carried no provision with them, expecting to find everywhere sufficient; and, to render their condition worse, had brought all their 500 men, except five or six who were left to guard each vessel. "These their hopes," says Esquemeling--turning up as usual the whites of his eyes--who looks with great contempt on all unsuccessful attempts at thieving, "were found totally vain, _as not being grounded_." In a few days the hope of plunder, which had first animated them, grew clouded by despondency. Scarcity rapidly became want, and they were reduced to such extreme necessity and hunger that they gathered the plants that grew on the river's bank for food. In a fortnight their courage and vigour had entirely gone; their hearts sank, and their bodies were wasted by famine. Leaving the river they took to the woods, seeking for Indian villages where they might obtain food. Ranging up and down the woods for some days in a fruitless search, they returned to the river, now their only guide, and struck back towards the point of coast where their ships lay. In this laborious journey they were reduced to much extremity--eating their shoes, their leather belts, and the very sheaths of their knives and swords. They grew at last so ravenous as to resolve to kill and devour the first Indian they could meet; but they could not obtain one either for food or as a guide. Some fell sick, and, fainting by the wayside, were left to perish. Many were killed and eaten by the Indians, and others died of starvation. At last they reached the shore, and, finding some comfort and relief to their present miseries, at once set sail to encounter more. After remaining some time on land, they re-embarked, but a quarrel arising between the French and English Buccaneers, who seldom kept long friends, they separated into small parties, and engaged in fresh expeditions. CHAPTER VI. ALEXANDRE BRAS-DE-FER, AND MONTBARS THE EXTERMINATOR. Bras-de-Fer compared to Alexander the Great--His adventures and stratagems--Montbars--Anecdotes of his childhood--Goes to sea--His first fight--Meets and joins the Buccaneers--Defeats the Spanish Fifties--His uncle killed--His revenge--The negro vessel--Adam and Anne le Roux plunder Santiago. We now come to a class of Buccaneers who lived at we scarcely know what period, although they were probably contemporaries of Oexmelin. Their adventures, though on a narrower scale, are perhaps more interesting than those that had subsequently taken place, and are valuable as illustrations of manners. Oexmelin relates, in his usual shrewd and vivacious manner, the singular exploits of Alexandre Bras-de-Fer, a French adventurer, with whom he was acquainted, and who, unlike his contemporaries, never joined in large expeditions, preferring the promptitude of a single swift cruiser, with none to share his risks or subtract from his booty. His life seems to have been crowded with romantic and strange incidents. His character appears to have been a strange combination of bravery and chivalry, a love of rapine, and a fantastic vanity. Oexmelin says naïvely, that this modern Alexander was as great a man among the adventurers of Tortuga as the ancient Alexander was among the conquerors of the East. Nor does he see much difference between the two worthies, except that the Macedonian was the adventurer upon the larger scale. Our Alexandre was vigorous in body and handsome in feature--so, at least, vouches Oexmelin, who, a surgeon by profession, once cured him of a severe wound that he had received--a cure which, if Alexandre had been generous (which he was not, in this instance at least), might have made the doctor's fortune. Bras-de-Fer displayed as great judgment in the conception of his enterprises as he did courage in the carrying them out. His head and hand worked well together, and he seldom had to fight his way out of dangers into which his own incautiousness had led him. The vessel which he commanded he called the _Phoenix_, because it was of such a unique and peculiar structure that it was said to be among vessels what the phoenix was fabled to be among birds. Alexandre always went alone, in preference to crowding in a fleet. His pride or his prudence may have given him a fondness for solitary cruises, for the _Phoenix_ was a bird of prey. A picked crew and a single swift vessel had many advantages over a rebellious flotilla--and subordinate captains were often mutinous if not treacherous. If solitude increased his risk, it also increased his probability of success. Oexmelin, the only writer who mentions Alexandre, relates but one of his adventures, which he took down, as he tells us, from the hero's own lips. The rest of his exploits he suppresses, either from a fear of being tedious or a dread of being considered a mere romancer. On the occasion of which he speaks, Alexandre was bound upon an expedition of great consequence--which, however, as it did not succeed, the narrator, with a wise modesty, does not think worth mentioning. After lying some time imprisoned in a tedious calm, his prayers for a change of weather were answered by a great storm, that blew up the sea into mountains--wind and fire seeming to struggle together in the air for the possession of the helpless ship and its pale crew. The furious thunder drowned the very roar of the sea, and the masts soon went by the board. The lightning, striking its burning arrows through the deck, set fire to the powder-magazine, and blew up the part of the vessel in which it was stored. Half of the crew were hurled into the air, and were killed before they reached the boiling sea that eagerly waited for their fall. The remainder of the crew, finding the vessel going down by the head, took to swimming, and soon reached dry land: Alexandre--strong and brawny, brave, but desirous of life, and always awake to the means of its preservation--by no means the last, setting an example at once of prudence, coolness, and decision. On shaking the brine from their limbs and looking around, the wrecked men found that they had been thrown upon a tract of land as much to be dreaded by the Buccaneer as the realm of Polyphemus was by the wise Ulysses. They stood upon an island near the Boca del Drago (Dragon's Mouth), inhabited by a tribe of Indians, fierce and cruel cannibals. Remaining for some time upon the shore, they exerted themselves in recovering what they could from the scorched driftings of the wreck. Amongst other things they saved--what was more valuable than food, because they presented the means of saving their lives for the present and for the future--a number of their hunters' muskets, sufficient to arm all their number, together with a quantity of powder and lead for bullets. Without either of the three requisites the other two had been useless. They now gathered courage from the possibility of escape, and determined to secure themselves from the Indians, reconnoitre the place for fear of surprise, and after that remain patiently encamped till some friendly vessel should arrive. One day, while some of the band were smoking, singing, and talking, their past dangers already half forgotten in the desire of escaping the present by encountering fresh in the future, the sentinels on the look-out hill gave the signal of an approaching vessel. On all rushing to the spot, the keener eyes detected a large ship, dark against the grey horizon. It presently discharged a gun at the shore, and in the direction in which they stood. Preparing for the worst, Alexandre and his men hid themselves in a wooded hollow and held a council of war. Some were of opinion that they should wait for the stranger's arrival, and then quietly beg the captain to take them on board. The more impatient and lawless, less pacific in such an emergency, believed that such a plan would lead, if the vessel proved, as it probably would, a Spaniard, to their all being taken prisoners, and at once strung from the yard-arm, without inquiry, as Frenchmen and pirates. Bras-de-Fer spoke last, and crushed all opposition by his voice and gesture. He was for war to the death, and escape at any risk. Better Spanish rope than Indian fire, better pistol shot than starvation. Quick in decision and firm in execution, he had at once determined not merely to stand on the defensive, but at all risks to assume the aggressive. The adventurers yielded as if an angel had spoken, for Alexandre had more than the usual ascendancy of a leader over them. Both his mind and body were of a more athletic bulk and iron mould. He could dare and suffer more. His active and his passive, his moral and physical courage, were greater than theirs. They loved him because he shared their dangers, and did not humiliate them by the assumption of his real superiority. He wore the crown, but he was not always dazzling their eyes with its oppressive glitter. They respected him, because he could control both his own passions and those of the men whom he led to victory and never to defeat. The success of his victories he doubled by the prudence with which they were followed up, and the skill with which he conducted a retreat rendered his very defeats in themselves successes. The vessel, which proved to be a Spanish merchant ship, with war equipments, approached nearer, standing off and on, attracted by the fruit and flowers whose perfume spread over the level sea, and allured by that fragrance, a sure proof of the existence of good water not far from the shore. The boats were lowered, and a well-armed party landed with much caution. The captain marched at their head, followed by his best soldiers, dreading an ambuscade of the Indians of that coast, who were known to be warlike and treacherous, but not suspecting the Buccaneers, who kept themselves in the wood, ready to swoop down upon their prey, like the kite upon the dovecote. Already well acquainted with the paths and foot-tracks, Alexandre's men crept quietly through the trees, which grew thick and dark, and, defiling by secret avenues, surrounded the principal approach by which the Spaniards had already entered, in good order and on the alert, but with apprehensions already subsiding. The adventurers being very inferior in number and scantily armed, kept themselves hidden, waiting for chance to give them some momentary advantage. When the enemy was well encircled in the defile, mistaking perhaps the lighted matches for fire-flies among the branches, the French suddenly opened a murderous fire upon the soldiers, who found themselves girt by a belt of flame, coming from they knew not where. A pilgrim seeing a volcano opening at his feet could not be more astonished. The Spaniards, seeing no enemies to aim at, withheld their fire, thinking that the Indians were burning the forest. The absence of arrows, and the report of muskets, convinced them more deadly enemies awaited them, and that Europeans and not Indians were the preparers of the ambush. With much promptitude, instead of flying in a foolish headlong rout, they threw themselves upon their faces; and the captain gave the word of command not to fire till the enemy came in sight, being ignorant yet of their number and their nation. The adventurers looked through the loopholes which they had cut in the thick underwood for the passage of their firearms, to see what effect their volley had produced, the smoke now clearing away and permitting them to see more clearly. To their astonishment they could see no one; the enemy had vanished, as if blown to pieces by the fire. They began to think that they had retreated, although they had heard no sound of their retreat; they could scarcely believe that they were all dead. Alexandre's impatience soon decided the question; determined to conquer, he chafed at the delay and mystery. His resolution was soon made. He left his ambush and broke out from the wood into the open. The mystery was quickly solved, for he was instantly attacked by the Spaniards, who, when they saw him break cover, sprang up to their feet, with a shout, as swift as the foes of Cadmus. Alexandre, retreating for a moment to make his spring the surer, leaped upon the hostile captain and aimed a blow at his head with his sabre, which was warded off by a large scull-cap, from which the steel glanced. Bras-de-Fer was about to repeat his blow with better effect, when his foot caught in a root and he fell. Closely pressed by his antagonist, and requiring all his skill to save his life, rising up, with his left hand and with his strong right arm, he struck the uplifted sabre from the hand of his enemy. This lucky blow of a defenceless man gave Alexandre time to leap up and call the adventurers, who had not then left the ambush, and were now pouring out on every side, pressing the enemy in the rear and on the flank. Having made a great carnage among the Spaniards, the Flibustiers, at a signal from Alexandre, closed in, and, bearing down upon the craven and terrified foe sword in hand, slew them to a man, taking special care that not a single one should escape, for fear of spreading an alarm. The Spanish crew remaining to keep guard in the vessel, had heard the sound of musketry, and at once supposed that their people had fallen in with some hostile Indians, but knowing that their troops were brave and numerous, and believing they could easily cut a few savages to pieces, they sent no reinforcement, but contented themselves by discharging a noisy broadside to turn the scale of the supposed battle, and increase the terror of the fugitives. On the other hand, the victorious adventurers lost no time in following up their ambush by an ingenious stratagem. They stripped the dead, and arrayed themselves in their dress and arms. They then collected a quantity of their own Indian arrows, which they had previously taken from savages which they had killed. Then pulling their broad-brimmed Panama hats over their eyes (even the captain's, with a red gash through it), and shouldering their arms, imitating the Spanish march, and uttering shouts of "victory, victory," proceeded to the shore at the point nearest the vessel. The guards on board, seeing their supposed companions returned so soon, victorious, laden with spoil, and each one carrying a sheaf of arrows, received them with open arms as they clambered up by the main-chains. Before they could recover from their astonishment, the Buccaneers were masters of the vessel. There was scarcely any struggle, for only the sailors and a few marines had been left on board. The surprise was complete and sudden, and the most watchful might be pardoned for being deluded by such an artifice. The adventurers found the vessel laden with costly merchandise, and soon started with it upon a trip of a very different nature from that for which it had been first intended. Oexmelin laments that in many other adventures which Alexandre told him, he found that he passed too lightly over his own exploits, and attributed all the glory to the courage of his companions. But when his comerades related the story, they were not so generous to him as he had been to them, and, either from envy or shame, suppressed many of his noblest actions. He concludes his sketch of the two Alexanders with incomparable _naïveté_ in the following manner: "Au reste, je ne prétends pas que la comparaison soit toute-à-fait juste, car s'il y a quelque rapport, _il y a encore plus de différence_. En effet il étoit aussi brave que téméraire, et lui étoit brave que prudent. Alexandre aymoit le vin, et lui l'eau-de-vie. Aussi Alexandre fuyoit les femmes par grandeur d'âme, et luy les cherchoit par tendresse de coeur; et pour preuve de ce que je dis il s'en trouve une assez belle dans le vaisseau dont j'ay parlé, qu'il préféra à tout l'avantage du butin." "To conclude: if I have compared him to the Great Alexander, I do not pretend that the comparison is altogether just; for, if there are some points of resemblance, there are many more of difference. Of a truth, the one Alexander was as brave as he was headstrong, the other as brave as he was prudent; the one loved wine, and the other brandy; the one fled from women through real greatness of heart, the other sought them from a natural tenderness of soul; and, as a proof of what I say, he met a beautiful woman in the vessel of which I have spoken, whom he valued more than all the other spoil." Providence, a French moral philosopher ventures to suggest, raised up the Buccaneers to revenge on the Spaniards all the sufferings and injustices of the Indians. The Spaniard was the scourge of the Indian, and the Buccaneer the scourge of the Spaniard. Lolonnois and Montbars are always considered as equal claimants for the hateful pre-eminence of being the most ferocious of the whole Buccaneer brotherhood, considering them from their origin to their extinction. But the sovereignty of blood must be at once awarded to Lolonnois. Montbars seldom killed a Spaniard who begged for mercy, while Lolonnois delighted to spurn them from his feet, and slew all he could without pity, or even regard for ransom. It was from the very lips of Lolonnois that Oexmelin was informed that Montbars was sprung from one of the best families in Languedoc. He was well educated, but soon disregarded every other study to practise martial exercise, and particularly shooting. These warlike sports he pursued with a concentrated, unremitting eagerness, approaching insanity. Even as a boy, when firing with his cross-bow, he said he only wished to shoot well that he might know how to kill a Spaniard. His mind had already become filled with a generous but cruel determination, which grew rapidly into monomania. The animal force of a strong but ill-balanced mind all grew to this point, and his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night, became but a reiteration and reblending of the one master passion. No one ever became his confidant, but the following is the general explanation given of the deeds of his after life. It is said that, in his early childhood, Montbars had read of the almost incredible cruelties practised by the Spaniards during the conquest of America. In the Antilles, they had exhibited the horrors of the Inquisition in broad daylight. Fanaticism, avarice, and ambition had ruled like a trinity of devils over the beautiful regions, desolated and plague-smitten; whole nations had become extinct, and the name of Christ was polluted into the mere cypher of an armed and aggressive commerce. These books had impressed the gloomy boy with a deep, absorbing, fanatical hatred of the conquerors, and a fierce pity for the conquered. He believed himself marked out by God as the Gideon sent to their relief. Dreams of riches and gratified ambition spurred him unconsciously to the task. He thought and dreamed of nothing but the murdered Indians. He inquired eagerly from travellers for news from America, and testified prodigious and ungovernable joy when he heard that the Spaniards had been defeated by the Caribs or the Bravos. He indeed knew by heart every deed of atrocity that history recorded of his enemies, and would dilate on each one with a rude and impatient eloquence. The following story he was frequently accustomed to relate, and to gloat over with a look that indicated a mind capable of even greater cruelty, if once led away by a fanatic spirit of retaliation. A Spaniard, the story ran, was once upon a time appointed governor of an Indian province, which was inhabited by a fierce and warlike race of savages. He proved a cruel governor, unforgiving in his resentments, and insatiable in his avarice. The Indians, unable any longer to endure either his barbarities or his exactions, seized him, and, showing him gold, told him that they had at last been able, by great good luck, to find enough to satisfy his demands. They then held him firm, and melting the ore, poured it down his throat till he expired in torments under their hands. On one occasion, Montbars openly showed that his reason was somewhat disturbed, and that, on the one subject of his thoughts, he had ceased to be able to reflect calmly. While a boy, he had to take part in a comedy which was to be acted by himself and the fellow-students of the college, for his friends either ignored or disregarded his dreams and fancies. Amongst other scenes was a prologue, in the shape of a dialogue between a Spaniard and a Frenchman. Montbars was to represent the Frenchman, and his companion the Spaniard. The Spaniard, appearing first upon the stage, began to utter a thousand invectives against France, mingled with much ribald rhodomontade, and Montbars became excited, and could not contain his impatience. To his heated mind the mimic scene became a reality. He broke in upon the stage, furiously interrupted his comerade in the middle of his speech, and, loading him with blows, would certainly have put him to death on the spot, as "a Spanish liar and murderer," had the combatants not been separated by the terrified bystanders. His father, rich, and loving his son much, perhaps all the better for these wayward eccentricities, which, he believed, contact of the world and the pleasures of youth would soon drive from his memory, desired to enrol him in the army, or induce him to enter some profession. But to all his questions and entreaties the boy only replied, that all he wanted was "to fight against the Spaniards." Seeing that his friends would oppose his project, he ran away from his father's house, and took refuge at Havre with an uncle who commanded one of the French king's ships. He was about to start on a cruise against Spain, with whom France was then at war, and, pleased at the boy's avowed attachment to a maritime life, wrote to his father, approving of the boy's resolution. The father reluctantly gave what could be construed into a consent, and in a few days the vessel sailed. During the voyage out, the young fanatic evinced the greatest eagerness for an engagement, and directly a vessel appeared in sight ran to arm himself, hoping it might be a Spaniard. At length, one did in reality appear, and he had an opportunity of distinguishing himself against his declared enemies. They gave chase to the Spanish vessel, and received her broadside. The elder Montbars, seeing his nephew intoxicated with joy, and, disregarding all risk of exposure, determining to throw away his life, clapped him under hatches, as a reckless boy, and only let him rush out when the boarding commenced, and the enemy's vessel was evidently their own. The liberated youth led the boarders with all the calmness of a veteran man-of-war's-man. Leaping, sabre in hand, upon the foe, he fought with them pell-mell, broke through their thickest ranks, and, followed by a few whom his courage animated to rival his own rashness, rushed twice from end to end of the Spanish vessel, mowing down all he met to the right and left. The Spaniards were refused quarter, those who escaped the sword perished in the sea, and Montbars, to whom the honour of the victory was unanimously awarded, refused quarter to a single one. The prize was found full of spoil, the hold crammed with riches, containing 30,000 bales of cotton, 2000 bales of silk, besides Indian stuffs, 2000 packets of incense, and 1000 of cloves, which made up the treasure. In addition to all this, they found a small casket of diamonds, the case clasped with iron, and fastened with four locks, which alone outvalued all the bulkier merchandise. While his uncle and the sailors exulted over these treasures, Montbars was counting the dead Spaniards, and gloating over the first victims of the hecatomb he still hoped to slay. Blood, and not booty, was his object. In spite of the young victor, a few Spanish sailors and officers had been spared in the general carnage. From these survivors they learnt that two other vessels had been parted from them in a storm, near where they then were (St. Domingo), and that their rendezvous had been fixed at Port Margot. Captain Montbars determined to wait for them there, and to capture them by the stratagem of sending the captured vessel with its Spanish colours out to meet them, as a decoy. While the French vessel and its prize lay waiting at the rendezvous, some huntsmen's boats came off to sea, bringing boucaned meat to barter for brandy. The Buccaneers apologised for bringing so little meat, saying, "that a band of Spanish Fifties had lately ravaged their district, burnt their hides, stolen their dried meat, and burnt their boucans." "And why do you suffer it?" said Montbars, impetuously, for he had been listening eagerly all this time, to the recital of a new proof of Spanish perfidy. "We do not suffer it," answered the huntsmen, roughly. "The Spaniards know well what sort of people we are, and they chose a time when we were all away cow-killing; but our day is coming. We are now collecting our companions, who have suffered worse than we have; we have given notice far and wide, and if the fifty grow to 1000, we shall soon bring them to bay." "If you are willing," says Montbars, "I will march at your head. I do not want to command you, but to expose myself first, to show you what I am ready to do against these accursed Spaniards." The old hunters, astonished at the daring of a mere youth, and glad of another musket, accepted his proposal. His uncle, unable to rein him in, and already weary of so hot-brained a volunteer, yielded to his entreaties. He permitted him to go, giving him a party of seamen to guard him, and supplied him with but few provisions, in hopes of bringing him quickly back. He threatened, on parting, to leave him behind if he was not on board to the very hour, then calling him a foolish madcap, and cursing him for a hair-brain, he dismissed him with his blessing, swearing the next minute there wasn't a braver lad at that moment treading a plank. Montbars departed with some uneasiness, not caring about his uncle's advice or the scantiness of provisions, but only afraid that he might miss the Spaniards on land, and be absent also when the Spanish vessels were attacked. He wanted no greater inducement to hurry his return than the prospect of a naval engagement. He had scarcely landed with his men, when the hunters brought them into a small savannah surrounded by hills and woods. They had not taken many steps across this broad hunting-ground before they saw some mounted Spaniards appear in the distance--these men were part of a troop that had collected, hearing that the Buccaneers were assembling to attack them. Montbars, transported with rage at the sight of a Spaniard, would have rushed at once upon them, single-handed, but an old experienced Buccaneer caught him by the arm: "Stop," said he, "there is plenty of time, and, if you do what I tell you, not one of these fellows shall escape." These words, "not one," would at any time have arrested Montbars, and they did so then. The old Buccaneer, crying a halt, bade the men turn their backs on the Spaniards, as if they had not seen them. He next unrolled the linen tent, which he carried in the usual fashion of his craft, and began to pitch it, followed by all his companions, who did the same, imitating their fugleman, without inquiry, trusting to the address that had often before delivered them out of danger. They then drew out their brandy flasks and affected to prepare for a revel, intending to deceive the Spaniards, who, they knew, would give them time to drink, in hopes of surprising them, an easy prey, when asleep. The empty horns were passed round with jokes, and songs, and shouts, and the corked flasks circulated as merrily as if the feast had been a real one. Without appearing to observe, they could see the Spanish patrols disappear over the ridge of the hill, to warn their men in the valley to prepare for a night surprise. The Buccaneer leader, passing the signal from hand to hand, sent an _engagé_ into the woods to quickly rouse all the "brothers" in the neighbourhood, to bid them come and help them, and to prepare an ambush in the opposite forest. In the mean time, other scouts were sent to watch the motions of the enemy, to be sure that they were coming, and were not making any flank movement. At dusk the Buccaneers slipped quietly from beneath their tents, and crept into the adjacent woods. Here they found their companions and their _engagés_ already assembled and eager for the attack. Montbars, weary of all preparations, was now burning to see the Spaniards, declared they never would come, and that they had better go out and surprise them while night lasted; but the Spaniards were purposely delaying, knowing that the longer they delayed the deeper would be the sleep of the revellers. At daybreak, they could see a dark troop beginning to move forward over the ridge, and soon to descend the hill into the plain in good order, a small detachment marching before them as a forlorn hope. The Buccaneers, well posted and unobserved, waited for them, sure of their prey, for the tents being pitched at some distance one from the other, they could see every movement of the Spaniards. As they drew nearer, the Fifties broke into small troops, and each encircled a tent. To their astonishment, at that moment the wood grew a flame, and a hot rolling fire led on the advancing Buccaneers, who, breaking out with yell and shout, very terrible in the silence of the dawning, overthrew horse and rider. Montbars, inspired by the fever of the onslaught, which always seemed for a moment to restore the balance of his mind, leaped on a horse, whose rider he had killed, and headed the attack. Wherever resistance was made, he rode in, charging every knot of troopers as they attempted to rally. Hurrying on too far beyond his companions, while breaking into the heart of the squadron, he was surrounded, and would have been quickly overpowered had he not been rescued by a determined rush of his men. More furious at this escape, he pursued the scattered enemy right and left, with increased fury, inflicting blows as dreadful as they were unusual. One of the Buccaneers, seeing many of his men suffering from the Indian arrows, cried out to the Indians, in Spanish, pointing to Montbars, "Do you not see that God has sent you a liberator, who fights for you, to deliver you from the Spaniards, and yet you still fight for your tyrants?" Hearing these words, and astonished at Montbars' contempt for death, the archers changed sides and turned their arrows against the Spaniards, who fled, overwhelmed by this new misfortune, and perhaps impelled by an undefinable and superstitious terror. Montbars looked upon this day as the happiest in his life. He had seen the Indians he had so pitied fighting by his side, and regarding him as their protector. Cleaving down a wounded Spaniard, who clung to his knees and begged for mercy, he cried, "I would it were the last of this accursed race." An eye witness of the battle describes the carnage as horrible--the living trampling on the living, and stumbling over the dying and the dead. The Buccaneers and the Indians, rejoicing in their liberty and their revenge, entreated Montbars to follow up his successes, and wanted at once to ravage the Spanish plantations, and extirpate the survivors, while they were still discouraged. Montbars gladly consented to the proposal, and was about to march exultingly at their head, when the boom of a cannon was heard. It was the report of a gun from his uncle's vessel, and he could not resist obeying a signal that might be the signal of an approaching battle. He instantly hurried back, but found, to his annoyance, that the signal had been only fired as a warning to announce the hour of instant sailing. The hunters, already attached to their young leader, refused to leave him, and the Indians were afraid to abide the vengeance of the Spaniards. They were all therefore at once placed on board the prize, and supplied with muskets and sabres. The delighted uncle appointed Montbars as captain, with an old officer, under the name of lieutenant, to act as his guardian. After eight days' sail, Montbars was attacked, at the mouth of a large key, by four Spanish vessels, each one larger than his own. They surrounded him so suddenly that he had no time to escape, and he lay amongst them like a wolf at bay. They formed, in fact, the van of the great Indian plate fleet, which was, every year, as eagerly expected by the king of Spain as it was by all the marauders of the Spanish main. The elder Montbars, bold and hardy, unhesitatingly attacked two of the vessels, and several times drove back their boarders. Although gouty himself and unable to move, the staunch old Gascon shouted his orders from his elbow chair; and, cursing alternately the enemy and the disease, defended his ship to the last extremity. Having fought for more than three hours with ferocious obstinacy, and seeing his young hero terribly pressed by his two adversaries, he resolved upon a final effort, the last struggle of a wild beast that feels the knife is at his throat. Firing a tremendous broadside, he attacked both his enemies with such fury that he sank them and himself, and died "laughing" in all the exultation of that revenge which is the only victory of despair. Montbars the younger made great exertions to save himself and to avenge his uncle. The old lion was dead, but the cub had much life in him yet. He sank one of his antagonists with a crashing shot and boarded the other. His Indians, seeing their leader enter the Spanish vessel at one end, threw themselves into the water and clambered promptly up the other. Their war-cries and arrows produced a powerful diversion, and took the Spaniards by surprise. Throwing many into the sea, they killed others, while Montbars put all that resisted to the sword. In a short time he was master of a vessel larger even than those that had been sunk. The friendly Indians, who now looked upon him as an invincible demigod, he employed in a fruitless search for his uncle's body. Conquerors and conquered were destined to remain locked in each other's arms, and piled over with bloody trophies of burnt wreck until the day that the sea should give up her dead. The hunters renewed their proposal of a descent upon the mainland, and Montbars agreed to any scheme which would enable him to avenge his uncle and his friends. He had formerly lived to avenge the wrongs of others, to these were now added his own. The governor of the province, hearing of the contemplated attack, prepared an ambuscade of negroes and militiamen. Putting himself at the head of 800 men, divided into three battalions, his wings strengthened with cavalry and his van guarded with cannon, he prepared to prevent the landing of the "Exterminator." These preparations only increased the ardour of Montbars. It seemed cowardly to ravage an unprotected country: its devastation, after defeating its defenders, was a reward of conquest. Montbars was the first to leap from the canoes, and the first to rush upon the Spanish pikes. The front battalion was soon repulsed, and some Indians taking the reserve force in the flank, they were driven back in great disorder. Montbars, hotly pursuing, made a prodigious carnage of the enemy, and carried fire and sword far into the interior. One day, while at sea, the young captain, already a veteran in experience, was obliged to put into a bay to careen. To his great surprise, although the place was a mere track of sand, he saw some Spaniards on a distant plain, marching in good order and well-armed. Fearing that if they saw his men they would take to flight, he sent a few of his favourite Indians to decoy them towards him. Then falling upon them with fury as they cried out for quarter Montbars shouted, in Spanish, that they had nothing to hope for till they had killed himself and all his men. These dreadful words, together with his revengeful looks, drove them to take up their arms and fight with dogged and brutal despair, till they were slain almost to a man. Advancing into the country in search of more human prey, Montbars carried off the arms of the Spaniards and a great quantity of fruits and provisions. It appeared, from a survivor, that the Spaniards had arrived in that country in a singular manner. They had formed the crew in guard of a vessel full of negro slaves who had conspired together to drive the ship on shore. They had secretly bored holes in the ship's hold, in which they had placed pluggets, which they drew out, and replaced, unseen, and in a moment. While the Spaniards were seated together, talking with their usual stately, stolid phlegm, this unaccountable leak would break out and fill the cabin, or drench them in their hammocks. The slaves never seemed alarmed, but always astonished, and filled the air with interjections, in the Congo language. The water rushing in pell-mell, even the ship's carpenter did not know from where, drove all hands, at great danger to the ship, almost to leave the helm to save the cargo, which was already damaged. The negroes, quiet and orderly, would generally succeed, after a time, in stopping the leak, and excited general admiration by their promptitude and naval skill. All then went on well for a time; but with the least wind or storm the leak recommenced, till the very captain began reluctantly to confess, with tears in his eyes, that they were all as good as lost, for the vessel was dangerous, and not seaworthy. In the middle of the night, or at meal time, this supernatural leak would recommence, till the pumps were all but worn out, and the men faint with want of sleep. One day, when the vessel was skirting a reef, the negroes watched the opportunity, and the leak commenced with redoubled fury, the slaves howling as if from the very disquietness of their hearts. The Spaniards, thinking all hope lost, and the vessel, as they declared, already beginning to settle down, abandoned the ship, and threw themselves on that very tongue of land where Montbars afterwards surprised them. The trick had been cleverly planned and cleverly executed, but a hitch in the machinery had nearly ruined all. One of the blacks, more timid or less sagacious than the rest, seeing the water pour in with more than usual impetuosity, and on all sides, lost his presence of mind. Not able at once, in his panic, to find the hole which he had to stop, he believed that his companions had also failed, and that all was indeed lost, and, throwing himself overboard without inquiring, he joined the Spaniards, who were thanking God (prematurely) for their deliverance. Looking back for his companions, to his horror he saw a dozen of them tugging at the helm, and putting out wildly to sea. The truth flashed upon him, and he knew in a moment that his safety was a loss. Giving way to uncontrollable despair, he tore his wool, and stamped his feet, and cursed his fetish, and stretched out his hands, as if to stay the parting vessel. The Spaniards, astonished at this apparently passionate desire to be drowned, began slowly to discover the successful stratagem. They looked: "Demonio, St. Antonio!"--the vessel did not sink, but glided swiftly out to sea. They could see the blacks laughing, pulling at the ropes, and grinning from the port-holes. They turned with fury on the unhappy survivor, and put him to the torture till he confessed the truth. And this story completes all that history has preserved of one of the strangest combinations of fanatic and soldier that has ever appeared since the days of Loyola. In another age, and under other circumstances, he might have become a second Mohammed. Equally remorseless, his ambition, though narrower, seems to have been no less fervid. If he was cruel, we must allow him to have been sincere even in his fanaticism. Daring, untiring, of unequalled courage, and unmatched resolution, the cruelty of the Spaniards he put down by greater cruelty. He passes from us into unknown seas, and we hear of him no more. He died probably unconscious of crime, unpitying and unpitied. Oexmelin, who saw Montbars at Honduras, describes him as active, vivacious, and full of fire, like all the Gascons. He was of tall stature, erect and firm, his air grand, noble, and martial. His complexion was sun-burnt, and the colour of his eyes could not be discerned under the deep, arched vaulting of his bushy eyebrows. His very glance in battle was said to intimidate the Spaniards, and to drive them to despair. In 1659, Santiago was pillaged by the Flibustiers, in revenge for the murder of twelve Frenchmen, who had been shot by a Spanish captain, who took them from a Flemish vessel, sparing only a woman, and a child who hid itself under the robe of a monk. Determined on retaliation, the people of the coast assembled to the number of 500. Obtaining an English commission, they embarked on board a frigate from Nantes, and a number of small craft--De L'Isle being their commander, and Adam, Lormel, and Anne le Roux their lieutenants. They landed at Puerto de Plata, "le Dimanche des Rameaux," and marched upon St. Jago at daybreak. Passing over the bodies of the guards, they rushed to the governor's house, and surprised him in bed. He, knowing French, threw himself on his knees, and told them that peace was about to be declared between the two nations. They replied, that they carried an English commission, and, reproaching him for his cruelties, bade him either prepare for death, or pay down 60,000 crowns. Part of this ransom he instantly paid in hides. The pillage of the town lasted twenty-four hours, and nothing was spared; the very bells were carried from the churches, and the altars stripped of their plate. No violence, however, we are glad to record, was offered to the women, the Brotherhood having agreed, that any such offender should lose his share of the spoil. END OF VOL. I. LONDON: SERCOMBE AND JACK, 16 GREAT WINDMILL STREET. INTERESTING NEW WORKS. * * * * * MEMOIRS OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE RICHARD LALOR SHEIL. By TORRENS M'CULLAGH, Esq. 2 vols. post 8vo. "We feel assured that Mr. M'Cullagh's Work will be received with general satisfaction."--_Literary Gazette._ "Such a man as Sheil eminently deserved a biography, and Mr. M'Cullagh has, we think, proved himself an exceedingly proper person to undertake it. His narrative is lucid and pleasant, sound and hearty in sentiment, and sensible in dissertation; altogether we may emphatically call this an excellent biography."--_Daily News._ * * * * * SKETCHES, LEGAL AND POLITICAL, BY THE LATE RIGHT HONOURABLE RICHARD LALOR SHEIL. 2 vols. post 8vo. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. ATHENÆUM. "We cordially recommend these sketches as interesting in matter and brilliant in composition. Their literary merit is very great." MESSENGER. "These volumes will delight the student and charm the general reader." DUBLIN EVENING MAIL. "These volumes contain more matter of high and enduring interest to all classes of readers than any publication of equal extent, professing to illustrate the social and literary position or treat of the domestic manners and history of our country." DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. "Of the great power and brilliancy of these papers there can be no second opinion. In the British senate, as in his own native land, the name of Richard Lalor Sheil will be long remembered in connexion with eloquence and learning and with genius. In these volumes he has left a memorial of all the gems of his rich and varied intellect--every phase and line of his versatile and prolific mind." * * * * * _Also, just ready,_ MR. CURRAN'S SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR. WITH A SELECTION OF OTHER PAPERS, LEGAL, LITERARY, AND POLITICAL. 2 vols. post 8vo. CHEAP EDITION OF MISS BURNEY'S DIARY. _In Seven Volumes, small 8vo,_ EMBELLISHED WITH PORTRAITS, _Price only 3s. each, elegantly bound, either of which may be had separately,_ DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY, AUTHOR OF "EVELINA," "CECILIA," &c. INCLUDING THE PERIOD OF HER RESIDENCE AT THE COURT OF QUEEN CHARLOTTE. * * * * * OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. EDINBURGH REVIEW. "Madame D'Arblay lived to be classic. Time set on her fame, before she went hence, that seal which is seldom set except on the fame of the departed. All those whom we have been accustomed to revere as intellectual patriarchs seemed children when compared with her; for Burke had sat up all night to read her writings, and Johnson had pronounced her superior to Fielding, when Rogers was still a schoolboy, and Southey still in petticoats. Her Diary is written in her earliest and best manner; in true woman's English, clear, natural, and lively. It ought to be consulted by every person who wishes to be well acquainted with the history of our literature and our manners." TIMES. "Miss Burney's work ought to be placed beside Boswell's 'Life,' to which it forms an excellent supplement." LITERARY GAZETTE. "This publication will take its place in the libraries beside Walpole and Boswell." MESSENGER. "This work may be considered a kind of supplement to Boswell's Life of Johnson. It is a beautiful picture of society as it existed in manners, taste, and literature, in the reign of George the Third, drawn by a pencil as vivid and brilliant as that of any of the celebrated persons who composed the circle." POST. "Miss Burney's Diary, sparkling with wit, teeming with lively anecdote and delectable gossip, and full of sound and discreet views of persons and things, will be perused with interest by all classes of readers." CHEAP EDITION OF THE LIVES OF THE QUEENS. _Now in course of Publication, in Eight Volumes, post octavo (comprising from 600 to 700 pages each), Price only 7s. 6d. per Volume, elegantly bound, either of which may be had separately, to complete sets_, LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND. BY AGNES STRICKLAND. Dedicated by Express Permission to her Majesty. EMBELLISHED WITH PORTRAITS OF EVERY QUEEN, BEAUTIFULLY ENGRAVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES. In announcing a cheap Edition of this important and interesting work, which has been considered unique in biographical literature, the publishers again beg to direct attention to the following extract from the author's preface:--"A revised edition of the 'Lives of the Queens of England', embodying the important collections which have been brought to light since the appearance of earlier impressions, is now offered to the world, embellished with Portraits of every Queen, from authentic and properly verified sources. The series, commencing with the consort of William the Conqueror, occupies that most interesting and important period of our national chronology, from the death of the last monarch of the Anglo-Saxon line, Edward the Confessor, to the demise of the last sovereign of the royal house of Stuart, Queen Anne, and comprises therein thirty queens who have worn the crown-matrimonial, and four the regal diadem of this realm. We have related the parentage of every queen, described her education, traced the influence of family connexions and national habits on her conduct, both public and private, and given a concise outline of the domestic, as well as the general history of her times, and its effects on her character, and we have done so with singleness of heart, unbiassed by selfish interests or narrow views. Such as they were in life we have endeavoured to portray them, both in good and ill, without regard to any other considerations than the development of the _facts_. Their sayings, their doings, their manners, their costume, will be found faithfully chronicled in this work, which also includes the most interesting of their letters. The hope that the 'Lives of the Queens of England' might be regarded as a national work, honourable to the female character, and generally useful to society, has encouraged us to the completion of the task." * * * * * OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. FROM THE TIMES. "These volumes have the fascination of romance united to the integrity of history. The work is written by a lady of considerable learning, indefatigable industry, and careful judgment. All these qualifications for a biographer and an historian she has brought to bear upon the subject of her volumes, and from them has resulted a narrative interesting to all, and more particularly interesting to that portion of the community to whom the more refined researches of literature afford pleasure and instruction. The whole work should be read, and no doubt will be read, by all who are anxious for information. It is a lucid arrangement of facts, derived from authentic sources, exhibiting a combination of industry, learning, judgment, and impartiality, not often met with in biographers of crowned heads." MORNING HERALD. "A remarkable and truly great historical work. In this series of biographies, in which the severe truth of history takes almost the wildness of romance, it is the singular merit of Miss Strickland that her research has enabled her to throw new light on many doubtful passages, to bring forth fresh facts, and to render every portion of our annals which she has described an interesting and valuable study. She has given a most valuable contribution to the history of England, and we have no hesitation in affirming that no one can be said to possess an accurate knowledge of the history of the country who has not studied this truly national work, which, in this new edition, has received all the aids that further research on the part of the author, and of embellishment on the part of the publishers, could tend to make it still more valuable, and still more attractive, than it had been in its original form." MORNING CHRONICLE. "A most valuable and entertaining work. There is certainly no lady of our day who has devoted her pen to so beneficial a purpose as Miss Strickland. Nor is there any other whose works possess a deeper or more enduring interest." MORNING POST. "We must pronounce Miss Strickland beyond all comparison the most entertaining historian in the English language. She is certainly a woman of powerful and active mind, as well as of scrupulous justice and honesty of purpose." QUARTERLY REVIEW. "Miss Strickland has made a very judicious use of many authentic MS. authorities not previously collected, and the result is a most interesting addition to our biographical library." ATHENÆUM. "A valuable contribution to historical knowledge. It contains a mass of every kind of historical matter of interest, which industry and research could collect. We have derived much entertainment and instruction from the work." CHEAP EDITION OF PEPYS' DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE. _Now ready, a New and Cheap Edition, printed uniformly with the last edition of_ EVELYN'S DIARY, _and comprising all the recent Notes and Emendations, Indexes, &c., in Four Volumes, post octavo, with Portraits, price 6s. per Volume, handsomely bound, of the_ DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE OF SAMUEL PEPYS, F.R.S., SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY IN THE REIGNS OF CHARLES II. AND JAMES II. EDITED BY RICHARD LORD BRAYBROOKE. The authority of PEPYS, as an historian and illustrator of a considerable portion of the seventeenth century, has been so fully acknowledged by every scholar and critic, that it is now scarcely necessary to remind the reader of the advantages he possessed for producing the most complete and trustworthy record of events, and the most agreeable picture of society and manners, to be found in the literature of any nation. In confidential communication with the reigning sovereigns, holding high official employment, placed at the head of the Scientific and Learned of a period remarkable for intellectual impulse, mingling in every circle, and observing everything and everybody whose characteristics were worth noting down; and possessing, moreover, an intelligence peculiarly fitted for seizing the most graphic points in whatever he attempted to delineate, PEPYS may be considered the most valuable as well as the most entertaining of our National Historians. A New and Cheap Edition of this work, comprising all the restored passages and the additional annotations that have been called for by the vast advances in antiquarian and historical knowledge during the last twenty years, will doubtless be regarded as one of the most agreeable additions that could be made to the library of the general reader. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON PEPYS' DIARY. FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW. "Without making any exception in favour of any other production of ancient or modern diarists, we unhesitatingly characterise this journal as the most remarkable production of its kind which has ever been given to the world. Pepys' Diary makes us comprehend the great historical events of the age, and the people who bore a part in them, and gives us more clear glimpses into the true English life of the times than all the other memorials of them that have come down to our own." FROM THE QUARTERLY REVIEW. "There is much in Pepys' Diary that throws a distinct and vivid light over the picture of England and its government during the period succeeding the Restoration. If, quitting the broad path of history, we look for minute information concerning ancient manners and customs, the progress of arts and sciences, and the various branches of antiquity, we have never seen a mine so rich as these volumes. The variety of Pepys' tastes and pursuits led him into almost every department of life. He was a man of business, a man of information, a man of whim, and, to a certain degree, a man of pleasure. He was a statesman, a _bel-esprit_, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His curiosity made him an unwearied, as well as an universal, learner, and whatever he saw found its way into his tablets." FROM THE ATHENÆUM. "The best book of its kind in the English language. The new matter is extremely curious, and occasionally far more characteristic and entertaining than the old. The writer is seen in a clearer light, and the reader is taken into his inmost soul. Pepys' Diary is the ablest picture of the age in which the writer lived, and a work of standard importance in English literature." FROM THE EXAMINER. "We place a high value on Pepys' Diary as the richest and most delightful contribution ever made to the history of English life and manners in the latter half of the seventeenth century." FROM TAIT'S MAGAZINE. "We owe Pepys a debt of gratitude for the rare and curious information he has bequeathed to us in this most amusing and interesting work. His Diary is valuable, as depicting to us many of the most important characters of the times. Its author has bequeathed to us the records of his heart--the very reflection of his energetic mind; and his quaint but happy narrative clears up numerous disputed points--throws light into many of the dark corners of history, and lays bare the hidden substratum of events which gave birth to, and supported the visible progress of, the nation." FROM THE MORNING POST. "Of all the records that have ever been published, Pepys' Diary gives us the most vivid and trustworthy picture of the times, and the clearest view of the state of English public affairs and of English society during the reign of Charles II. We see there, as in a map, the vices of the monarch, the intrigues of the Cabinet, the wanton follies of the court, and the many calamities to which the nation was subjected during the memorable period of fire, plague, and general licentiousness." IMPORTANT NEW HISTORICAL WORK. _Now ready, in 2 vols. post 8vo, embellished with Portraits, price 21s. bound,_ THE QUEENS BEFORE THE CONQUEST. BY MRS. MATTHEW HALL. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. FROM THE LITERARY GAZETTE. "Mrs. Hall's work presents a clear and connected series of records of the early female sovereigns of England, of whom only a few scattered anecdotes have hitherto been familiarly known to general readers. The book is of great interest, as containing many notices of English life and manners in the remote times of our British, Roman, Saxon, and Danish ancestors." SUNDAY TIMES. "These volumes open up a new and interesting page of history to the majority of readers. What Miss Strickland has achieved for English Queens since the Norman era, has been accomplished by Mrs. Hall on behalf of the royal ladies who, as wives of Saxon kings, have influenced the destinies of Britain." SUN. "Mrs. Hall may be congratulated on having successfully accomplished a very arduous undertaking. Her volumes form a useful introduction to the usual commencement of English history." CRITIC. "The most instructive history we possess of the pre-Conquest period. It should take its place by the side of Miss Strickland's 'Lives of the Queens.'" OBSERVER. "Of all our female historico-biographical writers, Mrs. Hall seems to us to be one of the most painstaking, erudite, and variously and profoundly accomplished. Her valuable volumes contain not only the lives of the Queens before the Conquest, but a very excellent history of England previously to the Norman dynasty." BELL'S MESSENGER. "These interesting volumes have been compiled with judgment, discretion, and taste. Mrs. Hall has spared neither pains nor labour to make her history worthy of the characters she has essayed to illustrate. The book is, in every sense, an addition of decided value to the annals of the British people." NEW QUARTERLY REVIEW. "These volumes have long been a desideratum, and will be hailed as a useful, and indeed essential, introduction to Miss Strickland's world-famous biographical history." THE PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS. A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED FROM THE PERSONAL COMMUNICATIONS OF THE NOBILITY, &c. With 1500 Engravings of ARMS. In 1 vol. (comprising as much matter as twenty ordinary volumes), 38s. bound. * * * * * The following is a List of the Principal Contents of this Standard Work:-- I. A full and interesting history of each order of the English Nobility, showing its origin, rise, titles, immunities, privileges, &c. II. A complete Memoir of the Queen and Royal Family, forming a brief genealogical History of the Sovereign of this country, and deducing the descent of the Plantagenets, Tudors, Stuarts, and Guelphs, through their various ramifications. To this section is appended a list of those Peers and others who inherit the distinguished honour of Quartering the Royal Arms of Plantagenet. III. An Authentic table of Precedence. IV. A perfect HISTORY OF ALL THE PEERS AND BARONETS, with the fullest details of their ancestors and descendants, and particulars respecting every collateral member of each family, and all intermarriages, &c. V. The Spiritual Lords. VI. Foreign Noblemen, subjects by birth of the British Crown. VII. Extinct Peerages, of which descendants still exist. VIII. Peerages claimed. IX. Surnames of Peers and Peeresses, with Heirs Apparent and Presumptive. X. Courtesy titles of Eldest Sons. XI. Peerages of the Three Kingdoms in order of Precedence. XII. Baronets in order of Precedence. XIII. Privy Councillors of England and Ireland. XIV. Daughters of Peers married to Commoners. XV. ALL THE ORDERS OF KNIGHTHOOD, with every Knight and all the Knights Bachelors. XVI. Mottoes translated, with poetical illustrations. * * * * * "The most complete, the most convenient, and the cheapest work of the kind ever given to the public."--_Sun_. "The best genealogical and heraldic dictionary of the Peerage and Baronetage, and the first authority on all questions affecting the aristocracy."--_Globe_. "For the amazing quantity of personal and family history, admirable arrangement of details, and accuracy of information, this genealogical and heraldic dictionary is without a rival. It is now the standard and acknowledged book of reference upon all questions touching pedigree, and direct or collateral affinity with the titled aristocracy. The lineage of each distinguished house is deduced through all the various ramifications. Every collateral branch, however remotely connected, is introduced; and the alliances are so carefully inserted, as to show, in all instances, the connexion which so intimately exists between the titled and untitled aristocracy. We have also much most entertaining historical matter, and many very curious and interesting family traditions. The work is, in fact, a complete cyclopædia of the whole titled classes of the empire, supplying all the information that can possibly be desired on the subject."--_Morning Post_. CHEAP EDITION OF THE DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE OF JOHN EVELYN, F.R.S. _Now completed, with Portraits, in Four Volumes, post octavo (either of which may be had separately), price 6s. each, handsomely bound,_ COMPRISING ALL THE IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES, LETTERS, AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS LAST MADE. "We rejoice to welcome this beautiful and compact edition of Evelyn. It is intended as a companion to the recent edition of Pepys, and presents similar claims to interest and notice. Evelyn was greatly above the vast majority of his contemporaries, and the Diary which records the incidents in his long life, extending over the greater part of a century, is deservedly esteemed one of the most valuable and interesting books in the language. Evelyn took part in the breaking out of the civil war against Charles I., and he lived to see William of Orange ascend the throne. Through the days of Strafford and Land, to those of Sancroft and Ken, he was the steady friend of moderation and peace in the English Church. He interceded alike for the royalist and the regicide; he was the correspondent of Cowley, the patron of Jeremy Taylor, the associate and fellow-student of Boyle; and over all the interval between Vandyck and Kneller, between the youth of Milton and the old age of Dryden, poetry and the arts found him an intelligent adviser, and a cordial friend. There are, on the whole, very few men of whom England has more reason to be proud. He stands among the first in the list of Gentlemen. We heartily commend so good an edition of this English classic."--_Examiner._ "This work is a necessary companion to the popular histories of our country, to Hume, Hallam, Macaulay, and Lingard.--_Sun._ LIVES OF THE PRINCESSES OF ENGLAND. By MRS. EVERETT GREEN, EDITOR OF THE "LETTERS OF ROYAL AND ILLUSTRIOUS LADIES." 6 vols., post 8vo, with Illustrations, 10s. 6d. each, bound. Either of which may be had separately. "This work is a worthy companion to Miss Strickland's admirable 'Queens of England.' That celebrated work, although its heroines were, for the most part, foreign Princesses, related almost entirely to the history of this country. The Princesses of England, on the contrary, are themselves English, but their lives are nearly all connected with foreign nations. Their biographies, consequently, afford us a glimpse of the manners and customs of the chief European kingdoms, a circumstance which not only gives to the work the charm of variety, but which is likely to render it peculiarly useful to the general reader, as it links together by association the contemporaneous history of various nations. We cordially commend Mrs. Green's production to general attention; it is (necessarily) as useful as history, and fully as entertaining as romance."--_Sun._ SIR B. BURKE'S DICTIONARY OF THE EXTINCT, DORMANT, AND ABEYANT PEERAGES OF ENGLAND, SCOTLAND AND IRELAND. Beautifully printed, in 1 vol, 8vo, containing 800 double-column pages, 21s. bound. This work connects, in many instances, the new with the old nobility, and it will in all cases show the cause which has influenced the revival of an extinct dignity in a new creation. It should be particularly noticed, that this new work appertains nearly as much to extant as to extinct persons of distinction; for though dignities pass away, it rarely occurs that whole families do. HISTORY OF THE LANDED GENTRY. A Genealogical Dictionary OF THE WHOLE OF THE UNTITLED ARISTOCRACY OF ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, AND IRELAND. By SIR BERNARD BURKE. A new and improved Edition, in 1 vol., uniform with the "Peerage." -->THE PURCHASERS of the earlier editions of the Dictionary of the Landed Gentry are requested to take notice that A COPIOUS INDEX has been compiled with great care and at great expense, containing REFERENCES TO THE NAMES OF EVERY PERSON (upwards of 100,000) MENTIONED IN THE WORK, and may be had bound uniformly with the work: price, 5s. ROMANTIC RECORDS OF THE ARISTOCRACY. By SIR BERNARD BURKE. SECOND AND CHEAPER EDITION, 2 vols., post 8vo, 21s. bound. "The most curious incidents, the most stirring tales, and the most remarkable circumstances connected with the histories, public and private, of our noble houses and aristocratic families, are here given in a shape which will preserve them in the library, and render them the favorite study of those who are interested in the romance of real life. These stories, with all the reality of established fact, read with as much spirit as the tales of Boccaccio, and are as full of strange matter for reflection and amazement."--_Britannia._ REVELATIONS OF PRINCE TALLEYRAND. Second Edition, 1 volume, post 8vo, with Portrait, 10s. 6d. bound. "We have perused this work with extreme interest. It is a portrait of Talleyrand drawn by his own hand."--_Morning Post._ "A more interesting work has not issued from the press for many years. It is in truth a most complete Boswell sketch of the greatest diplomatist of the age."--_Sunday Times._ THE LIFE AND REIGN OF CHARLES I. By I. DISRAELI. A NEW EDITION. REVISED BY THE AUTHOR, AND EDITED BY HIS SON, THE RT. HON. B. DISRAELI, M.P. 2 vols., 8vo, 28s. bound. "By far the most important work on the important age of Charles I. that modern times have produced."--_Quarterly Review._ MEMOIRS OF SCIPIO DE RICCI, LATE BISHOP OF PISTOIA AND PRATO; REFORMER OF CATHOLICISM IN TUSCANY. Cheaper Edition, 2 vols. 8vo, 12s. bound. The leading feature of this important work is its application to the great question now at issue between our Protestant and Catholic fellow-subjects. It contains a complete _exposé_ of the Romish Church Establishment during the eighteenth century, and of the abuses of the Jesuits throughout the greater part of Europe. Many particulars of the most thrilling kind are brought to light. HISTORIC SCENES. By AGNES STRICKLAND. Author of "Lives of the Queens of England," &c. 1 vol., post 8vo, elegantly bound, with Portrait of the Author, 10s. 6d. "This attractive volume is replete with interest. Like Miss Strickland's former works, it will be found, we doubt not, in the hands of youthful branches of a family as well as in those of their parents, to all and each of whom it cannot fail to be alike amusing and instructive."--_Britannia._ MEMOIRS OF PRINCE ALBERT; AND THE HOUSE OF SAXONY. Second Edition, revised, with Additions, by Authority. 1 vol., post 8vo, with Portrait, bound, 6s. MADAME CAMPAN'S MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. Cheaper Edition, 2 vols. 8vo, with Portraits, price 7s. "We have seldom perused so entertaining a work. It is as a mirror of the most splendid Court in Europe, at a time when the monarchy had not been shorn of any of its beams, that it is particularly worthy of attention."--_Chronicle._ LIFE AND LETTERS OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 3 vols., small 8vo, 15s. "A curious and entertaining piece of domestic biography of a most extraordinary person, under circumstances almost unprecedented."--_New Monthly._ "An extremely amusing book, full of anecdotes and traits of character of kings, princes, nobles, generals," &c.--_Morning Journal._ MEMOIRS OF A HUNGARIAN LADY. MADAME PULSZKY. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. 2 vols., 12s. bound. "Worthy of a place by the side of the Memoirs of Madame de Staël and Madame Campan."--_Globe._ MEMOIRS OF A GREEK LADY, THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER OF THE LATE QUEEN CAROLINE. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. 2 vols., post 8vo, price 12s. bound. Now ready, Part XI., price 5s., of M.A. THIERS' HISTORY OF FRANCE UNDER NAPOLEON. A SEQUEL TO HIS HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. As guardian to the archives of the state, M. Thiers had access to diplomatic papers and other documents of the highest importance, hitherto known only to a privileged few. From private sources M. Thiers has also derived much valuable information. Many interesting memoirs, diaries, and letters, all hitherto unpublished, and most of them destined for political reasons to remain so, have been placed at his disposal; while all the leading characters of the empire, who were alive when the author undertook the present history, have supplied him with a mass of incidents and anecdotes which have never before appeared in print. N.B. Any of the Parts may, for the present, be had separately, at 5s. each; and subscribers are recommended to complete their sets as soon as possible, to prevent disappointment. ***The public are requested to be particular in giving their orders for "COLBURN'S AUTHORISED TRANSLATION." RUSSIA UNDER THE AUTOCRAT NICHOLAS I. BY IVAN GOLOVINE, A RUSSIAN SUBJECT. Cheaper Edition, 2 vols., with a full-length Portrait of the Emperor, 10s. bound. "These are volumes of an extremely interesting nature, emanating from the pen of a Russian, noble by birth, who has escaped beyond the reach of the Czar's power. The merits of the work are very considerable. It throws a new light on the state of the empire--its aspect, political and domestic--its manners; the _employés_ about the palace, court, and capital; its police; its spies; its depraved society," &c.--_Sunday Times._ JAPAN AND THE JAPANESE, Comprising the Narrative of a Three Years' Residence in Japan, with an Account of British Commercial Intercourse with that Country. By CAPTAIN GOLOWNIN. NEW and CHEAPER EDITION. 2 vols. post 8vo, 10s. bound. "No European has been able, from personal observation and experience, to communicate a tenth part of the intelligence furnished by this writer."--_British Review._ MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF SIR ROBERT MURRAY KEITH, K.B., _Minister Plenipotentiary at the Courts of Dresden, Copenhagen, and Vienna, from 1769 to 1793; with Biographical Memoirs of_ QUEEN CAROLINE MATILDA, SISTER OF GEORGE III. Cheaper Edition. Two vols., post 8vo, with Portraits, 15s. bound. THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS; OR, ROMANCE AND REALITIES OF EASTERN TRAVEL. By ELIOT WARBURTON, Esq. CHEAP EDITION, revised in 1 vol., with numerous Illustrations, 6s. bound. "A book calculated to prove more practically useful was never penned than the 'Crescent and the Cross'--a work which surpasses all others in its homage for the sublime and its love for the beautiful in those famous regions consecrated to everlasting immortality in the annals of the prophets--and which no other modern writer has ever depicted with a pencil at once so reverent and as picturesque."--_Sun._ LORD LINDSAY'S LETTERS ON THE HOLY LAND. FOURTH EDITION, Revised, 1 vol., post 8vo, with Illustrations, 6s. bound. "Lord Lindsay has felt and recorded what he saw with the wisdom of a philosopher, and the faith of an enlightened Christian."--_Quarterly Review._ NARRATIVE OF A TWO YEARS' RESIDENCE AT NINEVEH; With Remarks on the Chaldeans, Nestorians, Yexidees, &c. By the Rev. J.P. FLETCHER. Cheaper Edition. Two vols., post 8vo, 12s. bound. ADVENTURES IN GEORGIA, CIRCASSIA, AND RUSSIA. By Lieutenant-Colonel G. POULETT CAMERON, C.B., K.T.S., &c. 2 vols., post 8vo, bound, 12s. CAPTAINS KING AND FITZROY. NARRATIVE OF THE TEN TEARS' VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD, OF H.M.S. ADVENTURE AND BEAGLE. Cheaper Edition, in 2 large vols. 8vo, with Maps, Charts, and upwards of Sixty Illustrations, by Landseer, and other eminent Artists, price 1_l._ 11s. 6d. bound. "One of the most interesting narratives of voyaging that it has fallen to our lot to notice, and which must always occupy a distinguished space in the history of scientific navigation."--_Quarterly Review._ THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S CAMPAIGN IN THE NETHERLANDS IN 1815. Comprising the Battles of Ligny, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo. Illustrated by Official Documents. By WILLIAM MUDFORD, Esq. 1 vol., 4to, with Thirty Coloured Plates, Portraits, Maps, Plans, &c., bound, 21s. STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. A COMPANION VOLUME TO MR. GLEIG'S "STORY OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO." With Six Portraits and Map, 5s. bound. THE NEMESIS IN CHINA; COMPRISING A COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THAT COUNTRY. From Notes of Captain W.H. HALL, R.N. 1 vol., Plates, 6s. bound. "Capt. Hall's narrative of the services of the _Nemesis_ is full of interest, and will, we are sure, be valuable hereafter, as affording most curious materials for the history of steam navigation."--_Quarterly Review._ CAPTAIN CRAWFORD'S NAVAL REMINISCENCES; COMPRISING MEMOIRS OF ADMIRALS SIR E. OWEN, SIR B. HALLOWELL CAREW, AND OTHER DISTINGUISHED COMMANDERS. 2 vols., post 8vo, with Portraits, 12s. bound. ADVENTURES OF A SOLDIER. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. Being the Memoirs of EDWARD COSTELLO, of the Rifle Brigade, and late Captain in the British Legion. Cheap Edition, with Portrait, 3s. 6d. bound. "An excellent book of its class. A true and vivid picture of a soldier's life."--_Athenæum._ "This highly interesting volume is filled with details and anecdotes of the most startling character, and well deserves a place in the library of every regiment in the service."--_Naval and Military Gazette._ PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF MRS. MARGARET MAITLAND, OF SUNNYSIDE. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. Third and Cheaper Edition, 1 vol., 6s. bound. "Nothing half so true or so touching in the delineation of Scottish character has appeared since Galt published his 'Annals of the Parish,' and this is purer and deeper than Galt, and even more absolutely and simply true."--_Lord Jeffrey._ Cheaper Edition, in 3 vols., price 10s. 6d., half-bound, FORTUNE: A STORY OF LONDON LIFE. By D.T. COULTON, Esq. "A brilliant novel. A more vivid picture of various phases of society has not been painted since 'Vivian Grey' first dazzled and confounded the world; but it is the biting satire of fashionable life, the moral anatomy of high society, which will attract all readers. In every sense of the word, 'Fortune' is an excellent novel."--_Observer._ "'Fortune' is not a romance, but a novel. All is reality about it: the time, the characters, and the incidents. In its reality consists its charm and its merit. It is, indeed, an extraordinary work, and has introduced to the world of fiction a new writer of singular ability, with a genius more that of Bulwer than any to whom we can compare it."--_Critic._ THE MODERN ORLANDO. By Dr. CROLY. "By far the best thing of the kind that has been written since Byron."--_Literary Gazette._ THE HALL AND THE HAMLET. By WILLIAM HOWITT. Author of "The Book of the Seasons," "Rural Life in England," &c. Cheaper Edition, 2 vols., post 8vo, 12s. bound. "This work is full of delightful sketches and sweet and enchanting pictures of rural life, and we have no doubt will be read not only at the homestead of the farmer, but at the mansion of the squire, or the castle of the lord, with gratification and delight."--_Sunday Times._ PUBLISHED FOR HENRY COLBURN, BY HIS SUCCESSORS, HURST & BLACKETT, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Mismatched quotation marks in one paragraph of Chapter III were left as in the original. Pg 26: nomade changed to nomadic Pg 41: Manchete changed to Machete 
19396	----	TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Obvious printing errors were repaired; see the html version for details of these changes. Other variation in spelling and hyphenation is as in the original text. [Illustration: CAPTAIN WILLIAM DAMPIER] ON THE SPANISH MAIN OR, SOME ENGLISH FORAYS ON THE ISTHMUS OF DARIEN. WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE BUCCANEERS AND A SHORT ACCOUNT OF OLD-TIME SHIPS AND SAILORS BY JOHN MASEFIELD WITH TWENTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON _First Published in 1906_ THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH. TO JACK B. YEATS CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAGE DRAKE'S VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES 1 His quarrel with the Spaniards--His preliminary raids--His landfall--The secret harbour CHAPTER II THE ATTACK ON NOMBRE DE DIOS 15 The treasure of the Indies--The Bastimentos--A Spanish herald CHAPTER III THE CRUISE OFF THE MAIN 26 The secret haven--The cruise of the pinnaces--Cartagena--Death of John Drake CHAPTER IV THE ROAD TO PANAMA 55 The Maroons--The native city--The great tree--Panama--The silver train--The failure--Venta Cruz CHAPTER V BACK TO THE MAIN BODY 74 The treasure train--The spoil--Captain Tetû hurt CHAPTER VI THE ADVENTURE OF THE RAFT 88 Drake's voyage to the Catives--Homeward bound--The interrupted sermon CHAPTER VII JOHN OXENHAM 98 The voyage--His pinnace--Into the South Sea--Disaster--His unhappy end CHAPTER VIII THE SPANISH RULE IN HISPANIOLA 106 Rise of the Buccaneers--The hunters of the wild bulls--Tortuga--Buccaneer politics--Buccaneer customs CHAPTER IX BUCCANEER CUSTOMS 129 Mansvelt and Morgan--Morgan's raid on Cuba--Puerto del Principe CHAPTER X THE SACK OF PORTO BELLO 148 The Gulf of Maracaibo--Morgan's escape from the Spaniards CHAPTER XI MORGAN'S GREAT RAID 168 Chagres castle--Across the isthmus--Sufferings of the Buccaneers--Venta Cruz--Old Panama CHAPTER XII THE SACK OF PANAMA 197 The burning of the city--Buccaneer excesses--An abortive mutiny--Home--Morgan's defection CHAPTER XIII CAPTAIN DAMPIER 218 Campeachy--Logwood cutting--The march to Santa Maria CHAPTER XIV THE BATTLE OF PERICO 245 Arica--The South Sea cruise CHAPTER XV ACROSS THE ISTHMUS 276 The way home--Sufferings and adventures CHAPTER XVI SHIPS AND RIGS 291 Pavesses--Top-arming--Banners--Boats CHAPTER XVII GUNS AND GUNNERS 298 Breech-loaders--Cartridges--Powder--The gunner's art CHAPTER XVIII THE SHIP'S COMPANY 311 Captain--Master--Lieutenant--Warrant officers--Duties and privileges CHAPTER XIX THE CHOOSING OF WATCHES 322 The petty tally--Food--Work--Punishments CHAPTER XX IN ACTION 334 INDEX 341 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE CAPTAIN WILLIAM DAMPIER _Frontispiece_ NOMBRE DE DIOS 12 CARTAGENA 26 CARTAGENA IN 1586, SHOWING THE DOUBLE HARBOUR 40 The ship in the foreground may be Drake's flagship, the _Bonaventure_ AN ELIZABETHAN WARSHIP 49 A pinnace beyond, to the left SHIP AND FLYING-FISH 95 A BUCCANEER'S SLAVE, WITH HIS MASTER'S GUN 114 A barbecue in right lower corner OLD PORT ROYAL 132 PUERTO DEL PRINCIPE 142 PORTO BELLO, CIRCA 1740, SHOWING THE SITUATION AND DEFENCES OF THE CITY 150 THE FIRESHIP DESTROYING THE "SPANISH ADMIRAL" 164 Castle de la Barra in background CHAGRES (CIRCA 1739) 173 THE ISTHMUS, SHOWING MORGAN'S LINE OF ADVANCE 180 NEW PANAMA 195 THE BATTLE OF PANAMA 200 SIR HENRY MORGAN 210 A DESCRIPTION OF ARICA 266 A DESCRIPTION OF HILO 274 AN ELIZABETHAN GALLEON 293 AN ELIZABETHAN GALLEON 297 A GALLIASSE 310 THE "SOVEREIGN OF THE SEAS" 323 MAP OF THE BUCCANEER CRUISING GROUNDS 340 ON THE SPANISH MAIN CHAPTER I DRAKE'S VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES His quarrel with the Spaniards--His preliminary raids--His landfall--The secret harbour Francis Drake, the first Englishman to make himself "redoubtable to the Spaniards" on the Spanish Main, was born near Tavistock about the year 1545. He was sent to sea, as a lad, aboard a Channel coaster engaged in trade with the eastern counties, France and Zeeland. When he was eighteen years of age he joined his cousin, John Hawkins, then a great and wealthy merchant, engaged in the slave trade. Four years later he sailed with Hawkins on a memorable trading voyage to the Spanish Main. On this occasion he commanded a small vessel of fifty tons. The voyage was unfortunate from the beginning, for the Spaniards had orders from their King to refuse to trade with any foreigners. Before the English could get rid of their freight the ships of their squadron were severely battered by a hurricane, so that they were forced to put into San Juan d'Ulloa, the port of Vera Cruz, to refit. While they lay there a Spanish fleet arrived, carrying a vast quantity of gold and silver for transhipment to Spain. It was not to Hawkins' advantage to allow this Spanish force to enter the haven, for he feared that they would treat him as a pirate if they had an opportunity to do so. However, the Spaniards came to terms with him, an agreement was signed by both parties, and the Spanish ships were allowed into the port. The next day the Spaniards treacherously attacked the English squadron, sank one of the ships at her moorings, killed many of the men, captured a number more, and drove the survivors to sea in Drake's ship the _Judith_, and a larger ship called the _Minion_. It was this treacherous attack (and, perhaps, some earlier treachery not recorded) which made Drake an implacable enemy of the Spaniards for the next twenty-eight years. After the disaster at San Juan d'Ulloa, Drake endeavoured to obtain some recompense for the losses he had sustained. But "finding that no recompence could be recovered out of Spain by any of his own means, or by her Majesties letters; he used such helpes as he might by two severall Voyages into the West Indies." In the first of these two voyages, in 1570, he had two ships, the _Dragon_ and the _Swan_. In the second, in 1571, he sailed in the _Swan_ without company. The _Swan_ was a small vessel of only five and twenty tons, but she was a "lucky" ship, and an incomparable sailer. We know little of these two voyages, though a Spanish letter (quoted by Mr Corbett) tells us of a Spanish ship he took; and Thomas Moone, Drake's coxswain, speaks of them as having been "rich and gainfull." Probably Drake employed a good deal of his time in preparing for a future raid, for when he ventured out in earnest in 1572 he showed himself singularly well acquainted with the town he attacked. The account from which we take our information expressly states that this is what he did. He went, it says, "to gaine such intelligences as might further him to get some amends for his losse. And having, in those two Voyages, gotten such certaine notice of the persons and places aymed at, as he thought requisite; and thereupon with good deliberation, resolved on a third Voyage, he accordingly prepared his Ships and Company ... as now followes further to be declared." There can be little doubt that the two tentative voyages were highly profitable, for Drake was able to fit out his third expedition with a care and completeness almost unknown at that time. The ships were "richly furnished, with victuals and apparel for a whole year: and no lesse heedfully provided of all manner of Munition, Artillery, Artificers, stuffe and tooles, that were requisite for such a Man-of-war in such an attempt." He himself, as Admiral of the expedition, commanded the larger ship, the _Pascha_ of Plymouth, of seventy tons. His younger brother, John Drake, sailed as captain of the _Swan_. In all there were seventy-three men and boys in the expedition; and we read that they were mostly young men--"the eldest ... fifty, all the rest under thirty." They were all volunteers--a fact that shows that Drake had gained a reputation for luck in these adventures. Forty-seven of the seventy-three sailed aboard the _Pascha_; while the _Swan_ carried the remaining twenty-six, probably with some inconvenience. Carefully stowed away in the holds of the two vessels were "three dainty Pinnases, made in Plimouth, taken asunder all in pieces, to be set up as occasion served." This instance of Drake's forethought makes it very clear that the expedition had been planned with extreme care. The comfort of the men had been studied: witness the supply of "apparell." There was a doctor aboard, though he does not seem to have been "a great proficient" in his art; and the expedition was so unusually healthy that we feel convinced that Drake had some specific for the scurvy. "On Whitsunday Eve, being the 24 of May, 1572," the two ships "set sayl from out of the Sound of Plimouth," with intent to land at Nombre de Dios (Name of God) a town on the northern coast of the Isthmus of Darien, at that time "the granary of the West Indies, wherein the golden harvest brought from Peru and Mexico to Panama was hoarded up till it could be conveyed into Spain." The wind was steady from the north-east the day they sailed, so that the watchers from the shore must soon have lost sight of them. No doubt the boats of all the ships in the Sound came off to give the adventurers a parting cheer, or, should they need it, a tow to sea. No doubt the two ships were very gay with colours and noisy with the firing of farewells. Then at last, as the sails began to draw, and the water began to bubble from the bows, the trumpeters sounded "A loath to depart," the anchor came to the cathead, and the boats splashed back to Plymouth, their crews jolly with the parting glasses. The wind that swept the two ships out of port continued steady at north-east, "and gave us a very good passage," taking them within sight of Porto Santo, one of the Madeiras, within twelve days of their leaving Plymouth. The wind continued fair when they stood to the westward, after sighting the Canaries, so that neither ship so much as shortened sail "untill 25 dayes after," when the men in the painted tops descried the high land of Guadaloupe. They stood to the south of Guadaloupe, as though to pass between that island and Dominica, but seeing some Indians busily fishing off a rocky island to the south of Dominica they determined to recruit there before proceeding farther. This island was probably Marygalante, a pleasant island full of trees, a sort of summer fishing ground for the Dominican Indians. There is good anchorage off many parts of it; and Drake anchored to the south, sending the men ashore to live in tents for their refreshment. They also watered their ships while lying at anchor "out of one of those goodly rivers which fall down off the mountain." Running water was always looked upon as less wholesome than spring water; and, perhaps, they burnt a bag of biscuit on the beach, and put the charcoal in the casks to destroy any possible infection. They saw no Indians on the island, though they came across "certain poore cottages built with Palmito boughs and branches," in which they supposed the Indians lodged when engaged upon their fishery. Having filled the casks, and stowed them aboard again, the ships weighed anchor, and sailed away south towards the mainland. On the fifth day, keeping well to seaward, thirty miles from the shore, to avoid discovery, they made the high land of Santa Martha on "the Terra Firma." Having made the landfall they sailed westward into the Gulf of Darien, and in six days more (during two of which the ships were becalmed) they came to a secret anchorage which Drake had discovered in his former voyage. He had named it Port Pheasant, "by reason of the great store of those goodly fowls which he and his Company did then dayly kill and feed on in that place." "It was a fine round Bay, of very safe harbour for all winds, lying between two high points, not past half a cable's length (or a hundred yards) over at the mouth, but within eight or ten cables' length every way, having ten or twelve fadome water, more or lesse, full of good fish, the soile also very fruitfull." Drake had been there "within a year and few days before," and had left the shore clear of tangle, with alleys and paths by which men might walk in the woods, after goodly fowls or otherwise; but a year of that steaming climate had spoiled his handiwork. The tangle of many-blossomed creepers and succulent green grasses had spread across the paths "as that we doubted at first whether this were the same place or no." We do not know where this romantic harbour lies, for the Gulf of Darien is still unsurveyed. We know only that it is somewhere nearly equidistant from Santiago de Tolu (to the east) and Nombre de Dios (to the west). Roughly speaking, it was 120 miles from either place, so that "there dwelt no Spaniards within thirty-five leagues." Before the anchors were down, and the sails furled Drake ordered out the boat, intending to go ashore. As they neared the landing-place they spied a smoke in the woods--a smoke too big to come from an Indian's fire. Drake ordered another boat to be manned with musketeers and bowmen, suspecting that the Spaniards had found the place, and that the landing would be disputed. On beaching the boats they discovered "evident markes" that a Plymouth ship, under the command of one John Garret, had been there but a day or two before. He had left a plate of lead, of the sort supplied to ships to nail across shot-holes, "nailed fast to a mighty great tree," some thirty feet in girth. On the lead a letter had been cut: CAPTAIN DRAKE, if you fortune to come to this Port, make hast away; for the Spanyards which you had with you here the last year, have bewrayed this place, and taken away all that you left here. I departed from hence this present 7 of July, 1572. Your very loving friend, JOHN GARRET. The smoke was from a fire which Garret and his men had kindled in a great hollow tree, that was probably rotted into touchwood. It had smouldered for five days or more, sending up a thick smoke, to warn any coming to the harbour to proceed with caution. The announcement that the place was known to the Spaniards did not weigh very heavily upon Drake; nor is it likely that he suffered much from the loss of his hidden stores, for nothing of any value could have been left in such a climate. He determined not to leave "before he had built his Pinnaces," and therefore, as soon as the ships were moored, he ordered the pieces to be brought ashore "for the Carpenters to set up." The rest of the company was set to the building of a fort upon the beach by the cutting down of trees, "and haling them together with great Pullies and halsers." The fort was built in the form of a pentagon, with a sort of sea-gate opening on the bay, for the easy launching of the pinnaces. This gate could be closed at night by the drawing of a log across the opening. They dug no trench, but cleared the ground instead, so that for twenty yards all round the stockhouse there was nothing to hinder a marksman or afford cover to an enemy. Beyond that twenty yards the forest closed in, with its wall of living greenery, with trees "of a marvellous height" tangled over with the brilliant blossoms of many creepers. The writer of the account seems to have been one of the building party that sweated the logs into position. "The wood of those trees," he writes, "is as heavie, or heavier, than Brasil or Lignum Vitæ, and is in colour white." The very next day an English barque came sailing into the anchorage, with two prizes, in her wake--"a Spanish Carvell of Sivell," which had despatches aboard her for the Governor of Nombre de Dios, and a shallop with oars, picked up off Cape Blanco to the eastward. She was the property of Sir Edward Horsey, at that time Governor of the Isle of Wight, a gallant gentleman, who received "sweetmeats and Canarie wine" from French pirates plying in the Channel. Her captain was one James Rawse, or Rause; and she carried thirty men, some of whom had been with Drake the year before. Captain Rause, on hearing Drake's intentions, was eager "to joyne in consort with him." We may well imagine that Drake cared little for his company; but conditions were agreed upon, an agreement signed, and the two crews set to work together. Within seven days the pinnaces had been set up, and launched, and stored with all things necessary. Then early one morning (the 20th of July) the ships got their anchors, and hoisted sail for Nombre de Dios, arriving three days later at the Isles of Pines, a group of little islands covered with fir-trees, not far to the west of the mouth of the Gulf of Darien. At the Pine Islands they found two frigates of Nombre de Dios, "lading plank and timber from thence," the soft fir wood being greatly in demand on the mainland, where the trees were harder, and difficult to work. The wood was being handled by negroes, who gave Drake some intelligence of the state of affairs at the little town he intended to attack. They said that the town was in a state of siege, expecting to be attacked at any moment by the armies of the Cimmeroons, who had "neere surprised it" only six weeks before. The Cimmeroons were "a black people, which about eighty yeares past, fledd from the Spaniards their Masters, by reason of their cruelty, and are since growne to a nation, under two Kings of their owne: the one inhabiteth to the west, th'other to the East of the way from Nombre de Dios to Panama." They were much dreaded by the Spaniards, with whom they were at constant war. The late alarm had caused the Governor to send to Panama for troops, and "certaine souldiers" were expected daily to aid in the defence of the town. Having gathered this intelligence Drake landed the negroes on the mainland, so that they might rejoin their countrymen if they wished to do so. In any case, by landing them so far from home he prevented them from giving information of his being in those waters. "For hee was loath to put the towne to too much charge (which hee knew they would willingly bestowe) in providing before hand, for his entertainment." But being anxious to avoid all possibility of discovery "he hastened his going thither, with as much speed and secrecy as possibly he could." It had taken him three days to get to the Isles of Pines from his secret harbour--a distance certainly not more than 120 miles. He now resolved to leave the three ships and the carvel--all four grown more or less foul-bottomed and slow--in the care of Captain Rause, with just sufficient men to work them. With the three dainty pinnaces and the oared shallop that Rause had taken, he hoped to make rather swifter progress than he had been making. He took with him in the four boats fifty-three of his own company and twenty of Captain Rause's men, arranging them in order according to the military text-book: "six Targets, six Firepikes, twelve Pikes, twenty-four Muskets and Callivers, sixteene Bowes, and six Partizans, two Drums, and two Trumpets"--making seventy-four men in all, the seventy-fourth being the commander, Drake. Having furnished the boats for the sea with his usual care Drake parted company, and sailed slowly to the westward, making about fifteen miles a day under oars and sails. Perhaps he sailed only at night, in order to avoid discovery and to rest his men. Early on the morning of the 28th July they landed "at the Island of Cativaas," or Catives, off the mouth of the St Francis River. Here Drake delivered them "their severall armes, which hitherto he had kept very faire and safe in good caske," so that neither the heavy dew nor the sea-water should rust them or wet the powder. He drilled them on the shore before the heat of the sun became too great, and after the drill he spoke to them "after his manner," declaring "the greatnes of the hope of good things that was there, the weaknesse of the towne being unwalled, and the hope he had of prevailing to recompence his wrongs ... especially ... as hee should be utterly undiscovered." In the afternoon, when the sun's strength was past, they set sail again, standing in close to the shore "that wee might not be descried of the watch-house." By sunset they were within two leagues of the point of the bay to the north-north-east of the town; and here they lowered their sails, and dropped anchor, "riding so untill it was darke night." When the night had fallen they stood in shore again, "with as much silence as wee could," till they were past the point of the harbour "under the high land," and "there wee stayed all silent, purposing to attempt the towne in the dawning of the day, after that wee had reposed ourselves for a while." NOMBRE DE DIOS Nombre de Dios was founded by Diego di Niqueza early in the sixteenth century, about the year 1510. It received its name from a remark the founder made on his first setting foot ashore: "Here we will found a settlement in the name of God." It was never a large place, for the bay lay exposed to the prevalent winds, being open to the north and north-east. There was fair holding ground; but the bay was shallow and full of rocks, and a northerly gale always raised such a sea that a ship was hardly safe with six anchors out. The district was very unhealthy, and the water found there was bad and in little quantity. There was, however, a spring of good water on an island at the mouth of the harbour. To the shoreward there were wooded hills, with marshy ground on their lower slopes, feeding a little river emptying to the north of the town. The houses came right down to the sea, and the trees right down to the houses, so that "tigers [_i.e._ jaguars] often came into the town," to carry away dogs, fowls, and children. Few ships lay there without burying a third of their hands; for the fever raged there, as it rages in some of the Brazilian ports at the present time. The place was also supposed to favour the spread of leprosy. The road to Panama entered the town at the south-east; and there was a gate at this point, though the town was never walled about. The city seems to have been built about a great central square, with straight streets crossing at right angles. Like Cartagena and Porto Bello, it was as dull as a city of the dead until the galleons came thither from Cartagena to take on board "the chests of gold and silver" received from the Governor of Panama and the golden lands to the south. When the galleons anchored, the merchants went ashore with their goods, and pitched sailcloth booths for them in the central square, and held a gallant fair till they were sold--most of the bartering being done by torchlight, in the cool of the night. Panama was distant some fifty-five miles; and the road thither was extremely bad, owing to the frequent heavy rains and the consequent flooding of the trackway. At the time of Drake's raid, there were in all some sixty wooden houses in the place, inhabited in the _tiempo muerto_, or dead time, by about thirty people. "The rest," we read, "doe goe to Panama after the fleet is gone." Those who stayed must have had a weary life of it, for there could have been nothing for them to do save to go a-fishing. The fever never left the place, and there was always the dread of the Cimmeroons. Out in the bay there was the steaming water, with a few rotten hulks waiting to be cast ashore, and two or three rocky islets sticking up for the sea to break against. There was nothing for an inhabitant to do except to fish, and nothing for him to see except the water, with the dripping green trees beside it, and, perhaps, an advice boat slipping past for Cartagena. Once a year an express came to the bay from Panama to say that the Peru fleet had arrived at that port. A letter was then sent to Cartagena or to San Juan d'Ulloa to order the great galleons there anchored to come to collect the treasure, and convey it into Spain. Before they dropped anchor in the Nombre de Dios bay that city was filled to overflowing by soldiers and merchants from Panama and the adjacent cities. Waggons of maize and cassava were dragged into the streets, with numbers of fowls and hogs. Lodgings rose in value, until a "middle chamber" could not be had for less than 1000 crowns. Desperate efforts were made to collect ballast for the supply ships. Then the treasure trains from Panama began to arrive. Soldiers marched in, escorting strings of mules carrying chests of gold and silver, goatskins filled with bezoar stones, and bales of vicuna wool. The town became musical with the bells of the mules' harness. Llamas spat and hissed at the street corners. The Plaza became a scene of gaiety and bustle. Folk arrived hourly by the muddy track from Panama. Ships dropped anchor hourly, ringing their bells and firing salutes of cannon. The grand fair then began, and the city would be populous and stirring till the galleons had cleared the harbour on the voyage to Spain. As soon as the fleet was gone the city emptied as rapidly as it had filled. The merchants and merry-makers vanished back to Panama, and the thirty odd wretched souls who stayed, began their dreary vigil until the next year, when the galleons returned. In 1584, on the report of Antonio Baptista, surveyor to the King of Spain, the trade was removed to Porto Bello, a beautiful bay, discovered and named by Columbus, lying some twenty miles farther to the west. It is a good harbour for all winds, and offers every convenience for the careening of vessels. The surveyor thought it in every way a superior harbour. "Neither," he writes, "will so many die there as there daily doe in Nombre de Dios." By the middle of the seventeenth century the ruins of the old town were barely discernible; but all traces of them have long since disappeared. Dampier (writing of the year 1682) says that: "I have lain ashore in the place where that City stood; but it is all overgrown with Wood; so as toe leave noe sign that any Town hath been there." A thick green cane brake has overgrown the Plaza. The battery has crumbled away. The church bell which made such a clatter has long since ceased to sound. The latest Admiralty Chart ignores the place. [Illustration: NOMBRE DE DIOS] The Cimmeroons frequently attacked the city while it was in occupation. Once they captured and destroyed it. Drake visited the town a second time in 1595. It was then a "bigge" town, having large streets and "houses very hie, all built of timber," "one church very faire," and "a show in their shops of great store of merchandises that had been there."[1] There was a mill above the town, and a little watch-house "upon the top of another hill in the woods." To the east there was a fresh river "with houses, and all about it gardens." The native quarter was some miles away in the woods. Drake burned the town, a deed which caused the inhabitants to migrate to Porto Bello. It was at Nombre de Dios that Drake contracted the flux of which he died. The town witnessed his first triumph and final discomfiture. [Footnote 1: This was eleven years after the royal mandate ordering the transference of the main trade of the place to Porto Bello. Perhaps the town retained much of the trade, in spite of the mandate, as the transference involved the making of a new mule track across the bogs and crags between Venta Cruz and Porto Bello. Such a track would have taken several years to lay.] _Note._--The authorities for this and the following chapters are: 1. "Sir Francis Drake Reviv'd" (first published in 1626), by Philip Nichols, Preacher, helped, no doubt, by Drake himself and some of his company. 2. The scanty notice of the raid given in Hakluyt. 3. The story of Lopez Vaz, a Portuguese, also in Hakluyt. For the description of Nombre de Dios I have trusted to the account of Drake's last voyage printed in Hakluyt, vol. iii. p. 587. In the same collection there is a translation from a very interesting report by a Spanish commissioner to the King of Spain. This paper gives reasons for the transference of the town to Porto Bello. One or two Ruttiers, or Mariner's Guides, make mention of the port, and of these the best is given in Hakluyt. It is also mentioned (but very curtly) in Herrera's History, in Dampier's Voyages, and in the account left by Champlain after his short visit to Panama. I know of no plan or picture of the place. The drawing reproduced here, from Schenk's "Hecatompolis," is purely imaginary, however pretty. For my remarks on "Cruces," or Venta Cruz, I am indebted to friends who have lived many years in Panama, and to an interesting article in _The Geographical Journal_ (December-July 1903, p. 325), by Colonel G. E. Church, M. Am. Soc. C.E. CHAPTER II THE ATTACK ON NOMBRE DE DIOS The treasure of the Indies--The Bastimentos--A Spanish herald It may now have been ten o'clock at night, and we may reckon that the boats were still four or five miles from the town, the lights of which, if any burned, must have been plainly visible to the south and south-south-west. To many of those who rocked there in the bay the coming tussle was to be the first engagement. The night wind may have seemed a little chilly, and the night and the strange town full of terrors. The men fell to talking in whispers, and the constraint and strangeness of it all, the noise of the clucking water, the cold of the night, and the thought of what the negro lumbermen had said, began to get upon their nerves. They talked of the strength of the town (and indeed, although it was an open bay, without good water, it had at that time much of the importance of Porto Bello, in the following century). They talked "especially" of the reported troop of soldiers from Panama, for Spanish infantry were the finest in the world, and the presence of a company in addition to the garrison would be enough to beat off the little band in the boats. Drake heard these conversations, and saw his young men getting out of hand, and "thought it best to put these conceits out of their heads." As the moon rose he persuaded them "that it was the day dawning"--a fiction made the more easy by the intervention of the high land between the watchers and the horizon. By the growing light the boats stole farther in, arriving "at the towne, a large hower sooner than first was purposed. For wee arrived there by three of the clock after midnight." It happened that a "ship of _Spaine_, of sixtie Tunnes, laden with Canary wines and other commodities" had but newly arrived in the bay, "and had not yet furld her sprit-saile." It was the custom for ships to discharge half of their cargoes at one of the islands in the bay, so as to draw less water when they ventured farther in. Perhaps this ship of Spain was about to discharge her butts and tierces. At any rate her men were on deck, and the light of the moon enabled them to see the four pinnaces, "an extraordinary number" in so small a port, rowing hard, "with many Oares," towards the landing. The Spaniards sent away their "Gundeloe," or small boat (gondola, as we should say), to warn the townsmen; but Drake edged a little to the west, cutting in between the boat and the shore, so as to force her "to goe to th'other side of the Bay." Drake's boats then got ashore upon the sands, not more than twenty yards from the houses, directly under a battery. There was no quay, and no sea-sentry save a single gunner, asleep among the guns, who fled as they clambered up the redoubt. Inside the little fort there were six great pieces of brass ordnance, some demi- some whole culverin, throwing shot of 10-18 lbs. weight for a distance of a mile. It did not take long to dismount these guns, and spike them, by beating soft metal nails into the touch-holes, and snapping them off flush with the orifice. But though the men worked quickly the gunner was quicker yet. He ran through the narrow streets, shouting the alarm, and the town woke up like one man, expecting that the Cimmeroons were on them from the woods. Someone ran to the church, and set the great bell swinging. The windows went up, and the doors slammed, as the townsfolk hurried to their weapons, and out into the streets. The place rang with cries and with the rapid beating of the drums, for the drummers ran about the streets beating vigorously to rouse out the soldiers. Drake made the battery harmless and set a guard of twelve men over the boats on the sand. He then marched hurriedly to the little hill commanding the bay, to the east of the houses; for he had heard some talk of a battery being placed there, "which might scour round about the town," and he wished to put it out of action before venturing upon the city. He left half his company, about thirty men, to keep the foot of the hill, and climbed to the summit, where he found a "very fit place prepared," but no guns in position. He returned to the company at the foot of the mount, and bade his brother, with John Oxnam, or Oxenham, a gallant captain, and sixteen men, "to go about, behind the King's Treasure House, and enter near the easter end of the Market Place." He himself with the rest would pass up the broad street into the market-place with sound of drum and trumpet. The firepikes, "divided half to the one, and half to the other company, served no less for fright to the enemy than light of our men, who by this means might discern every place very well as if it were near day." The drums beat up gallantly, the trumpets blew points of war, and the poor citizens, scared from their beds, and not yet sure of their enemy, stood shivering in the dawn, "marvelling what the matter might be." In a few moments the two companies were entering the Plaza, making a dreadful racket as they marched, to add to the confusion of the townsfolk, who thought them far stronger than they really were. The soldiers of the garrison, with some of the citizens, fell into some sort of order "at the south east end of the Market Place, near the Governor's House, and not far from the gate of the town." They chose this position because it secured them a retreat, in the event of a repulse, along the road to Panama. The western end of the Plaza had been hung with lines, from which lighted matches dangled, so that the enemy might think that troops were there, "whereas indeed there were not past two or three that taught these lines to dance," and even these ran away as soon as the firepikes displayed the fraud. The church bell was still ringing at the end of the Plaza, and the townsfolk were still crying out as they ran for Panama, when Drake's party stormed into the square from the road leading to the sea. As they hove in sight the Spanish troops gave them "a jolly hot volley of shot," aimed very low, so as to ricochet from the sand. Drake's men at once replied with a volley from their calivers and a flight of arrows, "fine roving shafts," which did great execution. Without waiting to reload they at once charged in upon the Spaniards, coming at once "to push of pike" and point and edge. The hurry of the surprise was such that the Spaniards had no side-arms, and when once the English had closed, their troops were powerless. As the parties met, the company under Oxenham came into the Plaza at the double, by the eastern road, with their trumpets blowing and the firepikes alight. The Spaniards made no further fight of it. They flung their weapons down, and fled along the forest road. For a little distance the cheering sailors followed them, catching their feet in muskets and linstocks, which the troops had flung away in their hurry. Having dispersed the enemy, the men reformed in the Plaza, "where a tree groweth hard by the Cross." Some hands were detailed to stop the ringing of the alarm bell, which still clanged crazily in the belfry; but the church was securely fastened, and it was found impossible to stop the ringing without setting the place on fire, which Drake forbade. While the men were trying to get into the church, Drake forced two or three prisoners to show him the Governor's house, where the mule trains from Panama were unloaded. Only the silver was stored in that place; for the gold, pearls, and jewels, "being there once entered by the King's officer," were locked in a treasure-house, "very strongly built of lime and stone," at a little distance from the Cross, not far from the water-side. At the Governor's house they found the door wide open, and "a fair gennet ready saddled" waiting for the Governor to descend. A torch or candle was burning on the balcony, and by its light the adventurers saw "a huge heap of silver" in the open space beneath the dwelling-rooms. It was a pile of bars of silver, heaped against the wall in a mass that was roughly estimated to be seventy feet in length, ten feet across, and twelve feet high--each bar weighing about forty pounds. The men were for breaking their ranks in order to plunder the pile; but Drake bade them stand to their arms. The King's treasure-house, he said, contained more gold and pearls than they could take away; and presently, he said, they would break the place open, and see what lay within. He then marched his men back into the Plaza. All this time the town was filled with confusion. Guns were being fired and folk were crying out in the streets. It was not yet light, and certain of the garrison, who had been quartered outside the city, ran to and fro with burning matches, shouting out "Que gente? Que gente?" The town at that time was very full of people, and this noise and confusion, and the sight of so many running figures, began to alarm the boat guard on the beach. One Diego, a negro, who had joined them on the sands, had told them that the garrison had been reinforced only eight days before by 150 Spanish soldiers. This report, coupled with the anxiety of their position, seems to have put the boat party into a panic. They sent off messengers to Drake, saying that the pinnaces were "in danger to be taken," and that the force would be overwhelmed as soon as it grew light enough for the Spaniards to see the littleness of the band which had attacked them. Diego's words confirmed the statements of the lumbermen at the Isles of Pines. The men of Drake's party were young. They had never fought before. They had been on the rack, as it were, for several days. They were now quite out of hand, and something of their panic began to spread among the party on the Plaza. Before Drake could do more than despatch his brother, with John Oxenham, to reassure the guard, and see how matters stood, the situation became yet more complicated. "A mighty shower of rain, with a terrible storm of thunder and lightning," burst furiously upon them, making such a roaring that none could hear his own voice. As in all such storms, the rain came down in a torrent, hiding the town from view in a blinding downpour. The men ran for the shelter of "a certain shade or penthouse, at the western end of the King's Treasure House," but before they could gain the cover some of their bowstrings were wetted "and some of our match and powder hurt." As soon as the shelter had been reached, the bowstrings were shifted, the guns reprimed, and the match changed upon the linstocks. While the industrious were thus employed, a number of the hands began talking of the reports which had reached them from the boats. They were "muttering of the forces of the town," evidently anxious to be gone from thence, or at least stirring. Drake heard the muttered talk going up and down the shed, and promptly told the men that he had brought them to the mouth of the Treasure of the World, and that if they came away without it they might blame nobody but themselves. At the end of a "long half-hour" the storm began to abate, and Drake felt that he must put an end to the panic. It was evidently dangerous to allow the men any "longer leisure to demur of those doubts," nor was it safe to give the enemy a chance of rallying. He stepped forward, bidding his brother, with John Oxenham and his party, to break open the King's treasure-house, while he, with the remainder of the hands, maintained the Plaza. "But as he stepped forward his strength and sight and speech failed him, and he began to faint for want of blood." He had been hit in the leg with a bullet at the first encounter, yet in the greatness of his heart he had not complained, although suffering considerable pain. He had seen that many of his men had "already gotten many good things" from the booths and houses in the Plaza, and he knew very well that these men would take the first opportunity to slink away down to the boats. He had, therefore, said nothing about his wound, nor was it light enough for his men to see that he was bleeding. On his fainting they noticed that the sand was bloody, "the blood having filled the very first prints which our footsteps made"--a sight which amazed and dismayed them, for they "thought it not credible" that a man should "spare so much blood and live." They gave him a cordial to drink, "wherewith he recovered himself," and bound his scarf about his leg "for the stopping of the blood." They then entreated him "to be content to go with them aboard," there to have his wound probed and dressed before adventuring farther. This did not satisfy Drake, for he knew very well that if the Spaniards rallied, the town would be lost, for it was "utterly impossible, at least very unlikely, that ever they should, for that time, return again, to recover the state in which they now were." He begged them to leave him where he was, and to get the treasure, for "it were more honourable for himself to jeopard his life for so great a benefit, than to leave off so high an enterprise unperformed." But to this the men would not listen. With Drake, their captain, alive "they might recover wealth sufficient" at any time, but with Drake dead "they should hardly be able to recover home." Those who had picked up a little booty in the raid were only too glad of an excuse to get to the boats, while those who were most eager to break the treasure-house, would not allow Drake to put his life in hazard. Drake, poor man, was spent with loss of blood, and could not reason with them, so that, "with force mingled with fair entreaty, they bare him aboard his pinnace, and so abandoned a most rich spoil for the present, only to preserve their Captain's life." It was just daybreak when they got to the boats, so that they were able to take stock of each other in the early morning light before shoving off from the beach. They had lost but one man, "a trumpeter," who was shot dead in the Plaza in the first assault, "his Trumpet still in his hand." Many were wounded, but the Captain's wound seems to have been the most serious. As they rowed out from the town the surgeons among them provided remedies and salves for the wounded. As they neared the open sea the men took the opportunity to attack "the aforesaid ship of wines," for "the more comfort of the company." They made her a prize with no great trouble, but before they got her clear of the haven they received a shot or two from the dismantled battery. One of the culverins which they had tumbled to the ground was remounted by some of the garrison, "so as they made a shot at us." The shot did not hit the mark, and the four boats, with their prize, got clear away to the Isle of Bastimentos, or Isle of Victuals, about a league to the westward of the harbour. They stayed there for the next two days, to cure the wounded men and to refresh themselves, "in the goodly gardens which we there found." The island was stocked with dainty roots and fruits, "besides great plenty of poultry," for it served the citizens as a farm and market-garden, "from which their fresh provisions were derived." Soon after they had come to anchor, and established themselves among the fruit-trees, a flag of truce came off from the Governor of the city. It was carried by a Spanish captain, who had come to Nombre de Dios with the company of troops from Panama. He was a handsome gentleman, of a delicate carriage and of an elaborate politeness. He was come, of course, as a spy, but he began with the assurance that he came "of mere good will," to see the heroes who had attempted the town with so small a party. At the first, he said, the townsfolk had thought them Frenchmen, from whom they looked for little mercy, but that afterwards, when the arrows had shown them that they were English, they had less fear, for they knew the humanity of that race. Although, he said, his curiosity to see such brave folk were sufficient warrant for his adventuring among them, he had also a commission from the Governor. That gentleman wished to know whether their captain was the same Captain Drake, of whom some of the townsfolk talked as being so kind to his prisoners. He then asked whether the arrows used in the battle in the Plaza had been poisoned, for many Spaniards had been wounded by them, and would fain know how to treat the wounds. Lastly he wished to know whether they were in need of victuals or other necessaries, pledging the Governor's word that he would do all he could to supply anything they wanted. The questions seem to us a little transparent, and so they seemed to Drake, but Drake was always a courteous and ceremonious gentleman. He replied that he was the Captain Drake they meant; that "it was never his manner to use poisoned arrows"; that the wounds could be cured by the usual methods; and that as for wants, the Isle of Bastimentos would supply him. He wanted nothing, he said, "but some of that special commodity which that country yielded." And, therefore, he advised the Governor "to hold open his eyes, for before he departed, if God lent him life and leave, he meant to reap some of their harvest, which they got out of the earth, and send into Spain to trouble all the earth." The answer seems to have nettled the Spanish spy, for he asked ("if he might, without offence, move such a question") why the English had left the town when 360 tons of silver, with gold to a far greater value, had been lying at their mercy. Drake showed him the "true cause" of his unwilling retreat to the pinnaces. The answer moved the Spaniard to remark that "the English had no less reason in departing, than courage in attempting,"--a remark made with a mental note that the townsfolk would be well advised to leave this Drake alone on his island, without sending boats out to attack him. Drake then entertained the spy to dinner, "with great favour and courteous entertainment, and such gifts as most contented him." As he made his way to his boat after dinner he vowed and protested that "he was never so much honoured of any in his life." He must have had a curious story for the Governor when he got ashore to the town. As soon as the trumpets had sounded the departure of the flag of truce, Drake sent for Diego, the negro, who had joined the boat party in the morning. From Diego he learned many "intelligences of importance," none of them, perhaps, more grateful to Drake than the news that his name was highly honoured among the Maroons or Cimmeroons. Diego begged that Drake would give him an opportunity of treating with the chiefs of these savages, as by their help, he said, they "might have gold and silver enough." The matter was debated among the company, while Drake gave effect to another of his plans. Not more than thirty miles away along the coast was a certain river, "the River of Chagres," which trended in a south-easterly direction towards Panama across the isthmus. It was navigable to within six leagues of Panama, and at the point to which it was navigable there stood "a little town called Venta Cruz." When the road from Panama to Nombre de Dios was impracticable, owing to the rains, or the raids of the Maroons, the treasure was carried to Venta Cruz, and there shipped aboard swift vessels, built for oars and sails, which carried the precious stuff to Nombre de Dios. Drake had a mind to look into Venta Cruz to surprise some of the treasure on its way. He, therefore, sent away his brother, with two pinnaces and a steady man named Ellis Hixom, to examine the Chagres River, and to bring back a report of its fitness for boats such as theirs. Having seen them stand to the west, Drake ordered his men aboard early in the morning of the 31st July. The sweeps were shipped and the sails hoisted, and the pinnaces made off with their captured wine ship to rejoin Captain Rause at the Isles of Pines, or Port Plenty. They arrived at their haven on the evening of the 1st of August, after a sail of thirty-six hours. Captain Rause was angry that the raid had not been more successful, and felt that it was useless to stay longer in those seas, now that the Spaniards knew that they were on the coast. He waited till the pinnaces returned from Chagres River, as some of his hands were in them; but as soon as they arrived he parted company, after dissolving partnership with Drake. Drake seems to have been glad to see him go. CHAPTER III THE CRUISE OFF THE MAIN The cruise of the pinnaces--Cartagena--The secret haven--Death of John Drake While they were waiting for the pinnaces Drake had the ships set in order, the arms scoured, and everything made ready for the next adventure. He had taken Nombre de Dios so easily that he felt confident of treating Cartagena, the chiefest town in those waters, in the same way. On the 7th of August he set sail for Cartagena with his two ships and three pinnaces, making no attempt upon the mainland as he sailed, as he did not wish to be discovered. He met with calms and light airs on the passage, and did not arrive off Cartagena until the evening of the 13th August. He came to anchor in seven-fathom water between the islands of Charesha (which we cannot now identify) and St Barnards, now known as San Barnardo. As soon as the sails were furled, Drake manned his three pinnaces, and rowed about the island into the harbour of Cartagena, "where, at the very entry, he found a frigate at anchor." He hooked on to her chains, and boarded her, finding her an easy spoil, for she had been left in the care of "only one old man." They asked this old sailor where the rest of the company had gone. He answered that they were gone ashore in their gundeloe that evening, to fight about a mistress, adding that about two hours before, a pinnace had gone past under sail, with her oars out, and the men rowing furiously. Her men had hailed his vessel as they passed, asking whether any French or English men had been there. Upon answer that there had been none they bade him look to himself, and rowed on up the coast. Within an hour of their going past the harbour the city batteries had fired many cannon, as though some danger were toward. One of the old man's mates had then gone aloft "to descry what might be the cause." He had looked over the narrow neck of land which shuts the harbour from the sea, and had espied "divers frigates and small shipping bringing themselves within the Castle." This report showed Drake that he had been discovered, but the information did not greatly move him. He gathered from the old mariner that a great ship of Seville lay moored just round the next point, with her yards across, "being bound the next morning for St Domingo," or Hispaniola. Drake "took this old man into his pinnace to verify that which he had informed, and rowed towards this ship." As he drew near, the Spanish mariners hailed them, asking "whence the shallops came." Drake answered: "From Nombre de Dios." His answer set the Spaniards cursing and damning him for a heretic English buccaneer. "We gave no heed to their words," says the narrative, but hooked on to the chains and ports, on the starboard bow, starboard quarter, and port beam, and laid her aboard without further talk. It was something of a task to get on board, for the ship stood high in the water, being of 240 tons, (and as far as we can judge) in ballast. Having gained the ship's waist they tossed the gratings and hatch covers down into the lower decks. The Spaniards gave up the ship without fighting, and retired, with their weapons, to the hold. Two or three of their younger seamen went forward, and hid in the manger, where they were found as soon as the dark decks were lit by a lantern from the pinnaces. The raiders then cut the ship's cables, and towed her "without the island into the sound right afore the town," just beyond the shot of the citizens' great guns. As they towed her out, the town took the alarm, the bells were rung, thirty great cannon were fired, and the garrison, both horse and foot, well armed with calivers, marched down "to the very point of the wood," to impeach them "if they might" in their going out to sea. The next morning (Drake being still within the outer harbour) he captured two Spanish frigates "in which there were two, who called themselves King's Scrivanos [notaries] the one of Cartagena, the other of Veragua." The boats, which were sparsely manned, had been at Nombre de Dios at the time of the raid. They were now bound for Cartagena with double letters of advice, "to certify that Captain Drake had been at Nombre de Dios, and taken it; and had it not been that he was hurt with some blessed shot, by all likelihood he had sacked it. He was yet still upon the coast," ran the letter, "and they should therefore carefully prepare for him." Sailing out of the haven (by the Boca Chica, or Little Mouth) Drake set his pinnaces ashore, and stood away to the San Barnardo Islands, to the south of the town, where he found "great store of fish" as a change of diet for his men. He then cruised up and down among the islands, considering what he should attempt. He had been discovered at the two chief cities on the Main, but he had not yet made his voyage (_i.e._ it had not yet paid expenses), and until he had met with the Maroons, and earned "a little comfortable dew of Heaven," he meant to stay upon the coast. He, therefore, planned to diminish his squadron, for with the two ships to keep it was difficult to man the pinnaces, and the pinnaces had proved peculiarly fitted for the work in hand. With one ship destroyed, and the other converted into a storeship, his movements would, he thought, be much less hampered; "but knowing the affection of his company, how loath they were to leave either of their ships, being both so good sailers and so well furnished; he purposed in himself some policy to make them most willing to effect what he intended." He, therefore, sent for Thomas Moone, who was carpenter aboard the _Swan_, and held a conference with him in the cabin. Having pledged him to secrecy, he gave him an order to scuttle that swift little ship in the middle of the second watch, or two in the morning. He was "to go down secretly into the well of the ship, and with a spike-gimlet to bore three holes, as near the keel as he could, and lay something against it [oakum or the like] that the force of the water entering, might make no great noise, nor be discovered by a boiling up." Thomas Moone "at the hearing hereof" was utterly dismayed, for to him the project seemed flat burglary as ever was committed. Why, he asked, should the Captain want to sink so good a ship, a ship both "new and strong," in which they had sailed together in two "rich and gainfull" voyages? If the Captain's brother (John Drake, who was master of the _Swan_) and the rest of the company (twenty-six hands in all) should catch him at such practices he thought verily they would heave him overboard. However, Drake promised that the matter should be kept secret "till all of them should be glad of it." On these terms Moone consented to scuttle the _Swan_ that night. The next morning, a little after daybreak, Drake called away his pinnace, "proposing to go a-fishing." Rowing down to the _Swan_ he hailed her, asking his brother to go with him. John Drake was in his bunk at the time, and replied that "he would follow presently," or if it would please him to stay a very little he would attend him. Drake saw that the deed was done; for the _Swan_ was slowly settling. He would not stay for his brother, but asked casually, "as making no great account of it," why their barque was so deep in the sea. John Drake thought little of the question, but sent a man down to the steward, who had charge of the hold, to inquire "whether there were any water in the ship, or what other cause might be?" The steward, "hastily stepping down at his usual scuttle," was wet to the waist before he reached the foot of the ladder. Very greatly scared he hurried out of the hold, "as if the water had followed him," crying out that the ship was full of water. John Drake at once called all hands to mend ship, sending some below to find the leak and the remainder to the pumps. The men turned to "very willingly," so that "there was no need to hasten them," and John Drake left them at their work while he reported the "strange chance" to his brother. He could not understand how it had happened. They had not pumped twice in six weeks before, and now they had six feet of water in the hold. He hoped his brother would give him "leave from attending him in fishing," as he wished to find the leak without delay. Drake offered to send the _Pascha's_ men abroad to take a spell at the pumps, but this John Drake did not wish. He had men enough, he said; and he would like his brother to continue his fishing, so that they might have fresh fish for dinner. On getting back to the _Swan_ he found that the pumps had gained very little on the leak, "yet such was their love to the bark, ... that they ceased not, but to the utmost of their strength laboured all that they might, till three in the afternoon." By that time the _Pascha's_ men, helped by Drake himself, had taken turn about at the pump brakes, and the pumping had been carried on for eight or nine hours without ceasing. The pumping had freed her only about a foot and a half, and the leak was still undiscovered. The men were tired out, for the sun was now at his hottest, and Drake adds slyly that they "had now a less liking of her than before, and greater content to hear of some means for remedy." We gather from what follows, that when he asked them what they wished to do, they left it all to him. He, therefore, suggested that John Drake should go aboard the _Pascha_ as her captain. He himself, he said, would shift into a pinnace; while the _Swan_ should be set on fire, and abandoned as soon as her gear was taken out of her. The pinnaces came aboard the sinking ship, and the men pillaged her of all her stores. Powder, tar, and the like were scattered about her decks; and she was then set on fire, and watched until she sank. Thus "our Captain had his desire, and men enough for his pinnaces." The next morning, the 16th August, the squadron bore away for the Gulf of Darien, to find some secret harbour where they might leave the ship at anchor, "not discoverable by the enemy," who thereby might imagine them quite departed from the coast. Drake intended to take two of the pinnaces along the Main as soon as they had hidden away the _Pascha_, for he was minded to go a cruise up the Rio Grande, or Magdalena River. In his absence John Drake was to take the third pinnace, with Diego, the negro, as a guide, to open up communications with the Cimmeroons. By the 21st of August they arrived in the Gulf; and Drake sought out a secret anchorage, far from any trade route, where the squadron might lie quietly till the fame of their being on the coast might cease. They found a place suited to their needs, and dropped their anchors in its secret channels, in "a fit and convenient road," where a sailor might take his ease over a rum bowl. Drake took his men ashore, and cleared a large plot of ground "both of trees and brakes" as a site for a little village, trimly thatched with palm leaves, which was built by Diego, the negro, after the Indian fashion, for the "more comfort of the company." The archers made themselves butts to shoot at, because they had "many that delighted in that exercise and wanted not a fletcher to keep the bows and arrows in order." The rest of the company, "every one as he liked best," disported merrily at bowls and quoits, fleeting the time carelessly as they did in the Golden Age. "For our Captain allowed one half of the company to pass their time thus, every other day interchangeable," the other half of the crew being put to the provision of fresh food and the necessary work aboard the vessels. Drake took especial interest in trying the powers of the pinnaces, trimming them in every conceivable way, so as to learn their capacity under any circumstance. The smiths set up their forge, "being furnished out of England with anvil, iron, and coals" (surely Drake never forgot anything), which stood the expedition "in great stead," for, no doubt, there was much iron-work that needed repair. The country swarmed with conies, hogs, deer, and fowl, so that the men lived upon fresh meat, or upon the fish in the creeks, "whereof there was great plenty." The woods were full of wholesome fruits, though, perhaps, the water of the neighbouring rivers was not quite all that could be wished. They stayed in this pleasant haven for fifteen days, at the end of which Drake took his two pinnaces, leaving John Drake behind in charge of the _Pascha_ and the remaining pinnace, and sailed away along the coast to explore the Rio Grande. He kept the pinnaces far out at sea to avoid discovery, and landed on the 8th of September about six miles to the westward of the river's mouth, in order to obtain some fresh beef from the Indian cowherds. The district was then rich pasture-land, as rich as the modern pastures in Argentina. It was grazed over by vast herds of cattle, savage and swift, which the Spaniards placed in charge of Indian cowboys. When the beeves were slaughtered, their meat was dried into charqui, or "boucanned," over a slow fire, into which the hide was thrown. It was then sent down to Cartagena, for the provisioning of the galleons going home. The province (Nueva Reyna) was less pestilential than its westward neighbours. Sugar was grown there in the semi-marshy tracts near the river. Gold was to be found there in considerable quantities, and there were several pearl fisheries upon the coasts. The district was more populous than any part of Spanish America, for it was not only healthier, but more open, affording little cover for Maroons. [Illustration: CARTAGENA] On landing, Drake met some Indians in charge of a herd of steers. They asked him in broken Spanish "What they would have." Drake gave them to understand that he wished to buy some fresh meat, upon which they picked out several cattle "with ease and so readily, as if they had a special commandment over them, whereas they would not abide us to come near them." The Indians have just that skill in handling cattle which the negroes have in handling mules. They did Drake this service willingly, "because our Captain, according to his custom, contented them for their pains with such things as they account greatly of." He left them in high good humour, promising him that if he came again he should have what he desired of them. Drake left the shore as soon as his pinnaces were laden with fresh meat, and sailed on up the coast till he reached the lesser, or western, mouth of the Rio Grande, "where we entered about three of the clock." The river runs with a great fierceness, so that the hands were able to draw fresh water "for their beverage" a mile and a half from the mouth. It was a current almost too fierce to row against in the hot sun, so that five hours' hard rowing only brought them six miles on their way upstream. They then moored the pinnaces to a great tree that grew on the bank. They ate their suppers in that place, hoping to pass a quiet evening, but with the darkness there came such a terrible thunderstorm "as made us not a little to marvel at," though Drake assured the younger men that in that country such storms soon passed. It wetted them to the bone, no doubt, but within three-quarters of an hour it had blown over and become calm. Immediately the rain had ceased, the air began to hum with many wings, and forth came "a kind of flies of that country, called mosquitoes, like our gnats," which bit them spitefully as they lay in the bottoms of the boats. It was much too hot to lie beneath a blanket, and the men did not know how to kindle a "smudge" of smouldering aromatic leaves. They had no pork fat nor paraffin to rub upon their hands and faces, according to the modern practice, and "the juice of lemons," which gave them a little relief, must have been a poor substitute. "We could not rest all that night," says the narrative. At daybreak the next morning they rowed away from that place, "rowing in the eddy" along the banks, where the current helped them. Where the eddy failed, as in swift and shallow places, they hauled the boats up with great labour by making a hawser fast to a tree ahead, and hauling up to it, as on a guess-warp. The work of rowing, or warping, was done by spells, watch and watch, "each company their half-hour glass," till about three in the afternoon, by which time they had come some fifteen miles. They passed two Indians who sat in a canoe a-fishing; but the Indians took them to be Spaniards, and Drake let them think so, for he did not wish to be discovered. About an hour later they espied "certain houses on the other side of the river," a mile or so from them, the river being very broad--so great, says the narrative, "that a man can scantly be discerned from side to side." A Spaniard, who had charge of those houses, espied them from the vantage of the bank, and promptly kindled a smoke "for a signal to turn that way," being lonely up there in the wilds, and anxious for news of the world. As they rowed across the current to him he waved to them "with his hat and his long hanging sleeves" to come ashore, but as soon as he perceived them to be foreigners he took to his heels, and fled from the river-side. The adventurers found that he was a sort of store or warehouse keeper, in charge of five houses "all full of white rusk, dried bacon, that country cheese (like Holland cheese in fashion--_i.e._ round--but far more delicate in taste, of which they send into Spain as special presents), many sorts of sweetmeats, and conserves; with great store of sugar: being provided to serve the fleet returning to Spain." As they loaded their pinnaces with these provisions they talked with a poor Indian woman, who told them that about thirty trading vessels were expected from Cartagena. The news caused them to use despatch in their lading, so that by nightfall they were embarked again, and rowing downstream against the wind. The Spaniards of Villa del Rey, a city some two miles inland from the storehouses, endeavoured to hinder their passage by marching their Indians to the bushes on the river-bank, and causing them to shoot their arrows as the boats rowed past. They did not do any damage to the adventurers, who rowed downstream a few miles, and then moored their boats for the night. Early the next morning they reached the mouth of the river, and here they hauled ashore to put the pinnaces in trim. The provisions were unloaded, and the boats thoroughly cleansed, after which the packages were stowed securely, so as to withstand the tossings of the seas. The squadron then proceeded to the westward, going out of their course for several miles in order to overhaul a Spanish barque. They "imagined she had some gold or treasure going for Spain," but on search in her hold they could find only sugar and hides. They, therefore, let her go, and stood off again for the secret harbour. The next day they took some five or six small frigates, bound from Santiago de Tolu to Cartagena, with ladings of "live hogs, hens, and maize, which we call Guinea wheat." They examined the crews of these ships for news "of their preparations for us," and then dismissed them, reserving only two of the half-dozen prizes "because they were so well stored with good victuals." Three days later they arrived at the hidden anchorage, which Drake called Port Plenty, because of abundance of "good victuals" that they took while lying there. Provision ships were passing continually, either to Nombre de Dios or Cartagena, with food for the citizens or for the victualling of the plate fleets. "So that if we had been two thousand, yea, three thousand, persons, we might with our pinnaces easily have provided them sufficient victuals of wine, meal, rusk, cassavi (a kind of bread made of a root called Yucca, whose juice is poison, but the substance good and wholesome), dried beef, dried fish, live sheep, live hogs, abundance of hens, besides the infinite store of dainty fresh fish, very easily to be taken every day." So much food was taken, that the company, under the direction of Diego, the negro, were forced to build "four several magazines or storehouses, some ten, some twenty leagues asunder," on the Main, or on the islands near it, for its storage. They intended to stay upon the coast until their voyage was "made," and, therefore, needed magazines of the kind for the future plenishing of their lazarettoes. We read that Diego, the negro, was of special service to them in the building of these houses, for, like all the Maroons, he was extremely skilful at the craft. They were probably huts of mud and wattle, thatched with palm leaves, "with a Sort of Door made of Macaw-Wood, and Bamboes." From these magazines Drake relieved two French ships "in extreme want"; while his men and their allies the Cimmeroons lived at free quarters all the time they stayed there. While the Captain had been cruising up the Magdalena, his brother, John Drake, had been westward along the coast with Diego, "the Negro aforesaid," in his pinnace. Diego had landed on the coast to talk with "certain of the Cimmeroons," who exchanged hostages with Drake's party, and agreed upon a meeting-place at a little river midway between the Cabezas, or "Headlands," and the anchorage. Drake talked with these hostages as soon as he arrived from the seas. He found them two "very sensible men," most ready to help him against the common enemy. They told him that "their Nation conceited great joy of his arrivall"; for they had heard of Nombre de Dios and of his former raids upon the coast, and gladly welcomed the suggested alliance. Their chief and tribe, they said, were encamped near the aforementioned little river, the Rio Diego, to await Drake's decision. Having compared the talk of these men with the reports he had gathered from the Indian cowherds and Spanish prisoners, he consulted his brother (who had seen the Maroons at the Rio Diego camp), and asked "those of best service with him" what were fittest to be done. John Drake advised that the ships should proceed to the westward, to the Rio Diego, for near the mouth of that stream he had discovered a choice hiding-place. It could be reached by many channels, but only by the most careful pilotage, for the channels were full of rocks and shoals. The channels twisted sluggishly among a multitude of islands, which were gorgeous with rhododendron shrubs, and alive with butterflies, blue and scarlet, that sunned themselves, in blots of colour, upon the heavy green leaves. Among the blossomed branches there were parrots screaming, and the little hummingbirds, like flying jewels, darting from flower to flower. Up above them the great trees towered, shutting out the sight of the sea, so that a dozen ships might have lain in that place without being observed from the open water. The description of this hiding-place moved Drake to proceed thither at once with his two pinnaces, the two Maroons, and his brother John, giving orders for the ship to follow the next morning. The pinnaces arrived there the next day, and found the Cimmeroons encamped there, some of them at the river's mouth, the others "in a wood by the river's side." A solemn feast was prepared, at which the Maroons gave "good testimonies of their joy and good will" towards the adventurers. After the feast, the tribe marched away to the Rio Guana, intending to meet with another tribe, at that time camped among the hills. The pinnaces returned from Rio Diego, wondering why the ship had not arrived, and anxious for her safety. They found her, on the 16th September, in the place where they had left her, "but in far other state," for a tempest had set her on her side, and sorely spoiled her trim, so that it took two days to repair the damage done. A pinnace was then despatched to the Rio Diego anchorage, to go "amongst the shoals and sandy places, to sound out the channel." On the 19th of September the _Pascha_ was warily piloted to moorings, "with much ado to recover the road among so many flats and shoals." Her berth was about five leagues from the Cativaas, or Catives, "betwixt an island and the Main"--the island being about half-a-mile from the shore, some three acres in extent, "flat, and very full of trees and bushes." The anchors were hardly in the ground, when the friendly tribe of Cimmeroons appeared upon the shore, with several others whom they had met in the mountains. They were all fetched aboard, "to their great comfort and our content," and a council was held forthwith. Drake then asked the chiefs how they could help him to obtain some gold and silver. They replied that nothing could be done for another five months, because the autumn, the rainy season, was upon them, during which time no treasure would be moved from Panama. Had they known that he wanted gold, they said, they would have satisfied him, for they had taken a great store from the Spaniards in a foray, and had flung it into the rivers, which were now too high for them to hope to recover it by diving. He must, therefore, wait, they said, till the rains had ceased in the coming March, when they could attack a treasure train together. The answer was a little unexpected, but not unpleasant, for Drake was willing to remain on the coast for another year if need were. He at once resolved to build himself a fort upon the island, "for the planting of all our ordnance therein, and for our safeguard, if the enemy in all this time, should chance to come." The Cimmeroons cut down a number of Palmito boughs and branches, and soon had two large sheds built, both trim and watertight, for the housing of the company. The boats were then sent ashore to the Main to bring over timber for the building of the fortress. This stronghold was built in the shape of a triangle, with a deep ditch all round it. [Illustration: CARTAGENA IN 1586, SHOWING THE DOUBLE HARBOUR THE SHIP IN THE FOREGROUND MAY BE DRAKE'S FLAGSHIP, THE _BONAVENTURE_] The building was a full thirteen feet in height, built of tree boles from the Main, with earth from the trench to take the place of mortar. The ship's guns were hoisted out of the ship and rafted over to the fortress, and there mounted at the embrasures. For platforms for the guns they used the planks of one of the frigates captured near Cartagena. When the heavy work of lumber handling had been finished, but before the fort was ready for use, Drake took John Oxenham, with two of the pinnaces, upon a cruise to the east. He feared that a life of ease ashore would soon make his mariners discontented and eager to be home. It was, therefore, necessary to invent distractions for them. Instead of going at once towards his quarry he sailed along leisurely, close to the coast, stopping a night at one little island for a feast on a kind of bird like spur-kites, the flesh of which was very delicate. He stopped another night at another island, because "of a great kind of shellfish of a foot long," which the company called whelks. As soon as these delectable islands had been left astern, the pinnaces "hauled off into the sea," across the bright, sunny water, blue and flashing, gleaming with the silver arrows of the flying-fish, in order to make the Isles of San Barnardo. They chased two frigates ashore before they came to moorings, after which they scrubbed and trimmed their boats, spent a day fishing from the rocks, and set sail again for Santiago de Tolu. Here they landed in a garden, close to the city, to the delight of some Indians who were working there. After bargaining together for the garden stuff the Indians left their bows and arrows with the sailors while they ran to pluck "many sorts of dainty fruits and roots," such as the garden yielded. Drake paid for the green stuff, and had it taken aboard, after inquiring strictly as to the state of the country and the plate fleets. The company then rowed away for Cartagena, eating their "mellions and winter cherries" with a good appetite. They rowed through the Boca Chica, or Little Mouth, into the splendid harbour, where they set sail, "having the wind large," towards the inner haven and the city. They anchored "right over against the goodly Garden Island," where the fruit was a sore temptation to the seamen, who longed to rob the trees. Drake would not allow them to land, for he feared an ambush, and, indeed, a few hours later, as they passed by the point of the island, they were fired at from the orchards with "a volley of a hundred shot," one of which wounded a sailor. There was little to be done in the harbour, so they put to sea again. They took a barque the next morning about six miles from the port. She was a ship of fifty tons, laden with soap and sweetmeats, bound from St Domingo towards Cartagena. She was armed with "swords, targets and some small shot, besides four iron bases." Her captain and passengers had slipped ashore in the boat as soon as they had spied the pinnaces, but the captain's silken flag, woven in colours, with his coat-of-arms, had been left behind as a spoil. Having sent her company ashore, "saving a young Negro two or three years old, which we brought away," they sailed her into Cartagena harbour, with the pinnaces towing astern. They anchored at the mouth of the inner haven to await events. During the afternoon the Scrivano, or King's notary, aforementioned, rode down "to the point by the wood side" with a little troop of horsemen. The Scrivano displayed a flag of truce, and came aboard, to worry Drake with his oily lawyer's manner and elaborate, transparent lies. He promised to obtain fresh meat for him as a slight return for "his manifold favours, etc." but Drake saw that it was but a plot of the Governor's to keep him in the port till they could trap him. He thanked the supple liar, kept a good lookout throughout the night, and stood to sea as soon as the sun rose. He took two frigates the next day, just outside the harbour. They were small boats in ballast, one of twelve, one of fifty tons, bound for St Domingo. He brought them to anchor in a bravery, "within saker shot of the east Bulwark," and then dismissed their mariners ashore. On the 21st October, the morning after this adventure, the Spaniards sent a flag of truce to the headland at the mouth of the Boca Chica. Drake manned one of his pinnaces, and rowed ashore to see what they wanted. When about 200 yards from the point the Spaniards fled into the wood, as though afraid of the boat's guns--hoping, no doubt, that Drake would follow, and allow them to ambush him. Drake dropped his grapnel over the stern of the pinnace, and veered the boat ashore, little by little, till the bows grated on the sand. As she touched he leaped boldly ashore, in sight of the Spanish troops, "to declare that he durst set his foot a land." The Spaniards seem to have made a rush towards him, whereupon he got on board again, bade his men warp the boat out by the cable, and "rid awhile," some 100 yards from the shore, in the smooth green water, watching the fish finning past the weeds. Seeing that Drake was less foolish than they had hoped, the Spaniards came out upon the sands, at the edge of the wood, and bade one of their number take his clothes off, to swim to the boat with a message. The lad stripped, and swam off to the boat, "as with a Message from the Governor," asking them why they had come to the coast, and why they stayed there. Drake replied that he had come to trade, "for he had tin, pewter, cloth, and other merchandise that they needed," with which reply the youth swam back to the soldiers. After some talk upon the sands, the men-at-arms sent him back with an answer. "The King," they said, "had forbidden them to traffic with any foreign nation, for any commodities, except powder and shot; of which, if he had any store, they would be his merchants." Drake answered that he had come all the way from England to exchange his commodities for gold and silver, and had little will to return "without his errand." He told them that, in his opinion, they were "like to have little rest" if they would not traffic with him fairly in the way of business. He then gave the messenger "a fair shirt for a reward," and despatched him back to his masters. The lad rolled the shirt about his head in the Indian fashion, and swam back "very speedily," using, perhaps, the swift Indian stroke. He did not return that day, though Drake waited for him until sunset, when the pinnace pulled slowly back to the two frigates, "within saker shot [or three-quarters of a mile] of the east Bulwark." The adventurers lay there all that night, expecting to be attacked. The guns were loaded, and cartridges made ready, and a strict lookout was kept. At dawn they saw two sails running down towards them from the Boca Chica on a fresh easterly breeze. Drake manned his two pinnaces, leaving the frigates empty, expecting to have a fight for their possession. Before he came within gunshot of the Spaniards he had to use his oars, for the wind fell, thereby lessening the advantage the Spanish had. As the boats neared each other Drake's mariners "saw many heads peeping over board" along the gunwales of the enemy. They perceived then that the two ships had been manned to occupy Drake's attention, while another squadron made a dash from the town, "from the eastern Bulwark," to retake his two prizes. But Drake "prevented both their drifts." He bade John Oxenham remain there with the one pinnace, "to entertain these two Men of war," while he, with the other, rowed furiously back to the two prizes. Quick as he had been the Spaniards had been quicker. They had rowed out in a large canoe, which had made two trips, so that one frigate was now full of Spaniards, who had cut her cables, while the canoe towed her towards the batteries. As Drake ranged up alongside, the towline was cast adrift by the men in the canoe; while the gallants on the deck leaped overboard, to swim ashore, leaving their rapiers, guns, and powder flasks behind them. Drake watched them swim out of danger, and then set the larger ship on fire. The smaller of the two he scuttled where she lay, "giving them to understand by this, that we perceived their secret practices." As soon as the frigates were disposed of, the pinnace returned to John Oxenham, who was lying to by the two men-of-war, waiting for them to open fire. As the Captain's pinnace drew near, the wind shifted to the north, and blew freshly, so that both the English boats, being to shoreward of the enemy, were forced to run before it, into the harbour, "to the great joy of the Spaniards," who thought they were running away. Directly they were past the point, "and felt smooth water," they obtained the weather-gage, exchanged a few shots, and dropped their anchors, keeping well to windward of the enemy. The Spaniards also anchored; but as the wind freshened into "a norther" they thought it best to put ashore, and, therefore, retired to the town. For the next four days it blew very hard from the west, with cold rain squalls, to the great discomfort of all hands, who could keep neither warm nor dry. On the fifth day (27th October) a frigate came in from the sea, and they at once attacked her, hoping to find shelter aboard her after the four days of wet and cold. The Spaniards ran her ashore on the point by the Boca Chica, "unhanging her rudder and taking away her sails, that she might not easily be carried away." However, the boats dashed alongside, intending to board her. As they came alongside, a company of horse and foot advanced on to the sands from the woods, opening fire on them as soon as they had formed. The pinnaces replied with their muskets and heavy guns, sending a shot "so near a brave cavalier" that the whole party retreated to the coverts. From the thick brush they were able to save the frigate from capture without danger to themselves; so Drake abandoned her, and set to sea again, in the teeth of the gale, intending to win to Las Serenas, some rocks six miles to sea, off which he thought he could anchor, with his masts down, until the weather moderated. But when he arrived off the rocks, a mighty sea was beating over them, so that he had to run back to Cartagena, where he remained six days, "notwithstanding the Spaniards grieved greatly at our abode there so long." On the 2nd of November the Governor of Cartagena made a determined attempt to destroy him or drive him out to sea. He manned three vessels--"a great shallop, a fine gundeloe and a great canoe"--with Spanish musketeers and Indians with poisoned arrows. These attacked with no great spirit, for as soon as the pinnaces advanced they retreated, and presently "went ashore into the woods," from which an ambush "of some sixty shot" opened a smart fire. As the ambush began to blaze away from the bushes, Drake saw that two pinnaces and a frigate, manned with musketeers and archers, were warping towards him from the town, in the teeth of the wind. As this second line of battle neared the scene of action, the Spaniards left the ambush in the wood, and ran down the sands to the gundeloe and canoe, which they manned, and again thrust from the shore. Drake then stood away into the haven, out of shot of the shore guns, and cast anchor in the great open space, with the two pinnaces lying close together, one immediately ahead of the other. He rigged the sides of the pinnaces with bonnets, the narrow lengths of canvas which were laced to the feet of sails to give them greater spread. With these for his close-fights, or war-girdles, he waved to the Spaniards to attack. They rowed up cheering, all five boats of them, "assuring their fellows of the day." Had they pushed the attack home, the issue might have been different, but the sight of the close-fights frightened them. They lay on their oars "at caliver-shot distance," and opened a smart musketry fire, "spending powder apace," without pausing, for two or three hours. One man was wounded on Drake's side. The Spanish loss could not be told, but Drake's men could plainly see that the Spanish pinnaces had been shot through and through. One lucky shot went into a Spanish powder tub, which thereupon exploded. Drake at once weighed anchor, intending to run them down while they were in confusion. He had the wind of them, and would have been able to do this without difficulty, but they did not wait his coming. They got to their oars in a hurry, and rowed to their defence in the woods--the fight being at an end before the frigate could warp to windward into action. Being weary of these continual fruitless tussles, "and because our victuals grew scant," Drake sailed from the port the following morning, in slightly better weather, hoping to get fresh provisions at the Rio Grande, where he had met with such abundance a few days before. The wind was still fresh from the west, so that he could not rejoin his ship nor reach one of his magazines. He took two days in sailing to the Magdalena, but when he arrived there he found the country stripped. "We found bare nothing, not so much as any people left," for the Spaniards had ordered everyone to retire to the hills, driving their cattle with them, "that we might not be relieved by them." The outlook was now serious, for there was very little food left, and that of most indifferent quality, much of it being spoiled by the rains and the salt water. On the day of their landfall they rowed hard for several hours to capture a frigate, but she was as bare of food as they. "She had neither meat nor money," and so "our great hope" was "converted into grief." Sailors get used to living upon short allowance. The men tightened their belts to stay their hunger, and splashed salt water on their chests to allay their thirst. They ran for Santa Martha, a little city to the east, where they hoped "to find some shipping in the road, or limpets on the rocks, or succour against the storm in that good harbour." They found no shipping there, however, and little succour against the storm. They anchored "under the western point, where is high land," but they could not venture in, for the town was strongly fortified (later raiders were less squeamish). The Spaniards had seen them come to moorings, and managed to send some thirty or forty musketeers among the rocks, within gunshot of them. These kept up a continual musket fire, which did bodily hurt to none, but proved a sad annoyance to sailors who were wearied and out of victuals. They found it impossible to reply to the musketry, for the rocks hid the musketeers from view. There was nothing for it but to "up kedge and cut," in the hope of finding some less troublous berth. As they worked across the Santa Martha bay the culverins in the city batteries opened fire. One shot "made a near escape," for it fell between the pinnaces as they lay together in "conference of what was best to be done." The company were inclined to bring the cruise to an end, and begged that they might "put themselves a land, some place to the Eastward, to get victuals." They thought it would be better to trust to the courtesy of the country people than to keep the seas as they were, in the cold and heavy weather, with a couple of leaky, open boats. Drake disliked this advice, and recommended that they should run on for Rio de la Hacha, or even as far as Curaçoa, where they would be likely to meet with victual ships indifferently defended. The men aboard John Oxenham's pinnace answered that they would willingly follow him throughout the world, but they did not see, they said, how the pinnaces could stand such weather as they had had. Nor did they see how they were going to live with such little food aboard, for they had "only one gammon of bacon and thirty pounds of biscuit for eighteen men"--a bare two days' half allowance. Drake replied that they were better off than he was, "who had but one gammon of bacon and forty pounds of biscuit for his twenty-four men; and therefore [he went on] he doubted not but they would take such part as he did, and willingly depend upon God's Almighty providence, which never faileth them that trust in Him." He did not wait for any further talk, but hoisted his fore-sail and put his helm up for Curaçoa, knowing that the other pinnace would not refuse to follow him. With "sorrowful hearts in respect of the weak pinnace, yet desirous to follow their captain," the weary crew stood after him on the same course. They had not gone more than three leagues when, lo!--balm in Gilead--"a sail plying to the westward" under her foresail and main-sail. There was "great joy" in that hunger-bitten company, who promptly "vowed together, that we would have her, or else it should cost us dear." Coming up with her they found her to be a Spanish ship of more than ninety tons. Drake "waved amain" to her, the usual summons to surrender; but she "despised our summons," and at once opened fire on them, but without success, for the sea was running very high. The sea was too high for them to board her, so they set small storm-sails, and stood in chase, intending to "keep her company to her small content till fairer weather might lay the sea." They followed her for two hours, when "it pleased God" to send a great shower, which, of course, beat down the sea into "a reasonable calm," so that they could pepper her with their guns "and approach her at pleasure." She made but a slight resistance after that, and "in short time we had taken her; finding her laden with victuals well powdered [salted] and dried: which at that present we received as sent us of God's great mercy." [Illustration: AN ELIZABETHAN WAR-SHIP A PINNACE BEYOND, TO THE LEFT] After a stormy night at sea, Drake sent Ellis Hixom, "who had then charge of his pinnace, to search out some harbour along the coast." Hixom soon discovered a little bay, where there was good holding ground, with sufficient depth of water to float the prize. They entered the new port, and dropped their anchors there, promising the Spaniards their clothes, as well as their liberty, if they would but bring them to a clear spring of water and a supply of fresh meat. The Spaniards, who knew the coast very well, soon brought them to an Indian village, where the natives "were clothed and governed by a Spaniard." They stayed there all the day, cutting wood for their fire, filling water casks, and storing the purchased meat. The Indians helped them with all their might, for Drake, following his custom, gave them "content and satisfaction" for the work they did for him. Towards night Drake called his men aboard, leaving the Spanish prisoners ashore, according to his promise, "to their great content." The wood, water casks, and sides of meat were duly stored, the anchors were brought to the bows, and the adventurers put to sea again towards the secret harbour. That day one of their men died from "a sickness which had begun to kindle among us, two or three days before." What the cause of this malady was "we knew not of certainty," but "we imputed it to the cold which our men had taken, lying without succour in the pinnaces." It may have been pleurisy, or pneumonia, or some low fever. The dead man was Charles Glub, "one of our Quarter Masters, a very tall man, and a right good mariner, taken away to the great grief of Captain and company"--a sufficiently beautiful epitaph for any man. "But howsoever it was," runs the touching account, "thus it pleased God to visit us, and yet in favour to restore unto health all the rest of our company that were touched with this disease, which were not a few." The 15th of November broke bright and fine, though the wind still blew from the west. Drake ordered the _Minion_, the smaller of his two pinnaces, to part company, "to hasten away before him towards his ships at Port Diego ... to carry news of his coming, and to put all things in a readiness for our land journey if they heard anything of the Fleet's arrival." If they wanted wine, he said, they had better put in at San Barnardo, and empty some of the caches in the sand there, where they had buried many bottles. Seven days later Drake put in at San Barnardo for the same commodity, "finding but twelve _botijos_ of wine of all the store we left, which had escaped the curious search of the enemy who had been there, for they were deep in the ground." Perhaps the crew of the _Minion_ were the guilty ones. About the 27th of November the Captain's party arrived at Port Diego, where they found all things in good order, "but received very heavy news of the death of John Drake, our Captain's brother, and another young man called Richard Allen, which were both slain at one time [on the 9th October, the day Drake left the isle of shell-fish] as they attempted the boarding of a frigate." Drake had been deeply attached to this brother, whom he looked upon as a "young man of great hope." His death was a sore blow to him, all the more because it happened in his absence, when he could neither warn him of the risks he ran nor comfort him as he lay a-dying. He had been in the pinnace, it seems, with a cargo of planks from the Spanish wreck, carrying the timber for the platform of the battery. It was a bright, sunny morning, and the men were rowing lazily towards the fort, "when they saw this frigate at sea." The men were in merry heart, and eager for a game at handystrokes. They were "very importunate on him, to give chase and set upon this frigate, which they deemed had been a fit booty for them." He told them that they "wanted weapons to assail"; that, for all they knew, the frigate might be full of men and guns; and that their boat was cumbered up with planks, required for his brother's service. These answers were not enough for them, and "still they urged him with words and supposals." "If you will needs," said he;--"Adventure. It shall never be said that I will be hindmost, neither shall you report to my brother that you lost your voyage by any cowardice you found in me." The men armed themselves as they could with stretchers from the boat, or anything that came to hand. They hove the planks overboard to make a clear fighting space, and "took them such poor weapons as they had: viz., a broken pointed rapier, one old visgee, and a rusty caliver. John Drake took the rapier and made a gauntlet of his pillow, Richard Allen the visgee, both standing at the head of the pinnace called Eion. Robert took the caliver, and so boarded." It was a gallant, mad attempt, but utterly hopeless from the first. The frigate was "armed round about with a close fight of hides," and "full of pikes and calivers, which were discharged in their faces, and deadly wounded those that were in the fore ship, John Drake in the belly, and Richard Allen in the head." Though they were both sorely hurt, they shoved the pinnace clear with their oars, and so left the frigate, and hurried home to their ship, where "within an hour after" this young man of great hope ended his days, "greatly lamented of all the company." He was buried in that place, with Richard Allen his shipmate, among the brilliant shrubs, over which the parrots chatter. For the next four or five weeks the company remained at Fort Diego with the Maroons, their allies. They fared sumptuously every day on the food stored within the magazine; while "daily out of the woods" they took wild hogs, the "very good sort of a beast called warre," that Dampier ate, besides great store of turkeys, pheasants, and numberless guanas, "which make very good Broath." The men were in good health, and well contented; but a day or two after the New Year (January 1573) "half a score of our company fell down sick together, and the most of them died within two or three days." They did not know what the sickness was, nor do they leave us much information to enable us to diagnose it. They called it a calenture, or fever, and attributed it to "the sudden change from cold to heat, or by reason of brackish water which had been taken in by our pinnace, through the sloth of their men in the mouth of the river, not rowing further in where the water was good." We cannot wonder that they died from drinking the water of that sluggish tropical river, for in the rainy season such water is often poisonous to the fish in the sea some half-a-mile from the shore. It comes down from the hills thick with pestilential matter. It sweeps away the rotting leaves and branches, the dead and drowned animals, from the flooded woods and savannahs. "And I believe," says Dampier, "it receives a strong Tincture from the Roots of several Kind of Trees, Herbs, etc., and especially where there is any stagnancy of the Water, it soon corrupts; and possibly the Serpents and other poisonous Vermin and Insects may not a little contribute to its bad qualities." Whatever it was, the disease raged among the men with great violence--as many as thirty being down with it at the one time. Among those who died was Joseph Drake, another brother of the Captain, "who died in our Captain's arms." The many deaths caused something like a panic among the men, and Drake, in his distress, determined to hold a post-mortem upon his brother's corpse "that the cause [of the disease] might be the better discerned, and consequently remedied." The operation was performed by the surgeon, "who found his liver swollen, his heart as it were sodden, and his guts all fair." The corpse of one dead from yellow-fever displays very similar symptoms; and the muddy foreshore on which they were camped would, doubtless, swarm with the yellow-fever mosquito. The sick seem to have recovered swiftly--a trait observable in yellow-fever patients. This, says the narrative, "was the first and last experiment that our Captain made of anatomy in this voyage." The surgeon who made this examination "over-lived him not past four days"--a fact which very possibly saved the lives of half the company. He had had the sickness at its first beginning among them, but had recovered. He died, we are told, "of an overbold practice which he would needs make upon himself, by receiving an over-strong purgation of his own device, after which taken he never spake; nor his Boy recovered the health which he lost by tasting it, till he saw England." He seems to have taken the draught directly after the operation, as a remedy against infection from the corpse. The boy, who, perhaps, acted as assistant at the operation, may have thought it necessary to drink his master's heeltaps by way of safeguard. While the company lay thus fever-stricken at the fort, the Maroons had been wandering abroad among the forest, ranging the country up and down "between Nombre de Dios and us, to learn what they might for us." During the last few days of January 1573 they came in with the news that the plate fleet "had certainly arrived in Nombre de Dios." On the 30th of January, therefore, Drake ordered the _Lion_, one of the three pinnaces, to proceed "to the seamost islands of the Cativaas," a few miles from the fort, to "descry the truth of the report" by observing whether many frigates were going towards Nombre de Dios from the east, as with provisions for the fleet. The _Lion_ remained at sea for a few days, when she captured a frigate laden with "maize, hens, and pompions from Tolu." She had the Scrivano of Tolu aboard her, with eleven men and one woman. From these they learned that the fleet was certainly at Nombre de Dios, as the Indians had informed them. The prisoners were "used very courteously," and "diligently guarded from the deadly hatred of the Cimmeroons," who used every means in their power to obtain them from the English, so that "they might cut their throats to revenge their wrongs and injuries." Drake warned his allies not to touch them "or give them ill countenance"; but, feeling a little doubtful of their safety, he placed them aboard the Spanish prize, in charge of Ellis Hixom, and had the ship hauled ashore to the island, "which we termed Slaughter Island (because so many of our men died there)." He was about to start upon "his journey for Panama by land," and he could not follow his usual custom of letting his prisoners go free. CHAPTER IV THE ROAD TO PANAMA The Maroons--The native city--The great tree--Panama--The silver train--The failure--Venta Cruz When the Spanish prize had been warped to her berth at Slaughter Island, Drake called his men together, with the chiefs of the Maroons, to a solemn council of war about the fire. He then discussed with them, with his usual care, the equipment necessary for an undertaking of the kind in hand. He was going to cross the isthmus with them, those "20 leagues of death and misery," in order to surprise one of the recuas, or treasure trains, as it wandered north upon the road from Panama to Nombre de Dios. It was, as he says, "a great and long journey," through jungles, across swamps, and up precipitous crags. Any error in equipment would be paid for in blood. It was essential, therefore, that they should strictly debate "what kind of weapons, what store of victuals, and what manner of apparel" would be fittest for them. The Maroons "especially advised" him "to carry as great store of shoes as possibly he might, by reason of so many rivers with stone and gravel as they were to pass." This advice was followed by all hands, who provided themselves with a good store of boots and spare leather, thereby saving themselves from much annoyance from jiguas, or jiggers, and the venomous leeches of the swamps. The sickness had destroyed twenty-eight of the company. Three had died of wounds or in battle, and one had died from cold and exposure in the pinnace. Of the remaining forty-two Drake selected eighteen of the best. A number were still ill abed, and these he left behind in the care of Ellis Hixom and his little band of shipkeepers. The dried meat and biscuit were then packed carefully into bundles. The eighteen took their weapons, with such necessaries as they thought they might require. Drake called Hixom aside, and gave him "straight charge, in any case not to trust any messenger that should come in his name with any tokens, unless he brought his handwriting: which he knew could not be counterfeited by the Cimaroons or Spaniards." A last farewell was taken; thirty brawny Cimmeroons swung the packs upon their shoulders, shaking their javelins in salute. The shipkeepers sounded "A loath to depart," and dipped their colours. The forty-eight adventurers then formed into order, and marched away into the forest on their perilous journey. Having such stalwart carriers, the English were able to march light, "not troubled with anything but our furniture." The Maroons carried "every one of them two sorts of arrows" in addition to the packs of victuals, for they had promised to provide fresh food upon the march for all the company. "Every day we were marching by sun-rising," says the narrative, taking the cool of the morning before the sun was hot. At "ten in the forenoon" a halt was called for dinner, which they ate in quiet "ever near some river." This halt lasted until after twelve. Then they marched again till four, at which time they sought out a river-bank for their camping ground. Often they slept in old huts built by the Indians "when they travelled through these woods," but more frequently the Maroons built them new ones, having a strange skill in that craft. Then they would light little fires of wood inside the huts, giving a clear red glow, with just sufficient smoke to keep away mosquitoes. They would sup pleasantly together there, snugly sheltered from the rain if any fell; warm if it were cold, as on the hills; and cool if it were hot, as in the jungle. When the Indians had lit their little "light Wood" candles these huts must have been delightful places, full of jolly talk and merry music. Outside, by the river-brink, the frogs would croak; and, perhaps, the adventurers heard "the shriekings of Snakes and other Insects," such as scared Lionel Wafer there about a century later. Those who ventured out into the night were perplexed by the innumerable multitude of fireflies that spangled the darkness with their golden sparks. In the mornings the brilliant blue and green macaws aroused them with their guttural cries "like Men who speak much in the Throat." The chicaly bird began his musical quick cuckoo cry, the corrosou tolled out his bell notes, the "waggish kinds of Monkeys" screamed and chattered in the branches, playing "a thousand antick Tricks." Then the sun came up in his splendour above the living wall of greenery, and the men buckled on their gear, and fell in for the road. As they marched, they sometimes met with droves of peccary or warree. Then six Maroons would lay their burdens down, and make a slaughter of them, bringing away as much of the dainty wild pork as they could carry. Always they had an abundance of fresh fruit, such as "Mammeas" ("very wholesome and delicious"), "Guavas, Palmitos, Pinos, Oranges, Lemons and divers others." Then there were others which were eaten "first dry roasted," as "Plantains, Potatoes, and such like," besides bananas and the delicious sapadilloes. On one occasion "the Cimaroons found an otter, and prepared it to be drest: our Captain marvelling at it. Pedro, our chief Cimaroon, asked him, "Are you a man of war, and in want; and yet doubt whether this be meat, that hath blood? Herewithal [we read] our Captain rebuked himself secretly, that he had so slightly considered of it before." After three days' wandering in the woods the Maroons brought them to a trim little Maroon town, which was built on the side of a hill by a pretty river. It was surrounded by "a dyke of eight feet broad, and a thick mud wall of ten feet high, sufficient to stop a sudden surpriser. It had one long and broad street, lying east and west, and two other cross streets of less breadth and length," containing in all some "five or six and fifty households." It was "kept so clean and sweet, that not only the houses, but the very streets were pleasant to behold"--a thing, doubtless, marvellous to one accustomed to an Elizabethan English town. "In this town we saw they lived very civilly and cleanly," for, as soon as the company marched in, the thirty carriers "washed themselves in the river and changed their apparel," which was "very fine and fitly made," after the Spanish cut. The clothes, by all accounts, were only worn on state occasions. They were long cotton gowns, either white or rusty black, "shap'd like our Carter's Frocks." The town was thirty-five leagues from Nombre de Dios and forty-five from Panama. It had been surprised the year before Drake came there (1572) by 150 Spanish troops under "a gallant gentleman," who had been guided thither by a recreant Maroon. He attacked a little before the dawn, and cut down many women and children, but failed to prevent the escape of nearly all the men. In a little while they rallied, and attacked the Spaniards with great fury, killing their guide and four-fifths of their company. The wretched remnant straggled back as best they could "to return answer to them which sent them." The natives living there at the time of Drake's visit kept a continual watch some three miles from the town, to prevent a second surprise. Any Spaniards whom they met they "killed like beasts." The adventurers passed a night in the town, and stayed until noon of the day following. The Maroons told them stories of their battles with the Spaniards, while Drake inquired into "their affection in religion." He learned that they had no kind of priests; "only they held the Cross in great reputation"--having, perhaps, learned so much of Christianity from the Spaniards. Drake seems to have done a little earnest missionary work, for he persuaded them "to leave their crosses, and to learn the Lord's Prayer, and to be instructed in some measure concerning God's true worship." After dinner on the 7th of February the company took to the roads again, refusing to take any of the countless recruits who offered their services. Four Maroons went on ahead to mark a trail by breaking branches or flinging a bunch of leaves upon the ground. After these four, marched twelve more Maroons as a sort of vanguard. Then came Drake with his men and the two Maroon chiefs. Another troop of twelve Maroons brought up the rear. The Maroons marched in strict silence, "which they also required us to keep," for it is the custom among nearly all savage folk to remain silent on the trail. The way now led them through parts less swampy, and, therefore, less densely tangled over than those nearer the "North Sea." "All the way was through woods very cool and pleasant," says the narrative, "by reason of those goodly and high trees, that grow there so thick." They were mounting by slow degrees to the "ridge between the two seas," and the woodland was getting clear of undergrowth. As later buccaneers have noted, the upper land of the isthmus is wooded with vast trees, whose branches shut out the sun. Beneath these trees a man may walk with pleasure, or indeed ride, for there is hardly any undergrowth. The branches are so thick together that the lower ground receives no sunlight, and, therefore, little grows there. The heat of the sun is shut out, and "it is cooler travelling there ... in that hot region, than it is in ... England in the summer time." As the men began to ascend, the Maroons told them that not far away there grew a great tree about midway between the oceans, "from which we might at once discern the North Sea from whence we came, and the South Sea whither we were going." On the 11th of February, after four days of slow but steady climbing, they "came to the height of the desired hill, a very high hill, lying East and West, like a ridge between the two seas." It was ten o'clock in the forenoon, the hour at which the dinner halt was made. Pedro, the Maroon chief, now took Drake's hand, and "prayed him to follow him if he was desirous to see at once the two seas which he had so longed for." Drake followed Pedro to the hilltop, to the "goodly and great high Tree," of which the Maroons had spoken. He found that they had hacked out steps upon the bole, "to ascend up near unto the top," where they had built a pleasant little hut of branches thatched from the sun, "wherein ten or twelve men might easily sit." "South and north of this Tree" the Maroons had felled certain trees "that the prospect might be the clearer." At its base there was a number of strong houses "that had been built long before," perhaps by an older people than the Cimmeroons. The tree seems to have been a place of much resort among that people, as it lay in their paths across the isthmus, and towards the west. Drake climbed the tree with Pedro to the little sunny bower at the top. A fresh breeze which was blowing, had blown away the mists and the heat haze, so that the whole isthmus lay exposed before him, in the golden sunlight. There to the north, like a bright blue jewel, was "the Atlantic Ocean whence now we came." There to the south, some thirty miles away, was "that sea of which he had heard such golden reports." He looked at the wonderful South Sea, and "besought Almighty God of His goodness, to give him life and leave to sail once in an English ship, in that sea." The prayer was granted to him, for in five years' time he was off that very coast with such a spoil as no ship ever took before. Having glutted his eyes with the sight, Drake called up all his English followers, and "acquainted John Oxenham especially with this his petition and purpose, if it would please God to grant him that happiness." Oxenham answered fervently that "unless our Captain did beat him from his company, he would follow him, by God's grace." He fulfilled his vow a few months later, with disaster to himself and his associates. "Thoroughly satisfied with the sight of the seas," the men descended to their dinner with excellent appetite. They then pushed on lightly as before, through continual forest, for another two days. On the 13th of February, when they had gained the west side of the Cheapo River, the forest broke away into little knots of trees green and goodly, which showed like islands in a rolling ocean of green grass. They were come to the famous savannahs, over which roamed herds of black cattle, swift and savage. Everywhere about them was the wiry stipa grass, and "a kind of grass with a stalk as big as a great wheaten reed, which hath a blade issuing from the top of it, on which though the cattle feed, yet it groweth every day higher, until the top be too high for an ox to reach." The inhabitants of the country were wont to burn the grass every year, but "after it is thus burnt" it "springeth up fresh like green corn" within three days. "Such," says the narrative, "is the great fruitfulness of the soil: by reason of the evenness of the day and the night, and the rich dews which fall every morning." As the raiders advanced along this glorious grass-land they sometimes caught sight of Panama. Whenever they topped a rise they could see the city, though very far away; and at last, "on the last day," they saw the ships riding in the road, with the blue Pacific trembling away into the sky beyond them. Now was the woodcock near the gin, and now the raiders had to watch their steps. There was no cover on those rolling sweeps of grass. They were within a day's journey of the city. The grass-land (as Drake gathered from his guides) was a favourite hunting-ground of the city poulterers, for there, as Drake puts it, "the Dames of Panama are wont to send forth hunters and fowlers, for taking of sundry dainty fowl, which the land yieldeth." Such a body of men as theirs might readily be detected by one of these sportsmen, and one such detection would surely ruin the attempt. They therefore, crept like snakes "out of all ordinary way," worming themselves through the grass-clumps till they came to a little river-bed, in which a trickle of water ran slowly across the sun-bleached pebbles. They were minded to reach a grove or wood about a league from Panama. The sun beat upon them fiercely, and it was necessary for them to travel in the heat of the day. In that open country the midday heat was intense, but they contrived to gain the shelter of the wood by three that afternoon. "This last day," says the narrative, "our Captain did behold and view the most of all that fair city, discerning the large street which lieth directly from the sea into the land, South and North." Having gained the shelter of the wood, Drake chose out a Maroon "that had served a master in Panama" to venture into the city as a spy. He dressed the man "in such apparel as the Negroes of Panama do use to wear," and sent him off to the town an hour before night, "so that by the closing in of the evening he might be in the city." He gave the man strict charge to find out "the certain night, and the time of the night, when the carriers laded the Treasure from the King's Treasure House to Nombre de Dios." The first stage of the journey (from Panama to Venta Cruz) was always undertaken in the cool of the night, "because the country is all champion, and consequently by day very hot." From Venta Cruz to Nombre de Dios "they travel always by day and not by night, because all that way is full of woods and therefore very cool." Drake's plan was to waylay one of the treasure trains on the night journey towards Venta Cruz. The Maroon soon returned to the little wood where the men were lying. He had entered the town without trouble, and had met with some old companions, who had told him all he wished to know. A treasure train was to start that very night, for a great Spanish gentleman, the treasurer of Lima, "was intending to pass into Spain" in a swift advice ship which stayed for him at Nombre de Dios. "His daughter and family" were coming with him, "having fourteen mules in company, of which eight were laden with gold, and one with jewels." After this troop, two other recuas, "of fifty mules in each," would take the road, carrying victuals and wine for the fleet, "with some little quantity of silver." As soon as the news had been conveyed to Drake, he marched his men away from Panama towards Venta Cruz, some four leagues' journey. He halted them about two leagues to the south of Venta Cruz, in a clump of tall grass, and then examined a Spanish prisoner whom his scouts had caught. Two of the Maroons, stealing forward along the line of march, had scented the acrid smoke of a burning match carried by some arquebusier. They had crept up "by scent of the said match," and had heard a sound of snoring coming from the grass by the roadside. A Spanish sentry had fallen asleep upon his post, "and being but one they fell upon him, stopped his mouth from crying, put out his match," and bound him so effectually "that they well near strangled him." He was in the pay of the King's treasurer, who had hired him, with others, to guard the treasure train upon its march from Venta Cruz. He had fallen asleep while waiting for the mules to arrive, as he knew that he would get no sleep until the company he marched with was safe in Nombre de Dios. He was in terror of his life, for he believed that he had fallen into the hands of the Maroons, from whom he might expect no mercy. When he learned that he was a prisoner to Francis Drake he plucked up courage, "and was bold to make two requests unto him." First, he asked that Drake would order the Maroons to spare his life, for he knew that they "hated the Spaniards, especially the soldiers, extremely," but a word from such a Captain would be enough to save him. The second request was also personal. He assured them, upon the faith of a soldier, that "they should have that night more gold, besides jewels, and pearls of great price, than all they could carry"; if not, he swore, let them deal with him as they would. But, he added, if the raiders are successful, "then it might please our Captain to give unto him, as much as might suffice for him and his mistress to live upon, as he had heard our Captain had done to divers others"--promising, in such a case, to make his name as famous as any of them which had received the like favour. Being now "at the place appointed" Drake divided his men into two companies. With eight Englishmen and fifteen Cimmeroons he marched to some long grass about fifty paces from the road. He sent John Oxenham, with Pedro and the other company of men, to the other side of the road, at the same distance from it, but a little farther to the south, in order that, "as occasion served, the former company might take the foremost mules by the heads," while Oxenham's party did that service for those which followed. The arrangement also provided "that if we should have need to use our weapons that night, we might be sure not to endamage our fellows." Having reached their stations, the men lay down to wait, keeping as quiet as they could. In about an hour's time they heard the clanging of many mule bells, making a loud music, in the direction of Venta Cruz. Mules were returning from that town to Panama; for with the fleet at Nombre de Dios there was much business between the two seaports, and the mule trains were going and coming several times a day. As they listened, they heard more mule bells ringing far away on the road from Panama. The treasurer with his company was coming. Now, Drake had given strict orders that no man should show himself, or as much as budge from his station, "but let all that came from Venta Cruz [which was nothing but merchandise] to pass quietly." Yet one of the men, probably one of Oxenham's men, of the name of Robert Pike, now disobeyed those orders. "Having drunken too much aqua-vitæ without water," he forgot himself. He rose from his place in the grass, "enticing a Cimaroon with him," and crept up close to the road, "with intent to have shown his forwardness on the foremost mules." Almost immediately a cavalier came trotting past from Venta Cruz upon a fine horse, with a little page running at the stirrup. As he trotted by, Robert Pike "rose up to see what he was." The Cimmeroon promptly pulled him down, and sat upon him; but his promptness came too late to save the situation. All the English had put their shirts over their other apparel, "that we might be sure to know our own men in the pell mell in the night." The Spanish cavalier had glanced in Robert Pike's direction, and had seen a figure rising from the grass "half all in white" and very conspicuous. He had heard of Drake's being on the coast, and at once came to the conclusion that that arch-pirate had found his way through the woods to reward himself for his disappointment at Nombre de Dios. He was evidently a man of great presence of mind. He put spurs to his horse, and galloped off down the road, partly to escape the danger, but partly also to warn the treasure train, the bells of which were now clanging loudly at a little distance from the ambuscade. Drake heard the trotting horse's hoofs clatter out into a furious gallop. He suspected that he had been discovered, "but could not imagine by whose fault, neither did the time give him the leasure to search." It was a still night, and he had heard no noise, yet something had startled the cavalier. Earnestly hoping that the rider had been alarmed by the silence of the night and the well-known danger of the road, he lay down among the grass again to wait for the mules to come. The bells clanged nearer and nearer, till at last the mules were trotting past the ambush. The captains blew their whistles to the attack. The raiders rose from the grass-clumps with a cheer. There was a rush across the narrow trackway at the drivers, the mules were seized, and in a moment, two full recuas were in the raiders' hands. So far all had gone merrily. The sailors turned to loot the mule packs, congratulating themselves upon their glorious good fortune. It must have been a strange scene to witness--the mules scared and savage, the jolly seamen laughing as they pulled the packs away, the Maroons grinning and chattering, and the harness and the bells jingling out a music to the night. As the packs were ripped open a mutter of disappointment began to sound among the ranks of the spoilers. Pack after pack was found to consist of merchandise--vicuna wool, or dried provender for the galleons. The amount of silver found amounted to a bare two horse loads. Gold there was none. The jewels of the King's treasurer were not to be discovered. The angry sailors turned upon the muleteers for an explanation. The chief muleteer, "a very sensible fellow," was taken to Drake, who soon learned from him the reason why the catch was so poor. The cavalier who had noticed Robert Pike was the saviour of the treasure. As soon as the figure half all in white had risen ghost-like by the road, he had galloped to the treasure mules to report what he had seen to the treasurer. The thing he had seen was vague, but it was yet too unusual to pass unnoticed. Drake, he said, was a person of devilish resource, and it was highly probable, he thought, that the pirates had come "in covert through the woods" to recoup themselves for their former disappointments. A white shirt was the usual uniform for men engaged in night attacks. No Maroon would wear such a thing in that locality, and, therefore, it would be well to let the food train pass ahead of the treasure. The loss of the food train would be a little matter, while it would surely show them whether an ambush lay in wait or not. The treasurer had accordingly drawn his company aside to allow the food mules to get ahead of him. As soon as the noise upon the road advised him that the enemy had made their spring, he withdrew quietly towards Panama. "Thus," says the narrative, "we were disappointed of a most rich booty: which is to be though God would not should be taken, for that, by all likelihood, it was well gotten by that Treasurer." We are not told what happened to Robert Pike, but it is probable that he had a bad five minutes when the muleteer's story reached the sailors. It was bad enough to have marched all day under a broiling sun, and to lose a royal fortune at the end; but that was not all, nor nearly all: they were now discovered to the enemy, who lay in considerable force in their front and rear. They were wearied out with marching, yet they knew very well that unless they "shifted for themselves betimes" all the Spaniards of Panama would be upon them. They had a bare two or three hours' grace in which to secure themselves. They had marched four leagues that night, and by marching back those same four leagues they might win to cover by the morning. If they marched forward they might gain the forest in two leagues; but Venta Cruz lay in the road, and Venta Cruz was guarded day and night by a company of Spanish troops. To reach the forest by the latter road they would have to make a way with their swords, but with men so tired and out of heart it seemed the likelier route of the two. It was better, Drake thought, "to encounter his enemies while he had strength remaining, than to be encountered or chased when they should be worn out with weariness." He bade all hands to eat and drink from the provisions found upon the mules, and while they took their supper he told them what he had resolved to do. He called upon Pedro, the Maroon, by name, asking "whether he would give his hand not to forsake him." Pedro swore that he would rather die at his feet than desert him in such a pass--a vow which assured Drake of the loyalty of his allies. As soon as supper was over, he bade the men mount upon the mules, so that they might not weary themselves with marching. An hour's trot brought them to the woods within a mile of Venta Cruz, where they dismounted, and went afoot, after bidding the muleteers not to follow if they cared for whole skins. The road was here some ten or twelve feet broad, "so as two Recuas may pass one by another." It was paved with cobbles, which had been beaten into the mud by Indian slaves. On either side of it was the dense tropical forest, "as thick as our thickest hedges in England that are oftenest cut." Among the tangle, about half-a-mile from the town, the Spaniards had taken up a strong position. The town guard of musketeers had been reinforced by a number of friars from a religious house. They lay there, hidden in the jungle, blowing their matches to keep them burning clearly. Two Maroons, whom Drake had sent forward as scouts, crept back to him with the news that the enemy were there in force, for they had smelt the reek of the smouldering matches and heard the hushed noise of many men moving in the scrub. Drake gave orders that no man should fire till the Spaniards had given them a volley, for he thought they would first parley with him, "as indeed fell out." Soon afterwards, as the men neared the Spanish ambush, a Spanish captain rose from the road, and "cried out, Hoo!" Drake answered with, "Hallo!"--the sailor's reply to a hail. The Spaniard then put the query "Que gente?" to which Drake answered "Englishmen." The Spaniard, "in the name of the King of Spain his master," then charged him to surrender, passing his word as a gentleman soldier that the whole company should be treated courteously. Drake made a few quick steps towards the Spaniard, crying out that "for the honour of the Queen of England, his mistress, he must have passage that way." As he advanced, he fired his pistol towards him, in order to draw the Spanish fire. Immediately the thicket burst out into flame; for the ambush took the shot for a signal, and fired off their whole volley. Drake received several hail-shot in his body. Many of the men were wounded, and one man fell sorely hurt. As the volley crackled out its last few shots, Drake blew his whistle, as a signal to his men to fire. A volley of shot and arrows was fired into the thicket, and the company at once advanced, "with intent to come to handy strokes." As they stormed forward to the thicket, the Spaniards fled towards a position of greater strength. Drake called upon his men to double forward to prevent them. The Maroons at once rushed to the front, "with their arrows ready in their bows, and their manner of country dance or leap, singing Yó péhó! Yó péhó, and so got before us where they continued their leap and song after the manner of their own country wars." The Spaniards heard the war-cry ringing out behind them, and fell back rapidly upon the town. Near the town's end a party of them rallied, forming a sort of rearguard to cover the retreat. As they took up a position in the woods, the Maroons charged them upon both flanks, while the English rushed their centre. There was a mad moment of fighting in the scrub. A Maroon went down with a pike through the body; but he contrived to kill the pikeman before he died. Several Englishmen were hurt. The Spaniards' loss is not mentioned, but it was probably severe. They broke and fled before the fury of the attack, and the whole body of fighting men, "friars and all," were thrust back into the town by the raiders. As they ran, the raiders pressed them home, shouting and slaying. The gates were open. The Spanish never had another chance to rally, and the town was taken with a rush a very few minutes after the captain's challenge in the wood. VENTA CRUZ Venta Cruz, the modern Cruces, stood, and still stands, on the west or left bank of the Chagres River. It marks the highest point to which boats may penetrate from the North Sea. Right opposite the town the river broadens out to a considerable width, affording berths for a number of vessels of slight draught. At the time of Drake's raid it was a place of much importance. The land route from Panama to Nombre de Dios was, as we have said, boggy, dangerous, and pestilential. The freight charges for mule transport across the isthmus were excessive, ranging from twenty-five to thirty dollars of assayed silver for a mule load of 200 pounds weight--a charge which works out at nearly £70 a ton. Even in the dry season the roads were bad, and the mule trains were never safe from the Maroons. Many merchants, therefore, sent their goods to Venta Cruz in flat-bottomed boats of about fifteen tons. These would sail from Nombre de Dios to the mouth of the Chagres River, where they struck sail, and took to their sweeps. The current was not very violent except in the upper reaches, and the boats were generally able to gain Venta Cruz in a few days--in about three days in dry weather and about twelve in the rains. A towing-path was advocated at one time; but it does not seem to have been laid, though the river-banks are in many places flat and sandy, and free from the dense undergrowth of the tropics. As soon as the boats arrived at Venta Cruz they were dragged alongside the jetty on the river-bank, and their cargoes were transferred to some strong stone warehouses. In due course the goods were packed on mules, and driven away down the road to Panama, a distance of some fifteen or eighteen miles, which the mules would cover in about eight hours. The town at the time of Drake's raid contained about forty or fifty houses, some of them handsome stone structures decorated with carven work. The river-bank was covered with a great many warehouses, and there were several official buildings, handsome enough, for the Governor and the King's officers. There was a monastery full of friars, "where we found above a thousand bulls and pardons, newly sent from Rome." Perhaps there was also some sort of a barrack for the troops. The only church was the great church of the monastery. The town was not fortified, but the houses made a sort of hedge around it; and there were but two entrances--the one from the forest, by which Drake's party entered; the other leading over a pontoon bridge towards the hilly woods beyond the Chagres. Attached to the monastery, and tended by the monks and their servants, was a sort of sanatorium and lying-in hospital. Nombre de Dios was so unhealthy, so full of malaria and yellow fever, "that no Spaniard or white woman" could ever be delivered there without the loss of the child on the second or third day. It was the custom of the matrons of Nombre de Dios to proceed to Venta Cruz or to Panama to give birth to their children. The babes were left in the place where they were born, in the care of the friars, until they were five or six years old. They were then brought to Nombre de Dios, where "if they escaped sickness the first or second month, they commonly lived in it as healthily as in any other place." Life in Venta Cruz must have been far from pleasant. The Maroons were a continual menace, but the town was too well guarded, and too close to Panama, for them to put the place in serious danger. The inhabitants had to keep within the township; for the forest lay just beyond the houses, and lonely wanderers were certain to be stabbed by lurking Maroons or carried off by jaguars. In the season the mule trains were continually coming and going, either along the swampy track to Nombre de Dios or from Nombre de Dios to Panama. Boats came sleepily up the Chagres to drop their anchors by the jetty, with news from the Old World and the commodities which the New World did not yield. It must, then, have been one of the most eventful places in the uncomfortable isthmus; but no place can be very pleasant which has an annual rainfall of 120 inches and a mean annual temperature of about 80°. The country adjacent is indescribably beautiful; the river is clear and brilliant; the woods are gorgeous with many-coloured blossoms, and with birds and butterflies that gleam in green and blue among the leaves. During the rains the river sometimes rises forty feet in a night, and sweeps into the town with masses of rotting verdure from the hills. There is always fever in the place, but in the rainy season it is more virulent than in the dry. At present the town has few white inhabitants. The fair stone houses which Drake saw are long since gone, having been destroyed in one of the buccaneering raids a century later. The modern town is a mere collection of dirty huts, inhabited by negroes, half-breeds, and Indians. CHAPTER V BACK TO THE MAIN BODY The treasure train--The spoil--Captain Tetû hurt As soon as the town was in his hands, Drake set guards on the bridge across the Chagres and at the gate by which he had entered the town. He gave orders to the Maroons that they were not to molest women or unarmed men. He gave them free permission to take what they would from the stores and houses, and then went in person to comfort some gentlewomen "which had lately been delivered of children there." They were in terror of their lives, for they had heard the shouts and firing, and had thought that the Maroons were coming. They refused to listen to the various comforters whom Drake had sent to them, and "never ceased most earnestly entreating" that Drake himself would come to them. Drake succeeded in reassuring them that nothing "to the worth of a garter" would be taken from them. They then dried their tears, and were comforted. The raiders stayed in the town about an hour and a half, during which time they succeeded in getting together a little comfortable dew of heaven--not gold, indeed, nor silver, but yet "good pillage." Drake allowed them this latitude so that they might not be cast down by the disappointment of the night. He gave orders, however, that no heavy loot should be carried from the town, because they had yet many miles to go, and were still in danger of attack. While the men were getting their spoils together, ready for marching, and eating a hasty breakfast in the early morning light, a sudden fusillade began at the Panama gate. Some ten or twelve cavaliers had galloped in from Panama, supposing that the pirates had left the town. They had come on confidently, right up to the muzzles of the sentries' muskets. They had then been met with a shattering volley, which killed and wounded half their number and sent the others scattering to the woods. Fearing that they were but a scouting party, and that a troop of horse might be following to support them, Drake gave the word to fall in for the road. The spoil, such as it was, was shouldered; Drake blew a blast upon his whistle; the men formed up into their accustomed marching order, and tramped away from Venta Cruz, across the Chagres bridge, just as the dawn set the parrots screeching and woke the monkeys to their morning song. They seem to have expected no pursuit; but Drake was not a man to run unnecessary risks. His men, including the Maroons, were "grown very valiant," yet they were granted no further chance to show their valour. Drake told them that they had now been "well near a fortnight" from the ship, with her company of sick and sorry sailors. He was anxious to rejoin her without delay, so the word was given to force the marching. He refused to visit the Indian villages, though the Maroons begged him earnestly to do so. His one wish was to rejoin Ellis Hixom. He "hustled" his little company without mercy, encouraging them "with such example and speech that the way seemed much shorter." He himself, we are told, "marched most cheerfully," telling his comrades of the golden spoils they would win before they sailed again for England. There was little ease on that march to the coast, for Drake would allow no one to leave the ranks. When provisions ran out they had to march on empty stomachs. There was no hunting of the peccary or the deer, as on the jolly progress westward. "We marched many days with hungry stomachs," says the narrative, and such was the hurry of the march that many of the men "fainted with sickness of weariness." Their clothes were hanging on their backs in shreds and tatters. Their boots had long since cracked and rotted. Many of them were marching with their feet wrapped up in rags. Many of them were so footsore they could scarcely put their feet upon the ground. Swaying, limping, utterly road-weary, they came tottering into a little village which the Maroons had built as a rest-house for them, about three leagues from the ship. They were quite exhausted. Their feet were bloody and swollen. The last stages had been marched with great bodily suffering, "all our men complaining of the tenderness of their feet." Drake complained also, "sometimes without cause, but sometimes with cause indeed; which made the rest to bear the burden the more easily." Some of the men were carried in by the Maroons. Indeed, the Maroons had saved the whole party from collapse, for they not only built them shelter huts at night, carried the weary, and found, or made, them a road to travel by, but they also bore the whole burden of the company's arms and necessaries. Their fellows who had stayed with Ellis Hixom had built the little town in the woods, for the refreshment of all hands, in case they should arrive worn out with marching. At sunset on the evening of Saturday, the 22nd of February, the weary crew arrived at the little town, to the great joy of the Maroons who kept watch and ward there. The tired men lay down to rest, while Drake "despatched a Cimaroon with a token and certain order to the Master." The day had dawned before this messenger arrived upon the sands near which the ship was moored. He hailed her, crying out that he came with news, and immediately a boat pushed off, manned by men "which longed to hear of our Captain's speeding." As soon as he appeared before Ellis Hixom, he handed over Drake's golden toothpick, "which he said our Captain had sent for a token to Ellis Hixom, with charge to meet him at such a river." The sight of the golden toothpick was too much for Ellis Hixom. He knew it to be his Captain's property, but coming as it did, without a sign in writing, it convinced him that "something had befallen our Captain otherwise than well." The Maroon saw him staring "as amazed," and told him that it was dark when Drake had packed him off, so that no letter could be sent, "but yet with the point of his knife, he wrote something upon the toothpick, 'which,' he said, 'should be sufficient to gain credit to the messenger.'" Looking closely at the sliver of gold, Hixom saw a sentence scratched upon it: "By me, Francis Drake," which convinced him that the message was genuine. He at once called away one of the pinnaces, storing her with "what provision he could," and promptly set sail for the mouth of the Tortugos River, a few miles along the coast, to the west of where he lay, for there Drake intended to await him. At about three o'clock that afternoon, Drake marched his men, or all who were fit to march, out of the forest to the sandy beach at the river's mouth. Half-an-hour later the tattered ragamuffins saw the pinnace running in to take them off, "which was unto us all a double rejoicing: first that we saw them, and next, so soon." The whole company stood up together on the beach to sing some of the psalms of thanksgiving--praising God "most heartily, for that we saw our pinnace and fellows again." To Ellis Hixom and his gang of shipkeepers the raiders appeared "as men strangely changed," though Drake was less changed than the others, in spite of the wound he got at Venta Cruz. The three weeks' march in that abominable country, and the last few days of "fasting and sore travail," would have been enough to "fore pine and waste" the very strongest, while "the grief we drew inwardly, for that we returned without that gold and treasure we hoped for, did no doubt show her print and footsteps in our faces." The next day the pinnace rowed "to another river in the bottom of the bay" to pick up the stragglers who had stayed to rest with the Maroons. The company was then reunited in the secret haven. Wonderful tales were told of the journey across the isthmus, of the South Sea, with its lovely city, and of the rush through the grass in the darkness, when the mule bells came clanging past, that night near Venta Cruz. The sick men recovering from their calentures "were thoroughly revived" by these tales. They importuned Drake to take them with him on the next foray; for Drake gave out that he meant not to leave off thus, but would once again attempt the same journey. In the general rejoicing and merry-making it is possible that Robert Pike remained aloof in the darkness of the 'tween decks, deprived of his allowance of aqua-vitæ. Drake noted the eager spirit among his men, and determined to give it vent. He called them together to a consultation, at which they discussed what was best to be done until the mule trains again set forth from Panama. There was Veragua, "a rich town lying to the Westward, between Nombre de Dios and Nicaragua, where is the richest mine of fine gold that is on this North side." At Veragua also there were little rivers, in which "oftentimes they find pieces of gold as big as peas." Then, if Veragua were thought ill of, as too difficult, there were treasure ships to intercept as they wallowed home for Spain from Nombre de Dios. Or the men might keep themselves employed in capturing victual frigates for the stocking of the ship before they attacked another recua. This last scheme was flouted by many as unnecessary. They had food enough, they said, and what they lacked the country would supply, but the treasure, the comfortable dew of heaven, for which they had come so far, was the main thing, and to get that they were ready to venture on the galleons, soldiers or no soldiers. At this point the Maroons were called in to give their opinion. Most of them had served the Spaniards as slaves in one town or another of the Main. Several of them had worked under the whip of a wealthy Spaniard in Veragua, a creature of the name of Pezoro, who was "bad and cruel, not only to his slaves, but unto all men." This gentleman lived in a strong stone house at a little distance from the town. He had amassed a vast quantity of treasure, for he owned a gold mine, which he worked with 100 slaves. He lived with a guard of soldiers, but the Maroons felt confident that by attacking from the shore side of the house they could easily break in upon him. His gold was stored in his house "in certain great chests." If they succeeded in surprising the house, it would be an easy matter to make a spoil of the whole. Drake did not care for the scheme, as it involved a long march through the woods. He hesitated to put his men to so much labour, for he had now seen something of this woodland marching, and knew how desperate a toil it was. He thought that they would be better employed in gathering victuals and looking out for treasure transports. They might practise both crafts at the same time by separating into two companies. John Oxenham, in the _Bear_ frigate, could sail "Eastwards towards Tolu, to see what store of victuals would come athwart his halse." In the meanwhile he would take the _Minion_ pinnace to the west, to "lie off and on the Cabezas" in order to intercept any treasure transports coming from Veragua or Nicaragua to Nombre de Dios. Those of the Maroons who cared to stay aboard the _Pascha_ were free to do so. The rest were dismissed "most courteously" with "gifts and favours" of the sorts most pleasing to them, such as knives, iron, coloured ribbons and cloth. The companies were picked; the pinnaces received their stores; sails were bent and set, and the two boats sailed away to their stations. Off the Cabezas the _Minion_ fell in with a frigate from Nicaragua "in which was some gold and a Genoese pilot." Drake treated this pilot in his usual liberal manner till he won him over to his interests. He had been in Veragua harbour, he said, but eight days before. He knew the channel perfectly, so that he could carry Drake in, at night if need were, at any state of the tide. The townsfolk, he said, were in a panic on account of Drake's presence in those seas; they were in such a state of terror that they could not decide upon a scheme to defend the town in case he attacked it. Signor Pezoro was thinking of removing himself to the South Seas. The harbour lay open to any enemy, for the only guns in the place were up at the town, about fifteen miles from the haven's mouth. If Drake made a sudden dash, he said, he would be able to cut out a frigate in the harbour. She was fitting for the sea there, and was very nearly ready to sail. She had aboard her "above a million of gold," which, with a little promptness and courage, might become the property of the raiders. On hearing of this golden booty, Drake thought of all that the Maroons had told him. He was minded to return to the anchorage, to fetch off some of those who had lived with Senor Pezoro, in order that he might have a check upon the pilot's statements, and a guide, if need were, to the city. The Genoese dissuaded him from this scheme, pointing out that a return to the ship would waste several days, during which the frigate might get away to sea. Drake, therefore, took the packets of gold from the Nicaraguan prize, and dismissed her "somewhat lighter to hasten her journey." He then got his oars out, and made all haste to the west, under a press of sail, "to get this harbour, and to enter it by night." He hoped to cut out the treasure ship and to have a look at the house of Senor Pezoro--two investments which would "make" the voyage if all went well. But as the boat drew near to the mouth of the harbour "we heard the report of two Chambers, and farther off, about a league within the bay, two others as it were answering them." The Spaniards had espied the boat, and had fired signal guns to warn the shipping and the town. The report of the guns called the Spaniards to arms--an exercise they were more ready to since the Governor of Panama had warned them to expect Drake. "The rich Gnuffe Pezoro," it was thought, had paid the cost of the sentries. "It was not God's will that we should enter at that time," says the narrative. The wind shifted opportunely to the westward; and Drake put his helm up, and ran away to the east, where he picked up the _Bear_, "according to appointment." Oxenham had had a very prosperous and pleasant cruise, for off Tolu he had come across a victual frigate "in which there were ten men [whom they set ashore], great store of maize, twenty-eight fat hogs, and two hundred hens." The lading was discharged into the _Pascha_ on the 19th and 20th of March as a seasonable refreshment to the company. The frigate pleased Drake, for though she was small (not twenty tons, in fact) she was strong, new, and of a beautiful model. As soon as her cargo was out of her, he laid her on her side, and scraped and tallowed her "to make her a Man of war." He then fitted her with guns from the _Pascha_, and stored her with provisions for a cruise. The Spaniards taken in her had spoken of "two little galleys built in Nombre de Dios, to waft [tow] the Chagres Fleet to and fro." They were "not yet both launched," and the Chagres fleet lay waiting for them within the mouth of the Chagres River. Drake "purposed now to adventure for that Fleet." The day on which he made his plan was Easter Sunday, the 22nd March. "And to hearten his company" for that bold attempt "he feasted them that Easter Day with great cheer and cheerfulness" on the dainties taken from the Spaniards. The next day, he manned "the new tallowed frigate of Tolu," and sailed away west (with Oxenham in the _Bear_ in company) "towards the Cativaas," where they landed to refresh themselves. As they played about upon the sand, flinging pebbles at the land-crabs, they saw a sail to the westward coming down towards them. They at once repaired aboard, and made sail, and "plied towards" the stranger, thinking her to be a Spaniard. The stranger held on her course as though to run the raiders aboard, "till he perceived by our confidence that we were no Spaniards, and conjectured we were those Englishmen of whom he had heard long before." He bore up suddenly under the lee of the English ships, "and in token of amity shot off his lee ordnance"--a salute which Drake at once acknowledged by a similar discharge. As the ships neared each other, the stranger hailed Drake, saying that he was Captain Tetû, or Le Testu, a Frenchman of Newhaven (or Havre), in desperate want of water. He had been looking for Drake, he said, for the past five weeks, "and prayed our Captain to help him to some water, for that he had nothing but wine and cider aboard him, which had brought his men into great sickness"--gastritis or dysentery. Drake at once sent a boat aboard with a cask or two of drink, and some fresh meat, "willing him to follow us to the next port, where he should have both water and victuals." As soon as they had brought their ships to anchor, the French captain sent Drake "a case of pistols, and a fair gilt scimitar (which had been the late King's of France) whom Monsieur Montgomery hurt in the eye." The Frenchman had received it from "Monsieur Strozze," or Strozzi, a famous general of banditti. Drake accepted the gift in the magnificent manner peculiar to him, sending the bearer back to Tetû with a chain of gold supporting a tablet of enamel. Having exchanged gifts, according to the custom of the sea, Captain Tetû came off to visit Drake. He was a Huguenot privateer, who had been in France at the time of the Massacre of St Bartholomew, the murder of Coligny, "and divers others murders." He had "thought those Frenchmen the happiest which were farthest from France," and had, therefore, put to sea to escape from persecution. He was now cruising off the Spanish Main, "a Man of war as we were." He had heard much of Drake's spoils upon the coast, and "desired to know" how he too might win a little Spanish gold. His ship was a fine craft of more than eighty tons, manned by seventy men and boys. He asked Drake to take him into partnership, so that they might share the next adventure. The offer was not very welcome to Drake, for the French company was more than double the strength of the English. Drake had but thirty-one men left alive, and he regarded Tetû with a good deal of jealousy and a good deal of distrust. Yet with only thirty-one men he could hardly hope to succeed in any great adventure. If he joined with the French, he thought there would be danger of their appropriating most of the booty after using him and his men as their tools. The English sailors were of the same opinion; but it was at last decided that Tetû, with twenty picked hands, should be admitted to partnership, "to serve with our Captain for halves." It was something of a risk, but by admitting only twenty of the seventy men the risk was minimised. They were not enough to overpower Drake in case they wished to make away with all the booty, yet they made him sufficiently strong to attempt the schemes he had in hand. An agreement was, therefore, signed; a boat was sent to the secret anchorage to bring the Cimmeroons; and the three ships then sailed away to the east, to the magazines of food which Drake had stored some weeks before. Here they lay at anchor for five or six days to enable the sick Frenchmen to get their health and strength after their weeks of misery. The Huguenot ship was revictualled from the magazines and then taken with the _Bear_ into the secret haven. The third pinnace, the _Lion_, had been sunk a few days before, but the other two, the _Eion_ and the _Minion_, with the new Tolu frigate, were set in order for the next adventure. Drake chose fifteen of his remaining thirty hands, and sent them down into the pinnaces with a few Maroons. The twenty Frenchmen joined him, under their captain, and the expedition then set sail for Rio Francisco, fifteen miles from Nombre de Dios. As they sailed, the Maroons gave out that the frigate was too deep a ship to cross the Rio Francisco bar, which had little water on it at that season of the year. They, therefore, sailed her back, and left her at the Cabezas, "manned with English and French, in the charge of Richard Doble," with strict orders not to venture out until the return of the pinnaces. Putting her complement into the pinnaces, they again set sail for the mouth of the Francisco River. They crossed the bar without difficulty, and rowed their boats upstream. They landed some miles from the sea, leaving the pinnaces in charge of some Maroons. These had orders to leave the river, and hide themselves in the Cabezas, and to await the raiders at the landing-place, without fail, in four days' time. As soon as Drake had landed, he ordered the company in the formation he had used on his march to Panama. He enjoined strict silence upon all, and gave the word to march. They set forward silently, through the cane-brakes and lush undergrowth, upon the long, seven leagues march to the town of Nombre de Dios. They marched all day uncomplainingly, so that at dusk they had crept to within a mile of the trackway, a little to the south of the town. They were now on some gently rising ground, with the swamps and Nombre de Dios at their feet. It made a good camping-ground; and there they passed the night of the 31st of March, resting and feasting "in great stillness, in a most convenient place." They were so close to the town that they could hear the church bells ringing and the clatter of the hammers in the bay, where the carpenters were at work upon the treasure ships. They were working there busily, beating in the rivets all night, in the coolness, to fit the ships for sea. Nearer to them, a little to the west, was the trackway, so that they could hear the mule trains going past to Panama with a great noise of ringing bells. Early on the morning of the 1st of April they heard a great clang of bells among the woods. The mule trains were coming in from Venta Cruz--three mule trains according to the Cimmeroons, laden with "more gold and silver than all of us could bear away." The adventurers took their weapons, and crept through the scrub to the trackway "to hear the bells." In a few minutes, when each side of the track had been manned by the adventurers, the treasure trains trotted up with a great clang and clatter. There were three complete recuas, "one of 50 mules, the other two of 70 each, every of which carried 300 lbs. of silver; which in all amounted to near thirty tons." The trains were guarded by a half company of Spanish foot, "fifteen to each company." The soldiers marched by the side of the trains, blowing on their matches to keep the smouldering ends alight. As the leading mules came up with the head of the ambush Drake blew a blast upon his whistle. The raiders rose from their hiding-place, and fired a volley of shot and arrows at the troops. At the same moment tarry hands were laid upon the heads of the leading mules, so that "all the rest stayed and lay down as their manner is." The Spanish soldiers, taken by surprise, were yet a credit to their colours. They fell into confusion at the first assault, but immediately rallied. A brisk skirmish began, over the bodies of the mules, with sharp firing of muskets and arrows. Captain Tetû was hit in the belly with a charge of hail-shot; a Maroon was shot dead; and then the sailors cleared the road with a rush, driving the Spanish pell-mell towards the town. Then with feverish hands they cast adrift the mule packs "to ease some of the mules, which were heaviest loaden, of their carriage." They were among such wealth as few men have looked upon at the one time. How much they took will never now be known, but each man there had as much pure gold, in bars and quoits, as he could carry. They buried about fifteen tons of silver "partly in the burrows which the great land-crabs had made in the earth, and partly under old trees which were fallen thereabout, and partly in the sand and gravel of a river, "not very deep of water." Some of it, no doubt, remains there to this day. In about two hours' time, they were ready to return to their pinnaces. They formed into order, and hurried away towards the woods, making as much haste as the weight of plunder would allow. As they gained the shelter of the forest they heard a troop of horse, with some arquebusiers, coming hurriedly to the rescue of the mules. They attempted no pursuit, for no Spaniard cared to enter the forest to attack a force in which Maroons were serving. The raiders were, therefore, able to get clear away into the jungle. All that day and the next day they hurried eastward through the scrub. They made a brief pause, as they tramped, to lay down Captain Tetû, whose wound prevented him from marching. He could go no farther, and begged that he might be left behind in the forest, "in hope that some rest would recover him better strength." Two French sailors stayed with him to protect him. CHAPTER VI THE ADVENTURE OF THE RAFT Drake's voyage to the Catives--Homeward bound--The interrupted sermon When the retreating force had gone about two leagues, they discovered that a Frenchman was missing from the ranks. He had not been hurt in the fight; but there was no time to search for him (as a matter of fact, he had drunk too much wine, and had lost himself in the woods), so again they pressed on to the pinnaces and safety. On the 3rd of April, utterly worn out with the hurry of the retreat, they came to the Francisco River. They were staggering under the weight of all their plunder, and, to complete their misery, they were wet to the skin with a rain-storm which had raged all night. To their horror they found no pinnaces awaiting them, but out at sea, not far from the coast, were seven Spanish pinnaces which had been beating up the inlets for them. These were now rowing as though directly from the rendezvous at the Cabezas, so that the draggled band upon the shore made no doubt that their pinnaces had been sunk, their friends killed or taken, and the retreat cut off. Drake's chief fear, on seeing these Spanish boats, was that "they had compelled our men by torture to confess where his frigate and ships were." To the disheartened folk about him it seemed that all hope of returning home was now gone, for they made no doubt that the ships were by this time destroyed. Some of them flung down their gold in despair, while all felt something of the general panic. The Maroons recommended that the march should be made by land, "though it were sixteen days' journey," promising them that, if the ships were taken, they might sojourn among them in the forest as long as they wished. The sailors were in too great "distress and perplexity" to listen to counsel; but Drake had a genius for handling situations of the kind, and he now came forward to quell the uproar. The men were babbling and swearing in open mutiny, and the case demanded violent remedy. He called for silence, telling the mutineers that he was no whit better off than they were; that it was no time to give way to fear, but a time to keep a stiff upper lip, and play the man. He reminded them that, even if the Spaniards had taken the pinnaces, "which God forbid," "yet they must have time to search them, time to examine the mariners, time to execute their resolution after it is determined." "Before all these times be taken," he exclaimed angrily, "we may get to our ships if ye will." They might not hope to go by land, he said, for it would take too long, and the ways would be too foul. But why should they not go by water? There was the river at their feet, roaring down in full spate, tumbling the trunks of trees destroyed in last night's storm. Why in the world should they not make a raft of the trees, "and put ourselves to sea"? "I will be one," he concluded, "who will be the other?" The appeal went home to the sailors. An Englishman named John Smith at once came forward, with a couple of Frenchmen "who could swim very well." The Maroons formed into a line beside the river, and the tree trunks were caught and hauled ashore to form the body of the raft. The branches were trimmed with the hatchets they had brought to clear a path through the forest. The boles were fastened together with thongs stolen from the recua, and with the pliant bejuca growing all about them. The men worked merrily, convinced that Drake would find a way to bring the ship to them. As soon as the raft was built, a mast was stepped in her, on which a biscuit sack was hoisted for a sail. A young tree, working in a crutch, served them as a steering oar. The four men went aboard, a line was laid out to the bar, and the curious raft was hauled off into the sea. The last of the storm of the night before was still roaring up aloft. A high sea was running, and the wind blew strong from the west. Drake put his helm up, and stood off before it, crying out to the company that "if it pleased God, he should put his foot in safety aboard his frigate, he would, God willing, by one means or other get them all aboard, in despite of all the Spaniards in the Indies." Those who have sailed on a raft in calm water will appreciate the courage of Drake's deed. The four men aboard her had to squat in several inches of salt water, holding on for their lives, while the green seas came racing over them "to the arm pits" at "every surge of the wave." The day was intensely hot in spite of the wind, and "what with the parching of the sun and what with the beating of the salt water, they had all of them their skins much fretted away." With blistered and cracking faces, parched with the heat and the salt, and shivering from the continual immersion, they sailed for six hours, making about a knot and a half an hour. When they had made their third league "God gave them the sight of two pinnaces" beating towards them under oars and sail, and making heavy weather of it. The sight of the boats was a great joy to the four sufferers on the raft. They edged towards them as best they could, crying out that all was safe, "so that there was no cause of fear." It was now twilight, and the wind, already fierce, was blowing up into a gale. In the failing light, with the spray sweeping into their eyes, the men aboard the pinnaces could not see the raft, nor could they make headway towards her with the wind as it was. As Drake watched, he saw them bear up for a cove to the lee of a point of land, where they could shelter for the night. He waited a few moments to see if they would put forth again, but soon saw that they had anchored. He then ran his raft ashore to windward of them, on the other side of the headland. He was very angry with the pinnaces' hands for their disobedience of orders. Had they done as he had commanded them, they would have been in the Francisco River the night before, and all the pains and danger of the raft would have been unnecessary. Drake, therefore, resolved to play a trick upon them. As soon as he landed, he set off running to the haven where the boats lay, followed by John Smith and the two Frenchmen--all running "in great haste," "as if they had been chased by the enemy." The hands in the pinnaces saw the four men hurrying towards them, and at once concluded that the Spaniards had destroyed the expedition, and that these four hunted wretches were the sole survivors. In an agony of suspense they got the four men into the boats, eagerly asking where the others were, and in what state. To these inquiries "he answered coldly, 'Well'"--an answer which convinced them that their mates were either dead or in the hands of the Spaniards. Drake watched their misery for a little while, and then being "willing to rid all doubts, and fill them with joy," he took from the bosom of his shirt "a quoit of gold," giving thanks to God that the voyage was at last "made." Some Frenchmen were in the boat, and to these he broke the news of Captain Tetû's wound and how he had been left behind in the forest, "and two of his company with him." He then bade the men to get the grapnels up, as he was determined to row to the Rio Francisco that night. After the anchors were raised, and the oars shipped, a few hours of desperate rowing brought them to the river's mouth, where the company had camped about a fire. By the dawn of the next day the whole expedition was embarked, and the pinnaces (their planking cracking with the weight of treasure) were running eastward with a fresh wind dead astern. They picked up the frigate that morning, and then stood on for the ships, under sail, with great joy. Soon they were lying safe at anchor in the shelter of the secret haven at Fort Diego. All the gold and silver were laid together in a heap, and there in the full view of all hands, French and English, Drake weighed it on the steward's meat scales, dividing it into two equal portions, to the satisfaction of everyone. The French took their portion aboard their ship as soon as it had been allotted to them. They then begged Drake for some more sea-stores, to fit them for the sea, and he gave them a quantity of provisions from his secret magazines. They then filled their water casks, and stood away to the west, to cruise for a few days off the Cabezas in the hope of obtaining news of Captain Tetû. As soon as they had gone, Drake ordered his old ship, the _Pascha_, to be stripped of all things necessary for the fitting of the frigate, the Spanish prize. The long months at Port Diego had left her very foul, and it was easier to dismantle her than to fit her for the sea. While she was being stripped to equip the frigate, Drake organised another expedition to recover Captain Tetû and the buried silver. His men would not allow him to take a part in this final adventure, so Oxenham, and one Thomas Sherwell, were placed in command. Drake accompanied them as far as the Francisco River, taking an oar in one of the pinnaces which conveyed them. As they rowed lightly up the stream, the reeds were thrust aside, and one of Captain Tetû's two comrades came staggering out, and fell upon his knees. In a broken voice he thanked God that ever Drake was born to deliver him thus, after he had given up all hope. He told them that he had been surprised by the Spaniards half-an-hour after he had taken up his post beside his wounded captain. As the Spaniards came upon them, he took to his heels, followed by his mate. He had been carrying a lot of pillage, but as he ran he threw it all away, including a box of jewels, which caught his mate's eye as it fell in the grass. "His fellow took it up, and burdened himself so sore that he could make no speed," so that the Spaniards soon overtook him, and carried him away with Captain Tetû. Having taken two of the three Frenchmen, the Spaniards were content to leave the chase, and the poor survivor had contrived to reach the Rio Francisco after several days of wandering in the woods. As for the silver which they had buried so carefully in the sands, "he thought that it was all gone ... for that ... there had been near two thousand Spaniards and Negroes there to dig and search for it." Notwithstanding this report, John Oxenham with a company of twenty-seven men, marched west to view the place. He found that the earth "every way a mile distant had been digged and turned up," for the Spaniards had put their captives to the torture to learn what had been done with the treasure. Most of it had been recovered by this means, "yet nevertheless, for all that narrow search," a little of the dew of heaven was still glimmering in the crab-holes. The company was able to rout out some quantity of refined gold, with thirteen bars of silver, weighing some forty pounds apiece. With this spoil upon their backs, they returned to the Rio Francisco, where the pinnaces took them off to the frigate. Now that the voyage was made, it was "high time to think of homeward," before the Spaniards should fit out men-of-war against them. Drake was anxious to give the _Pascha_ to the Spanish prisoners, as some compensation for their weeks of captivity. He could not part with her, however, till he had secured another vessel to act as tender, or victualler, to his little frigate. He determined to make a cast to the east, as far as the Rio Grande, to look for some suitable ship. The Huguenot privateer, which had been lying off the Cabezas, sailed eastward in his company, having abandoned Captain Tetû and his two shipmates to the mercies of the Spaniards. They stood along the coast together as far as the Isles of San Barnardo, where the French ship parted company. The Spanish plate fleet, with its guard of galleons, was riding at the entry to Cartagena, and the Frenchmen feared that by coming too near they might be taken. They, therefore, saluted Drake with guns and colours, and shaped their course for Hispaniola and home. [Illustration: SHIP AND FLYING FISH] But Drake held on in his way in a bravery, determined to see the Rio Grande before returning home. He sailed past Cartagena almost within gunshot, "in the sight of all the Fleet, with a flag of St George in the main top of our frigate, with silk streamers and ancients down to the water, sailing forward with a large wind." Late that night they arrived off the mouth of the Rio Grande, where they shortened sail, "and lay off and on." At midnight the wind veered round to the eastward, so that the victuallers at anchor in the river were able to set sail for Cartagena. About two o'clock in the morning a frigate slipped over the bar under small sail, and ran past Drake towards the west. The English at once opened fire upon her with their shot and arrows, to which the Spaniards replied with their quick-firing guns. While the English gunners plied her with missiles a pinnace laid her aboard, at which the Spaniards leaped overboard and swam for the shore. The newly taken frigate proved to be some seven or eight tons larger than the one in which the English had come to the east. She was laden with maize, hens, and hogs, and a large quantity of honey from the wild bees of Nueva Reyna. As soon as the day dawned, the two frigates sailed away again to the Cabezas to prepare for the voyage home. The prize's cargo was discharged upon the beach. Both frigates were then hove down, and the Spanish prisoners (taken some weeks before) were allowed to depart aboard the _Pascha_. The barnacles were scrubbed and burned off the frigates; their bends were resheathed and retallowed; the provisions were stowed in good trim; water casks were filled; and all things set in order for the voyage. The dainty pinnaces, which had done them such good service, and carried them so many weary miles, were then torn to pieces, and burned, "that the Cimaroons might have the iron-work." Lastly, Drake asked Pedro and three Maroon chiefs to go through both the frigates "to see what they liked." He wished them to choose themselves some farewell gifts, and promised them that they should have what they asked, unless it were essential to the safety of the vessels. We are not told the choice of the three Maroon chiefs, but we read that Pedro chose the "fair gilt scimitar," the gift of Captain Tetû, which had once belonged to Henri II. of France. Drake had not meant to part with it, but Pedro begged for it so prettily, through the mouth of one Francis Tucker, that Drake gave it him "with many good words," together with a quantity of silk and linen for the wives of those who had marched with him. They then bade adieu to the delighted Pedro and his fellows, for it was time to set sail for England. With a salute of guns and colours, with the trumpets sounding, and the ships' companies to give a cheer, the two little frigates slipped out of their harbour, and stood away under all sail for Cape St Antonio. They took a small barque laden with hides upon the way, but dismissed her as being useless to them after they had robbed her of her pump. At Cape St Antonio they salted and dried a number of turtles, as provisions for the voyage. Then they took their departure cheerfully towards the north, intending to call at Newfoundland to fill with water. The wind blew steadily from the south and west to blow them home, so that this scheme was abandoned. Abundant rain supplied their water casks, the wind held steady, the sun shone, and the blue miles slipped away. "Within twenty-three days" they passed "from the Cape of Florida to the Isles of Scilly," the two Spanish frigates being admirable sailers. With the silk streamers flying in a bravery the two ships sailed into Plymouth "on Sunday, about sermon time, August the 9th, 1573." There they dropped anchor to the thunder of the guns, to the great joy of all the townsfolk. "The news of our Captain's return ... did so speedily pass over all the church, and surpass their minds with desire and delight to see him, that very few or none remained with the Preacher, all hastening to see the evidence of God's love and blessing towards our Gracious Queen and country, by the fruit of our Captain's labour and success. _Soli Deo Gloria._" We may take leave of him at this point, with the Plymouth bells ringing him a welcome and the worshippers flocking down to see him land. _Note._--"There were at the time," says the narrative, "belonging to Cartagena, Nombre de Dios, Rio Grande, Santa Marta, Rio de la Hacha, Venta Cruz, Veragua, Nicaragua, the Honduras, Jamaica, etc.; above 200 frigates; some of 120 tons, others but of 10 or 12 tons, but the most of 30 or 40 tons, which all had intercourse between Cartagena and Nombre de Dios. The most of which, during our abode in those parts, we took; and some of them twice or thrice each." Most of these frigates were provision ships, but in all of them, no doubt, there was a certain amount of gold and silver, besides uncut jewels or pearls from the King's Islands. We do not know the amount of Drake's plunder, but with the spoil of all these frigates, added to the loot of the recua, it must have been very considerable. He may have made as much as £40,000, or more, or less. It is as well to put the estimate low. CHAPTER VII JOHN OXENHAM The voyage--His pinnace--Into the South Sea--Disaster--His unhappy end The John Oxenham, or Oxnam, who followed Drake to Nombre de Dios, and stood with him that sunny day watching the blue Pacific from the tree-top, was a Devonshire gentleman from South Tawton. He was of good family and well to do. He may, perhaps, have given money towards the fitting out of Drake's squadron. It is at least certain that he held in that voyage a position of authority considerably greater than that of "soldier, mariner, and cook"--the rates assigned to him by Sir Richard Hawkins. On his return from the Nombre de Dios raid, he disappears, and it is uncertain whether he followed Drake to Ireland, or settled down at home in Devonshire. He did not forget the oath he had sworn to his old Captain, to follow him to the South Sea in God's good time. But after waiting a year or two, and finding that Drake was not ready to attempt that adventure, he determined to go at his own charge, with such men as he could find. He was well known in the little Devon seaports as a bold sailor and fiery sea-captain. He was "a fine figure of a man," and the glory of Drake's raid was partly his. He was looked upon as one of the chief men in that foray. He had, therefore, little difficulty in getting recruits for a new voyage to the Main. In the year 1574 he set sail from Plymouth in a fine ship of 140 tons, with a crew of seventy men and boys. He made a fair passage to the Main, and anchored in Drake's old anchorage--either that of the secret haven, in the Gulf of Darien, or that farther west, among the Catives. Here he went ashore, and made friends with the Maroons, some of whom, no doubt, were old acquaintances, still gay with beads or iron-work which he had given them two years before. They told him that the treasure trains "from Panama to Nombre de Dios" were now strongly guarded by Spanish soldiers, so that he might not hope to win such a golden booty as Drake had won, by holding up a recua on the march. Oxenham, therefore, determined "to do that which never any man before enterprised"--by leaving his ship, marching over the watershed, building a pinnace in the woods, and going for a cruise on the South Sea. He dragged his ship far into the haven, struck her topmasts, and left her among the trees, beached on the mud, and covered with green boughs so as to be hidden from view. Her great guns were swung ashore, and buried, and the graves of them strewn with leaves and brushwood. He then armed his men with their calivers and their sacks of victual, "and so went with the Negroes," dragging with them two small guns, probably quick-firing guns, mounted on staves of wood or iron. Hawkins says that he left four or five men behind him as shipkeepers. After a march of "about twelve leagues into the maine-land" the Maroons brought him to a river "that goeth to the South Sea." Here the party halted, and built themselves little huts of boughs to live in while they made themselves a ship. They cut down some trees here, and built themselves a pinnace "which was five and fortie foot by the keele." They seem to have brought their sails and tackling with them, but had they not done so they could have made shift with the rough Indian cloth and the fibrous, easily twisted bark of the maho-tree. Having built this little ship, they went aboard of her, and dropped downstream to the Pacific--the first English crew, but not the first Englishman, to sail those waters. Six negroes came with them to act as guides. As soon as they had sailed out of the river's mouth, they made for the Pearl Islands, or Islands of the King, "which is five and twentie leagues from Panama." Here they lay very close, in some snug inlet hidden from the sea. Some of them went inland to a rocky cliff, to watch the seas for ships coming northward from Peru with treasure from the gold and silver mines. The islands are in the fairway between Panama and Lima, but ten days passed before the watchers saw a sail, and cried out to those in the boat. "There came a small Barke by, which came from Peru, from a place called Quito"; and the pinnace dashed alongside of her, and carried her by the sword, before her sailors learned what was the matter. She was laden with "sixtie thousand pezos of golde, and much victuals." John Oxenham took her lading, and kept the barque by him, while he stayed on at the islands. At the end of six days, another "barke" came by, from Lima, "in whiche he tooke an hundred thousand pezos of silver in barres." This was plunder enough to "make" any voyage, and with this John Oxenham was content. Before he sailed away, however, he marched upon one or two of the Pearl fisheries, where he found a few pearls. He then sailed northward to the river's mouth taking his prizes with him, with all the prisoners. At the river's mouth he very foolishly "sent away the two prizes that hee tooke"--a piece of clemency which knotted the rope under his ear. He then sailed up the river, helping his pinnace by poles, oars, and warps, but making slow progress. Before he reached this river, the negroes of the Pearl Islands sent word to the Governor of Panama that English pirates had been in those seas plundering their fisheries. "Within two days" the Governor despatched four galleys, "with negroes to rowe," and twenty-five musketeers in each galley, under the Captain John de Ortega, to search the Pearl Islands very thoroughly for those robbers. They reached the islands, learned in which direction the pirate ships had gone, and rowed away north to overtake them. As they came near the land, they fell in with the two prizes, the men of which were able to tell them how the pirates had gone up the river but a few days before. John de Ortega came to the river's mouth with his four galleys, and "knew not which way to take, because there were three partitions in the river, to goe up in." He decided at last to go up the greatest, and was actually rowing towards it, when "he saw comming down a lesser river many feathers of hennes, which the Englishmen had pulled to eate." These drifting feathers, thrown overboard so carelessly, decided the Spanish captain. He turned up the lesser river "where he saw the feathers," and bade his negroes give way heartily. Four days later, he saw the English pinnace drawn up on the river-bank "upon the sands," guarded by six of her crew. The musketeers at once fired a volley, which killed one of the Englishmen, and sent the other five scattering to the cover of the woods. There was nothing in the pinnace but bread and meat. All the gold pezoes and the bars of silver had been landed. The presence of the boat guard warned the Spanish captain that the main body of the pirates was near at hand. He determined to land eighty of his musketeers to search those woods before returning home. "Hee had not gone half a league" before he found one of the native huts, thatched with palm leaves, in which were "all the Englishmen's goods and the gold and silver also." The Englishmen were lying about the hut, many of them unarmed, with no sentry keeping a lookout for them. Taken by surprise as they were, they ran away into the woods, leaving all things in the hands of the Spaniards. The Spaniards carried the treasure back to the galleys, and rowed slowly down the river "without following the Englishmen any further." It appeared later, that Oxenham had ordered his men to carry the gold and silver from the place where they had hauled the pinnace ashore, to the place where the ship was hidden. To this the mariners joyfully assented, "for hee promised to give them part of it besides their wages." Unfortunately, they wished this "part of it" paid to them at once, before they shifted an ingot--a want which seemed to reflect upon John Oxenham's honour. He was naturally very angry "because they would not take his word" to pay them something handsome when he reached home. He was a choleric sea-captain, and began, very naturally, to damn them for their insolence. "He fell out with them, and they with him," says Hakluyt. One of them, stung by his Captain's curses, "would have killed the Captaine" there and then, with his caliver,[2] or sailor's knife. This last act was too much. Oxenham gave them a few final curses, and told them that, if such were their temper, they should not so much as touch a quoit of the treasure, but that he would get Maroons to carry it. He then left them, and went alone into the forest to find Maroons for the porterage. As he came back towards the camp, with a gang of negroes, he met the five survivors of the boat guard "and the rest also which ran from the house," all very penitent and sorry now that the mischief had been done. They told him of the loss of the treasure, and looked to him for guidance and advice, promising a better behaviour in the future. Oxenham told them that if they helped him to recover the treasure, they should have half of it, "if they got it from the Spaniards." "The Negroes promised to help him with their bows and arrows," and with this addition to their force they set off down the river-bank in pursuit. [Footnote 2: _Caliver_, a light, hand musket. A musket without a crutch, or rest.] After three days' travelling, they came upon the Spaniards, in camp, on the bank of the river, apparently in some strong position, sheltered with trees. Oxenham at once fell on "with great fury," exposing himself and his men to the bullets of the musketeers. The Spaniards were used to woodland fighting. Each musketeer retired behind a tree, and fired from behind it, without showing more than his head and shoulders, and then but for a moment. The Englishmen charged up the slope to the muzzles of the guns, but were repulsed with loss, losing eleven men killed and five men taken alive. The number of wounded is not stated. The negroes, who were less active in the charge, lost only five men. The Spaniards loss was two killed "and five sore hurt." The English were beaten off the ground, and routed. They made no attempt to rally, and did not fall on a second time. The Spanish captain asked his prisoners why they had not crossed the isthmus to their ship in the days before the pursuit began. To this the prisoners answered with the tale of their mutinies, adding that their Captain would not stay longer in those parts now that his company had been routed. The Spaniards then buried their dead, retired on board their galleys, and rowed home to Panama, taking with them their prisoners and the English pinnace. When they arrived in that city, the prisoners were tortured till they confessed where their ship was hidden. Advice was then sent to Nombre de Dios, where four pinnaces were at once equipped to seek out the secret haven. They soon found the ship, "and brought her to Nombre de Dios," where her guns and buried stores were divided among the King's ships employed in the work of the coast. While this search for the ship was being made, the Viceroy of Peru sent out 150 musketeers to destroy the "fiftie English men" remaining alive. These troops, conducted by Maroons, soon found the English in a camp by the river, "making of certaine Canoas to goe into the North Sea, and there to take some Bark or other." Many of them were sick and ill, "and were taken." The rest escaped into the forest, where they tried to make some arrangement with the negroes. The negroes, it seems, were angry with Oxenham for his failure to keep his word to them. They had agreed to help him on condition that they might have all the Spanish prisoners to torture "to feed their insatiable revenges." Oxenham had released his prisoners, as we have seen, and the Maroons had been disappointed of their dish of roasted Spaniards' hearts. They were naturally very angry, and told John Oxenham, when he came to them for help, that his misfortunes were entirely due to his own folly. Had he kept his word, they said, he would have reached his ship without suffering these reverses. After a few days, being weary of keeping so many foreigners, they betrayed the English sailors to the Spaniards. "They were brought to Panama," to the justice of that city, who asked John Oxenham "whether hee had the Queene's licence, or the licence of any other Prince or Lord, for his attempt." To this John Oxenham answered that he had no licence saving his sword. He was then condemned to death with the rest of his company, with the exception of two (or five) ships' boys. After a night or two in Panama prison, within sound of the surf of the Pacific, the mariners were led out, and shot. Oxenham and the master and the pilot were sent to Lima, where they were hanged as pirates in the square of the city. A force of musketeers was then sent into the interior, to reduce the Maroons "which had assisted those English men." The punitive force "executed great justice," till "the Negroes grew wise and wary," after which there was no more justice to be done. The ships' boys, who were spared, were probably sold as slaves in Lima, or Panama. They probably lived in those towns for the rest of their lives, and may have become good Catholics, and wealthy, after due probation under the whip. Sir Richard Hawkins, who was in Panama in 1593, and who may have heard a Spanish version of the history, tells us that aboard the treasure ship taken by Oxenham were "two peeces of speciall estimation: the one a table of massie gold, with emralds ... a present to the King; the other a lady of singular beautie." According to Sir Richard, John Oxenham fell in love with this lady, and it was through her prayers that he released the other prisoners. He is said to have "kept the lady" when he turned the other prisoners away. The lady's "sonne, or a nephew," who was among those thus discharged, made every effort to redeem his mother (or aunt). He prayed so vehemently and "with such diligence," to the Governor at Panama, that the four galleys were granted to him "within few howers." The story is not corroborated; but Oxenham was very human, and Spanish beauty, like other beauty, is worth sinning for. A year or two later, Captain Andrew Barker of Bristol, while cruising off the Main, captured a Spanish frigate "between Chagre and Veragua." On board of her, pointing through the port-holes, were four cast-iron guns which had been aboard John Oxenham's ship. They were brought to England, and left in the Scilly Islands, A.D. 1576. _Note._--The story of John Oxenham is taken from "Purchas his Pilgrimes," vol. iv. (the original large 4to edition); and from Hakluyt, vol. iii. p. 526. Another version of the tale is given in Sir R. Hawkins' "Observations." He is also mentioned in Hakluyt's account of Andrew Barker. CHAPTER VIII THE SPANISH RULE IN HISPANIOLA Rise of the buccaneers--The hunters of the wild bulls--Tortuga--Buccaneer politics--Buccaneer customs In 1492, when Columbus landed on Hayti, he found there about 1,000,000 Indians, of a gentle refinement of manners, living peaceably under their kings or caciques. They were "faint-hearted creatures," "a barbarous sort of people, totally given to sensuality and a brutish custom of life, hating all manner of labour, and only inclined to run from place to place." The Spaniards killed many thousands of them, hunted a number with their bloodhounds, sent a number to work the gold-mines, and caused about a third of the population to commit suicide or die of famine. They discouraged sensuality and a distaste for work so zealously that within twenty years they had reduced the population to less than a twentieth part of its original 1,000,000 of souls. They then called the island Hispaniola, and built a city, on the south coast, as the capital. This city they called Nueva Ysabel, in honour of the Queen of Spain, but the name was soon changed to that of St Domingo.[3] [Footnote 3: See particularly Burney, Exquemeling, Edwards, and Hazard.] Those Indians who were not enslaved, retired to the inmost parts of the island, to the shelter of the thickest woods, where they maintained themselves by hunting. The swine and cattle, which had belonged to their fellows in their prosperous days, ran wild, and swarmed all over the island in incredible numbers. The dogs of the caciques also took to the woods, where they ranged in packs of two or three score, hunting the wild swine and the calves. The Spaniards seem to have left the interior of the island to the few survivors, as they had too few slaves to cultivate it. They settled themselves at St Domingo, and at various places upon the coast, such as Santiago and St John of Goave. They planted tobacco, sugar, chocolate, and ginger, and carried on a considerable trade with the cities on the Main and in the mother country. Hayti, or Hispaniola, is in the fairway of ships coming from Europe towards the Main. It was at one time looked upon as the landfall to be made before proceeding west to Vera Cruz or south to Cartagena. The French, English, and Hollanders, who visited those seas "maugre the King of Spain's beard," discovered it at a very early date. They were not slow to recognise its many advantages. The Spanish, who fiercely resented the presence of any foreigners in a part of the world apportioned to Spain by the Pope, did all they could to destroy them whenever they had the opportunity. But the Spanish population in the Indies was small, and spread over a vast area, and restricted, by Government rules, to certain lines of action. They could not patrol the Indies with a number of guarda costas sufficient to exclude all foreign ships, nor could they set guards, in forts, at every estancia or anchorage in the vast coast-line of the islands. Nor could they enforce the Spanish law, which forbade the settlers to trade with the merchants of other countries. It often happened that a ship from France, Holland, or England arrived upon the coasts of Hispaniola, or some other Spanish colony, off some settlement without a garrison. The settlers in these out-of-the-way places were very glad to trade with such ships, for the freight they brought was cheaper and of better quality than that which paid duty to their King. The goods were landed, and paid for. The ships sent their crews ashore to fill fresh water or to reprovision, and then sailed home for Europe, to return the next year with new goods. On the St Domingo or Hispaniola coasts there are countless creeks and inlets, making good harbours, where these smuggling ships might anchor or careen. The land was well watered and densely wooded, so that casks could be filled, and firewood obtained, without difficulty on any part of the coast. Moreover, the herds of wild cattle and droves of wild boars enabled the ships to reprovision without cost. Before the end of the sixteenth century, it had become the custom for privateers to recruit upon the coast of Hispaniola, much as Drake recruited at Port Plenty. The ships used to sail or warp into some snug cove, where they could be laid upon the careen to allow their barnacles to be burned away. The crews then landed, and pitched themselves tents of sails upon the beach, while some of their number took their muskets, and went to kill the cattle in the woods. In that climate, meat does not keep for more than a few hours, and it often happened that the mariners had little salt to spare for the salting of their kill. They, therefore, cured the meat in a manner they had learned from the Carib Indians. The process will be described later on. The Spanish guarda costas, which were swift small vessels like the frigates Drake captured on the Main, did all they could to suppress the illegal trafficking. Their captains had orders to take no prisoners, and every "interloper" who fell into their hands was either hanged, like Oxenham, or shot, like Oxenham's mariners. The huntsmen in the woods were sometimes fired at by parties of Spaniards from the towns. There was continual war between the Spaniards, the surviving natives, and the interlopers. But when the Massacre of St Bartholomew drove many Huguenots across the water to follow the fortunes of captains like Le Testu, and when the news of Drake's success at Nombre de Dios came to England, the interlopers began to swarm the seas in dangerous multitudes. Before 1580, the western coast of Hispaniola had become a sort of colony, to which the desperate and the adventurous came in companies. The ships used to lie at anchor in the creeks, while a number of the men from each ship went ashore to hunt cattle and wild boars. Many of the sailors found the life of the hunter passing pleasant. There were no watches to keep, no master to obey, no bad food to grumble at, and, better still, no work to do, save the pleasant work of shooting cattle for one's dinner. Many of them found the life so delightful that they did not care to leave it when the time came for their ships to sail for Europe. Men who had failed to win any booty on the "Terra Firma," and had no jolly drinking-bout to look for on the quays at home, were often glad to stay behind at the hunting till some more fortunate captain should put in in want of men. Shipwrecked men, men who were of little use at sea, men "who had disagreed with their commander," began to settle on the coast in little fellowships.[4] They set on foot a regular traffic with the ships which anchored there. They killed great quantities of meat, which they exchanged (to the ships' captains) for strong waters, muskets, powder and ball, woven stuffs, and iron-ware. After a time, they began to preserve the hides, "by pegging them out very tite on the Ground,"--a commodity of value, by which they made much money. The bones they did not seem to have utilised after they had split them for their marrow. The tallow and suet were sold to the ships--the one to grease the ships' bottoms when careened, the other as an article for export to the European countries. It was a wild life, full of merriment and danger. The Spaniards killed a number of them, both French and English, but the casualties on the Spanish side were probably a good deal the heavier. The huntsmen became more numerous. For all that the Spaniards could do, their settlements and factories grew larger. The life attracted people, in spite of all its perils, just as tunny fishing attracted the young gallant in Cervantes. A day of hunting in the woods, a night of jollity, with songs, over a cup of drink, among adventurous companions--_qué cosa tan bonita!_ We cannot wonder that it had a fascination. If a few poor fellows in their leather coats lay out on the savannahs with Spanish bullets in their skulls, the rum went none the less merrily about the camp fires of those who got away. [Footnote 4: See Exquemeling, Burney, and the Abbé Raynal.] In 1586, on New Year's Day to be exact, Sir Francis Drake arrived off Hispaniola with his fleet. He had a Greek pilot with him, who helped him up the roads to within gunshot of St Domingo. The old Spanish city was not prepared for battle, and the Governor made of it "a New Year's gift" to the valorous raiders. The town was sacked, and the squadron sailed away to pillage Cartagena and St Augustine. Drake's raid was so successful that privateers came swarming in his steps to plunder the weakened Spanish towns. They settled on the west and north-west coasts of Hispaniola, compelling any Spanish settlers whom they found to retire to the east and south. The French and English had now a firm foothold in the Indies. Without assistance from their respective Governments they had won the right to live there, "maugre the King of Spain's beard." In a few years' time, they had become so prosperous that the Governments of France and England resolved to plant a colony in the Caribbee Islands, or Lesser Antilles. They thought that such a colony would be of benefit to the earlier adventurers by giving them official recognition and protection. A royal colony of French and English was, therefore, established on the island of St Christopher, or St Kitts, one of the Caribbees, to the east of Hispaniola, in the year 1625. The island was divided between the two companies. They combined very amicably in a murderous attack upon the natives, and then fell to quarrelling about the possession of an island to the south. As the Governments had foreseen, their action in establishing a colony upon St Kitts did much to stimulate the settlements in Hispaniola. The hunters went farther afield, for the cattle had gradually left the western coast for the interior. The anchorages by Cape Tiburon, or "Cape Shark," and Samana, were filled with ships, both privateers and traders, loading with hides and tallow or victualling for a raid upon the Main. The huntsmen and hidecurers, French and English, had grown wealthy. Many of them had slaves, in addition to other valuable property. Their growing wealth made them anxious to secure themselves from any sudden attack by land or sea. At the north-west end of Hispaniola, separated from that island by a narrow strip of sea, there is a humpbacked little island, a few miles long, rather hilly in its centre, and very densely wooded. At a distance it resembles a swimming turtle, so that the adventurers on Hispaniola called it Tortuga, or Turtle Island. Later on, it was known as Petit Guaves. Between this Tortuga and the larger island there was an excellent anchorage for ships, which had been defended at one time by a Spanish garrison. The Spaniards had gone away, leaving the place unguarded. The wealthier settlers seized the island, built themselves factories and houses, and made it "their head-quarters, or place of general rendezvous." After they had settled there, they seem to have thought themselves secure.[5] In 1638 the Spaniards attacked the place, at a time when nearly all the men were absent at the hunting. They killed all they found upon the island, and stayed there some little time, hanging those who surrendered to them after the first encounter. Having massacred some 200 or 300 settlers, and destroyed as many buildings as they could, the Spaniards sailed away, thinking it unnecessary to leave a garrison behind them. In this they acted foolishly, for their atrocities stirred the interlopers to revenge themselves. A band of them returned to Tortuga, to the ruins which the Spaniards had left standing. Here they formed themselves into a corporate body, with the intention to attack the Spanish at the first opportunity. Here, too, for the first time, they elected a commander. It was at this crisis in their history that they began to be known as buccaneers, or people who practise the boucan, the native way of curing meat. It is now time to explain the meaning of the word and to give some account of the modes of life of the folk who brought it to our language. [Footnote 5: Burney.] The Carib Indians, and the kindred tribes on the Brazilian coast, had a peculiar way of curing meat for preservation. They used to build a wooden grille or grating, raised upon poles some two or three feet high, above their camp fires. This grating was called by the Indians barbecue. The meat to be preserved, were it ox, fish, wild boar, or human being, was then laid upon the grille. The fire underneath the grille was kept low, and fed with green sticks, and with the offal, hide, and bones of the slaughtered animal. This process was called boucanning, from an Indian word "boucan," which seems to have signified "dried meat" and "camp-fire." Buccaneer, in its original sense, meant one who practised the boucan. Meat thus cured kept good for several months. It was of delicate flavour, "red as a rose," and of a tempting smell. It could be eaten without further cookery. Sometimes the meat was cut into pieces, and salted, before it was boucanned--a practice which made it keep a little longer than it would otherwise have done. Sometimes it was merely cut in strips, roughly rubbed with brine, and hung in the sun to dry into charqui, or jerked beef. The flesh of the wild hog made the most toothsome boucanned meat. It kept good a little longer than the beef, but it needed more careful treatment, as stowage in a damp lazaretto turned it bad at once. The hunters took especial care to kill none but the choicest wild boars for sea-store. Lean boars and sows were never killed. Many hunters, it seems, confined themselves to hunting boars, leaving the beeves as unworthy quarry. When hunting, the buccaneers went on foot, in small parties of four or five. The country in which they hunted was densely wooded, so that they could not ride. Each huntsman carried a gun of a peculiar make, with a barrel four and a half feet long and a spade-shaped stock. The long barrel made the gun carry very true. For ramrods they carried three or four straight sticks of lance wood--a wood almost as hard as iron, and much more easily replaced. The balls used, weighed from one to two ounces apiece. The powder was of the very best make known. It was exported specially from Normandy--a country which sent out many buccaneers, whose phrases still linger in the Norman patois. For powder flask they used a hollow gourd, which was first dried in the sun. When it had dried to a fitting hardness it was covered with cuir-bouilli, or boiled leather, which made it watertight. A pointed stopper secured the mouth, and made a sort of handle to the whole, by which it could be secured to the strap which the hunter slung across his shoulders. Each hunter carried a light tent, made of linen or thin canvas. The tents rolled up into a narrow compass, like a bandolier, so that they could be carried without trouble. The woods were so thick that the leggings of the huntsmen had to be of special strength. They were made of bull or boar hide, the hair worn outwards.[6] Moccasins, or shoes for hunting, were made of dressed bull's hide. The clothes worn at sea or while out hunting were "uniformly slovenly." A big heavy hat, wide in the brim and running up into a peak, protected the wearer from sunstroke. A dirty linen shirt, which custom decreed should not be washed, was the usual wear. It tucked into a dirty pair of linen drawers or knickerbockers, which garments were always dyed a dull red in the blood of the beasts killed. A sailor's belt went round the waist, with a long machete or sheath-knife secured to it at the back. Such was the attire of a master hunter, buccaneer, or Brother of the Coast. Many of them had valets or servants sent out to them from France for a term of three years. These valets were treated with abominable cruelty, and put to all manner of bitter labour. A valet who had served his time was presented with a gun and powder, two shirts and a hat--an equipment which enabled him to enter business on his own account. Every hunting party was arranged on the system of share and share alike. The parties usually made their plans at the Tortuga taverns. They agreed with the sugar and tobacco planters to supply the plantations with meat in exchange for tobacco. They then loaded up their valets with hunters' necessaries, and sailed for Hispaniola. Often they remained in the woods for a year or two, sending their servants to the coast from time to time with loads of meat and hides. They hunted, as a rule, without dogs, though some sought out the whelps of the wild mastiffs and trained them to hunt the boars. They stalked their quarry carefully, and shot it from behind a tree. In the evenings they boucanned their kill, pegged out the hides as tightly as they could, smoked a pipe or two about the fire, and prepared a glorious meal of marrow, "toute chaude"--their favourite dish. After supper they pitched their little linen tents, smeared their faces with grease to keep away the insects, put some wood upon the fire, and retired to sleep, with little thought of the beauty of the fireflies. They slept to leeward of the fires, and as near to them as possible, so that the smoke might blow over them, and keep off the mosquitoes. They used to place wet tobacco leaf and the leaves of certain plants among the embers in order that the smoke might be more pungent. [Footnote 6: See Burney, and Exquemeling.] [Illustration: A BUCCANEER'S SLAVE, WITH HIS MASTER'S GUN A BARBECUE IN RIGHT LOWER CORNER] When the hunt was over, the parties would return to the coast to dispose of all they carried home, and to receive all they had earned during their absence. It was a lucrative business, and two years' hunting in the woods brought to each hunter a considerable sum of money. As soon as they touched their cash, they retired to Tortuga, where they bought new guns, powder, bullets, small shot, knives, and axes "against another going out or hunting." When the new munitions had been paid for, the buccaneers knew exactly how much money they could spend in self-indulgence. Those who have seen a cowboy on a holiday, or a sailor newly home from the seas, will understand the nature of the "great liberality" these hunters practised on such occasions. One who saw a good deal of their way of life[7] has written that their chief vice, or debauchery, was that of drunkenness, "which they exercise for the most part with brandy. This they drink as liberally as the Spaniards do clear fountain water. Sometimes they buy together a pipe of wine; this they stave at the one end, and never cease drinking till they have made an end of it. Thus they celebrate the festivals of Bacchus so long as they have any money left." The island of Tortuga must have witnessed some strange scenes. We may picture a squalid little "cow town," with tropical vegetation growing up to the doors. A few rough bungalow houses, a few huts thatched with palm leaves, a few casks standing in the shade of pent roofs. To seaward a few ships of small tonnage lying at anchor. To landward hilly ground, broken into strips of tillage, where some wretches hoe tobacco under the lash. In the street, in the sunlight, lie a few savage dogs. At one of the houses, a buccaneer has just finished flogging his valet; he is now pouring lemon juice, mixed with salt and pepper, into the raw, red flesh. At another house, a gang of dirty men in dirty scarlet drawers are drinking turn about out of a pan of brandy. The reader may complete the sketch should he find it sufficiently attractive. [Footnote 7: Exquemeling.] When the buccaneers elected their first captain, they had made but few determined forays against the Spaniards. The greater number of them were French cattle hunters dealing in boucanned meat, hides, and tallow. A few hunted wild boars; a few more planted tobacco of great excellence, with a little sugar, a little indigo, and a little manioc. Among the company were a number of wild Englishmen, of the stamp of Oxenham, who made Tortuga their base and pleasure-house, using it as a port from which to sally out to plunder Spanish ships. After a cruise, these pirates sometimes went ashore for a month or two of cattle hunting. Often enough, the French cattle hunters took their places on the ships. The sailors and huntsmen soon became amphibious, varying the life of the woods with that of a sailor, and sometimes relaxing after a cruise with a year's work in the tobacco fields. In 1638, when the Spanish made their raid, there were considerable numbers (certainly several hundreds) of men engaged in these three occupations. After the raid they increased in number rapidly; for after the raid they began to revenge themselves by systematic raids upon the Spaniards--a business which attracted hundreds of young men from France and England. After the raid, too, the French and English Governments began to treat the planters of the St Kitts colony unjustly, so that many poor men were forced to leave their plots of ground there. These men left the colonies to join the buccaneers at Tortuga, who soon became so numerous that they might have made an independent state had they but agreed among themselves. This they could not do, for the French had designs upon Tortuga. A French garrison was landed on the island, seemingly to protect the French planters from the English, but in reality to seize the place for the French crown. Another garrison encamped upon the coast of the larger island. The English were now in a position like that of the spar in the tale.[8] They could no longer follow the business of cattle hunting; they could no longer find an anchorage and a ready market at Tortuga. They were forced, therefore, to find some other rendezvous, where they could refit after a cruise upon the Main. They withdrew themselves more and more from the French buccaneers, though the two parties frequently combined in enterprises of danger and importance. They seem to have relinquished Tortuga without fighting. They were less attached to the place than the French. Their holdings were fewer, and they had but a minor share in the cattle hunting. But for many years to come they regarded the French buccaneers with suspicion, as doubtful allies. When they sailed away from Tortuga they sought out other haunts on islands partly settled by the English. [Footnote 8: Precarious, and not at all permanent.] In 1655, when an English fleet under Penn and Venables came to the Indies to attack the Spaniards, a body of English buccaneers who had settled at Barbadoes came in their ships to join the colours. In all, 5000 of them mustered, but the service they performed was of poor quality. The combined force attacked St Domingo, and suffered a severe repulse. They then sailed for Jamaica, which they took without much difficulty. The buccaneers found Jamaica a place peculiarly suited to them: it swarmed with wild cattle; it had a good harbour; it lay conveniently for raids upon the Main. They began to settle there, at Port Royal, with the troops left there by Cromwell's orders. They planted tobacco and sugar, followed the boucan, and lived as they had lived in the past at Hispaniola. Whenever England was at war with Spain the Governor of the island gave them commissions to go privateering against the Spanish. A percentage of the spoil was always paid to the Governor, while the constant raiding on the Main prevented the Spaniards from attacking the new colony in force. The buccaneers were thus of great use to the Colonial Government. They brought in money to the Treasury and kept the Spanish troops engaged. The governors of the French islands acted in precisely the same way. They gave the French buccaneers every encouragement. When France was at peace with Spain they sent to Portugal ("which country was then at war with Spain") for Portuguese commissions, with which the buccaneer captains could go cruising. The English buccaneers often visited the French islands in order to obtain similar commissions. When England was at war with Spain the French came to Port Royal for commissions from the English Governor. It was not a very moral state of affairs; but the Colonial governors argued that the buccaneers were useful, that they brought in money, and that they could be disowned at any time should Spain make peace with all the interloping countries. The buccaneers now began "to make themselves redoubtable to the Spaniards, and to spread riches and abundance in our Colonies." They raided Nueva Segovia, took a number of Spanish ships, and sacked Maracaibo and western Gibraltar. Their captains on these raids were Frenchmen and Portuguese. The spoils they took were enormous, for they tortured every prisoner they captured until he revealed to them where he had hidden his gold. They treated the Spaniards with every conceivable barbarity, nor were the Spaniards more merciful when the chance offered. The buccaneers, French and English, had a number of peculiar customs or laws by which their strange society was held together. They seem to have had some definite religious beliefs, for we read of a French captain who shot a buccaneer "in the church" for irreverence at Mass. No buccaneer was allowed to hunt or to cure meat upon a Sunday. No crew put to sea upon a cruise without first going to church to ask a blessing on their enterprise. No crew got drunk, on the return to port after a successful trip, until thanks had been declared for the dew of heaven they had gathered. After a cruise, the men were expected to fling all their loot into a pile, from which the chiefs made their selection and division. Each buccaneer was called upon to hold up his right hand, and to swear that he had not concealed any portion of the spoil. If, after making oath, a man were found to have secreted anything, he was bundled overboard, or marooned when the ship next made the land. Each buccaneer had a mate or comrade, with whom he shared all things, and to whom his property devolved in the event of death.[9] In many cases the partnership lasted during life. A love for his partner was usually the only tender sentiment a buccaneer allowed himself. [Footnote 9: Similar pacts of comradeship are made among merchant sailors to this day.] When a number of buccaneers grew tired of plucking weeds[10] from the tobacco ground, and felt the allurement of the sea, and longed to go a-cruising, they used to send an Indian, or a negro slave, to their fellows up the coast, inviting them to come to drink a dram with them. A day was named for the rendezvous, and a store was cleared, or a tobacco drying-house prepared, or perhaps a tent of sails was pitched, for the place of meeting. Early on the morning fixed for the council, a barrel of brandy was rolled up for the refreshment of the guests, while the black slaves put some sweet potatoes in a net to boil for the gentlemen's breakfasts. Presently a canoa or periagua would come round the headland from the sea, under a single sail--the topgallant-sail of some sunk Spanish ship. In her would be some ten or a dozen men, of all countries, anxious for a cruise upon the Main. Some would be Englishmen from the tobacco fields on Sixteen-Mile Walk. One or two of them were broken Royalists, of gentle birth, with a memory in their hearts of English country houses. Others were Irishmen from Montserrat, the wretched Kernes deported after the storm of Tredah. Some were French hunters from the Hispaniola woods, with the tan upon their cheeks, and a habit of silence due to many lonely marches on the trail. The new-comers brought their arms with them: muskets with long single barrels, heavy pistols, machetes, or sword-like knives, and a cask or two of powder and ball. During the morning other parties drifted in. Hunters, and planters, and old, grizzled seamen came swaggering down the trackways to the place of meeting. Most of them were dressed in the dirty shirts and blood-stained drawers of the profession, but some there were who wore a scarlet cloak or a purple serape which had been stitched for a Spaniard on the Main. Among the party were generally some Indians from Campeachy--tall fellows of a blackish copper colour, with javelins in their hands for the spearing of fish. All of this company would gather in the council chamber, where a rich planter sat at a table with some paper scrolls in front of him. [Footnote 10: Exquemeling gives many curious details of the life of these strange people. See the French edition of "Histoire des Avanturiers."] As soon as sufficient men had come to muster, the planter[11] would begin proceedings by offering a certain sum of money towards the equipment of a roving squadron. The assembled buccaneers then asked him to what port he purposed cruising. He would suggest one or two, giving his reasons, perhaps bringing in an Indian with news of a gold mine on the Main, or of a treasure-house that might be sacked, or of a plate ship about to sail eastward. Among these suggestions one at least was certain to be plausible. Another buccaneer would then offer to lend a good canoa, with, perhaps, a cask or two of meat as sea-provision. Others would offer powder and ball, money to purchase brandy for the voyage, or roll tobacco for the solace of the men. Those who could offer nothing, but were eager to contribute and to bear a hand, would pledge themselves to pay a share of the expenses out of the profits of the cruise. When the president had written down the list of contributions he called upon the company to elect a captain. This was seldom a difficult matter, for some experienced sailor--a good fellow, brave as a lion, and fortunate in love and war--was sure to be among them. Having chosen the captain, the company elected sailing masters, gunners, chirurgeons (if they had them), and the other officers necessary to the economy of ships of war. They then discussed the "lays" or shares to be allotted to each man out of the general booty. [Footnote 11: Exquemeling gives these details.] Those who lent the ships and bore the cost of the provisioning, were generally allotted one-third of all the plunder taken. The captain received three shares, sometimes six or seven shares, according to his fortune. The minor officers received two shares apiece. The men or common adventurers received each one share. No plunder was allotted until an allowance had been made for those who were wounded on the cruise. Compensation varied from time to time, but the scale most generally used was as follows[12]:--"For the loss of a right arm six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves; for the loss of a left arm five hundred pieces of eight, or five slaves; for a right leg five hundred pieces of eight, or five slaves; for a left leg four hundred pieces of eight, or four slaves; for an eye one hundred pieces of eight, or one slave; for a finger of the hand the same reward as for the eye." [Footnote 12: Exquemeling.] In addition to this compensation, a wounded man received a crown a day (say three shillings) for two months after the division of the spoil. If the booty were too little to allow of the declaration of a dividend, the wounded were put ashore at the port of rendezvous, and the adventurers kept the seas until they had enough to bring them home. In the years of buccaneer prosperity, when Port Royal was full of ruffians eager to go cruising, the proceedings may often have been less regular. A voyage was sometimes arranged in the taverns, where the gangs drank punch, or rumbo, a draught of rum and water (taken half-and-half, and sweetened with crude sugar) so long as their money lasted. If a gang had a ship, or the offer of a ship, and had but little silver left them from their last cruise, they would go aboard with their muskets, shot, and powder casks, trusting to fortune to obtain stores. Nearly every ship's company had a Mosquito Indian, or more than one, to act as guide ashore, in places where a native's woodcraft was essential to a white man's safety. At sea these Indians supplied the mariners with fish, for they were singularly skilful with the fish spear. When a gang of buccaneers put to sea without provisions, they generally steered to the feeding grounds of the sea-turtles, or to some place where the sea-cows, or manatees, were found.[13] Here the Indians were sent out in small canoas, with their spears and tortoise irons. The spears were not unlike our modern harpoons. The tortoise irons were short, heavy arrow heads, which penetrated the turtle's shell when rightly thrown. The heads were attached to a stick, and to a cord which they made of a fibrous bark. When the blow had gone home, the stick came adrift, leaving the iron in the wound, with the cord still fast to it. When the turtles had been hauled aboard, their flesh was salted with the brine taken from the natural salt-pans to be found among the islands. When a manatee was killed, the hide was stripped away, and hung to dry. It was then cut into thongs, and put to various uses. The buccaneers made grummets, or rings, of it, for use in their row boats instead of tholes or rowlocks. The meat of manatee, though extremely delicate, did not take salt so readily as that of turtles. Turtle was the stand-by of the hungry buccaneer when far from the Main or the Jamaican barbecues. In addition to the turtle they had a dish of fish whenever the Indians were so fortunate as to find a shoal, or when the private fishing lines, of which each sailor carried several, were successful. Two Mosquito Indians, it was said, could keep 100 men in fish with no other weapons than their spears and irons. In coasting along the Main, a buccaneer captain could always obtain sufficient food for his immediate need, for hardly any part of the coast was destitute of land-crabs, oysters, fruit, deer, peccary, or warree. But for a continued cruise with a large crew this hand-to-mouth supply was insufficient. [Footnote 13: Dampier.] The buccaneers sometimes began a cruise by sailing to an estancia in Hispaniola, or on the Main, where they might supply their harness casks with flesh. They used to attack these estancias, or "hog-yards," at night. They began by capturing the swine or cattle-herds, and threatening them with death should they refuse to give them the meat they needed. Having chosen as many beeves or swine as seemed sufficient for their purpose, they kicked the herds for their pains, and put the meat in pickle.[14] They then visited some other Spanish house for a supply of rum or brandy, or a few hat-loads of sugar in the crude. Tobacco they stole from the drying-rooms of planters they disliked. Lemons, limes, and other anti-scorbutics they plucked from the trees, when fortune sent them to the coast. Flour they generally captured from the Spanish. They seldom were without a supply, for it is often mentioned as a marching ration--"a doughboy, or dumpling," boiled with fat, in a sort of heavy cake, a very portable and filling kind of victual. At sea their staple food was flesh--either boucanned meat or salted turtle. Their allowance, "twice a day to every one," was "as much as he can eat, without either weight or measure." Water and strong liquors were allowed (while they lasted) in the same liberal spirit. This reckless generosity was recklessly abused. Meat and drink, so easily provided, were always improvidently spent. Probably few buccaneer ships returned from a cruise with the hands on full allowance. The rule was "drunk and full, or dry and empty, to hell with bloody misers"--the proverb of the American merchant sailor of to-day. They knew no mean in anything. That which came easily might go lightly: there was more where that came from. [Footnote 14: Exquemeling.] When the ship had been thus victualled the gang went aboard her to discuss where they should go "to seek their desperate fortunes." The preliminary agreement was put in writing, much as in the former case, allotting each man his due share of the expected spoil. We read that the carpenter who "careened, mended, and rigged the vessel" was generally allotted a fee of from twenty-five to forty pounds for his pains--a sum drawn from the common stock or "purchase" subsequently taken by the adventurers. For the surgeon "and his chest of medicaments" they provided a "competent salary" of from fifty to sixty pounds. Boys received half-a-share, "by reason that, when they take a better vessel than their own, it is the duty of the boys to set fire to the ship or boat wherein they are, and then retire to the prize which they have taken." All shares were allotted on the good old rule: "No prey, No pay," so that all had a keen incentive to bestir themselves. They were also "very civil and charitable to each other," observing "among themselves, very good orders." They sailed together like a company of brothers, or rather, since that were an imperfect simile, like a company of jolly comrades. Locks and keys were forbidden among them, as they are forbidden in ship's fo'c's'les to this day; for every man was expected to show that he put trust in his mates. A man caught thieving from his fellow was whipped about the ship by all hands with little whips of ropeyarn or of fibrous maho bark. His back was then pickled with some salt, after which he was discharged the company. If a man were in want of clothes, he had but to ask a shipmate to obtain all he required. They were not very curious in the rigging or cleansing of their ships; nor did they keep watch with any regularity. They set their Mosquito Indians in the tops to keep a good lookout; for the Indians were long-sighted folk, who could descry a ship at sea at a greater distance than a white man. They slept, as a rule, on "mats" upon the deck, in the open air. Few of them used hammocks, nor did they greatly care if the rain drenched them as they lay asleep. After the raids of Morgan, the buccaneers seem to have been more humane to the Spaniards whom they captured. They treated them as Drake treated them, with all courtesy. They discovered that the cutting out of prisoners' hearts, and eating of them raw without salt, as had been the custom of one of the most famous buccaneers, was far less profitable than the priming of a prisoner with his own aqua-vitæ. The later buccaneers, such as Dampier, were singularly zealous in the collection of information of "the Towns within 20 leagues of the sea, on all the coast from Trinidado down to La Vera Cruz; and are able to give a near guess of the strength and riches of them." For, as Dampier says, "they make it their business to examine all Prisoners that fall into their hands, concerning the Country, Town, or City that they belong to; whether born there, or how long they have known it? how many families? whether most Spaniards? or whether the major part are not Copper-colour'd, as Mulattoes [people half white, half black], Mustesoes [mestizos, or people half white, half Indian. These are not the same as mustees, or octoroons], or Indians? whether rich, and what their riches do consist in? and what their chiefest manufactures? If fortified, how many Great Guns, and what number of small Arms? whether it is possible to come undescried on them? How many Look-outs or Centinels? for such the Spaniards always keep; and how the Look-outs are placed? Whether possible to avoid the Look-outs or take them? If any River or Creek comes near it, or where the best Landing? or numerous other such questions, which their curiosities lead them to demand. And if they have had any former discourse of such places from other Prisoners, they compare one with the other; then examine again, and enquire if he or any of them, are capable to be guides to conduct a party of men thither: if not, where and how any Prisoner may be taken that may do it, and from thence they afterwards lay their Schemes to prosecute whatever design they take in hand." If, after such a careful questioning as that just mentioned, the rovers decided to attack a city on the Main at some little distance from the sea, they would debate among themselves the possibility of reaching the place by river. Nearly all the wealthy Spanish towns were on a river, if not on the sea; and though the rivers were unwholesome, and often rapid, it was easier to ascend them in boats than to march upon their banks through jungle. If on inquiry it were found that the suggested town stood on a navigable river, the privateers would proceed to some island, such as St Andreas, where they could cut down cedar-trees to make them boats. St Andreas, like many West Indian islands, was of a stony, sandy soil, very favourable to the growth of cedar-trees. Having arrived at such an island, the men went ashore to cut timber. They were generally good lumbermen, for many buccaneers would go to cut logwood in Campeachy when trade was slack. As soon as a cedar had been felled, the limbs were lopped away, and the outside rudely fashioned to the likeness of a boat. If they were making a periagua, they left the stern "flat"--that is, cut off sharply without modelling; if they were making a canoa, they pointed both ends, as a Red Indian points his birch-bark. The bottom of the boat in either case was made flat, for convenience in hauling over shoals or up rapids. The inside of the boat was hollowed out by fire, with the help of the Indians, who were very expert at the management of the flame. For oars they had paddles made of ash or cedar plank, spliced to the tough and straight-growing lance wood, or to the less tough, but equally straight, white mangrove. Thwarts they made of cedar plank. Tholes or grummets for the oars they twisted out of manatee hide. Having equipped their canoas or periaguas they secured them to the stern of their ship, and set sail towards their quarry. _Authorities._--Captain James Burney: "Voyages and Discoveries in the South Sea"; "History of the Buccaneers." Père Charlevoix: "Histoire de l'Isle Espagnole"; "Histoire et description de la N. France." B. Edwards: "Historical Survey of the Island of San Domingo." Gage: "Histoire de l'Empire Mexicain"; "The English American." S. Hazard: "Santo Domingo, Past and Present." Justin: "Histoire Politique de l'Isle de Haïti." Cal. State Papers: "America and West Indies." Abbé Raynal: "History of the Settlements and Trades of the Europeans in the East and West Indies." A. O. Exquemeling: "History of the Buccaneers." A. de Herrera: "Description des Indes Occidentales (d'Espagnol)." J. de Acosta: "History of the Indies." Cieça de Leon: "Travels." CHAPTER IX BUCCANEER CUSTOMS Mansvelt and Morgan--Morgan's raid on Cuba--Puerto del Principe Throughout the years of buccaneering, the buccaneers often put to sea in canoas and periaguas,[15] just as Drake put to sea in his three pinnaces. Life in an open boat is far from pleasant, but men who passed their leisure cutting logwood at Campeachy, or hoeing tobacco in Jamaica, or toiling over gramma grass under a hot sun after cattle, were not disposed to make the worst of things. They would sit contentedly upon the oar bench, rowing with a long, slow stroke for hours together without showing signs of fatigue. Nearly all of them were men of more than ordinary strength, and all of them were well accustomed to the climate. When they had rowed their canoa to the Main they were able to take it easy till a ship came by from one of the Spanish ports. If she seemed a reasonable prey, without too many guns, and not too high charged, or high built, the privateers would load their muskets, and row down to engage her. The best shots were sent into the bows, and excused from rowing, lest the exercise should cause their hands to tremble. A clever man was put to the steering oar, and the musketeers were bidden to sing out whenever the enemy yawed, so as to fire her guns. It was in action, and in action only, that the captain had command over his men. The steersman endeavoured to keep the masts of the quarry in a line, and to approach her from astern. The marksmen from the bows kept up a continual fire at the vessel's helmsmen, if they could be seen, and at any gun-ports which happened to be open. If the helmsmen could not be seen from the sea, the canoas aimed to row in upon the vessel's quarters, where they could wedge up the rudder with wooden chocks or wedges. They then laid her aboard over the quarter, or by the after chains, and carried her with their knives and pistols. The first man to get aboard received some gift of money at the division of the spoil. [Footnote 15: Dampier and Exquemeling.] When the prize was taken, the prisoners were questioned, and despoiled. Often, indeed, they were stripped stark naked, and granted the privilege of seeing their finery on a pirate's back. Each buccaneer had the right to take a shift of clothes out of each prize captured. The cargo was then rummaged, and the state of the ship looked to, with an eye to using her as a cruiser. As a rule, the prisoners were put ashore on the first opportunity, but some buccaneers had a way of selling their captives into slavery. If the ship were old, leaky, valueless, in ballast, or with a cargo useless to the rovers, she was either robbed of her guns, and turned adrift with her crew, or run ashore in some snug cove, where she could be burnt for the sake of the iron-work. If the cargo were of value, and, as a rule, the ships they took had some rich thing aboard them, they sailed her to one of the Dutch, French, or English settlements, where they sold her freight for what they could get--some tenth or twentieth of its value. If the ship were a good one, in good condition, well found, swift, and not of too great draught (for they preferred to sail in small ships), they took her for their cruiser as soon as they had emptied out her freight. They sponged and loaded her guns, brought their stores aboard her, laid their mats upon her deck, secured the boats astern, and sailed away in search of other plunder. They kept little discipline aboard their ships. What work had to be done they did, but works of supererogation they despised and rejected as a shade unholy. The night watches were partly orgies. While some slept, the others fired guns and drank to the health of their fellows. By the light of the binnacle, or by the light of the slush lamps in the cabin, the rovers played a hand at cards, or diced each other at "seven and eleven," using a pannikin as dice-box. While the gamblers cut and shuffled, and the dice rattled in the tin, the musical sang songs, the fiddlers set their music chuckling, and the sea-boots stamped approval. The cunning dancers showed their science in the moonlight, avoiding the sleepers if they could. In this jolly fashion were the nights made short. In the daytime, the gambling continued with little intermission; nor had the captain any authority to stop it. One captain, in the histories, was so bold as to throw the dice and cards overboard, but, as a rule, the captain of a buccaneer cruiser was chosen as an artist, or navigator, or as a lucky fighter. He was not expected to spoil sport. The continual gambling nearly always led to fights and quarrels. The lucky dicers often won so much that the unlucky had to part with all their booty. Sometimes a few men would win all the plunder of the cruise, much to the disgust of the majority, who clamoured for a redivision of the spoil. If two buccaneers got into a quarrel they fought it out on shore at the first opportunity, using knives, swords, or pistols, according to taste. The usual way of fighting was with pistols, the combatants standing back to back, at a distance of ten or twelve paces, and turning round to fire at the word of command. If both shots missed, the question was decided with cutlasses, the man who drew first blood being declared the winner. If a man were proved to be a coward he was either tied to the mast, and shot, or mutilated, and sent ashore. No cruise came to an end until the company declared themselves satisfied with the amount of plunder taken. The question, like all other important questions, was debated round the mast, and decided by vote. At the conclusion of a successful cruise, they sailed for Port Royal, with the ship full of treasure, such as vicuna wool, packets of pearls from the Hatch, jars of civet or of ambergris, boxes of "marmalett" and spices, casks of strong drink, bales of silk, sacks of chocolate and vanilla, and rolls of green cloth and pale blue cotton which the Indians had woven in Peru, in some sandy village near the sea, in sight of the pelicans and the penguins. In addition to all these things, they usually had a number of the personal possessions of those they had taken on the seas. Lying in the chests for subsequent division were swords, silver-mounted pistols, daggers chased and inlaid, watches from Spain, necklaces of uncut jewels, rings and bangles, heavy carved furniture, "cases of bottles" of delicately cut green glass, containing cordials distilled of precious mints, with packets of emeralds from Brazil, bezoar stones from Patagonia, paintings from Spain, and medicinal gums from Nicaragua. All these things were divided by lot at the main-mast as soon as the anchor held. As the ship, or ships, neared port, her men hung colours out--any colours they could find--to make their vessel gay. A cup of drink was taken as they sailed slowly home to moorings, and as they drank they fired off the cannon, "bullets and all," again and yet again, rejoicing as the bullets struck the water. Up in the bay, the ships in the harbour answered with salutes of cannon; flags were dipped and hoisted in salute; and so the anchor dropped in some safe reach, and the division of the spoil began. [Illustration: OLD PORT ROYAL] After the division of the spoil in the beautiful Port Royal harbour, in sight of the palm-trees and the fort with the colours flying, the buccaneers packed their gear, and dropped over the side into a boat. They were pulled ashore by some grinning black man with a scarlet scarf about his head and the brand of a hot iron on his shoulders. At the jetty end, where the Indians lounged at their tobacco and the fishermen's canoas rocked, the sunburnt pirates put ashore. Among the noisy company which always gathers on a pier they met with their companions. A sort of Roman triumph followed, as the "happily returned" lounged swaggeringly towards the taverns. Eager hands helped them to carry in their plunder. In a few minutes the gang was entering the tavern, the long, cool room with barrels round the walls, where there were benches and a table and an old blind fiddler jerking his elbow at a jig. Noisily the party ranged about the table, and sat themselves upon the benches, while the drawers, or potboys, in their shirts, drew near to take the orders. I wonder if the reader has ever heard a sailor in the like circumstance, five minutes after he has touched his pay, address a company of parasites in an inn with the question: "What's it going to be?" After the settlement of Jamaica by the English, the buccaneers became more enterprising. One buccaneer captain, the most remarkable of all of them, a man named Mansvelt, probably a Dutchman from Curaçoa, attempted to found a pirate settlement upon the island of Santa Katalina, or Old Providence. Mansvelt was a fortunate sea-captain, with considerable charm of manner. He was popular with the buccaneers, and had a name among them, for he was the first of them to cross the isthmus and to sail the South Sea. His South-Sea cruise had come to little, for provisions ran short, and his company had been too small to attempt a Spanish town. He had, therefore, retreated to the North Sea to his ships, and had then gone cruising northward along the Nicaragua coast as far as the Blewfields River. From this point he stood away to the island of Santa Katalina, or Old Providence--an island about six miles long, with an excellent harbour, which, he thought, might easily be fortified. A smaller island lies directly to the north of it, separated from it by a narrow channel of the sea. Twenty years before his visit it had been the haunt of an old captain of the name of Blewfields, who had made it his base while his men went logwood cutting on the mainland. Blewfields was now dead, either of rum or war, and the Spaniards had settled there, and had built themselves a fort or castle to command the harbour. Having examined the place, Mansvelt sailed away to Jamaica to equip a fleet to take it. He saw that the golden times which the buccaneers were then enjoying could not last for ever, and that their occupation might be wrecked by a single ill-considered treaty, dated from St James's or the Court of France. He thought that the islands should be seized as a general rendezvous for folk of that way of life. With a little trouble the harbour could be made impregnable. The land was good, and suited for the growing of maize or tobacco--the two products most in demand among them. The islands were near the Main, being only thirty-five leagues from the Chagres River, the stream from which the golden harvest floated from the cities of the south. They were close to the coast of Nicaragua, where the logwood grew in clumps, waiting for the axes of the lumbermen. With the islands in their hands, the buccaneers could drive the Spaniards off the isthmus--or so Mansvelt thought. It would at anyrate have been an easy matter for them to have wrecked the trade routes from Panama to Porto Bello, and from Porto Bello to Vera Cruz. While Mansvelt lay at Port Royal, scraping and tallowing his ships, getting beef salted and boucanned, and drumming up his men from the taverns, a Welshman, of the name of Henry Morgan, came sailing up to moorings with half-a-dozen captured merchantmen. But a few weeks before, he had come home from a cruise with a little money in his pockets. He had clubbed together with some shipmates, and had purchased a small ship with the common fund. She was but meanly equipped, yet her first cruise to the westward, on the coast of Campeachy, was singularly lucky. Mansvelt at once saw his opportunity to win recruits. A captain so fortunate as Morgan would be sure to attract followers, for the buccaneers asked that their captains should be valorous and lucky. For other qualities, such as prudence and forethought, they did not particularly care. Mansvelt at once went aboard Morgan's ship to drink a cup of sack with him in the cabin. He asked him to act as vice-admiral to the fleet he was then equipping for Santa Katalina. To this Henry Morgan very readily consented, for he judged that a great company would be able to achieve great things. In a few days, the two set sail together from Port Royal, with a fleet of fifteen ships, manned by 500 buccaneers, many of whom were French and Dutch. As soon as they arrived at Santa Katalina, they anchored, and sent their men ashore with some heavy guns. The Spanish garrison was strong, and the fortress well situated, but in a few days they forced it to surrender. They then crossed by a bridge of boats to the lesser island to the north, where they ravaged the plantations for fresh supplies. Having blown up all the fortifications save the castle, they sent the Spanish prisoners aboard the ships. They then chose out 100 trusty men to keep the island for them. They left these on the island, under the command of a Frenchman of the name of Le Sieur Simon. They also left the Spanish slaves behind, to work the plantations, and to grow maize and sweet potatoes for the future victualling of the fleet. Mansvelt then sailed away towards Porto Bello, near which city he put his prisoners ashore. He cruised to the eastward for some weeks, snapping up provision ships and little trading vessels; but he learned that the Governor of Panama, a determined and very gallant soldier, was fitting out an army to encounter him, should he attempt to land. The news may have been false, but it showed the buccaneers that they were known to be upon the coast, and that their raid up "the river of Colla" to "rob and pillage" the little town of Nata, on the Bay of Panama, would be fruitless. The Spanish residents of little towns like Nata buried all their gold and silver, and then fled into the woods when rumours of the pirates came to them. To attack such a town some weeks after the townsfolk had received warning of their intentions would have been worse than useless. Mansvelt, therefore, returned to Santa Katalina to see how the colony had prospered while he had been at sea. He found that Le Sieur Simon had put the harbour "in a very good posture of defence," having built a couple of batteries to command the anchorage. In these he had mounted his cannon upon platforms of plank, with due munitions of cannon-balls and powder. On the little island to the north he had laid out plantations of maize, sweet potatoes, plantains, and tobacco. The first-fruits of these green fields were now ripe, and "sufficient to revictual the whole fleet with provisions and fruits." Mansvelt was so well satisfied with the prospects of the colony that he determined to hurry back to Jamaica to beg recruits and recognition from the English Governor. The islands had belonged to English subjects in the past, and of right belonged to England still. However, the Jamaican Governor disliked the scheme. He feared that by lending his support he would incur the wrath of the English Government, while he could not weaken his position in Jamaica by sending soldiers from his garrison. Mansvelt, "seeing the unwillingness" of this un-English Governor, at once made sail for Tortuga, where he hoped the French might be less squeamish. He dropped anchor, in the channel between Tortuga and Hispaniola early in the summer of 1665. He seems to have gone ashore to see the French authorities. Perhaps he drank too strong a punch of rum and sugar--a drink very prejudicial in such a climate to one not used to it. Perhaps he took the yellow fever, or the coast cramp; the fact cannot now be known. At any rate he sickened, and died there, "before he could accomplish his desires"--"all things hereby remaining in suspense." One account, based on the hearsay of a sea-captain, says that Mansvelt was taken by the Spaniards, and brought to Porto Bello, and there put to death by the troops. Le Sieur Simon remained at his post, hoeing his tobacco plants, and sending detachments to the Main to kill manatee, or to cut logwood. He looked out anxiously for Mansvelt's ships, for he had not men enough to stand a siege, and greatly feared that the Spaniards would attack him. While he stayed in this perplexity, wondering why he did not hear from Mansvelt, he received a letter from Don John Perez de Guzman, the Spanish captain-general, who bade him "surrender the island to his Catholic Majesty," on pain of severe punishment. To this Le Sieur Simon made no answer, for he hoped that Mansvelt's fleet would soon be in those waters to deliver him from danger. Don John, who was a very energetic captain-general, determined to retake the place. He left his residence at Panama, and crossed the isthmus to Porto Bello, where he found a ship, called the _St Vincent_, "that belonged to the Company of the Negroes" (the Isthmian company of slavers), lying at anchor, waiting for a freight. We are told that she was a good ship, "well mounted with guns." He provisioned her for the sea, and manned her with about 400 men, mostly soldiers from the Porto Bello forts. Among the company were seven master gunners and "twelve Indians very dexterous at shooting with bows and arrows." The city of Cartagena furnished other ships and men, bringing the squadron to a total of four vessels and 500 men-at-arms. With this force the Spanish commander arrived off Santa Katalina, coming to anchor in the port there on the evening of a windy day, the 10th of August 1665. As they dropped anchor they displayed their colours. As soon as the yellow silk blew clear, Le Sieur Simon discharged "three guns with bullets" at the ships, "the which were soon answered in the same coin." The Spaniard then sent a boat ashore to summon the garrison, threatening death to all if the summons were refused. To this Le Sieur Simon replied that the island was a possession of the English Crown, "and that, instead of surrendering it, they preferred to lose their lives." As more than a fourth of the little garrison was at that time hunting on the Main, or at sea, the answer was heroic. Three days later, some negroes swam off to the ships to tell the Spaniards of the garrison's weakness. After two more days of council, the boats were lowered from the ships, and manned with soldiers. The guns on the gun-decks were loaded, and trained. The drums beat to quarters both on the ships and in the batteries. Under the cover of the warship's guns, the boats shoved off towards the landing-place, receiving a furious fire from the buccaneers. The "weather was very calm and clear," so that the smoke from the guns did not blow away fast enough to allow the buccaneers to aim at the boats. The landing force formed into three parties, two of which attacked the flanks, and the third the centre. The battle was very furious, though the buccaneers were outnumbered and had no chance of victory. They ran short of cannon-balls before they surrendered, but they made shift for a time with small shot and scraps of iron, "also the organs of the church," of which they fired "threescore pipes" at a shot. The fighting lasted most of the day, for it was not to the advantage of the Spaniards to come to push of pike. Towards sunset the buccaneers were beaten from their guns. They fought in the open for a few minutes, round "the gate called Costadura," but the Spaniards surrounded them, and they were forced to lay down their arms. The Spanish colours were set up, and two poor Spaniards who had joined the buccaneers were shot to death upon the Plaza. The English prisoners were sent aboard the ships, and carried into Porto Bello, where they were put to the building of a fortress--the Iron Castle, a place of great strength, which later on the English blew to pieces. Some of the men were sent to Panama "to work in the castle of St Jerome"--a wonderful, great castle, which was burned at the sack of Panama almost before the mortar dried. While the guns were roaring over Santa Katalina, as Le Sieur Simon rammed his cannon full of organ pipes, Henry Morgan was in lodgings at Port Royal, greatly troubled at the news of Mansvelt's death. He was busily engaged at the time with letters to the merchants of New England. He was endeavouring to get their help towards the fortification of the island he had helped to capture. "His principal intent," writes one who did not love the man, "was to consecrate it as a refuge and sanctuary to the Pirates of those parts," making it "a convenient receptacle or store house of their preys and robberies." It is pleasant to speculate as to the reasons he urged to the devout New England Puritans. He must have chuckled to himself, and shared many a laugh with his clerk, to think that perhaps a Levite, or a Man of God, a deacon, or an elder, would untie the purse-strings of the sealed if he did but agonise about the Spanish Inquisition with sufficient earthquake and eclipse. He heard of the loss of the island before the answers came to him, and the news, of course, "put him upon new designs," though he did not abandon the scheme in its entirety. He had his little fleet at anchor in the harbour, gradually fitting for the sea, and his own ship was ready. Having received his commission from the Governor, he gave his captains orders to meet him on the Cuban coast, at one of the many inlets affording safe anchorage. Here, after several weeks of cruising, he was joined by "a fleet of twelve sail," some of them of several hundred tons. These were manned by 700 fighting men, part French, part English. At the council of war aboard the admiral's ship, it was suggested that so large a company should venture on Havana, which city, they thought, might easily be taken, "especially if they could but take a few of the ecclesiastics." Some of the pirates had been prisoners in the Havana, and knew that a town of 30,000 inhabitants would hardly yield to 700 men, however desperate. "Nothing of consequence could be done there," they pronounced, even with ecclesiastics, "unless with fifteen hundred men." One of the pirates then suggested the town of Puerto del Principe, an inland town surrounded by tobacco fields, at some distance from the sea. It did a thriving trade with the Havana; and he who suggested that it should be sacked, affirmed upon his honour, like Boult over Maria, that it never yet "was sacked by any Pirates." Towards this virginal rich town the buccaneers proceeded, keeping close along the coast until they made the anchorage of Santa Maria. Here they dropped anchor for the night. When the men were making merry over the punch, as they cleaned their arms, and packed their satchels, a Spanish prisoner "who had overheard their discourse, while they thought he did not understand the English tongue," slipped through a port-hole to the sea, and swam ashore. By some miracle he escaped the ground sharks, and contrived to get to Puerto del Principe some hours before the pirates left their ships. The Governor of the town, to whom he told his story, at once raised all his forces, "both freemen and slaves," to prejudice the enemy when he attacked. The forest ways were blocked with timber baulks, and several ambuscades were laid, with cannon in them, "to play upon them on their march." In all, he raised and armed 800 men, whom he disposed in order, either in the jungle at the ambuscades or in a wide expanse of grass which surrounded the town. In due course Morgan sent his men ashore, and marched them through the wood towards the town. They found the woodland trackways blocked by the timber baulks, so they made a detour, hacking paths for themselves with their machetes, until they got clear of the wood. When they got out of the jungle they found themselves on an immense green field, covered with thick grass, which bowed and shivered in the wind. A few pale cattle grazed here and there on the savannah; a few birds piped and twittered in the sunshine. In front of them, at some little distance, was the town they had come to pillage. It lay open to them--a cluster of houses, none of them very large, with warehouses and tobacco drying-rooms and churches with bells in them. Outside the town, some of them lying down, some standing so as to get a view of the enemy, were the planters and townsfolk, with their pikes and muskets, waiting for the battle to begin. Right in the pirates' front was a troop of horsemen armed with lances, swords, and pistols, drawn up in very good order, and ready to advance. The pirates on their coming from the wood formed into a semicircle or half-moon shape, the bow outwards, the horns curving to prevent the cavalry from taking them in flank. They had drums and colours in their ranks. The drums beat out a bravery, the colours were displayed. The men halted for a moment to get their breath and to reprime their guns. Then they advanced slowly, to the drubbing of the drums, just as the Spanish horsemen trotted forward. As the Spaniards sounded the charge, the buccaneers fired a volley of bullets at them, which brought a number of cavaliers out of their saddles. Those horsemen who escaped the bullets dashed down upon the line, and fired their pistols at close quarters, afterwards wheeling round, and galloping back to reform. They charged again and again, "like valiant and courageous soldiers," but at every charge the pirates stood firm, and withered them with file-firing. As they retired after each rush, the marksmen in the ranks picked them off one by one, killing the Governor, in his plumed hat, and strewing the grass with corpses. They also manoeuvred during this skirmish so as to cut off the horsemen from the town. After four hours of battle the cavalry were broken and defeated, and in no heart to fight further. They made a last charge on their blown horses, but their ranks went to pieces at the muzzles of the pirates' guns. They broke towards the cover of the woods, but the pirates charged them as they ran, and cut them down without pity. Then the drums beat out a bravery, and the pirates rushed the town in the face of a smart fire. The Spaniards fought in the streets, while some fired from the roofs and upper windows. So hot was the tussle that the pirates had to fight from house to house. The townsmen did not cease their fire, till the pirates were gathering wood to burn the town, in despair of taking it. [Illustration: PUERTO DEL PRINCIPE] As soon as the firing ceased, the townsfolk were driven to the churches, and there imprisoned under sentinels. Afterwards the pirates "searched the whole country round about the town, bringing in day by day many goods and prisoners, with much provision." The wine and spirits of the townsfolk were set on tap, and "with this they fell to banqueting among themselves, and making great cheer after their customary way." They feasted so merrily that they forgot their prisoners, "whereby the greatest part perished." Those who did not perish were examined in the Plaza, "to make them confess where they had hidden their goods." Those who would not tell where they had buried their gold were tortured very barbarously by burning matches, twisted cords, or lighted palm leaves. Finally, the starving wretches were ordered to find ransoms, "else they should be all transported to Jamaica" to be sold as slaves. The town was also laid under a heavy contribution, without which, they said, "they would turn every house into ashes." It happened that, at this juncture, some buccaneers, who were raiding in the woods, made prisoner a negro carrying letters from the Governor of the Havana. The letters were written to the citizens, telling them to delay the payment of their ransoms as long as possible, for that he was fitting out some soldiers to relieve them. The letters warned Henry Morgan that he had better be away with the treasure he had found. He gave order for the plunder to be sent aboard in the carts of the townsfolk. He then called up the prisoners, and told them very sharply that their ransoms must be paid the next day, "forasmuch as he would not wait one moment longer, but reduce the whole town to ashes, in case they failed to perform the sum he demanded." As it was plainly impossible for the townsfolk to produce their ransoms at this short notice he graciously relieved their misery by adding that he would be contented with 500 beeves, "together with sufficient salt wherewith to salt them." He insisted that the cattle should be ready for him by the next morning, and that the Spaniards should deliver them upon the beach, where they could be shifted to the ships without delay. Having made these terms, he marched his men away towards the sea, taking with him six of the principal prisoners "as pledges of what he intended." Early the next morning the beach of Santa Maria bay was thronged with cattle in charge of negroes and planters. Some of the oxen had been yoked to carts to bring the necessary salt. The Spaniards delivered the ransom, and demanded the six hostages. Morgan was by this time in some anxiety for his position. He was eager to set sail before the Havana ships came round the headland, with their guns run out, and matches lit, and all things ready for a fight. He refused to release the prisoners until the vaqueros "had helped his men to kill and salt the beeves." The work of killing and salting was performed "in great haste," lest the Havana ships should come upon them before the beef was shipped. The hides were left upon the sands, there being no time to dry them before sailing. A Spanish cowboy can kill, skin, and cut up a steer in a few minutes. The buccaneers were probably no whit less skilful. By noon the work was done. The beach of Santa Maria was strewn with mangled remnants, over which the seagulls quarrelled. But before Morgan could proceed to sea, he had to quell an uproar which was setting the French and English by the ears. The parties had not come to blows, but the French were clamouring for vengeance with drawn weapons. A French sailor, who was working on the beach, killing and pickling the meat, had been plundered by an Englishman, who "took away the marrowbones he had taken out of the ox." Marrow, "toute chaude," was a favourite dish among these people. The Frenchman could not brook an insult of a kind as hurtful to his dinner as to his sense of honour. He challenged the thief to single combat: swords the weapon, the time then. The buccaneers knocked off their butcher's work to see the fight. As the poor Frenchman turned his back to make him ready, his adversary stabbed him from behind, running him quite through, so that "he suddenly fell dead upon the place." Instantly the beach was in an uproar. The Frenchmen pressed upon the English to attack the murderer and to avenge the death of their fellow. There had been bad blood between the parties ever since they mustered at the quays before the raid began. The quarrel now raging was an excuse to both sides. Morgan walked between the angry groups, telling them to put up their swords. At a word from him, the murderer was seized, set in irons, and sent aboard an English ship. Morgan then seems to have made a little speech to pacify the rioters, telling the French that the man should be hanged ("hanged immediately," as they said of Admiral Byng) as soon as the ships had anchored in Port Royal bay. To the English, he said that the criminal was worthy of punishment, "for although it was permitted him to challenge his adversary, yet it was not lawful to kill him treacherously, as he did." After a good deal of muttering, the mutineers returned aboard their ships, carrying with them the last of the newly salted beef. The hostages were freed, a gun was fired from the admiral's ship, and the fleet hove up their anchors, and sailed away from Cuba, to some small sandy quay with a spring of water in it, where the division of the plunder could be made. The plunder was heaped together in a single pile. It was valued by the captains, who knew by long experience what such goods would fetch in the Jamaican towns. To the "resentment and grief" of all the 700 men these valuers could not bring the total up to 50,000 pieces of eight--say £12,000--"in money and goods." All hands were disgusted at "such a small booty, which was not sufficient to pay their debts at Jamaica." Some cursed their fortune; others cursed their captain. It does not seem to have occurred to them to blame themselves for talking business before their Spanish prisoners. Morgan told them to "think upon some other enterprize," for the ships were fit to keep the sea, and well provisioned. It would be an easy matter, he told them, to attack some town upon the Main "before they returned home," so that they should have a little money for the taverns, to buy them rum with, at the end of the cruise. But the French were still sore about the murder of their man: they raised objections to every scheme the English buccaneers proposed. Each proposition was received contemptuously, with angry bickerings and mutterings. At last the French captains intimated that they desired to part company. Captain Morgan endeavoured to dissuade them from this resolution by using every flattery his adroit nature could suggest. Finding that they would not listen to him, even though he swore by his honour that the murderer, then in chains, should be hanged as soon as they reached home, he brought out wine and glasses, and drank to their good fortune. The booty was then shared up among the adventurers. The Frenchmen got their shares aboard, and set sail for Tortuga to the sound of a salute of guns. The English held on for Port Royal, in great "resentment and grief." When they arrived there they caused the murderer to be hanged upon a gallows, which, we are told, "was all the satisfaction the French Pirates could expect." _Note._--If we may believe Morgan's statement to Sir T. Modyford, then Governor of Jamaica, he brought with him from Cuba reliable evidence that the Spaniards were planning an attack upon that colony (see State Papers: West Indies and Colonial Series). If the statements of his prisoners were correct, the subsequent piratical raid upon the Main had some justification. Had the Spaniards matured their plans, and pushed the attack home, it is probable that we should have lost our West Indian possessions. _Authorities._--A. O. Exquemeling: "Bucaniers of America," eds. 1684-5 and 1699. Cal. State Papers: "West Indies." CHAPTER X THE SACK OF PORTO BELLO The Gulf of Maracaibo--Morgan's escape from the Spaniards It was a melancholy home-coming. The men had little more than ten pounds apiece to spend in jollity. The merchants who enjoyed their custom were of those kinds least anxious to give credit. The ten pounds were but sufficient to stimulate desire. They did not allow the jolly mariner to enjoy himself with any thoroughness. In a day or two, the buccaneers were at the end of their gold, and had to haunt the street corners, within scent of the rum casks, thinking sadly of the pleasant liquor they could not afford to drink. Henry Morgan took this occasion to recruit for a new enterprise. He went ashore among the drinking-houses, telling all he met of golden towns he meant to capture. He always "communicated vigour with his words," for, being a Welshman, he had a certain fervour of address, not necessarily sincere, which touched his simplest phrase with passion. In a day or two, after a little talk and a little treating, every disconsolate drunkard in the town was "persuaded by his reasons, that the sole execution of his orders, would be a certain means of obtaining great riches." This persuasion, the writer adds, "had such influence upon their minds, that with inimitable courage they all resolved to follow him." Even "a certain Pirate of Campeachy," a shipowner of considerable repute, resolved to follow Morgan "to seek new fortunes and greater advantages than he had found before." The French might hold aloof, they all declared, but an Englishman was still the equal of a Spaniard; while after all a short life and a merry one was better than work ashore or being a parson. With this crude philosophy, they went aboard again to the decks they had so lately left. The Campeachy pirate brought in a ship or two, and some large canoas. In all they had a fleet of nine sail, manned by "four hundred and three score military men." With this force Captain Morgan sailed for Costa Rica. When they came within the sight of land, a council was called, to which the captains of the vessels went. Morgan told them that he meant to plunder Porto Bello by a night attack, "being resolved" to sack the place, "not the least corner escaping his diligence." He added that the scheme had been held secret, so that "it would not fail to succeed well." Besides, he thought it likely that a city of such strength would be unprepared for any sudden attack. The captains were staggered by this resolution, for they thought themselves too weak "to assault so strong and great a city." To this the plucky Welshman answered: "If our number is small, our hearts are great. And the fewer persons we are, the more union and better shares we shall have in the spoil." This answer, with the thought of "those vast riches they promised themselves," convinced the captains that the town could be attempted. It was a "dangerous voyage and bold assault" but Morgan had been lucky in the past, and the luck might still be with him. He knew the Porto Bello country, having been there with a party (perhaps Mansvelt's party) some years before. At any rate the ships would be at hand in the event of a repulse. It was something of a hazard, for the Spanish garrison was formed of all the desperate criminals the colonial police could catch. These men made excellent soldiers, for after a battle they were given the plunder of the men they had killed. Then Panama, with its great garrison, was perilously near at hand, being barely sixty miles away, or two days' journey. Lastly, the town was strongly fortified, with castles guarding it at all points. The garrison was comparatively small, mustering about three companies of foot. To these, however, the buccaneers had to add 300 townsfolk capable of bearing arms. Following John Exquemeling's plan, we add a brief description of this famous town, to help the reader to form a mental picture of it. Porto Bello stands on the south-eastern side of a fine bay, "in the province of Costa Rica." At the time when Morgan captured it (in June 1668) it was one of the strongest cities in the possession of the King of Spain. It was neglected until 1584, when a royal mandate caused the traders of Nombre de Dios to migrate thither. It then became the port of the galleons,[16] where the treasures of the south were shipped for Spain. The city which Morgan sacked was built upon a strip of level ground planted with fruit-trees, at a little distance from the sea, but within a few yards of the bay. The westward half of the town was very stately, being graced with fine stone churches and the residence of the lieutenant-general. Most of the merchants' dwellings (and of these there may have been 100) were built of cedar wood. Some were of stone, a thing unusual in the Indies, and some were partly stone, with wooden upper storeys. There was a fine stone convent peopled by Sisters of Mercy, and a dirty, ruinous old hospital for "the sick men belonging to the ships of war." On the shore there was a quay, backed by a long stone custom-house. The main street ran along the shore behind this custom-house, with cross-streets leading to the two great squares. The eastward half of the city, through which the road to Panama ran, was called Guinea; for there the slaves and negroes used to live, in huts and cottages of sugar-cane and palm leaves. There, too, was the slave mart, to which the cargoes of the Guinea ships were brought. A little river of clear water divided the two halves of the town. Another little river, bridged in two places, ran between the town and Castle Gloria. The place was strongly fortified. Ships entering the bay had to pass close to the "Iron Castle," built upon the western point. Directly they stood away towards the town they were exposed to the guns of Castle Gloria and Fort Jeronimo--the latter a strong castle built upon a sandbank off the Guinea town. The constant population was not large, though probably 300 white men lived there all the year round, in addition to the Spanish garrison. The native quarter was generally inhabited by several hundred negroes and mulattoes. When the galleons arrived there, and for some weeks before, the town was populous with merchants, who came across from Panama to buy and sell. Tents were pitched in the Grand Plaza, in front of the Governor's house, for the protection of perishable goods, like Jesuits'-bark. Gold and silver bars became as common to the sight as pebbles. Droves of mules came daily in from Panama, and ships arrived daily from all the seaports in the Indies. As soon as the galleons sailed for Spain, the city emptied as rapidly as it had filled. It was too unhealthy a place for white folk, who continued there "no longer than was needful to acquire a fortune." [Footnote 16: With reservations. See p. 13, _note_.] [Illustration: PORTO BELLO CIRCA 1740. SHOWING THE SITUATION AND DEFENCES OF THE CITY] Indeed, Porto Bello was one of the most pestilential cities ever built, "by reason of the unhealthiness of the Air, occasioned by certain Vapours that exhale from the Mountains." It was excessively hot, for it lay (as it still lies) in a well, surrounded by hills, "without any intervals to admit the refreshing gales." It was less marshy than Nombre de Dios, but "the sea, when it ebbs, leaves a vast quantity of black, stinking mud, from whence there exhales an intolerable noisome vapour." At every fair-time "a kind of pestilential fever" raged, so that at least 400 folk were buried there annually during the five or six weeks of the market. The complaint may have been yellow fever; (perhaps the cholera), perhaps pernicious fever, aggravated by the dirty habits of the thousands then packed within the town. The mortality was especially heavy among the sailors who worked aboard the galleons, hoisting in or out the bales of merchandise. These mariners drank brandy very freely "to recruit their spirits," and in other ways exposed themselves to the infection. The drinking water of the place was "too fine and active for the stomachs of the inhabitants," who died of dysentery if they presumed to drink of it. The town smoked in a continual steam of heat, unrelieved even by the torrents of rain which fall there every day. The woods are infested with poisonous snakes, and abound in a sort of large toad or frog which crawls into the city after rains. The tigers "often make incursions into the street," as at Nombre de Dios, to carry off children and domestic animals. There was good fishing in the bay, and the land was fertile "beyond wonder," so that the cost of living there, in the _tiempo muerto_, was very small. There is a hill behind the town called the Capiro, about which the streamers of the clouds wreathe whenever rain is coming. The town was taken by Sir Francis Drake in 1595, by Captain Parker in 1601, by Morgan in 1668, by Coxon in 1679, and by Admiral Vernon in 1740. Having told his plans, the admiral bade his men make ready. During the afternoon he held towards the west of Porto Bello, at some distance from the land. The coast up to the Chagres River, and for some miles beyond, is low, so that there was not much risk of the ships being sighted from the shore. As it grew darker, he edged into the land, arriving "in the dusk of the evening" at a place called Puerto de Naos, or Port of Ships, a bay midway between Porto Bello and the Chagres, and about ten leagues from either place. They sailed westward up the coast for a little distance to a place called Puerto Pontin, where they anchored. Here the pirates got their boats out, and took to the oars, "leaving in the ships only a few men to keep them, and conduct them the next day to the port." By the light of lamps and battle lanterns the boats rowed on through the darkness, till at midnight they had came to a station called Estera longa Lemos, a river-mouth a few miles from Porto Bello, "where they all went on shore." After priming their muskets, they set forth towards the city, under the guidance of an English buccaneer, who had been a prisoner at Porto Bello but a little while before. When they were within a mile or two of the town, they sent this Englishmen with three or four companions to take a solitary sentry posted at the city outskirts. If they could not take him, they were to kill him, but without giving the alarm to the inhabitants. By creeping quietly behind him, the party took the sentry, "with such cunning that he had no time to give warning with his musket, or make any other noise." A knife point pressing on his spine, and a gag of wood across his tongue, warned him to attempt no outcry. Some rope-yarn was passed about his wrists, and in this condition he was dragged to Captain Morgan. As soon as he was in the admiral's presence, he was questioned as to the number of soldiers then in the forts, "with many other circumstances." It must have been a most uncomfortable trial, for "after every question, they made him a thousand menaces to kill him, in case he declared not the truth." When they had examined him to their satisfaction, they recommenced their march, "carrying always the said sentry bound before them." Another mile brought them to an outlying fortress, which was built apparently between Porto Bello and the sea, to protect the coast road and a few outlying plantations. It was not yet light, so the pirates crept about the fort unseen, "so that no person could get either in or out." When they had taken up their ground, Morgan bade the captured sentry hail the garrison, charging them to surrender on pain of being cut to pieces. The garrison at once ran to their weapons, and opened a fierce fire on the unseen enemy, thus giving warning to the city that the pirates were attacking. Before they could reload, the buccaneers, "the noble Sparks of Venus," stormed in among them, taking them in their confusion, hardly knowing what was toward. Morgan was furious that the Spaniards had not surrendered at discretion on his challenge. The pirates were flushed with the excitement of the charge. Someone proposed that they "should be as good as their words, in putting the Spaniards to the sword, thereby to strike a terror into the rest of the city." They hustled the Spanish soldiers "into one room," officers and men together. The cellars of the fort were filled with powder barrels. Some ruffian took a handful of the powder, and spilled a train along the ground, telling his comrades to stand clear. His mates ran from the building applauding his device. In another moment the pirate blew upon his musket match to make the end red, and fired the train he had laid, "and blew up the whole castle into the air, with all the Spaniards that were within." "Much the better way of the two," says one of the chroniclers, who saw the explosion. "This being done," says the calm historian, "they pursued the course of their victory" into the town. By this time, the streets were thronged with shrieking townsfolk. Men ran hither and thither with their poor belongings. Many flung their gold and jewels into wells and cisterns, or stamped them underground, "to excuse their being totally robbed." The bells were set clanging in the belfries; while, to increase the confusion, the Governor rode into the streets, calling on the citizens to rally and stand firm. As the dreadful panic did not cease, he rode out of the mob to one of the castles (Castle Gloria), where the troops were under arms. It was now nearly daybreak, or light enough for them to see their enemy. As the pirates came in sight among the fruit-trees, the Governor trained his heavy guns upon them, and opened a smart fire. Some lesser castles, or the outlying works of Castle Gloria, which formed the outer defences of the town, followed his example; nor could the pirates silence them. One party of buccaneers crept round the fortifications to the town, where they attacked the monastery and the convent, breaking into both with little trouble, and capturing a number of monks and nuns. With these they retired to the pirates' lines. For several hours, the pirates got no farther, though the fire did not slacken on either side. The pirates lay among the scrub, hidden in the bushes, in little knots of two and three. They watched the castle embrasures after each discharge of cannon, for the Spaniards could not reload without exposing themselves as they sponged or rammed. Directly a Spaniard appeared, he was picked off from the bushes with such precision that they lost "one or two men every time they charged each gun anew." The losses on the English side were fully as severe; for, sheltered though they were, the buccaneers lost heavily. The lying still under a hot sun was galling to the pirates' temper. They made several attempts to storm, but failed in each attempt owing to the extreme gallantry of the defence. Towards noon they made a furious attack, carrying fireballs, or cans filled with powder and resin, in their hands "designing, if possible, to burn the doors of the castle." As they came beneath the walls, the Spaniards rolled down stones upon them, with "earthen pots full of powder" and iron shells filled full of chain-shot, "which forced them to desist from that attempt." Morgan's party was driven back with heavy loss. It seemed to Morgan at this crisis that the victory was with the Spanish. He wavered for some minutes, uncertain whether to call off his men. "Many faint and calm meditations came into his mind" seeing so many of his best hands dead and the Spanish fire still so furious. As he debated "he was suddenly animated to continue the assault, by seeing the English colours put forth at one of the lesser castles, then entered by his men." A few minutes later the conquerors came swaggering up to join him, "proclaiming victory with loud shouts of joy." Leaving his musketeers to fire at the Spanish gunners, Morgan turned aside to reconnoitre. Making the capture of the lesser fort his excuse, he sent a trumpet, with a white flag, to summon the main castle, where the Governor had flown the Spanish standard. While the herald was gone upon his errand, Morgan set some buccaneers to make a dozen scaling ladders, "so broad that three or four men at once might ascend by them." By the time they were finished, the trumpeter returned, bearing the Governor's answer that "he would never surrender himself alive." When the message had been given, Captain Morgan formed his soldiers into companies, and bade the monks and nuns whom he had taken, to place the ladders against the walls of the chief castle. He thought that the Spanish Governor would hardly shoot down these religious persons, even though they bore the ladders for the scaling parties. In this he was very much mistaken. The Governor was there to hold the castle for his Catholic Majesty, and, like "a brave and courageous soldier," he "refused not to use his utmost endeavours to destroy whoever came near the walls." As the wretched monks and nuns came tottering forward with the ladders, they begged of him, "by all the Saints of Heaven," to haul his colours down, to the saving of their lives. Behind them were the pirates, pricking them forward with their pikes and knives. In front of them were the cannon of their friends, so near that they could see the matches burning in the hands of the gunners. "They ceased not to cry to him," says the narrative; but they could not "prevail with the obstinacy and fierceness that had possessed the Governor's mind"--"the Governor valuing his honour before the lives of the Mass-mumblers." As they drew near to the walls, they quickened their steps, hoping, no doubt, to get below the cannon muzzles out of range. When they were but a few yards from the walls, the cannon fired at them, while the soldiers pelted them with a fiery hail of hand-grenades. "Many of the religious men and nuns were killed before they could fix the ladders"; in fact, the poor folk were butchered there in heaps, before the ladders caught against the parapet. Directly the ladders held, the pirates stormed up with a shout, in great swarms, like a ship's crew going aloft to make the sails fast. They had "fireballs in their hands and earthen pots full of powder," which "they kindled and cast in among the Spaniards" from the summits of the walls. In the midst of the smoke and flame which filled the fort the Spanish Governor stood fighting gallantly. His wife and child were present in that house of death, among the blood and smell, trying to urge him to surrender. The men were running from their guns, and the hand-grenades were bursting all about him, but this Spanish Governor refused to leave his post. The buccaneers who came about him called upon him to surrender, but he answered that he would rather die like a brave soldier than be hanged as a coward for deserting his command, "so that they were enforc'd to kill him, nothwithstanding the cries of his Wife and Daughter." The sun was setting over Iron Castle before the firing came to an end with the capture of the Castle Gloria. The pirates used the last of the light for the securing of their many prisoners. They drove them to some dungeon in the castle, where they shut them up under a guard. The wounded "were put into a certain apartment by itself," without medicaments or doctors, "to the intent their own complaints might be the cure of their diseases." In the dungeons of the castle's lower battery they found eleven English prisoners chained hand and foot. They were the survivors of the garrison of Providence, which the Spaniards treacherously took two years before. Their backs were scarred with many floggings, for they had been forced to work like slaves at the laying of the quay piles in the hot sun, under Spanish overseers. They were released at once, and tenderly treated, nor were they denied a share of the plunder of the town. "Having finish'd this Jobb" the pirates sought out the "recreations of Heroick toil." "They fell to eating and drinking" of the provisions stored within the city, "committing in both these things all manner of debauchery and excess." They tapped the casks of wine and brandy, and "drank about" till they were roaring drunk. In this condition they ran about the town, like cowboys on a spree, "and never examined whether it were Adultery or Fornication which they committed." By midnight they were in such a state of drunken disorder that "if there had been found only fifty courageous men, they might easily have retaken the City, and killed the Pirats." The next day they gathered plunder, partly by routing through the houses, partly by torturing the townsfolk. They seem to have been no less brutal here than they had been in Cuba, though the Porto Bello houses yielded a more golden spoil than had been won at Puerto Principe. They racked one or two poor men until they died. Others they slowly cut to pieces, or treated to the punishment called "woolding," by which the eyes were forced from their sockets under the pressure of a twisted cord. Some were tortured with burning matches "and such like slight torments." A woman was roasted to death "upon a baking stone"--a sin for which one buccaneer ("as he lay sick") was subsequently sorry. While they were indulging these barbarities, they drank and swaggered and laid waste. They stayed within the town for fifteen days, sacking it utterly, to the last ryal. They were too drunk and too greedy to care much about the fever, which presently attacked them, and killed a number, as they lay in drunken stupor in the kennels. News of their riot being brought across the isthmus, the Governor of Panama resolved to send a troop of soldiers, to attempt to retake the city, but he had great difficulty in equipping a sufficient force. Before his men were fit to march, some messengers came in from the imprisoned townsfolk, bringing word from Captain Morgan that he wanted a ransom for the city, "or else he would by fire consume it to ashes." The pirate ships were by this time lying off the town, in Porto Bello bay. They were taking in fresh victuals for the passage home. The ransom asked was 100,000 pieces of eight, or £25,000. If it had not been paid the pirates could have put their threat in force without the slightest trouble. Morgan made all ready to ensure his retreat in the event of an attack from Panama. He placed an outpost of 100 "well-arm'd" men in a narrow part of the passage over the isthmus. All the plunder of the town was sent on board the ships. In this condition he awaited the answer of the President. As soon as that soldier had sufficient musketeers in arms, he marched them across the isthmus to relieve the city. They attempted the pass which Morgan had secured, but lost very heavily in the attempt. The buccaneers charged, and completely routed them, driving back the entire company along the road to Panama. The President had "to retire for that time," but he sent a blustering note to Captain Morgan, threatening him and his with death "when he should take them, as he hoped soon to do." To this Morgan replied that he would not deliver the castles till he had the money, and that if the money did not come, the castles should be blown to pieces, with the prisoners inside them. We are told that "the Governor of Panama perceived by this answer that no means would serve to mollify the hearts of the Pirates, nor reduce them to reason." He decided to let the townsfolk make what terms they could. In a few days more these wretched folk contrived to scrape together the required sum of money, which they paid over as their ransom. Before the expedition sailed away, a messenger arrived from Panama with a letter from the Governor to Captain Morgan. It made no attempt to mollify his heart nor to reduce him to reason, but it expressed a wonder at the pirates' success. He asked, as a special favour, that Captain Morgan would send him "some small patterns" of the arms with which the city had been taken. He thought it passing marvellous that a town so strongly fortified should have been won by men without great guns. Morgan treated the messenger to a cup of drink, and gave him a pistol and some leaden bullets "to carry back to the President, his Master." "He desired him to accept that pattern of the arms wherewith he had taken Porto Bello." He requested him to keep them for a twelvemonth, "after which time he promised to come to Panama and fetch them away." The Spaniard returned the gift to Captain Morgan, "giving him thanks for lending him such weapons as he needed not." He also sent a ring of gold, with the warning "not to give himself the trouble of coming to Panama," for "he should not speed so well there" as he had sped at Porto Bello. "After these transactions" Captain Morgan loosed his top-sail, as a signal to unmoor. His ships were fully victualled for the voyage, and the loot was safely under hatches. As a precaution, he took with him the best brass cannon from the fortress. The iron guns were securely spiked with soft metal nails, which were snapped off flush with the touch-holes. The anchors were weighed to the music of the fiddlers, a salute of guns was fired, and the fleet stood out of Porto Bello bay along the wet, green coast, passing not very far from the fort which they had blown to pieces. In a few days' time they raised the Keys of Cuba, their favourite haven, where "with all quiet and repose" they made their dividend. "They found in ready money two hundred and fifty thousand pieces of eight, besides all other merchandises, as cloth, linen, silks and other goods." The spoil was amicably shared about the mast before a course was shaped for their "common rendezvous"--Port Royal. A godly person in Jamaica, writing at this juncture in some distress, expressed himself as follows:--"There is not now resident upon this place ten men to every [licensed] house that selleth strong liquors ... besides sugar and rum works that sell without license." When Captain Morgan's ships came flaunting into harbour, with their colours fluttering and the guns thundering salutes, there was a rustle and a stir in the heart of every publican. "All the Tavern doors stood open, as they do at London, on Sundays, in the afternoon." Within those tavern doors, "in all sorts of vices and debauchery," the pirates spent their plunder "with huge prodigality," not caring what might happen on the morrow. Shortly after the return from Porto Bello, Morgan organised another expedition with which he sailed into the Gulf of Maracaibo. His ships could not proceed far on account of the shallowness of the water, but by placing his men in the canoas he penetrated to the end of the Gulf. On the way he sacked Maracaibo, a town which had been sacked on two previous occasions--the last time by L'Ollonais only a couple of years before. Morgan's men tortured the inhabitants, according to their custom, either by "woolding" them or by placing burning matches between their toes. They then set sail for Gibraltar, a small town strongly fortified, at the south-east corner of the Gulf. The town was empty, for the inhabitants had fled into the hills with "all their goods and riches." But the pirates sent out search parties, who brought in many prisoners. These were examined, with the usual cruelties, being racked, pressed, hung up by the heels, burnt with palm leaves, tied to stakes, suspended by the thumbs and toes, flogged with rattans, or roasted at the camp fires. Some were crucified, and burnt between the fingers as they hung on the crosses; "others had their feet put into the fire." When they had extracted the last ryal from the sufferers they shipped themselves aboard some Spanish vessels lying in the port. They were probably cedar-built ships, of small tonnage, built at the Gibraltar yards. In these they sailed towards Maracaibo, where they found "a poor distressed old man, who was sick." This old man told them that the Castle de la Barra, which guarded the entrance to the Gulf, had been mounted with great guns and manned by a strong garrison. Outside the channel were three Spanish men-of-war with their guns run out and decks cleared for battle. The truth of these assertions was confirmed by a scouting party the same day. In order to gain a little time Morgan sent a Spaniard to the admiral of the men-of-war, demanding a ransom "for not putting Maracaibo to the flame." The answer reached him in a day or two, warning him to surrender all his plunder, and telling him that if he did not, he should be destroyed by the sword. There was no immediate cause for haste, because the Spanish admiral could not cross the sandbanks into the Gulf until he had obtained flat-bottomed boats from Caracas. Morgan read the letter to his men "in the market-place of Maracaibo," "both in French and English," and then asked them would they give up all their spoil, and pass unharmed, or fight for its possession. They agreed with one voice to fight, "to the very last drop of blood," rather than surrender the booty they had risked their skins to get. One of the men undertook to rig a fireship to destroy the Spanish admiral's flagship. He proposed to fill her decks with logs of wood "standing with hats and Montera caps," like gunners standing at their guns. At the port-holes they would place other wooden logs to resemble cannon. The ship should then hang out the English colours, the Jack or the red St George's cross, so that the enemy should deem her "one of our best men of war that goes to fight them." The scheme pleased everyone, but there was yet much anxiety among the pirates. Morgan sent another letter to the Spanish admiral, offering to spare Maracaibo without ransom; to release his prisoners, with one half of the captured slaves; and to send home the hostages he brought away from Gibraltar, if he might be granted leave to pass the entry. The Spaniard rejected all these terms, with a curt intimation that, if the pirates did not surrender within two more days, they should be compelled to do so at the sword's point. Morgan received the Spaniard's answer angrily, resolving to attempt the passage "without surrendering anything." He ordered his men to tie the slaves and prisoners, so that there should be no chance of their attempting to rise. They then rummaged Maracaibo for brimstone, pitch, and tar, with which to make their fireship. They strewed her deck with fireworks and with dried palm leaves soaked in tar. They cut her outworks down, so that the fire might more quickly spread to the enemy's ship at the moment of explosion. They broke open some new gun-ports, in which they placed small drums, "of which the negroes make use." "Finally, the decks were handsomely beset with many pieces of wood dressed up in the shape of men with hats or monteras, and likewise armed with swords, muskets, and bandoliers." The plunder was then divided among the other vessels of the squadron. A guard of musketeers was placed over the prisoners, and the pirates then set sail towards the passage. The fireship went in advance, with orders to fall foul of the _Spanish Admiral_, a ship of forty guns. [Illustration: THE FIRESHIP DESTROYING THE SPANISH ADMIRAL CASTLE DE LA BARRA IN BACKGROUND] When it grew dark they anchored for the night, with sentinels on each ship keeping vigilant watch. They were close to the entry, almost within shot of the Spaniards, and they half expected to be boarded in the darkness. At dawn they got their anchors, and set sail towards the Spaniards, who at once unmoored, and beat to quarters. In a few minutes the fireship ran into the man-of-war, "and grappled to her sides" with kedges thrown into her shrouds. The Spaniards left their guns, and strove to thrust her away, but the fire spread so rapidly that they could not do so. The flames caught the warship's sails, and ran along her sides with such fury that her men had hardly time to get away from her before she blew her bows out, and went to the bottom. The second ship made no attempt to engage: her crew ran her ashore, and deserted, leaving her bilged in shallow water. As the pirates rowed towards the wreck some of the deserters hurried back to fire her. The third ship struck her colours without fighting. Seeing their advantage a number of the pirates landed to attack the castle, where the shipwrecked Spaniards were rallying. A great skirmish followed, in which the pirates lost more men than had been lost at Porto Bello. They were driven off with heavy loss, though they continued to annoy the fort with musket fire till the evening. As it grew dark they returned to Maracaibo, leaving one of their ships to watch the fortress and to recover treasure from the sunken flagship. Morgan now wrote to the Spanish admiral, demanding a ransom for the town. The citizens were anxious to get rid of him at any cost, so they compounded with him, seeing that the admiral disdained to treat, for the sum of 20,000 pieces of eight and 500 cattle. The gold was paid, and the cattle duly counted over, killed, and salted; but Morgan did not purpose to release his prisoners until his ship was safely past the fort. He told the Maracaibo citizens that they would not be sent ashore until the danger of the passage was removed. With this word he again set sail to attempt to pass the narrows. He found his ship still anchored near the wreck, but in more prosperous sort than he had left her. Her men had brought up 15,000 pieces of eight, with a lot of gold and silver plate, "as hilts of swords and other things," besides "great quantity of pieces of eight" which had "melted and run together" in the burning of the vessel. Morgan now made a last appeal to the Spanish admiral, telling him that he would hang his prisoners if the fortress fired on him as he sailed past. The Spanish admiral sent an answer to the prisoners, who had begged him to relent, informing them that he would do his duty, as he wished they had done theirs. Morgan heard the answer, and realised that he would have to use some stratagem to escape the threatened danger. He made a dividend of the plunder before he proceeded farther, for he feared that some of the fleet might never win to sea, and that the captains of those which escaped might be tempted to run away with their ships. The spoils amounted to 250,000 pieces of eight, as at Porto Bello, though in addition to this gold there were numbers of slaves and heaps of costly merchandise. When the booty had been shared he put in use his stratagem. He embarked his men in the canoas, and bade them row towards the shore "as if they designed to land." When they reached the shore they hid under the overhanging boughs "till they had laid themselves down along in the boats." Then one or two men rowed the boats back to the ships, with the crews concealed under the thwarts. The Spaniards in the fortress watched the going and returning of the boats. They could not see the stratagem, for the boats were too far distant, but they judged that the pirates were landing for a night attack. The boats plied to and from the shore at intervals during the day. The anxious Spaniards resolved to prepare for the assault by placing their great guns on the landward side of the fortress. They cleared away the scrub on that side, in order to give their gunners a clear view of the attacking force when the sun set. They posted sentries, and stood to their arms, expecting to be attacked. As soon as night had fallen the buccaneers weighed anchor. A bright moon was shining, and by the moonlight the ships steered seaward under bare poles. As they came abreast of the castle on the gentle current of the ebb, they loosed their sails to a fair wind blowing seaward. At the same moment, while the top-sails were yet slatting, Captain Morgan fired seven great guns "with bullets" as a last defiance. The Spaniards dragged their cannon across the fortress, "and began to fire very furiously," without much success. The wind freshened, and as the ships drew clear of the narrows they felt its force, and began to slip through the water. One or two shots took effect upon them before they drew out of range, but "the Pirates lost not many of their men, nor received any considerable damage in their ships." They hove to at a distance of a mile from the fort in order to send a boat in with a number of the prisoners. They then squared their yards, and stood away towards Jamaica, where they arrived safely, after very heavy weather, a few days later. Here they went ashore in their stolen velvets and silks to spend their silver dollars in the Port Royal rum shops. Some mates of theirs were ashore at that time after an unlucky cruise. It was their pleasure "to mock and jeer" these unsuccessful pirates, "often telling them: Let us see what money you brought from Comana, and if it be as good silver as that which we bring from Maracaibo." _Note._--On his return from Maracaibo, Morgan gave out that he had met with further information of an intended Spanish attack on Jamaica. He may have made the claim to justify his actions on the Main, which were considerably in excess of the commission Modyford had given him. On the other hand, a Spanish attack may have been preparing, as he stated; but the preparations could not have gone far, for had the Spaniards been prepared for such an expedition Morgan's Panama raid could never have succeeded. _Authorities._--Exquemeling's "History of The Bucaniers of America"; Exquemeling's "History" (the Malthus edition), 1684. Cal. State Papers: West Indian and Colonial Series. For my account of Porto Bello I am indebted to various brief accounts in Hakluyt, and to a book entitled "A Description of the Spanish Islands," by a "Gentleman long resident in those parts." I have also consulted the brief notices in Dampier's Voyages, Wafer's Voyages, various gazetteers, and some maps and pamphlets relating to Admiral Vernon's attack in 1739-40. There is a capital description of the place as it was in its decadence, _circa_ 1820, in Michael Scott's "Tom Cringle's Log." CHAPTER XI MORGAN'S GREAT RAID Chagres castle--Across the isthmus--Sufferings of the buccaneers--Venta Cruz--Old Panama Some months later Henry Morgan found his pirates in all the miseries of poverty. They had wasted all their silver dollars, and longed for something "to expend anew in wine" before they were sold as slaves to pay their creditors. He thought that he would save them from their misery by going a new cruise. There was no need for him to drum up recruits in the rum shops, for his name was glorious throughout the Indies. He had but to mention that "he intended for the Main" to get more men than he could ship. He "assigned the south side of the Isle of Tortuga" for his rendezvous, and he sent out letters to the "ancient and expert Pirates" and to the planters and hunters in Hispaniola, asking them, in the American general's phrase, "to come and dip their spoons in a platter of glory." Long before the appointed day the rendezvous was crowded, for ships, canoas, and small boats came thronging to the anchorage with all the ruffians of the Indies. Many marched to the rendezvous across the breadth of Hispaniola "with no small difficulties." The muster brought together a grand variety of rascaldom, from Campeachy in the west to Trinidad in the east. Hunters, planters, logwood cutters, Indians, and half-breeds came flocking from their huts and inns to go upon the grand account. Lastly, Henry Morgan came in his fine Spanish ship, with the brass and iron guns. At the firing of a gun the assembled captains came on board to him for a pirates' council, over the punch-bowl, in the admiral's cabin. It was decided at this council to send a large party to the Main, to the de la Hacha River, "to assault a small village" of the name of La Rancheria--the chief granary in all the "Terra Firma." The pirates were to seize as much maize there as they could find--enough, if possible, to load the ships of the expedition. While they were away their fellows at Tortuga were to clean and rig the assembled ships to fit them for the coming cruise. Another large party was detailed to hunt in the woods for hogs and cattle. In about five weeks' time the ships returned from Rio de la Hacha, after much buffeting at sea. They brought with them a grain ship they had taken in the port, and several thousand sacks of corn which the Spaniards had paid them as "a ransom for not burning the town." They had also won a lot of silver, "with all other things they could rob"--such as pearls from the local pearl beds. The hunters had killed and salted an incredible quantity of beef and pork, the ships were scraped and tallowed, and nothing more was to be done save to divide the victuals among all the buccaneers. This division did not take much time. Within a couple of days the admiral loosed his top-sail. The pirates fired off their guns and hove their anchors up. They sailed out of Port Couillon with a fair wind, in a great bravery of flags, towards the rendezvous at Cape Tiburon, to the south-west of the island Hispaniola. When they reached Cape Tiburon, where there is a good anchorage, they brought aboard a store of oranges, to save them from the scurvy. While the men were busy in the orange groves Henry Morgan "gave letters patent, or commissions," to all his captains, "to act all manner of hostility against the Spanish nation." For this act he had the sealed authority of the Council of Jamaica. He was no longer a pirate or buccaneer, but an admiral leading a national enterprise. As we have said, he had heard, on the Main, of an intended Spanish attack upon Jamaica; indeed, it is probable that his capture of Porto Bello prevented the ripening of the project. There is no need to whitewash Morgan, but we may at least regard him at this juncture as the saviour of our West Indian colonies. After the serving out of these commissions, and their due sealing, the captains were required to sign the customary articles, allotting the shares of the prospective plunder. The articles allotted very liberal compensation to the wounded; they also expressly stated the reward to be given for bravery in battle. Fifty pieces of eight were allotted to him who should haul a Spanish colour down and hoist the English flag in its place. Surgeons received 200 pieces of eight "for their chests of medicaments." Carpenters received one half of that sum. Henry Morgan, the admiral of the fleet, was to receive one-hundredth part of all the plunder taken. His vice-admiral's share is not stated. As a stimulus to the pirates, it was published through the fleet that any captain and crew who ventured on, and took, a Spanish ship should receive a tenth part of her value as a reward to themselves for their bravery. When the contracts had been signed Morgan asked his captains which town they should attempt. They had thirty-seven ships, carrying at least 500 cannon. They had 2000 musketeers, "besides mariners and boys," while they possessed "great quantity of ammunition, and fire balls, with other inventions of powder." With such an armament, he said, they could attack the proudest of the Spanish cities. They could sack La Vera Cruz, where the gold from Manila was put aboard the galleons, as they lay alongside the quays moored to the iron ring-bolts; or they could go eastward to the town of Cartagena to pillage our Lady's golden altar in the church there; or they could row up the Chagres River, and keep the promise Morgan had made to the Governor of Panama. The captains pronounced for Panama, but they added, as a rider, that it would be well to go to Santa Katalina to obtain guides. The Santa Katalina fort was still in the possession of the Spaniards, who now used it as a convict settlement, sending thither all the outlaws of the "Terra Firma." It would be well, they said, to visit Santa Katalina to select a few choice cut-throats to guide them over the isthmus. With this resolution they set sail for Santa Katalina, where they anchored on the fourth day, "before sunrise," in a bay called the Aguada Grande. Some of the buccaneers had been there under Mansvelt, and these now acted as guides to the men who went ashore in the fighting party. A day of hard fighting followed, rather to the advantage of the Spaniards, for the pirates won none of the batteries, and had to sleep in the open, very wet and hungry. The next day Morgan threatened the garrison with death if they did not yield "within few hours." The Governor was not a very gallant man, like the Governor at Porto Bello. Perhaps he was afraid of his soldiers, the convicts from the "Terra Firma." At anyrate he consented to surrender, but he asked that the pirates would have the kindness to pretend to attack him, "for the saving of his honesty." Morgan agreed very gladly to this proposition, for he saw little chance of taking the fort by storm. When the night fell, he followed the Governor's direction, and began a furious bombardment, "but without bullets, or at least into the air." The castles answered in the like manner, burning a large quantity of powder. Then the pirates stormed into the castles in a dramatic way; while the Spaniards retreated to the church, and hung out the white flag. Early the next morning the pirates sacked the place, and made great havoc in the poultry-yards and cattle-pens. They pulled down a number of wooden houses to supply their camp fires. The guns they nailed or sent aboard. The powder they saved for their own use, but some proportion of it went to the destruction of the forts, which, with one exception, they blew up. For some days they stayed there, doing nothing but "roast and eat, and make good cheer," sending the Spaniards to the fields to rout out fresh provisions. While they lay there, Morgan asked "if any banditti were there from Panama," as he had not yet found his guides. Three scoundrels came before him, saying that they knew the road across the isthmus, and that they would act as guides if such action were made profitable. Morgan promised them "equal shares in all they should pillage and rob," and told them that they should come with him to Jamaica at the end of the cruise. These terms suited the three robbers very well. One of them, "a wicked fellow," "the greatest rogue, thief and assassin among them," who had deserved rather "to be broken alive upon a wheel than punished with serving in a garrison," was the spokesman of the trio. He was the Dubosc of that society, "and could domineer and command over them," "they not daring to refuse obedience." This truculent ruffian, with his oaths and his knives and his black moustachios, was elected head guide. After several days of ease upon the island Morgan sent a squadron to the Main, with 400 men, four ships, and a canoa, "to go and take the Castle of Chagre," at the entrance to the Chagres River. He would not send a larger company, though the fort was strong, for he feared "lest the Spaniards should be jealous of his designs upon Panama"--lest they should be warned, that is, by refugees from Chagres before he tried to cross the isthmus. Neither would he go himself, for he was still bent upon establishing a settlement at Santa Katalina. He chose out an old buccaneer, of the name of Brodely or Bradly, who had sailed with Mansvelt, to command the expedition. He was famous in his way this Captain Brodely, for he had been in all the raids, and had smelt a quantity of powder. He was as brave as a lion, resourceful as a sailor, and, for a buccaneer, most prudent. Ordering his men aboard, he sailed for the Chagres River, where, three days later, he arrived. He stood in towards the river's mouth; but the guns of the castle opened on him, making that anchorage impossible. But about a league from the castle there is a small bay, and here Captain Brodely brought his ships to anchor, and sent his men to their blankets, warning them to stand by for an early call. [Illustration: CHAGRES CIRCA 1739] The castle of San Lorenzo, which guarded the Chagres River's mouth, was built on the right bank of that river, on a high hill of great steepness. The hill has two peaks, with a sort of natural ditch some thirty feet in depth between them. The castle was built upon the seaward peak, and a narrow drawbridge crossed the gully to the other summit, which was barren and open to the sight. The river swept round the northern side of the hill with considerable force. To the south the hill was precipitous, and of such "infinite asperity," that no man could climb it. To the east was the bridged gully connecting the garrison with the isthmus. To the west, in a crook of the land, was the little port of Chagres, where ships might anchor in seven or eight fathoms, "being very fit for small vessels." Not far from the foot of the hill, facing the river's mouth, there was a battery of eight great guns commanding the approach. A little way beneath were two more batteries, each with six great guns, to supplement the one above. A path led from these lower batteries to the protected harbour. A steep flight of stairs, "hewed out of the rock," allowed the soldiers to pass from the water to the summit of the castle. The defences at the top of the hill were reinforced with palisadoes. The keep, or inner castle, was hedged about with a double fence of plank--the fences being six or seven feet apart, and the interstices filled in with earth, like gabions. On one side of the castle were the storesheds for merchandise and ammunition. On the other, and within the palisadoes everywhere, were soldiers' huts, built of mud and wattle, thatched with palm leaves, "after the manner of the Indians." Lastly, as a sort of outer defence, a great submerged rock prevented boats from coming too near the seaward side. Early in the morning Captain Bradly turned his hands up by the boatswain's pipe, and bade them breakfast off their beef and parched corn. Maize and charqui were packed into knapsacks for the march, and the pirates rowed ashore to open the campaign. The ruffians from Santa Katalina took their stations at the head of the leading company, with trusty pirates just behind them ready to pistol them if they played false. In good spirits they set forth from the beach, marching in the cool of the morning before the sun had risen. The way led through mangrove swamps, where the men sank to their knees in rotting grasses or plunged to their waists in slime. Those who have seen a tropical swamp will know how fierce the toil was. They were marching in a dank world belonging to an earlier age than ours. They were in the age of the coal strata, among wet, green things, in a silence only broken by the sound of dropping or by the bellow of an alligator. They were there in the filth, in the heat haze, in a mist of miasma and mosquitoes. In all probability they were swearing at themselves for coming thither. At two o'clock in the afternoon the buccaneers pushed through a thicket of liane and green cane, and debouched quite suddenly upon the barren hilltop facing San Lorenzo Castle. As they formed up, they were met with a thundering volley, which threw them into some confusion. They retreated to the cover of the jungle to debate a plan of battle, greatly fearing that a fort so strongly placed would be impregnable without great guns to batter it. However, they were a reckless company, careless of their lives, and hot with the tramping through the swamp. Give it up they could not, for fear of the mockery of their mates. The desperate course was the one course open to them. They lit the fireballs, or grenades, they had carried through the marsh; they drew their swords, and "Come on!" they cried. "Have at all!" And forward they stormed, cursing as they ran. A company in reserve remained behind in cover, firing over the storming party with their muskets. As the pirates threw themselves into the gully, the walls of San Lorenzo burst into a flame of gun fire. The Spaniards fought their cannon furiously--as fast as they could fire and reload--while the musketeers picked off the leaders from the loopholes. "Come on, ye English dogs!" they cried. "Come on, ye heretics! ye cuckolds! Let your skulking mates behind there come on too! You'll not get to Panama this bout." "Come on" the pirates did, with great gallantry. They flung themselves down into the ditch, and stormed up the opposite slope to the wooden palings. Here they made a desperate attempt to scale, but the foothold was too precarious and the pales too high. In a few roaring minutes the attack was at an end: it had withered away before the Spanish fire. The buccaneers were retreating in knots of one or two, leaving some seventy of their number on the sun-bleached rocks of the gully. When they got back to the jungle they lay down to rest, and slept there quietly while the daylight lasted, though the Spaniards still sent shots in their direction. As soon as it was dark, they made another furious assault, flinging their fireballs against the palings in order to burst the planks apart. While they were struggling in the ditch, a pirate ran across the gully with his body bent, as is natural to a running man. As he ran, an arrow took him in the back, and pierced him through to the side. He paused a moment, drew the arrow from the wound, wrapped the shaft of it with cotton as a wad, and fired it back over the paling with his musket. The cotton he had used caught fire from the powder, and it chanced that this blazing shaft drove home into a palm thatch. In the hurry and confusion the flame was not noticed, though it spread rapidly across the huts till it reached some powder casks. There was a violent explosion just within the palisadoes, and stones and blazing sticks came rattling down about the Spaniards' ears. The inner castle roared up in a blaze, calling the Spaniards from their guns to quench the fire--no easy task so high above the water. While the guns were deserted, the pirates ran along the bottom of the ditch, thrusting their fireballs under the palisadoes, which now began to burn in many places. As the flames spread, the planking warped, and fell. The outer planks inclined slightly outward, like the futtocks of a ship, so that, when they weakened in the fire, the inner weight of earth broke them through. The pirates now stood back from the fort, in the long black shadows, to avoid the showers of earth--"great heaps of earth"--which were falling down into the ditch. Presently the slope from the bottom of the gully was piled with earth, so that the pirates could rush up to the breaches, and hurl their firepots across the broken woodwork. The San Lorenzo fort was now a spiring red flame of fire--a beacon to the ships at sea. Before midnight the wooden walls were burnt away to charcoal; the inner fort was on fire in many places; yet the Spaniards still held the earthen ramparts, casting down "many flaming pots," and calling on the English dogs to attack them. The pirates lay close in the shadows, picking off the Spaniards as they moved in the red firelight, so that many poor fellows came toppling into the gully from the mounds. When day dawned, the castle lay open to the pirates. The walls were all burnt, and fallen down, but in the breaches stood the Spanish soldiers, manning their guns as though the walls still protected them. The fight began as furiously as it had raged the day before. By noon most of the Spanish gunners had been shot down by the picked musketeers; while a storming party ran across the ditch, and rushed a breach. As the pirates gained the inside of the fort, the Spanish Governor charged home upon them with twenty-five soldiers armed with pikes, clubbed muskets, swords, or stones from the ruin. For some minutes these men mixed in a last desperate struggle; then the Spaniards were driven back by the increasing numbers of the enemy. Fighting hard, they retreated to the inner castle, cheered by their Governor, who still called on them to keep their flag aloft. The inner castle was a ruin, but the yellow flag still flew there, guarded by some sorely wounded soldiers and a couple of guns. Here the last stand was made, and here the gallant captain was hit by a bullet, "which pierced his skull into the brain." The little band of brave men now went to pieces before the rush of pirates. Some of them fell back, still fighting, to the wall, over which they flung themselves "into the sea," dying thus honourably rather than surrender. About thirty of them, "whereof scarce ten were not wounded," surrendered in the ruins of the inner fortress. These thirty hurt and weary men were the survivors of 314 who had stood to arms the day before. All the rest were dead, save "eight or nine," who had crept away by boat up the Chagres to take the news to Panama. No officer remained alive, nor was any powder left; the Spaniards were true soldiers. The pirates lost "above one hundred killed" and over seventy wounded, or rather more than half of the men engaged. While the few remaining Spaniards dug trenches in the sand for the burial of the many dead, the pirates questioned them as to their knowledge of Morgan's enterprise. They knew all about it, they said, for a deserter from the pirate ships which raided the Rio de la Hacha (for grain) had spoken of the scheme to the Governor at Cartagena. That captain had reinforced the Chagres garrison, and had sent a warning over the isthmus to the Governor at Panama. The Chagres was now well lined with ambuscades. Panama was full of soldiers, and the whole Spanish population was ready to take up arms to drive the pirates to their ships, so they knew what they might look to get in case they persisted in their plan. This information was sent to Henry Morgan at the Santa Katalina fort, with news of the reduction of the Chagres castle. Before he received it, Captain Joseph Bradly died in the castle, of a wound he had received in the fighting. When Morgan received the news that San Lorenzo had been stormed, he began to send aboard the meat, maize, and cassava he had collected in Santa Katalina. He had already blown the Spanish forts to pieces, with the one exception of the fort of St Teresa. He now took all the captured Spanish guns, and flung them into the sea, where they lie still, among the scarlet coral sprays. The Spanish town was then burnt, and the Spanish prisoners placed aboard the ships. It was Morgan's intention to return to the island after sacking Panama, and to leave there a strong garrison to hold it in the interests of the buccaneers. When he had made these preparations he weighed his anchors, and sailed for the Chagres River under the English colours. Eight days later they came sailing slowly up towards the river's mouth. Their joy was so great "when they saw the English colours upon the castle, that they minded not their way into the river," being gathered at the rum cask instead of at the lead, and calling healths instead of soundings. As a consequence, four ships of the fleet, including the admiral's flagship, ran foul of the ledge of rocks at the river's entry. Several men were drowned, but the goods and ships' stores were saved, though with some difficulty. As they got out warps to bring the ships off, the north wind freshened. In shallow water, such as that, a sea rises very quickly. In a few hours a regular "norther" had set in, and the ships beat to pieces on the ledge before the end of the day. As Morgan came ashore at the port, the guns were fired in salute, and the pirates lined the quay and the castle walls to give him a triumphant welcome. He examined the castle, questioned the lieutenants, and at once took steps to repair the damage done by the fire. The thirty survivors of the garrison and all the prisoners from Santa Katalina, were set to work to drive in new palisadoes in the place of those burnt in the attack. The huts were rethatched and the whole place reordered. There were some Spanish ships in the port whose crews had been pressed into the Spanish garrison at the time of the storm. They were comparatively small, of the kind known as chatas, or chatten, a sort of coast boat of slight draught, used for river work and for the conveyance of goods from the Chagres to the cities on the Main. They had iron and brass guns aboard them, which were hoisted out, and mounted in the fort. Captain Morgan then picked a garrison of 500 buccaneers to hold the fort, under a buccaneer named Norman. He placed 150 more in the ships in the anchorage, and embarked the remainder in flat-bottomed boats for the voyage up the Chagres. It was the dry season, so that the river, at times so turbulent, was dwindled to a tenth of its volume. In order that the hard work of hauling boats over shallows might not be made still harder, Morgan gave orders that the men should take but scanty stock of provisions. A few maize cobs and a strip or two of charqui was all the travelling store in the scrips his pilgrims carried. They hoped that they would find fresh food in the Spanish strongholds, or ambuscades, which guarded the passage over the isthmus. [Illustration: THE ISTHMUS SHOWING MORGAN'S LINE OF ADVANCE] The company set sail from San Lorenzo on the morning of the 12th (one says the 18th) of January 1671. They numbered in all 1200 men, packed into thirty-two canoas and the five chatas they had taken in the port. His guides went on ahead in one of the chatas, with her guns aboard her and the matches lit, and one Robert Delander, a buccaneer captain, in command. The first day's sailing against a gentle current was pleasant enough. In spite of the heat and the overcrowding of the boats, they made six leagues between dawn and sunset, and anchored at a place called De los Bracos. Here a number of the pirates went ashore to sleep "and stretch their limbs, they being almost crippled with lying too much crowded in the boats." They also foraged up and down for food in the plantations; but the Spaniards had fled with all their stores. It was the first day of the journey over the isthmus, yet many of the men had already come to an end of their provisions. "The greatest part of them" ate nothing all day, nor enjoyed "any other refreshment" than a pipe of tobacco. The next day, "very early in the morning," before the sun rose, they shoved off from the mooring-place. They rowed all day, suffering much from the mosquitoes, but made little progress. The river was fallen very low, so that they were rowing or poling over a series of pools joined by shallow rapids. To each side of them were stretches of black, alluvial mud, already springing green with shrubs and water-plants. Every now and then, as they rowed on, on the dim, sluggish, silent, steaming river, they butted a sleeping alligator as he sunned in the shallows, or were stopped by a fallen tree, brought by the summer floods and left to rot there. At twilight, when the crying of the birds became more intense and the monkeys gathered to their screaming in the treetops, the boats drew up to the bank at a planter's station, or wayside shrine, known as Cruz de Juan Gallego. Here they went ashore to sleep, still gnawed with famine, and faint with the hard day's rowing. The guides told Henry Morgan that after another two leagues they might leave the boats, and push through the woods on foot. Early the next morning the admiral decided to leave the boats, for with his men so faint from hunger he thought it dangerous to tax them with a labour so severe as rowing. He left 160 men to protect the fleet, giving them the strictest orders to remain aboard. "No man," he commanded, "upon any pretext whatsoever, should dare to leave the boats and go ashore." The woods there were so dark and thick that a Spanish garrison might have lain within 100 yards of the fleet, and cut off any stragglers who landed. Having given his orders, he chose out a gang of macheteros, or men carrying the sharp sword-like machetes, to march ahead of the main body, to cut a trackway in the pulpy green stuff. They then set forward through the forest, over their ankles in swampy mud, up to their knees sometimes in rotting leaves, clambering over giant tree trunks, wading through stagnant brooks, staggering and slipping and swearing, faint with famine; a very desperate gang of cut-throats. As they marched, the things called garapatadas, or wood-ticks, of which some six sorts flourish there, dropped down upon them in scores, to add their burning bites to the venom of the mosquitoes. In a moist atmosphere of at least 90°, with heavy arms to carry, that march must have been terrible. Even the buccaneers, men hardened to the climate, could not endure it: they straggled back to the boats, and re-embarked. With a great deal of trouble the pirates dragged the boats "to a place farther up the river, called Cedro Bueno," where they halted for the stragglers, who drifted in during the evening. Here they went ashore to a wretched bivouac, to lie about the camp fires, with their belts drawn tight, chewing grass or aromatic leaves to allay their hunger. After Cedro Bueno the river narrowed, so that there was rather more water to float the canoas. The land, too, was less densely wooded, and easier for the men to march upon. On the fourth day "the greatest part of the Pirates marched by land, being led by one of the guides." Another guide led the rest of them in the canoas; two boats going ahead of the main fleet, one on each side of the river, to discover "the ambuscades of the Spaniards." The Spaniards had lined the river-banks at intervals with Indian spies, who were so "very dexterous" that they brought intelligence of the coming of the pirates "six hours at least before they came to any place." About noon on this day, as the boats neared Torna Cavallos, one of the guides cried out that he saw an ambuscade. "His voice caused infinite joy to all the Pirates," who made sure that the fastness would be well provisioned, and that at last they might "afford something to the ferment of their stomachs, which now was grown so sharp that it did gnaw their very bowels." The place was carried with a rush; but the redoubt was empty. The Spaniards had all fled away some hours before, when their spies had come in from down the river. There had been 500 Spaniards there standing to arms behind the barricade of tree trunks. They had marched away with all their gear, save only a few leather bags, "all empty," and a few crusts and bread crumbs "upon the ground where they had eaten." There were a few shelter huts, thatched with palm leaves, within the barricade. These the pirates tore to pieces in the fury of their disappointment. They fell upon the leather bags like hungry dogs quarrelling for a bone. They fought and wrangled for the scraps of leather, and ate them greedily, "with frequent gulps of water." Had they taken any Spaniards there "they would certainly in that occasion [or want] have roasted or boiled" them "to satisfy their famine." Somewhat relieved by the scraps of leather, they marched on along the river-bank to "another post called Torna Munni." Here they found a second wall of tree trunks, loopholed for musketry, "but as barren and desert as the former." They sought about in the woods for fruits or roots, but could find nothing--"the Spaniards having been so provident as not to leave behind them anywhere the least crumb of sustenance." There was nothing for them but "those pieces of leather, so hard and dry," a few of which had been saved "for supper" by the more provident. He who had a little scrap of hide, would slice it into strips, "and beat it between two stones, and rub it, often dipping it in the water of the river, to render it by these means supple and tender." Lastly, the hair was scraped off, and the piece "roasted or broiled" at the camp fire upon a spit of lance wood. "And being thus cooked they cut it into small morsels, and eat it," chewing each bit for several minutes as though loth to lose it, and helping it down "with frequent gulps of water." There was plenty of fish in the Chagres, but perhaps they had no lines. It seems strange, however, that they made no attempt to kill some of the myriads of birds and monkeys in the trees, or the edible snakes which swarm in the grass, or, as a last resource, the alligators in the river. Gaunt with hunger, they took the trail again after a night of misery at Torna Munni. The going was slightly better, but there was still the wood-ticks, the intense, damp heat, and the lust for food to fight against. About noon they staggered in to Barbacoas, now a station on the Isthmian Railway. There were a few huts at Barbacoas, for the place was of some small importance. A native swinging bridge, made of bejuco cane, was slung across the river there for the benefit of travellers going to Porto Bello. An ambush had been laid at Barbacoas, but the Spaniards had left the place, after sweeping it as bare as Torna Munni. The land was in tillage near the huts, but the plantations were barren. "They searched very narrowly, but could not find any person, animal or other thing that was capable of relieving their extreme and ravenous hunger." After a long search they chanced upon a sort of cupboard in the rocks, "in which they found two sacks of meal, wheat, and like things, with two great jars of wine, and certain fruits called Platanos," or large bananas. Morgan very firmly refused to allow the buccaneers to use this food. He reserved it strictly for those who were in greatest want, thereby saving a number of lives. The dying men were given a little meal and wine, and placed in the canoas, "and those commanded to land that were in them before." They then marched on "with greater courage than ever," till late into the night, when they lay down in a plundered bean patch. "On the sixth day" they were nearly at the end of their tether. They dragged along slowly, some in boats, some in the woods, halting every now and then in despair of going farther, and then staggering on again, careless if they lived or died. Their lips were scummy with a sort of green froth, caused by their eating grass and the leaves of trees. In this condition they came at noon to a plantation, "where they found a barn full of maize." They beat the door in in a few minutes, "and fell to eating of it dry," till they were gorged with it. There was enough for all, and plenty left to take away, so they distributed a great quantity, "giving to every man a good allowance." With their knapsacks full of corn cobs they marched on again, in happier case than they had been in for several days. They soon came to "an ambuscade of Indians," but no Indians stayed within it to impeach their passage. On catching sight of the barricade many buccaneers flung away their corn cobs, with the merry improvidence of their kind, "with the sudden hopes they conceived of finding all things in abundance." But the larder was as bare as it had been in the other strongholds: it contained "neither Indians, nor victuals, nor anything else." On the other side of the river, however, there were many Indians, "a troop of a hundred," armed with bows, "who escaped away through the agility of their feet." Some of the pirates "leapt into the river" to attack these Indians, and to bring them into camp as prisoners. They did not speed in their attempt, but two or three of them were shot through the heart as they waded. Their corpses drifted downstream, to catch in the oars of the canoas, a horrible feast for the caymans. The others returned to their comrades on the right or northern bank of the river among the howls of the Indians: "Hey, you dogs, you, go on to the savannah; go on to the savannah, to find out what's in pickle for you." They could go no farther towards the savannah for that time, as they wished to cross the river, and did not care to do so, in the presence of an enemy, without due rest. They camped about big fires of wood, according to their custom, but they slept badly, for the hunger and toil had made them mutinous. The growling went up and down the camp till it came to Morgan's ears. Most of the pirates were disgusted with their admiral's "conduct," or leadership, and urged a speedy return to Port Royal. Others, no less disgusted, swore savagely that they would see the job through. Some, who had eaten more burnt leather than the others, "did laugh and joke at all their discourses," and so laid a last straw upon their burden. "In the meanwhile" the ruffian guide, "the rogue, thief, and assassin," who had merited to die upon a wheel, was a great comfort to them. "It would not be long," he kept saying, "before they met with folk, when they would come to their own, and forget these hungry times." So the night passed, round the red wood logs in the clearing, among the steaming jungle. Early in the morning of the seventh day they cleaned their arms, wiping away the rust and fungus which had grown upon them. "Every one discharged his pistol or musket, without bullet, to examine the security of their firelocks." They then loaded with ball, and crossed the river in the canoas. At midday they sighted Venta Cruz, the village, or little town, which Drake had taken. The smoke was going up to heaven from the Venta Cruz chimneys--a sight very cheering to these pirates. They had "great joy and hopes of finding people in the town ... and plenty of good cheer." They went on merrily, "making several arguments to one another [like the gravediggers in _Hamlet_] upon those external signs"--saying that there could be no smoke without a fire, and no fire in such a climate save to cook by, and that, therefore, Venta Cruz would be full of roast and boiled by the time they marched into its Plaza. Thus did they cheer the march and the heavy labour at the oars as far as the Venta Cruz jetty. As they entered Venta Cruz at the double, "all sweating and panting" with the hurry of their advance, they found the town deserted and in a blaze of fire. There was nothing eatable there, for the place had been swept clean, and then fired, by the retreating Spaniards. The only houses not alight were "the store-houses and stables belonging the King." These, being of stone, and Government property, had not been kindled. The storehouses and stables were, however, empty. Not a horse nor a mule nor an ass was in its stall. "They had not left behind them any beast whatsoever, either alive or dead." Venta Cruz was as profitless a booty as all the other stations. A few pariah dogs and cats were in the street, as was perhaps natural, even at that date, in a Central-American town. These were at once killed, and eaten half raw, "with great appetite." Before they were despatched, a pirate lighted on a treasure in a recess of the King's stables. He found there a stock of wine, some fifteen or sixteen jars, or demijohns, of good Peruvian wine, "and a leather sack full of bread." "But no sooner had they begun to drink of the said wine when they fell sick, almost every man." Several hundreds had had a cup or two of the drink, and these now judged themselves poisoned, and "irrecoverably lost." They were not poisoned, as it happened, but they had gone hungry for several days, living on "manifold sorts of trash." The sudden use of wine and bread caused a very natural sickness, such as comes to all who eat or drink greedily after a bout of starving. The sickness upset them for the day, so that the force remained there, at bivouac in the village, until the next morning. During the halt Morgan landed all his men ("though never so weak") from the canoas. He retained only one boat, which he hid, for use as an advice boat, "to carry intelligence" to those down the river. The rest of the canoas were sent downstream to the anchorage at Bueno Cedro, where the chatas lay moored under a guard. He gave strict orders to the rest of the pirates that they were not to leave the village save in companies of 100 together. "One party of English soldiers stickled not to contravene these commands, being tempted with the desire of finding victuals." While they straggled in the tilled ground outside Venta Cruz they were attacked "with great fury" by a number of Spaniards and Indians, "who snatched up" one of them, and carried him off. What was done to this one so snatched up we are not told. Probably he was tortured to give information of the pirates' strength, and then hanged up to a tree. On the eighth day, in the early morning, the sick men being recovered, Morgan thought they might proceed. He chose out an advance-guard of 200 of the strongest of his men, and sent them forward, with their matches lighted, to clear the road. The road was a very narrow one, but paved with cobble stones, and easy to the feet after the quagmires of the previous week. The men went forward at a good pace, beating the thickets on each side of the road. When they had marched some seven or eight miles they were shot at from some Indian ambush. A shower of arrows fell among them, but they could not see a trace of the enemy, till the Indians, who had shot the arrows, broke from cover and ran to a second fastness. A few stood firm, about a chief or cacique, "with full design to fight and defend themselves." They fought very gallantly for a few moments; but the pirates stormed their poor defence, and pistolled the cacique, losing eight men killed and ten wounded before the Indians broke. Shortly after this skirmish, the advance-guard left the wood, coming to open, green grass-land "full of variegated meadows." On a hill at a little distance they saw a number of Indians gathered, watching their advance. They sent out a troop to capture some of these, but the Indians escaped again, "through the agility of their feet," to reappear a little later with their howls of scorn: "Hey, you dogs, you English dogs, you. Get on to the savannah, you dogs, you cuckolds. On to the savannah, and see what's coming to you." "While these things passed the ten pirates that were wounded were dressed and plastered up." In a little while the pirates seized a hilltop facing a ridge of hill which shut them from the sight of Panama. In the valley between the two hills was a thick little wood, where Morgan looked to find an ambush. He sent his advance-guard of 200 men to search the thicket. As they entered, some Spaniards and Indians entered from the opposite side, but no powder was burnt, for the Spaniards stole away by a bypath, "and were seen no more." That night a drenching shower of rain fell, blotting out the landscape in a roaring grey film. It sent the pirates running hither and thither to find some shelter "to preserve their arms from being wet." Nearly all the huts and houses in the district had been fired by the Indians, but the pirates found a few lonely shepherds' shealings, big enough to hold all the weapons of the army and a few of the men. Those who could not find a place among the muskets were constrained to lie shivering in the open, enduring much hardship, for the rain did not slacken till dawn. At daybreak Morgan ordered them to march "while the fresh air of the morning lasted"; for they were now in open country, on the green savannah, where they would have no treetops to screen them from the terrible sun. During their morning march they saw a troop of Spanish horse, armed with spears, watching the advance at a safe distance, and retiring as the pirates drew nearer. Shortly after this they topped a steep rise, and lo! the smoke of Panama, and the blue Pacific, with her sky-line trembling gently, and a ship under sail, with five boats, going towards some emerald specks of islands. The clouds were being blown across the sky. The sun was glorious over all that glorious picture, over all the pasture, so green and fresh from the rain. There were the snowy Andes in the distance, their peaks sharply notched on the clear sky. Directly below them, in all her beauty, was the royal city of Panama, only hidden from sight by a roll of green savannah. Just at the foot of the rise, in a wealth of fat pasture, were numbers of grazing cattle, horses, and asses--the droves of the citizens. The pirates crept down, and shot a number of these, "chiefly asses," which they promptly flayed, while some of their number gathered firewood. As soon as the fires were lit the meat was blackened in the flame, and then greedily swallowed in "convenient pieces or gobbets." "They more resembled cannibals than Europeans at this banquet," for the blood ran down the beards of many, so hungry were they for meat after the long agony of the march. What they could not eat they packed in their satchels. After a long midday rest they fell in again for the march, sending fifty men ahead to take prisoners "if possibly they could," for in all the nine days' tramp they had taken no one to give them information of the Spaniards' strength. Towards sunset they saw a troop of Spaniards spying on them, who hallooed at them, but at such a distance that they could not distinguish what was said. As the sun set "they came the first time within sight of the highest steeple of Panama." This was a stirring cordial to the way-weary men limping down the savannah. The sight of the sea was not more cheering to the Greeks than the sight of the great gilt weathercock, shifting on the spire, to these haggard ruffians with the blood not yet dry upon their beards. They flung their hats into the air, and danced and shouted. All their trumpets shouted a levity, their drums beat, and their colours were displayed. They camped there, with songs and laughter, in sight of that steeple, "waiting with impatience," like the French knights in the play, for the slowly coming dawn. Their drums and trumpets made a merry music to their singing, and they caroused so noisily that a troop of horsemen rode out from Panama to see what was the matter. "They came almost within musket-shot of the army, being preceded by a trumpet that sounded marvellously well." They rode up "almost within musket-shot," but made no attempt to draw the pirates' fire. They "hallooed aloud to the Pirates, and threatened them," with "Hey, ye dogs, we shall meet ye," in the manner of the Indians. Seven or eight of them stayed "hovering thereabouts," riding along the camp until the day broke, to watch the pirates' movements. As soon as their main body reached the town, and reported what they had seen, the Governor ordered the city guns to open on the pirates' camp. The biggest guns at once began a heavy fire, from which one or two spent balls rolled slowly to the outposts without doing any damage. At the same time, a strong party took up a position to the rear of the camp, as though to cut off the retreat. Morgan placed his sentries, and sent his men to supper. They feasted merrily on their "pieces of bulls' and horses' flesh," and then lay down on the grass to smoke a pipe of tobacco before turning in. That last night's camp was peaceful and beautiful: the men were fed and near their quarry, the sun had dried their wet clothes; the night was fine, the stars shone, the Panama guns were harmless. They slept "with great repose and huge satisfaction," careless of the chance of battle, and anxious for the fight to begin. PANAMA Old Panama, the chief Spanish city in South America, with the one exception of Cartagena, was built along the sea-beach, fronting the bay of Panama, between the rivers Gallinero and Matasnillos. It was founded between 1518 and 1520 by Pedrarias Davila, a poor adventurer, who came to the Spanish Indies to supersede Balboa, having at that time "nothing but a sword and buckler." Davila gave it the name of an Indian village then standing on the site. The name means "abounding in fish." It soon became the chief commercial city in those parts, for all the gold and silver and precious merchandise of Peru and Chili were collected there for transport to Porto Bello. At the time of Morgan's attack upon it, it contained some 7000 houses, with a number of huts and hovels for the slaves. The population, counting these latter, may have been as great as 30,000. Many of the houses were of extreme beauty, being built of an aromatic rose wood, or "native cedar," ingeniously carved. Many were built of stone in a Moorish fashion, with projecting upper storeys. It had several stone monasteries and convents, and a great cathedral, dedicated to St Anastasius, which was the most glorious building in Spanish America. Its tower still stands as a landmark to sailors, visible many miles to sea. The stones of it are decorated with defaced carvings. Inside it, within the ruined walls, are palm and cedar trees, green and beautiful, over the roots of which swarm the scarlet-spotted coral snakes. The old town was never properly fortified. The isthmus was accounted a sufficient protection to it, and the defences were consequently weak. It was a town of merchants, who "thought only of becoming rich, and cared little for the public good." They lived a very stately life there, in houses hung with silk, stamped leather, and Spanish paintings, drinking Peruvian wines out of cups of gold and silver. The Genoese Company, a company of slavers trading with Guinea, had a "stately house" there, with a spacious slave market, where the blacks were sold over the morning glass. The Spanish King had some long stone stables in the town, tended by a number of slaves. Here the horses and mules for the recuas were stabled in long lines, like the stables of a cavalry barrack. Near these were the royal storehouses, built of stone, for the storage of the gold from the King's mines. There were also 200 merchants' warehouses, built in one storey, round which the slaves slept, under pent roofs. Outside the city was the beautiful green savannah, a rolling sea of grass, with islands of trees, cedar and palm, thickly tangled with the many-coloured bindweeds. To one side of it, an arm of the sea crept inland, to a small salt lagoon, which rippled at high tide, at the back of the city. The creek was bridged to allow the Porto Bello carriers to enter the town, and a small gatehouse or porter's lodge protected the way. The bridge is a neat stone arch, still standing. The streets ran east and west, "so that when the sun rises no one can walk in any of the streets, because there is no shade whatever; and this is felt very much as the heat is intense; and the sun is so prejudicial to health, that if a man is exposed to its rays for a few hours, he will be attacked with a fatal illness [pernicious fever], and this has happened to many." The port was bad for shipping, because of the great rise and fall of the tides. The bay is shallow, and ships could only come close in at high water. At low water the town looked out upon a strip of sand and a mile or more of very wet black mud. "At full moon, the waves frequently reach the houses and enter those on that side of the town." The roadstead afforded safe anchorage for the great ships coming up from Lima. Loading and unloading was performed by launches, at high water, on days when the surf was moderate. Small ships sailed close in at high tide, and beached themselves. To landward there were many gardens and farms, where the Spaniards had "planted many trees from Spain"--such as oranges, lemons, and figs. There were also plantain walks, and a great plenty of pines, guavas, onions, lettuces, and "alligator pears." Over the savannah roamed herds of fat cattle. On the seashore, "close to the houses of the city," were "quantities of very small mussels." The presence of these mussel beds determined the site of the town, "because the Spaniards felt themselves safe from hunger on account of these mussels." The town is all gone now, saving the cathedral tower, where the sweet Spanish bells once chimed, and the little stone bridge, worn by so many mules' hoofs. There is dense tropical forest over the site of it, though the foundations of several houses may be traced, and two or three walls still stand, with brilliant creepers covering up the carved work. It is not an easy place to reach, for it is some six miles from new Panama, and the way lies through such a tangle of creepers, over such swampy ground, poisonous with so many snakes, that it is little visited. It can be reached by sea on a fine day at high tide if the surf be not too boisterous. To landward of the present Panama there is a fine hill, called Mount Ançon. A little to the east of this there is a roll of high land, now a fruitful market-garden, or farm of orchards. This high land, some five or six miles from the ruins, is known as Buccaneers' Hill. It was from the summit of this high land that the pirates first saw the city steeple. Local tradition points out a few old Spanish guns of small size, brass and iron, at the near-by village of El Moro, as having been left by Morgan's men. At the island of Taboga, in the bay of Panama, they point with pride to a cave, the haunt of squid and crabs, as the hiding-place of Spanish treasure. In the blackness there, they say, are the golden sacramental vessels and jewelled vestments of the great church of St Anastasius. They were hidden there at the time of the raid, so effectually that they could never be recovered. We can learn of no other local tradition concerning the sack and burning. [Illustration: NEW PANAMA] What old Panama was like we do not know, for we can trace no picture of it. It was said to be the peer of Venice, "the painted city," at a time when Venice was yet the "incomparable Queene." It could hardly have been a second Venice, though its situation on that beautiful blue bay, with the Andes snowy in the distance, and the islands, like great green gems, to seaward, is lovely beyond words. It was filled with glorious houses, carved and scented, and beautiful with costly things. The merchants lived a languorous, luxurious life there, waited on by slaves, whom they could burn or torture at their pleasure. It was "the greatest mart for gold and silver in the whole world." There were pearl fisheries up and down the bay, yielding the finest of pearls; and "golden Potosi"--the tangible Eldorado, was not far off. The merchants of old Panama were, perhaps, as stately fellows and as sumptuous in their ways of life as any "on the Rialto." Their city is now a tangle of weeds and a heap of sun-cracked limestone; their market-place is a swamp; their haven is a stretch of surf-shaken mud, over which the pelicans go quarrelling for the bodies of fish. _Authorities._--Exquemeling's "History"; "The Bucaniers of America." Don Guzman's Account, printed in the "Voyages and Adventures of Captain Bartholomew Sharp." Cal. State Papers: West Indies and Colonial Series. "Present State of Jamaica," 1683. "New History of Jamaica," 1740. For my account of Chagres I am indebted to friends long resident on the isthmus, and to Dampier's and Wafer's Voyages. CHAPTER XII THE SACK OF PANAMA The burning of the city--Buccaneer excesses--An abortive mutiny--Home--Morgan's defection "On the tenth day, betimes in the morning," while the black and white monkeys were at their dawn song, or early screaming, the pirates fell in for the march, with their red flags flying and the drums and trumpets making a battle music. They set out gallantly towards the city by the road they had followed from Venta Cruz. Before they came under fire, one of the guides advised Morgan to attack from another point. The Spaniards, he said, had placed their heavy guns in position along the probable line of their advance. Every clump of trees near the trackway would be filled with Spanish sharpshooters, while they might expect earth-works or trenches nearer to the city. He advised Morgan to make a circuit, so as to approach the city through the forest--over the ground on which new Panama was built, a year or two later. Morgan, therefore, turned rather to the west of the highway, through some tropical woodland, where the going was very irksome. As they left the woodland, after a march of several hours, they again entered the savannah, at a distance of about a mile and a half from the town. The ground here was in sweeping folds, so that they had a little hill to climb before the town lay open to them, at the edge of the sea, to the eastward of the salt lagoon. When they topped this rise they saw before them "the forces of the people of Panama, extended in battle array," between them and the quarry. The Spanish strength on this occasion, according to the narrative, was as follows:--400 horse, of the finest horsemen in the world; twenty-four companies of foot, each company mustering a full 100 men; and "sixty Indians and some negroes." These last were "to drive two thousand wild bulls and cause them to run over the English camp, and thus, by breaking their files, put them into a total disorder and confusion." Morgan gives the numbers as 2100 foot and 600 horse, with "two Droves of Cattel of 1500 apiece," one for each flank or for the angles of the rear. The Spanish Governor, who had been "lately blooded 3 times for an Erysipelas," had not done as well as he could have wished in the preparation of an army of defence. He says that he had brought together 1400 coloured men, armed with "Carbins, Harquebusses, and Fowling Pieces," the muskets having been lost at Chagres. He gives the number of cavalry as 200, "mounted on the same tired Horses which had brought them thither." He admits that there were "50 cow-keepers" and an advance-guard of 300 foot. He had also five field-guns "covered with leather." To these forces may be added the townsfolk capable of bearing arms. These were not very numerous, for most of the inhabitants, as we have seen, "thought only of getting rich and cared little for the public good." They were now, however, in a cold sweat of fear at the sight of the ragged battalion trooping down from the hilltop. They had dug trenches for themselves within the city and had raised batteries to sweep the important streets. They had also mounted cannon on the little stone fort, or watchman's lodge, at the town end of the bridge across the creek. The sight of so many troops drawn out in order "surprised" the pirates "with great fear." The droves of "wild bulls" pasturing on the savannah grass were new to their experience; the cavalry they had met before in Cuba and did not fear, nor did they reckon themselves much worse than the Spanish foot; but they saw that the Spaniards outnumbered them by more than two to one, and they recognised the advantage they had in having a defensible city to fall back upon. The buccaneers were worn with the long march, and in poor case for fighting. They halted at this point, while Morgan formed them into a tertia, or division of three battalions or troops, of which he commanded the right wing. The sight of so many Spaniards halted below them set them grumbling in the ranks. "Yea few or none there were but wished themselves at home, or at least free from the obligation of that Engagement." There was, however, nothing else for it. A "wavering condition of Mind" could not help them. They had no alternative but "to fight resolutely, or die." They might not look to get quarter "from an Enemy against whom they had committed so many Cruelties." Morgan formed his men in order, and sent out skirmishers to annoy the Spanish troops, and to draw them from their position. A few shots were exchanged; but the Spaniards were not to be tempted, nor was the ground over which the skirmishers advanced at all suitable for moving troops. Morgan, therefore, edged his men away to the left, to a little hill beyond a dry gut or water-course--a position which the Spaniards could not attack from more than one side owing to the nature of the ground, which was boggy. Before they could form upon the lower slopes of the hill the Spanish horse rode softly forward, shouting: "Viva el Rey!" ("Long live the King"), with a great display of courage. "But the field being full of quaggs, and very soft under foot, they could not ply to and fro, and wheel about, as they desired." When they had come to a little beyond musket-shot "one Francisco Detarro," the colonel of the cavalry, called out to his troopers to charge home upon the English van. The horses at once broke into a gallop, and charged in "so furiously" that Morgan had to strengthen his ranks to receive them, "we having no Pikes" with which to gall the horses. As the men galloped forward, the line of buccaneers made ready to fire. Each musketeer put one knee to the ground, and touched off his piece, blasting the Spanish regiment almost out of action at the one discharge. The charge had been pressed so nearly home that the powder corns burnt the leading horses. Those who survived the shock of the volley swung off to the right to re-form, while the foot came on in their tracks "to try their Fortunes." They were received with such a terrible fire that they never came to handystrokes. They disputed the point for some hours, gradually falling into disorder as their losses became more and more heavy. The cavalry re-formed, and charged a second and a third time, with the result that after two hours' fighting "the Spanish Horse was ruined, and almost all killed." During the engagement of the foot, the Indians and negroes tried their stratagem of the bulls. They drove the herds round the flanking parties to the rear, and endeavoured to force them through the English lines. "But the greatest part of that wild cattle ran away, being frighted with the noise of the Battle. And some few, that broke through the English Companies, did no other harm than to tear the Colours in pieces; whereas the Buccaneers shooting them dead, left not one to Trouble them thereabouts." [Illustration: THE BATTLE OF PANAMA] Seeing the Spanish foot in some disorder, with many of their officers killed and few of the men firing, Morgan plied them with shot and sent his left wing forward as they fell back. The horse made one last gallant attempt to break the English line, but the attempt caused their complete destruction. At the same moment Morgan stormed down upon the foot with all his strength. The Spaniards fired "the Shot they had in their Muskets," and flung their weapons down, not caring to come to handystrokes. They ran "everyone which way he could run"--an utter rout of broken soldiers. The pirates were too fatigued to follow, but they picked them off as they ran till they were out of musket-shot. The buccaneers apparently then cleared away the stragglers, by pistolling them wherever they could find them. In this employment they beat through the shrubs by the sea, where many poor citizens had hidden themselves after the final routing of the troops. Some monks who were brought in to Captain Morgan were treated in the same manner, "for he, being deaf to their Cries, commanded them to be instantly pistolled," which order was obeyed there and then. A captain or colonel of troops was soon afterwards taken, and held to ransom after a strict examination. He told Morgan that he might look to have great trouble in winning the city, for the streets were all dug about with trenches and mounted with heavy brass guns. He added that the main entrance to the place was strongly fortified, and protected by a half company of fifty men with eight brass demi-cannon. Morgan now bade his men rest themselves and take food before pushing on to the town. He held a review of his army before he marched, and found that he had lost heavily--perhaps 200 men--while the Spaniards had lost about three times that number. "The Pirates," we read, "were nothing discouraged, seeing their number so much diminished but rather filled with greater pride than before." The comparative heaviness of the Spanish loss must have been very comforting. After they had rested and eaten they set out towards the town, "plighting their Oaths to one another in general, they would fight till never a man were left alive." A few prisoners, who seemed rich enough to be held to ransom, were marched with them under a guard of musketeers. Long before they trod the streets of Panama, they were under fire from the batteries, "some of which were charged with small pieces of iron, and others with musket-bullets." They lost men at every step; but their ranks kept steady, and street by street the town was won. The main agony of the fight took place between two and three o'clock, in the heat of the day, when the last Spanish gunners were cut to pieces at their guns. After the last gun was taken, a few Spaniards fired from street corners or from upper windows, but these were promptly pistolled or knocked on the head. The town was in the hands of the pirates by the time the bells chimed three that afternoon. As Morgan rested with his captains in the Plaza, after the heat of the battle, word was brought to him that the city was on fire in several places. Many have supposed that the town was fired by his orders, or by some careless and drunken musketeer of his. It was not the buccaneer custom to fire cities before they had sacked them, nor is it in the least likely that Morgan would have burnt so glorious a town before he had offered it to ransom. The Spaniards have always charged Morgan with the crime, but it seems more probable that the Spanish Governor was the guilty one. It is yet more probable that the fire was accidental. Most of the Spanish houses were of wood, and at that season of the year the timber would have been of extreme dryness, so that a lighted wad or match end might have caused the conflagration. At the time when the fire was first noticed, the pirates were raging through the town in search of plunder. They may well have flung away their lighted matches to gather up the spoils they found, and thus set fire to the place unwittingly. Hearing that the town was burning, Morgan caused his trumpeters to sound the assembly in the Plaza. When the pirates mustered, Morgan at once told off men to quench the fire "by blowing up houses by gunpowder, and pulling down others to stop its progress." He ordered strong guards to patrol the streets and to stand sentry without the city. Lastly, he forbade any member of the army "to dare to drink or taste any wine," giving out that it had all been poisoned beforehand by the Spaniards. He feared that his men would get drunk unless he frightened them by some such tale. With a drunken army rolling in the streets he could hardly hope to hold the town against an enemy so lightly beaten as the Spaniards. He also sent some sailors down to the beach to seize "a great boat which had stuck in the mud of the port." For all that the pirates could do, the fire spread rapidly, for the dry cedar beams burned furiously. The warehouses full of merchandise, such as silks, velvets, and fine linen, were not burned, but all the grand houses of the merchants, where the life had been so stately, were utterly gutted--all the Spanish pictures and coloured tapestries going up in a blaze. The splendid house of the Genoese, where so many black men had been bought and sold, was burned to the ground. The chief streets were ruined before midnight, and the fire was not wholly extinguished a month later when the pirates marched away. It continued to burn and smoulder long after they had gone. Having checked the riot among his army, Morgan sent a company of 150 men back to the garrison at the mouth of the Chagres with news of his success. Two other companies, of the same strength, he sent into the woods, "being all very stout soldiers and well-armed," giving them orders to bring in prisoners to hold to ransom. A third company was sent to sea under a Captain Searles to capture a Spanish galleon which had left the port, laden with gold and silver and the jewels of the churches, a day or two before. The rest of his men camped out of doors, in the green fields without the city, ready for any attack the Spaniards might make upon them. Search parties rummaged all day among the burning ruins, "especially in wells and cisterns," which yielded up many jewels and fine gold plates. The warehouses were sacked, and many pirates made themselves coats of silk and velvet to replace the rags they came in. It is probable that they committed many excesses in the heat of the first taking of the town, but one who was there has testified to the comparative gentleness of their comportment when "the heat of the blood" had cooled. "As to their women," he writes, "I know [not] or ever heard of anything offered beyond their wills; something I know was cruelly executed by Captain Collier [commander of one of the ships and one of the chief officers of the army] in killing a Frier in the field after quarter given; but for the Admiral he was noble enough to the vanquished enemy." In fact, the "Want of rest and victual Had made them chaste--they ravished very little" --which matter must be laid to their credit. A day or two was passed by the pirates in rummaging among the ruins, eating and drinking, and watching the Spaniards as they moved in the savannahs. Troops of Spaniards prowled there under arms, looking at their burning houses and the grey smoke ever going upward. They did not attack the pirates; they did not even fire at them from a distance. They were broken men without a leader, only thankful to be allowed to watch their blazing city. A number of them submitted to the armed men sent out to bring in prisoners. A number lingered in the near-by forests in great misery, living on grass and alligator eggs, the latter tasting "like half-rotten musk"--a poor diet after "pheasants" and Peruvian wine. Morgan soon received word from Chagres castle that all was very well with the garrison. Captain Norman, who had remained in charge, under oath to keep the "bloody flag," or red pirates' banner, flying, "had sent forth to sea two boats, to exercise piracy." These had hoisted Spanish colours, and set to sea, meeting with a fine Spanish merchantman that very same day. They chased this ship into the Chagres River, where "the poor Spaniards" were caught in a snare under the guns of the fort. Her cargo "consisted in victuals and provisions, that were all eatable things," unlike the victuals given usually to sailors. Such a prize came very opportunely, for the castle stores were running out, while the ship's crew proved useful in the bitter work of earth carrying then going on daily on the ramparts for the repairing of the palisado. Hearing that the Chagres garrison was in such good case, and so well able to exercise piracy without further help, Admiral Morgan resolved to make a longer stay in the ruins of old Panama. He arranged "to send forth daily parties of two hundred men" to roam the countryside, beating the thickets for prisoners, and the prisoners for gold. These parties ranged the country very thoroughly, gathering "in a short time, a huge quantity of riches, and no less number of prisoners." These poor creatures were shut up under a guard, to be brought out one by one for examination. If they would not confess where they had hidden their gold, nor where the gold of their neighbours lay, the pirates used them as they had used their prisoners at Porto Bello. "Woolding," burning with palm leaves, and racking out the arm-joints, seem to have been the most popular tortures. Many who had no gold were brutally ill treated, and then thrust through with a lance. Among these diversions Admiral Morgan fell in love with a beautiful Spanish lady, who appears to have been something of a paragon. The story is not worth repeating, nor does it read quite sincerely, but it is very probably true. John Exquemeling, who had no great love for Morgan, declares that he was an eye-witness of the love-making, "and could never have judged such constancy of mind and virtuous chastity to be found in the world." The fiery Welshman did not win the lady, but we gather from the evidence that he could have had the satisfaction of Matthew Arnold's American, who consoled himself, in similar circumstances, with saying: "Well, I guess I lowered her moral tone some." During the first week of their stay in Panama, the ship they had sent to sea returned with a booty of three small coast boats. Captain Searles had sailed her over Panama Bay to the beautiful island of Taboga, in order to fill fresh water and rob the inhabitants. Here they took "the boatswain and most of the crew"[17] of the _Trinity_, a Spanish galleon, "on board which were the Friers and Nuns, with all the old gentlemen and Matrons of the Town, to the number of 1500 souls, besides an immense Treasure in Silver and Gold." This galleon had seven small guns and ten or twelve muskets for her whole defence. She was without provisions, and desperately short of water, and she had "no more sails than the uppermost sails of the mainmast." Her captain was "an old and stout Spaniard, a native of Andalusia, in Spain, named Don Francisco de Peralta." She was "very richly laden with all the King's Plate and great quantity of riches of gold, pearl, jewels, and other most precious goods, of all the best and richest merchants of Panama. On board of this galleon were also the religious women, belonging to the nunnery of the said city, who had embarked with them all the ornaments of their church, consisting in great quantity of gold, plate, and other things of great value." This most royal prize was even then slowly dipping past Taboga, with her sea-sick holy folk praying heartily for the return of the water casks. She could have made no possible defence against the pirates had they gone at once in pursuit of her. But this the pirates did not do. In the village at Taboga there was a wealthy merchant's summer-house, with a cellar full of "several sorts of rich wines." A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, or as a bibulous wit once said to the present writer: "A bottle now is worth a bath of it to-morrow." Captain Searles and his men chose to drink a quiet bowl in the cabin rather than go sail the blue seas after the golden galleon. They made a rare brew of punch, of which they drank "logwood-cutters' measure," or a gallon and a half a man. After this they knocked out their tobacco pipes, and slept very pleasantly till the morning. They woke "repenting of their negligence" and "totally wearied of the vices and debaucheries aforesaid." With eyes red with drink they blinked at the empty punch-bowls. Then with savage "morning-tempers" they damned each other for a lot of lunkheads, and put to sea (in one of the Taboga prizes) "to pursue the said galleon" with all speed. However, by this time Don Peralta, a most gallant and resourceful captain, had brought the golden _Trinity_ to a place of safety. Had she been taken, she would have yielded a spoil hardly smaller than that taken by Cavendish in the _Madre de Dios_ or that which Anson won in the Manila galleon. Several waggon loads of golden chalices and candlesticks, with ropes of pearls, bags of emeralds and bezoars, and bar upon bar of silver in the crude, were thus bartered away for a sup of punch and a drunken chorus in the cabin. Poor Captain Searles never prospered after. He went logwood cutting a year or two later, and as a logwood cutter he arrived at the Rio Summasenta, where he careened his ship at a sandy key, since known as Searles Key. He was killed a few days afterwards, "in the western lagune" there, "by one of his Company as they were cutting Logwood together." That was the end of Captain Searles. [Footnote 17: They had come ashore to get water.] Morgan was very angry when he heard of the escape of the galleon. He at once remanned the four prizes, and sent them out, with orders to scour the seas till they found her. They cruised for more than a week, examining every creek and inlet, beating up many a sluggish river, under many leafy branches, but finding no trace of the _Trinity_. They gave up the chase at last, and rested at Taboga, where, perhaps, some "rich wines" were still in bin. They found a Payta ship at anchor at Taboga, "laden with cloth, soap, sugar and biscuit, with twenty thousand pieces of eight in ready money." She was "a reasonable good ship," but the cargo, saving the money, was not much to their taste. They took the best of it, and loaded it aboard her longboat, making the Taboga negroes act as stevedores. They then set the negroes aboard the prize, and carried her home to Panama, "some thing better satisfied of their voyage, yet withal much discontented they could not meet with the galleon." It was at Taboga, it seems, that the lady who so inflamed Sir Henry was made prisoner. At the end of three weeks of "woolding" and rummaging, Admiral Morgan began to prepare for the journey home. He sent his men to look for mules and horses on which to carry the plunder to the hidden canoas in the river. He learned at this juncture that a number of the pirates intended to leave him "by taking a ship that was in the port," and going to "rob upon the South Sea." They had made all things ready, it seems, having hidden "great quantity of provisions," powder, bullets, and water casks, with which to store their ship. They had even packed the good brass guns of the city, "where with they designed not only to equip the said vessel but also to fortify themselves and raise batteries in some island or other, which might serve them for a place of refuge." The scheme was fascinating, and a very golden life they would have had of it, those lucky mutineers, had not some spoil-sport come sneaking privily to Morgan with a tale of what was toward. They might have seized Cocos Island or Juan Fernandez, or "some other island," such as one of the Enchanted, or Gallapagos, Islands, where the goddesses were thought to dwell. That would have been a happier life than cutting logwood, up to the knees in mud, in some drowned savannah of Campeachy. However, just as the wine-bowl spoiled the project of the galleon, so did the treachery of a lickspittle, surely one of the meanest of created things, put an end to the mutiny. Morgan was not there to colonise Pacific Oceans, but to sack Panama. He had no intention of losing half his army for an imperial idea. He promptly discouraged the scheme by burning all the boats in the roads. The ship or chata, which would have been the flagship of the mutineers, was dismasted, and the masts and rigging were added to the general bonfire. All the brass cannon they had taken were nailed and spiked. Wooden bars were driven down their muzzles as firmly as possible, and the wood was then watered to make it swell. There was then no more talk of going a-cruising to found republics. Morgan thought it wise to leave Panama as soon as possible, before a second heresy arose among his merry men. He had heard that the Governor of Panama was busily laying ambuscades "in the way by which he ought to pass at his return." He, therefore, picked out a strong company of men, including many of the mutineers, and sent them out into the woods to find out the truth of the matter. They found that the report was false, for a few Spanish prisoners, whom they captured, were able to tell them how the scheme had failed. The Governor, it was true, had planned to make "some opposition by the way," but none of the men remaining with him would consent to "undertake any such enterprize." With this news the troops marched back to Panama. While they were away, the poor prisoners made every effort to raise money for their ransoms, but many were unable to raise enough to satisfy their captors. Morgan had no wish to wait till they could gather more, for by this time, no doubt, he had satisfied himself that he had bled the country of all the gold it contained. Nor did he care to wait till the Spaniards had plucked up heart, and planted some musketeers along the banks of the Chagres. He had horses and mules enough to carry the enormous heaps of plunder to the river. It was plainly foolish to stay longer, for at any time a force might attack him (by sea) from Lima or (by land) from Porto Bello. He, therefore, gave the word for the army to prepare to march. He passed his last evening in Panama (as we suppose) with the female paragon from Taboga. The army had one last debauch over the punch-bowls round the camp fires, and then fell in to muster, thinking rapturously of the inns and brothels which waited for their custom at Port Royal. [Illustration: SIR HENRY MORGAN] "On the 24th of February, of the year 1671, Captain Morgan departed from the city of Panama, or rather from the place where the said city of Panama did stand; of the spoils whereof he carried with him one hundred and seventy-five beasts of carriage, laden with silver, gold and other precious things, besides six hundred prisoners more or less, between men, women, children and slaves." Thus they marched out of the ruined capital, over the green savannah, towards the river, where a halt was called to order the army for the march to Venta Cruz. A troop of picked marksmen was sent ahead to act as a scouting party; the rest of the company marched in hollow square, with the prisoners in the hollow. In this array they set forward towards Venta Cruz to the sound of drums and trumpets, amid "lamentations, cries, shrieks and doleful sighs" from the wretched women and children. Most of these poor creatures were fainting with thirst and hunger, for it had been Morgan's policy to starve them, in order "to excite them more earnestly to seek for money wherewith to ransom themselves." "Many of the women," says the narrative, "begged of Captain Morgan upon their knees, with infinite sighs and tears, he would permit them to return to Panama, there to live in company of their dear husbands and children, in little huts of straw which they would erect, seeing they had no houses until the rebuilding of the city. But his answer was: he came not thither to hear lamentations and cries, but rather to seek money. Therefore they ought to seek out for that in the first place, wherever it were to be had, and bring it to him, otherwise he would assuredly transport them all to such places whither they cared not to go." With this answer they had to remain content, as they lay in camp, under strict guard, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Early the next morning, "when the march began," "those lamentable cries and shrieks were renewed, in so much as it would have caused compassion in the hardest heart to hear them. But Captain Morgan, a man little given to mercy, was not moved therewith in the least." They marched in the same order as before, but on this day, we read, the Spaniards "were punched and thrust in their backs and sides, with the blunt end of [the pirates'] arms, to make them march the faster." The "beautiful and virtuous lady" "was led prisoner by herself, between two Pirates," both of whom, no doubt, wished the other dear charmer away. She, poor lady, was crying out that she had asked two monks to fetch her ransom from a certain hiding-place. They had taken the money, she cried, according to her instruction, but they had used it to ransom certain "of their own and particular friends." This evil deed "was discovered by a slave, who brought a letter to the said lady." In time, her words were reported to Captain Morgan, who held a court of inquiry there and then, to probe into the truth of the matter. The monks made no denial of the fact, "though under some frivolous excuses, of having diverted the money but for a day or two, within which time they expected more sums to repay it." The reply angered Morgan into releasing the poor woman, "detaining the said religious men as prisoners in her place," and "using them according to the deserts of their incompassionate intrigues." Probably they were forced to run the gauntlet between two rows of pirates armed with withes of bejuco. A day's hard marching brought them to the ruins of Venta Cruz, on the banks of the river, where the canoas lay waiting for them under a merry boat guard. The army rested at Venta Cruz for three days, while maize and rice were collected for the victualling of the boats. Many prisoners succeeded in raising their ransoms during this three days' halt. Those who failed, were carried down the river to San Lorenzo. On the 5th of March the plunder was safely shipped, the army went aboard the canoas, the prisoners (including some from Venta Cruz) were thrust into the bottoms of the boats, and the homeward voyage began. The two monks who had embezzled the lady's money escaped translation at this time, being ransomed by their friends before the sailing of the fleet. The canoas dropped down the river swiftly, with songs and cheers from the pirates, till they came to some opening in the woods, half way across the isthmus, where the banks were free enough from brush to allow them to camp. Here they mustered in order, as though for a review, each man in his place with his sword and firelock. Here Captain Morgan caused each man to raise his right hand, and to swear solemnly that he had concealed nothing privately, "even not so much as the value of sixpence." Captain Morgan, a Welshman by birth, "having had some experience that those lewd fellows would not much stickle to swear falsely in points of interest, commanded every one to be searched very strictly, both in their clothes and satchels and everywhere it might be presumed they had reserved anything. Yea, to the intent this order might not be ill-taken by his companions, he permitted himself to be searched, even to the very soles of his shoes." One man out of each company was chosen to act as searcher to his fellows, and a very strict search was made. "The French Pirates were not well satisfied with this new custom of searching," but there were not very many of them, and "they were forced to submit to it." When the search was over, they re-embarked, and soon afterwards the current caught them, and spun them down swiftly to the lion-like rock at the river's mouth. They came safely to moorings below San Lorenzo on the 9th of March. They found that most of the wounded they had left there had died of fever, but the rest of the garrison was in good case, having "exercised piracy" with profit all the time the army had been plundering. There was "joy, and a full punch-bowl," in the castle rooms that night. Morgan now sent his Santa Katalina prisoners to Porto Bello in "a great boat," demanding a ransom for Chagres castle, "threatening otherwise" to blast it to pieces. "Those of Porto Bello," who needed all their money to repair their own walls, replied that "They would not give one farthing towards the ransom of the said castle, and that the English might do with it as they pleased"--a sufficiently bold answer, which sealed the fate of San Lorenzo. When the answer came, the men were again mustered, and "the dividend was made of all the spoil they had purchased in that voyage." Each man received his due share, "or rather what part thereof Captain Morgan was pleased to give." There was general dissatisfaction with "his proceedings in this particular," and many shaggy ruffians "feared not to tell him openly" that he had "reserved the best jewels to himself." They "judged it impossible" that the share per man should be but a paltry 200 pieces of eight, or £50, after "so many valuable booties and robberies." Why, they said, it is less than we won at Porto Bello. Many swore fiercely that, if they had known how small the booty was to prove, they would have seen Henry Morgan in gaol before they 'listed. Why they did not tear him piecemeal, and heave him into the sea, must remain a mystery. They contented themselves with damning him to his face for a rogue and a thief, at the same time praying that a red-hot hell might be his everlasting portion. "But Captain Morgan," says the narrative, "was deaf to all these, and many other complaints of this kind, having designed in his mind to cheat them of as much as he could." Deaf though he was, and callous, he had a fine regard for his own skin. The oaths and curses which were shouted after him as he walked in the castle made him "to fear the consequence thereof." He "thought it unsafe to remain any longer time at Chagre," so he planned a master stroke to defeat his enemies. The castle guns were dismounted, and hoisted aboard his flagship. The castle walls were then blasted into pieces, the lower batteries thrown down, and the houses burnt. When these things had been done "he went secretly on board his own ship, without giving any notice of his departure to his companions, nor calling any council, as he used to do. Thus he set sail, and put out to sea, not bidding anybody adieu, being only followed by three or four vessels of the fleet." The captains of these ships, it was believed, had shared with him in the concealed plunder. There was great fury among the buccaneers when Morgan's escape was known. The French pirates were for putting to sea in pursuit, to blow his ships out of the water, but Morgan had been sufficiently astute to escape in the provision ships. The pirates left behind had not food enough to stock their ships, and could not put to sea till more had been gathered. While they cursed and raged at Chagres, Morgan sailed slowly to Port Royal, where he furled his sails, and dropped anchor, after a highly profitable cruise. The Governor received his percentage of the profits, and Morgan at once began to levy recruits for the settling of Santa Katalina. As for his men, they stayed for some days in considerable misery at San Lorenzo. They then set sail in companies, some for one place, some for another, hoping to find food enough to bring them home. Some went to the eastward, raiding the coast for food, and snapping up small coasting vessels. Some went to the bay of Campeachy to cut logwood and to drink rum punch. Others went along the Costa Rican coast to find turtle to salt for victuals, and to careen their barnacled and wormy ships. One strong company went to Cuba, where they sacked the Town of the Keys, and won a good booty. Most of them came home, in time, but to those who returned that home-coming was bitter. Shortly after Morgan's return to Jamaica, a new Governor arrived from England with orders to suppress the gangs of privateers. He had instructions to proclaim a general pardon for all those buccaneers who cared to take advantage of the proclamation within a given time. Those who wished to leave "their naughty way of life" were to be encouraged by grants of land (thirty-five acres apiece), so that they might not starve when they forsook piracy. But this generous offer was merely a lure or bait to bring the buccaneers to port, in order that the Governor might mulct them "the tenths and fifteenths of their booty as the dues of the Crown for granting them commissions." The news of the intended taxation spread abroad among the pirates. They heard, too, that in future they would find no rest in Port Royal; for this new Governor was earnest and diligent in his governorship. They, therefore, kept away from Port Royal, and made Tortuga their rendezvous, gradually allying themselves with the French buccaneers, who had their stronghold there. Some of them, who returned to Port Royal, were brought before the magistrate, and hanged as pirates. Their old captain, Henry Morgan, left his former way of life, and soon afterwards become Governor of Jamaica. He was so very zealous in "discouraging" the buccaneers that the profession gradually lost its standing. The best of its members took to logwood cutting or to planting; the worst kept the seas, like water-Ishmaelites, plundering the ships of all nations save their own. They haunted Tortuga, the keys of Cuba, the creeks and inlets of the coast, and the bays at the western end of Jamaica. They were able to do a great deal of mischief; for there were many of them, and the English Colonial governors could not spare many men-of-war to police the seas. Often the pirates combined and made descents upon the coast as in the past. Henry Morgan's defection did but drive them from their own pleasant haunt, Port Royal. The "free-trade" of buccaneering throve as it had always thriven. But about the time of Morgan's consulship we read of British men-of-war helping to discourage the trade, and thenceforward the buccaneers were without the support of the Colonial Government. Those who sailed the seas after Morgan's time were public enemies, sailing under the shadow of the gallows. _Authorities._--W. Nelson: "Five Years at Panama." P. Mimande: "Souvenirs d'un Echappé de Panama." A. Reclus: "Panama et Darien." A. Radford: "Jottings on Panama." J. de Acosta: "Voyages." S. de Champlain: "Narrative." Cieça de Leon: "Travels." Exquemeling: "Bucaniers of America." Don Perez de la Guzman: "Account of the Sack of Panama." I am also indebted to friends long resident in the present city of Panama. CHAPTER XIII CAPTAIN DAMPIER Campeachy--Logwood cutting--The march to Santa Maria William Dampier, a Somersetshire man, who had a taste for roving, went to the West Indies for the first time in 1674, about three years after the sack of Panama. He was "then about twenty-two years old," with several years of sea-service behind him. He had been to the north and to the east, and had smelt powder in a King's ship during the Dutch wars. He came to the West Indies to manage a plantation, working his way "as a Seaman" aboard the ship of one Captain Kent. Planting sugar or cocoa on Sixteen-Mile Walk in an island so full of jolly sinners proved to be but dull work. Dampier tried it for some weeks, and then slipped away to sea with a Port Royal trader, who plied about the coast, fetching the planters' goods to town, and carrying European things, such as cloth, iron, powder, or the like, to the planters' jetties along the coast. That was a more pleasant life, for it took the young man all round the island, to quiet plantings where old buccaneers were at work. These were kindly fellows, always ready for a yarn with the shipmen who brought their goods from Port Royal. They treated the young man well, giving him yams, plantains, and sweet potatoes, with leave to wander through their houses. "But after six or seven Months" Dampier "left that Employ," for he had heard strange tales of the logwood cutters in Campeachy Bay, and longed to see something of them. He, therefore, slipped aboard a small Jamaica vessel which was going to the bay "to load logwood," with two other ships in company. The cargo of his ship "was rum and sugar; a very good Commodity for the Log-wood Cutters, who were then about 250 Men, most English." When they anchored off One Bush Key, by the oyster banks and "low Mangrovy Land," these lumbermen came aboard for drink, buying rum by the gallon or firkin, besides some which had been brewed into punch. They stayed aboard, drinking, till the casks gave out, firing off their small-arms with every health, and making a dreadful racket in that still lagoon, where the silence was seldom so violently broken. The logwood began to come aboard a day or two later; and Dampier sometimes went ashore with the boat for it, on which occasions he visited the huts of the woodmen, and ate some merry meals with them, "with Pork and Pease, or Beef and Dough-boys," not to mention "Drams or Punch." On the voyage home he was chased by Spaniards, who "fired a Gun" at the ketch, but could not fetch her alongside. It was an easy life aboard that little ketch; for every morning they fished for their suppers, and at no time was any work done unless the ship was actually in peril of wreck. While they were lazying slowly eastward, "tumbling like an Egg-shell in the Sea," her captain ran her on the Alcranes, a collection of sandy little islands, where they stayed for some days before they found a passage out to sea. They spent the days in fishing, or flinging pebbles at the rats, or killing boobies, and then set sail again, arriving after some days' sailing, at the Isles of Pines. Here they landed to fill fresh water at the brooks, among the sprays of red mangrove, which grew thickly at the water's edge. They also took ashore their "two bad Fowling-pieces," with intent to kill a wild hog or cow, being then in want of food, for the ship's provisions had given out. They did not kill any meat for all their hunting, nor did they catch much fish. Their ill success tempted the sailors to make for the Cuban keys, where they thought they would find great abundance, "either Fish or Flesh." The Cuban keys were favourite haunts of the buccaneers, but it was dangerous for a small ship like the ketch to venture in among them. On Cape Corientes there was a Spanish garrison of forty soldiers, chiefly mulattoes and caribs, who owned a swift periagua, fitted with oars and sails. They kept sentinels always upon the Cape, and whenever a ship hove in sight they would "launch out," and seize her, and cut the throats of all on board, "for fear of telling Tales." Fear of this garrison, and the prudent suggestion of Dampier--that "it was as probable that we might get as little Food in the South Keys, as we did at Pines, where, though there was plenty of Beefs and Hogs, yet we could not to tell how to get any--" at last prevailed upon the seamen to try for Jamaica. They were without food of any kind, save a little flour from the bottoms of the casks, and two "Barrels of Beef," which they had taken west to sell, "but 'twas so bad that none would buy it." On a porridge of this meat, chopped up with mouldy flour, they contrived to keep alive, "jogging on" towards the east till they made Jamaica. They arrived off Blewfield's Point thirteen weeks after leaving Campeachy, and, as Dampier says: "I think never any vessel before nor since made such Traverses ... as we did.... We got as much Experience as if we had been sent out on a Design." However, they dropped their anchor "at Nigrill" "about three a Clock in the Afternoon," and sent in the boat for fruit and poultry. One or two sea-captains, whose ketches were at anchor there, came out to welcome the new arrival. In the little "Cabbin," where the lamp swung in gimbals, the sailors "were very busie, going to drink a Bowl of Punch, ... after our long Fatigue and Fasting." The thirsty sea-captains, bronzed by the sun, came stumping down the ladder to bear a hand. One captain, "Mr John Hooker," said that he was under "Oath to drink but three Draughts of Strong Liquor a Day." The bowl, which had not been touched, lay with him, with six quarts of good rum punch inside it. This Mr Hooker, "putting the Bowl to his Head, turn'd it off at one Draught"--he being under oath, and, doubtless, thirsty. "And so, making himself drunk, disappointed us of our Expectations, till we made another Bowl." Thus with good cheer did they recruit themselves in that hot climate after long sailing of the seas. Dampier passed the next few weeks in Port Royal, thinking of the jolly life at One Bush Key, and of the little huts, so snugly thatched, and of the camp fires, when the embers glowed so redly at night before the moon rose. The thought of the logwood cutters passing to and fro about those camp fires, to the brandy barrel or the smoking barbecue, was pleasant to him. He felt inclined "to spend some Time at the Logwood Trade," much as a young gentleman of that age would have spent "some Time" on the grand tour with a tutor. He had a little gold laid by, so that he was able to lay in a stock of necessaries for the trade--such as "Hatchets, Axes, Long Knives, Saws, Wedges, etc., a Pavillion to sleep in, a Gun with Powder and Shot, etc." When all was ready, he went aboard a New England ship, and sailed for Campeachy, where he settled "in the West Creek of the West Lagoon" with some old logwood cutters who knew the trade. Logwood cutting was then a very profitable business, for the wood fetched from £70 to £100 a ton in the European markets. The wood is very dense, and so heavy that it sinks in water. The work of cutting it, and bringing it to the ships, in the rough Campeachy country, where there were no roads, was very hard. The logwood cutters were, therefore, men of muscle, fond of violent work. Nearly all of them in Dampier's time were buccaneers who had lost their old trade. They were "sturdy, strong Fellows," able to carry "Burthens of three or four hundred Weight," and "contented to labour very hard." Their hands and arms were always dyed a fine scarlet with the continuous rubbing of the wood, and their clothes always smelt of the little yellow logwood flowers, which smell very sweet and strong, at most seasons of the year. The life lived by the lumbermen was wild, rough, and merry. They had each of them a tent, or a strongly thatched hut, to live in, and most of them had an Indian woman or a negress to cook their food. Some of them had white wives, which they bought at Jamaica for about thirty pounds apiece, or five pounds more than the cost of a black woman. As a rule, they lived close to the lips of the creeks, "for the benefit of the Sea-Breezes," in little villages of twenty or thirty together. They slept in hammocks, or in Indian cots, raised some three or four feet from the ground, to allow for any sudden flood which the heavy rains might raise. They cooked their food on a sort of barbecue strewn with earth. For chairs they used logs of wood or stout rails supported on crutches. On the Saturday in each week they left their saws and axes and tramped out into the woods to kill beef for the following week. In the wet seasons, when the savannahs were flooded, they hunted the cattle in canoas by rowing near to the higher grass-lands where the beasts were at graze. Sometimes a wounded steer would charge the canoa, and spill the huntsmen in the water, where the alligators nipped them. In the dry months, the hunters went on foot. When they killed a steer they cut the body into four, flung away the bones, and cut a big hole in each quarter. Each of the four men of the hunting party then thrust his head through the hole in one of the quarters, and put "it on like a Frock," and so trudged home. If the sun were hot, and the beef heavy, the wearer cut some off, and flung it away. This weekly hunting was "a Diversion pleasant enough" after the five days' hacking at the red wood near the lagoon-banks. The meat, when brought to camp, was boucanned or jerked--that is, dried crisp in the sun. A quarter of a steer a man was the week's meat allowance. If a man wanted fish or game, in addition, he had to obtain it for himself. This diet was supplemented by the local fruits, and by stores purchased from the ships--such as dried pease, or flour to make doughboys. Men who worked hard under a tropical sun, in woods sometimes flooded to a depth of two feet, could hardly be expected to take a pride in their personal appearance. One little vanity they had, and apparently one only--they were fond of perfumes. They used to kill the alligator for his musk-sacs, which they thought "as good civet as any in the world." Each logwood cutter carried a musk-sac in his hat to diffuse scent about him, "sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe," wheresoever his business led him. The logwood cutters usually formed into little companies of from four to twelve men each. The actual "cutters" had less to do than the other members, for they merely felled the trees. Others sawed and hacked the tree trunks into logs. The boss, or chief man in the gang, then chipped away the white sappy rind surrounding the scarlet heart with its crystals of brilliant red. If the tree were very big (and some were six feet round) they split the bole by gunpowder. The red hearts alone were exported, as it is the scarlet crystal (which dries to a dull black after cutting) which gives the wood its value in dyeing. When the timber had been properly cut and trimmed it was dragged to the water's edge, and stacked there ready for the merchants. The chips burnt very well, "making a clear strong fire, and very lasting," in which the rovers used to harden "the Steels of their Fire Arms when they were faulty." When a ship arrived at One Bush Key the logwood cutters went aboard her for rum and sugar. It was the custom for the ship's captain to give them free drinks on the day of his arrival, "and every Man will pay honestly for what he drinks afterwards." If the captain did not set the rum punch flowing with sufficient liberality they would "pay him with their worst Wood," and "commonly" they "had a stock of such" ready for the niggard when he came. Often, indeed, they would give such a one a load of hollow logs "filled with dirt in the middle, and both ends plugg'd up with a piece of the same." But if the captain commanding were "true steel, an old bold blade, one of the old buccaneers, a hearty brave toss-pot, a trump, a true twopenny"--why, then, they would spend thirty or forty pounds apiece in a drinking bout aboard his ship, "carousing and firing of Guns three or four days together." They were a careless company, concerned rather in "the squandering of life away" than in its preservation. Drink and song, and the firing of guns, and a week's work chipping blood-wood, and then another drunkenness, was the story of their life there. Any "sober men" who came thither were soon "debauched" by "the old Standards," and took to "Wickedness" and "careless Rioting." Those who found the work too hard used to go hunting in the woods. Often enough they marched to the woods in companies, to sack the Indian villages, to bring away women for their solace, and men slaves to sell at Jamaica. They also robbed the Indians' huts of honey, cocoa, and maize, but then the Indians were "very melancholy and thoughtful" and plainly designed by God as game for logwood cutters. In the end the Spaniards fell upon the logwood men and carried them away to Mexico and Vera Cruz, sending some to the silver mines, and selling the others to tradesmen. As slaves they passed the next few years, till they escaped to the coast. One of those who escaped told how he saw a Captain Buckenham, once a famous man at those old drinking bouts, and owner of a sugar ship, working as a slave in the city of Mexico. "He saw Captain Buckenham, with a Log chained to his Leg, and a Basket at his Back, crying Bread about the Streets for a Baker his Master." In this society of logwood cutters Dampier served a brief apprenticeship. He must have heard many strange tales, and jolly songs, around the camp fires of his mates, but none of them, apparently, were fit to print. He went hunting cattle, and got himself "bushed," or marooned--that is, lost--and had a narrow escape from dying in the woods. He helped at the cutting and trimming of the red wood, and at the curing of the hides of the slaughtered steers. When ships arrived he took his sup of rum, and fired his pistol, with the best of them. Had he stayed there any length of time he would have become a master logwood merchant, and so "gotten an Estate"; but luck was against him. In June 1676, when he was recovering from a guinea-worm, a creature which nests in one's ankle, and causes great torment, a storm, or "South," reduced the logwood cutters of those parts to misery. The South was "long foretold," by the coming in of many sea-birds to the shore's shelter, but the lumbermen "believed it was a certain Token of the Arrival of Ships," and took no precautions against tempest. Two days later the wind broke upon them furiously, scattering their huts like scraps of paper. The creek began to rise "faster than I ever saw it do in the greatest Spring Tide," so that, by noon, the poor wretches, huddled as they were in a hut, without fire, were fain to make ready a canoa to save themselves from drowning. The trees in the woods were torn up by the roots, "and tumbled down strangely across each other." The ships in the creek were blown from their anchors. Two of them were driven off to sea, dipping their bows clean under, and making shocking weather of it. One of them was lost in the bay, being whelmed by a green sea. The storm destroyed all the tools and provisions of the lumbermen, and left Dampier destitute. His illness, with the poisonous worm in his leg, had kept him from work for some weeks, so that he had no cords of red wood ready cut, "as the old Standards had," to buy him new tools and new stores. Many of the men were in the same case, so they agreed with the captains of two pirate ketches which called at the creek at that time, to go a cruise to the west to seek their fortunes. They cruised up and down the bay "and made many Descents into the country," "where we got Indian Corn to eat with the Beef, and other Flesh, that we got by the way." They also attacked Alvarado, a little, protected city on the river of that name, but they lost heavily in the attack. Of the sixty pirates engaged, ten or eleven were killed or desperately wounded. The fort was not surrendered for four or five hours, by which time the citizens had put their treasure into boats, and rowed it upstream to safety. It was dark by the time the pirates won the fort, so that pursuit was out of the question. They rested there that night, and spent the next day foraging. They killed and salted a number of beeves, and routed out much salt fish and Indian corn, "as much as we could stow away." They also took a number of poultry, which the Spaniards were fattening in coops; and nearly a hundred tame parrots, "yellow and red," which "would prate very prettily." In short they heaped their decks with hen-coops, parrot-cages, quarters of beef, casks of salt fish, and baskets full of maize. In this state, the ships lay at anchor, with their men loafing on deck with their tobacco, bidding the "yellow and red" parrots to say "Damn," or "Pretty Polly," or other ribaldry. But before any parrot could have lost his Spanish accent, the pirates were called from their lessons by the sight of seven Spanish warships, under all sail, coming up to the river-bar from La Vera Cruz. Their ports were up, and their guns were run out, and they were not a mile away when the pirates first saw them. As it happened, the River Alvarado was full of water, so that these great vessels "could scarce stem the current." This piece of luck saved the pirates, for it gave them time to make sail, and to clear the bar before the Spaniards entered the river. As they dropped down the stream, they hove the clutter from the decks. Many a Pretty Polly there quenched her blasphemy in water, and many a lump of beef went to the mud to gorge the alligators. The litter was all overboard, and the men stripped to fight the guns, by the time the tide had swept them over the bar. At this moment they came within range of the Spanish flagship, the _Toro_, of ten guns and 100 men. She was to windward of them, and perilously close aboard, and her guns sent some cannon-balls into them, without doing any serious harm. Dampier was in the leading ship, which stood to the eastward, followed by her consort, as soon as she was over the bar. After her came the _Toro_, followed by a ship of four guns, and by five smaller vessels manned with musketeers, "and the Vessels barricadoed round with Bull-hides Breast high." The _Toro_ ranged up on the quarter of Dampier's ship, "designing to board" her. The pirates dragged their cannon aft, and fired at her repeatedly, "in hopes to have lamed either Mast or Yard." As they failed to carry away her spars, they waited till "she was shearing aboard," when they rammed the helm hard up, "gave her a good Volley," and wore ship. As soon as she was round on the other tack, she stood to the westward, passing down the Spanish line under a heavy fire. The _Toro_ held to her course, after the second pirate ship, with the six ships of the fleet following in her wake. The second pirate ship was much galled by the fleet's fire, and ran great risk of being taken. Dampier's ship held to the westward, till she was about a mile to windward of the other ships. She then tacked, and ran down to assist her consort, "who was hard put to it." As she ran down, she opened fire on the _Toro_, "who fell off, and shook her ears," edging in to the shore, to escape, with her fleet after her. They made no fight of it, but tacked and hauled to the wind "and stood away for Alvarado." The pirates were very glad to see the last of them; "and we, glad of the Deliverance, went away to the Eastward." On the way, they visited all the sandy bays of the coast to look for "munjack," "a sort of Pitch or Bitumen which we find in Lumps." When corrected with oil or tallow this natural pitch served very well for the paying of the seams "both of Ships and Canoas." After this adventure, Dampier returned to the lumber camp, and passed about a year there, cutting wood. Then, for some reason, he determined to leave the Indies, and to visit England; and though he had planned to return to Campeachy, after he had been home, he never did so. It seems that he was afraid of living in that undefended place, among those drunken mates of his. They were at all times at the mercy of a Spanish man-of-war, and Dampier "always feared" that a Spanish prison would be his lot if he stayed there. It was the lot of his imprudent mates, "the old Standards," a few months after he had sailed for the Thames. After a short stay in England, Dampier sailed for Jamaica, with a general cargo. He sold his goods at Port Royal, but did not follow his original plan of buying rum and sugar, and going west as a logwood merchant. About Christmas 1679 he bought a small estate in Dorsetshire, "of one whose Title to it" he was "well assured of." He was ready to sail for England, to take charge of this estate, and to settle down as a farmer, when he met "one Mr Hobby," at a tavern, who asked him to go "a short trading voyage to the Country of the Moskito's." Dampier, who was a little short of gold at the moment, was very willing to fill his purse before sailing north. He therefore consented to go with Mr Hobby, whose ship was then ready for the sea. He "went on board Mr Hobby," and a fair wind blew them clear of Port Royal. A day or two of easy sailing brought them to Negril Bay, "at the West End of Jamaica," where Dampier had anchored before, when the valorous captain drained the punch-bowl. The bay was full of shipping, for Captains Coxon, Sawkins, Sharp, and other buccaneers, were lying there filling their water casks. They had the red wheft flying, for they were bound on the account, to raid the Main. The boats alongside them were full of meat and barrels. Mr Hobby's men did not wait to learn more than the fact that the ships were going cruising. They dumped their chests into the dinghy, and rowed aboard of them, and 'listed themselves among the sunburnt ruffians who were hoisting out the water breakers. Dampier and Mr Hobby were left alone on their ship, within hearing of the buccaneers, who sang, and danced to the fiddle, and clinked the cannikin, till the moon had set. For three or four days they stayed there, hearing the merriment of the rovers, but at the end of the fourth day Dampier wearied of Mr Hobby, and joined the buccaneers, who were glad to have him. A day or two after Christmas 1679 they got their anchors and set sail. They shaped their course for Porto Bello, which had recovered something of its old wealth and beauty, in the years of peace it had enjoyed since Morgan sacked it. They landed 200 men to the eastward of the town, "at such a distance" that the march "occupied them three nights." During the day they lay in ambush in the woods. As they "came to the town" a negro saw them, and ran to set the bells ringing, to call out the troops. The buccaneers followed him so closely that the town was theirs before the troops could muster. They stayed there forty-eight hours gathering plunder, and then marched back to their ships staggering under a great weight of gold. They shared thirty or forty pounds a man from this raid. Afterwards they harried the coast, east and west, and made many rich captures. Sawkins, it seems, was particularly lucky, for he made a haul of 1000 chests of indigo. Warrants were out for all these pirates, and had they been taken they would most surely have been hanged. After these adventures, the squadron made for "a place called Boco del Toro," "an opening between two islands between Chagres and Veragua," where "the general rendezvous of the fleet" had been arranged. The ships anchored here, with one or two new-comers, including a French ship commanded by a Captain Bournano, who had been raiding on the isthmus, "near the South Sea," but a few days before. At the council aboard Captain Sawkins' ship, it was given out, to all the assembled buccaneers, that the Spaniards had made peace with the Darien Indians. This was bad news; but Captain Bournano was able to assure the company "that since the conclusion of the said peace, they had been already tried, and found very faithful"; for they had been of service to him in his late foray. He added that they had offered to guide him "to a great and very rich place called Tocamora," and that he had promised to come to them "with more ships and men," in three months' time. The buccaneers thought that Tocamora, apart from the beauty of the name, appeared to promise gold, so they decided to go thither as soon as they had careened and refitted. Boca del Toro, the anchorage in which they lay, was full of "green tortoise" for ships short of food. There were handy creeks, among the islands, for the ships to careen in, when their hulls were foul. The pirates hauled their ships into the creeks, and there hove them down, while their Moskito allies speared the tortoise, and the manatee, along the coast, and afterwards salted the flesh for sea-provision. As soon as the squadron was ready, they mustered at Water Key, and set sail for Golden Island, where they meant to hold a final council. On the way to the eastward they put in at the Samballoes, or islands of San Blas, to fill fresh water, and to buy fruit from the Indians. When the anchors held, the Indians came aboard with fruit, venison, and native cloth, to exchange for edged iron tools, and red and green beads. They were tall men, smeared with black paint (the women used red, much as in Europe), and each Indian's nose was hung with a plate of gold or silver. Among the women were a few albinos, who were said to see better in the dark than in the light. "These Indians misliked our design for Tocamora," because the way thither was mountainous and barren and certain to be uninhabited. A force going thither would be sure to starve on the road, they said, but it would be an easy matter to march to Panama, as Drake had marched. New Panama was already a rich city, so that they would not "fail of making a good voyage by going thither." This advice of the Indians impressed the buccaneers. They determined to abandon the Tocamora project as too dangerous. Most of them were in favour of going to sack Panama. But Captain Bournano, and Captain Row, who commanded about a hundred Frenchmen between them, refused to take their men on "a long march by land." Perhaps they remembered how Morgan had treated the French buccaneers after his Panama raid, nine years before. They therefore remained at anchor when the squadron parted company. An Indian chief, Captain Andreas, came aboard the English flagship. The bloody colours were hoisted, and a gun fired in farewell. The English ships then loosed their top-sails and stood away for Golden Island, to an anchorage they knew of, where a final muster could be held. They dropped anchor there, "being in all seven sail," on 3rd April 1680. Their strength at the Samballoes had been as follows:-- Tons Guns Men Captain Coxon in a ship of 80 8 97 Captain Harris " 150 25 107 Captain Sawkins " 16 1 35 Captain Sharp " 25 2 40 Captain Cook " 35 0 43 Captain Alleston " 18 0 24 Captain Macket " 14 0 20 but of these 366 buccaneers a few had remained behind with the Frenchmen. While they lay at Golden Island, the Indians brought them word of "a town called Santa Maria," on the Rio Santa Maria, near the Gulf of San Miguel, on the Pacific coast. It was a garrison town, with four companies of musketeers in its fort, for there were gold mines in the hills behind it. The gold caravans went from it, once a month in the dry seasons, to Panama. If the place failed to yield them a booty, the buccaneers were determined to attack new Panama. Had they done so they would probably have destroyed the place, for though the new city was something stronger than the old, the garrison was in the interior fighting the Indians. The design on Santa Maria was popular. On the matter being put to the vote it was carried without protest. The buccaneers passed the 4th of April in arranging details, and picking a party to protect the ships during their absence. They arranged that Captains Alleston and Macket, with about twenty-five or thirty seamen, should remain in the anchorage as a ship's guard. The remainder of the buccaneers, numbering 331 able-bodied men (seven of whom were French), were to march with the colours the next morning. On the 5th of April 1680, these 331 adventurers dropped across the channel from Golden Island, and landed on the isthmus, somewhere near Drake's old anchorage. Captain Bartholomew Sharp, of "the dangerous voyage and bold assaults," came first, with some Indian guides, one of whom helped the Captain, who was sick and faint with a fever. This vanguard "had a red flag, with a bunch of white and green ribbons." The second company, or main battle, was led by the admiral, Richard Sawkins, who "had a red flag striped with yellow." The third and fourth companies, which were under one captain (Captain Peter Harris), had two green flags. The fifth and sixth companies, under Captain John Coxon, "had each of them a red flag." A few of Alleston's and Macket's men carried arms under Coxon in these companies. The rear-guard was led by Captain Edmund Cook, "with red colours striped with yellow, with a hand and sword for his device." "All or most" of the men who landed, "were armed with a French fuzee" (or musket), a pistol and hanger, with two pounds of powder and "proportionable bullet." Each of them carried a scrip or satchel containing "three or four cakes of bread," or doughboys, weighing half-a-pound apiece, with some modicum of turtle flesh. "For drink the rivers afforded enough." Among the men who went ashore in that company were William Dampier, the author of the best books of voyages in the language; Lionel Wafer, the chirurgeon of the party, who wrote a description of the isthmus; Mr Basil Ringrose, who kept an intimate record of the foray; and Captain Bartholomew Sharp, who also kept a journal, but whose writings are less reliable than those of the other three. It is not often that three historians of such supreme merit as Dampier, Wafer, and Ringrose, are associated in a collaboration so charming, as a piratical raid. Wafer had been a surgeon in Port Royal, but Edmund Cook had shown him the delights of roving, and the cruise he had made to Cartagena had confirmed him in that way of life. Basil Ringrose had but lately arrived at the Indies, and it is not known what induced him to go buccaneering. He was a good cartographer, and had as strong a bent towards the description of natural phenomena, as Dampier had. He probably followed the pirates in order to see the world, and to get some money, and to extend his knowledge. Sharp had been a pirate for some years, and there was a warrant out for him at Jamaica for his share in the sack of Porto Bello. With Dampier's history the reader has been made acquainted. The Indians, under Captain Andreas, led the buccaneers from the landing-place "through a small skirt of wood," beyond which was a league of sandy beach. "After that, we went two leagues directly up a woody valley, where we saw here and there an old plantation, and had a very good path to march in." By dusk they had arrived at a river-bank, beneath which the water lay in pools, joined by trickles and little runlets, which babbled over sun-bleached pebbles. They built themselves huts in this place, about a great Indian hut which stood upon the river-bank. They slept there that night, "having nothing but the cold Earth for their Beds," in much discouragement "with the going back of some of the Men." The buccaneers who had been some weeks at sea, were not in marching trim, and it seems that the long day's tramp in the sun had sickened many of them. While they rested in their lodges, an Indian king, whom they called "Captain Antonio," came in to see them. He said that he had sent word to one of his tributaries, farther to the south, to prepare food and lodgings for the buccaneers "against their Arrival." As for himself, he wished very much that he could come with them to lead their guides, but unfortunately "his child lay very sick." However, it comforted him to think that the child would be dead by the next day, at latest, "and then he would most certainly follow and overtake" them. He warned the company not to lie in the grass, "for fear of monstrous adders"; and so bowed himself out of camp, and returned home. The kingly prayers seem to have been effectual, for Captain Antonio was in camp again by sunrise next morning, with no family tie to keep him from marching. As the men sluiced themselves in the river before taking to the road, they noticed that the pebbles shone "with sparks of gold" when broken across. They did not stay to wash the river-mud, for gold dust and golden pellets, but fell in for the march, and climbed from dawn till nearly dusk. They went over "a steep Mountain" which was parched and burnt and waterless. Four of the buccaneers refused to go farther than the foot of this hill, so they returned to the ships. The others, under the guidance of Antonio, contrived to cross the mountain "to an Hollow of Water," at which they drank very greedily. Six miles farther on they halted for the night, beside a stream. They slept there, "under the Canopy of Heaven," suffering much discomfort from some drenching showers. After some days of climbing, wading, and suffering, the army reached the house of King Golden Cap, an Indian king. The King came out to meet them in his robes, with a little reed crown on his head, lined with red silk, and covered with a thin plate of gold. He had a golden ring in his nose, and a white cotton frock over his shoulders. His queen wore a red blanket, and a blouse "like our old-fashioned striped hangings." This royal couple bade the army welcome, and ordered food to be brought for them. The buccaneers passed a couple of days in King Golden Cap's city, trading their coloured beads, and scraps of iron, for fresh fruit and meat. They found the Indians "very cunning" in bargaining, which means, we suppose, that they thought a twopenny whittle a poor return for a hog or a sack of maize. When the men had rested themselves, and had dried their muddy clothes, they set out again, with Captain Sawkins in the vanguard. As they marched out of the town "the King ordered us each man to have three plantains, with sugar-canes to suck, by way of a present." They breakfasted on these fruits, as they marched. The road led them "along a very bad Path" continually intersected by a river, which they had to wade some fifty or sixty times, to their great misery. They passed a few Indian huts on the way, and at each hut door stood an Indian to give "as we passed by, to every one of us, a ripe plantain, or some sweet cassava-root." Some of the Indians counted the army "by dropping a grain of corn for each man that passed before them," for without counters they could not reckon beyond twenty. The army had by this time been swelled by an Indian contingent, of about 150 men, "armed with Bows, Arrows and Lances." The Indians dropping their corn grains must have dropped nearly 500 before the last man passed them. That night, which was clear and fine, they rested in three large Indian huts, where King Golden Cap's men had stored up food and drink, and a number of canoas, for the voyage south. The river went brawling past their bivouac at a little distance, and some of the men caught fish, and broiled them in the coals for their suppers. At daylight next morning, while they were getting the canoas to the water, Captain Coxon had "some Words" with Captain Harris (of the green flags). The words ran into oaths, for the two men were surly with the discomforts of turning out. Coxon whipped up a gun and fired at Peter Harris, "which he was [naturally] ready to return." Sharp knocked his gun up before he could fire, "and brought him to be quiet; so that we proceeded on our Journey." They had no further opportunities for fighting, for Sawkins gave the word a moment later for seventy of the buccaneers to embark in the canoas. There were fourteen of these boats, all of them of small size. Sharp, Coxon, and Cook were placed in charge of them. Captain Harris was told off to travel with the land party, with Sawkins, King Golden Cap, and the other men. Don Andreas, with twenty-eight other Indians (two to a canoa) acted as boatmen, or pilots, to the flotilla. Basil Ringrose, who was one of the boat party, has told us of the miseries of the "glide down the stream." The river was low, and full of rotting tree trunks, so that "at the distance of almost every stone's cast," they had to leave the boats "and haul them over either sands or rocks, and at other times over trees." Sharp, who was of tougher fibre, merely says that they "paddled all Day down the Falls and Currents of the River, and at Night took up our Quarters upon a Green Bank by the Riverside, where we had Wild Fowl and Plantanes for Supper: But our Beds were made upon the cold Earth, and our Coverings were the Heavens, and green Trees we found there." The next day they went downstream again, over many more snags and shallows, which set them wading in the mud till their boots rotted off their feet. Ringrose was too tired to make a note in his journal, save that, that night, "a tiger" came out and looked at them as they sat round the camp fires. Sharp says that the labour "was a Pleasure," because "of that great Unity there was then amongst us," and because the men were eager "to see the fair South Sea." They lodged that night "upon a green Bank of the River," and ate "a good sort of a Wild Beast like unto our English Hog." The third day, according to Ringrose, was the worst day of all. The river was as full of snags as it had been higher up, but the last reach of it was clear water, so that they gained the rendezvous "about Four in the Afternoon." To their very great alarm they found that the land party had not arrived. They at once suspected that the Indians had set upon them treacherously, and cut them off in the woods. But Don Andreas sent out scouts "in Search of them," who returned "about an Hour before Sun-set," with "some of their Number," and a message that the rest would join company in the morning. A little after daybreak the land force marched in, and pitched their huts near the river, "at a beachy point of land," perhaps the very one where Oxenham's pinnace had been beached. They passed the whole day there resting, and cleaning weapons, for they were now but "a Day and a Night's Journey" from the town they had planned to attack. Many more Indians joined them at this last camp of theirs, so that the army had little difficulty in obtaining enough canoas to carry them to Santa Maria. They set out early the next morning, in sixty-eight canoas, being in all "327 of us Englishmen, and 50 Indians." Until that day the canoas had been "poled" as a punt is poled, but now they cut oars and paddles "to make what speed we could." All that day they rowed, and late into the night, rowing "with all haste imaginable," and snapping up one or two passing Indian boats which were laden with plantains. It was after midnight, and about "Two Hours before Day Light," when they ran into a mud bank, about a mile from the town, and stepped ashore, upon a causeway of oars and paddles. They had to cut themselves a path through jungle, as soon as they had crossed the mud, for the town was walled about with tropical forest. They "lay still in the Woods, till the Light appeared," when they "heard the Spaniard discharge his Watch at his Fort by Beat of Drum, and a Volley of Shot." It was the Spanish way of changing guard, at daybreak. It was also the signal for the "Forlorn" of the buccaneers to march to the battle, under Sawkins. This company consisted of seventy buccaneers. As they debouched from the forest, upon open ground, the Spaniards caught sight of them and beat to arms. The men in the fort at once opened fire "very briskly," but the advance-guard ran in upon them, tore down some of the stockade, and "entered the fort incontinently." A moment or two of wild firing passed inside the palisades, and then the Spanish colours were dowsed. The buccaneers in this storm lost two men wounded, of the fifty who attacked. The Spanish loss was twenty-six killed, and sixteen wounded, out of 300 under arms. About fifty more, of the Spanish prisoners, were promptly killed by the Indians, who took them into the woods and stabbed them "to death" with their lances. It seems that one of that garrison, a man named Josef Gabriele, had raped King Golden Cap's daughter who was then with child by him. (Gabriele, as it chanced, was not speared, but saved to pilot the pirates to Panama.) This was the sole action of the Indians in that engagement. During the battle they lay "in a small hollow," "in great consternation" at "the noise of the guns." Though the buccaneers had taken the place easily, they had little cause for rejoicing. The town was "a little pitiful Place," with a few thatched huts, or "wild houses made of Cane," and "but one Church in it." The fort "was only Stockadoes," designed merely as a frontier post "to keep in subjection the Indians" or as a lodging for men employed in the gold mines. There was no more provision in store there than would serve their turn for a week. As for the gold, they had missed it by three days. Three hundredweight of gold had been sent to Panama while they were struggling downstream. News of their coming had been brought to the fort in time, and "all their treasure of gold," "that huge booty of gold" they had expected to win, had been shipped westward. Nor had they any prisoners to hold to ransom. The Governor, the town priest, and the chief citizens, had slipped out of the town in boats, and were now some miles away. Richard Sawkins manned a canoa, and went in chase of them, but they got clear off, to give advice to Panama that pirates were come across the isthmus. The only pillage they could find, after torturing their prisoners "severely," amounted to "twenty pounds' weight of gold, and a small quantity of silver." To this may be added a few personal belongings, such as weapons or trinkets, from the chests of the garrison. When the booty, such as it was, had been gathered, the captains held a meeting "to discuss what were best to be done." Some were for going to the South Sea, to cruise; but John Coxon, who had taken Porto Bello, and hated to be second to Sawkins, was for going back to the ships. The general vote was for going to Panama, "that city being the receptacle of all the plate, jewels, and gold that is dug out of the mines of all Potosi and Peru." However, they could not venture on Panama without Coxon, and Coxon's company; so they made Coxon their admiral, "Coxon seeming to be well satisfied." Before starting, they sent their booty back to Golden Island, under a guard of twelve men. Most of the Indians fell off at this time, for they had "got from us what knives, scissors, axes, needles and beads they could." Old King Golden Cap, and his son, were less mercenary, and stayed with the colours, being "resolved to go to Panama, out of the desire they had to see that place taken and sacked." They may have followed the buccaneers in order to kill the Spaniard who had raped the princess, for that worthy was still alive, under guard. He had promised to lead the pirates "even to the very bed-chamber door of the governor of Panama." With the vision of this bed-chamber door before them, the pirates embarked at Santa Maria "in thirty-five canoes" and a ship they had found at anchor in the river. As they "sailed, or rather rowed" downstream, with the ebb, the Spanish prisoners prayed to be taken aboard, lest the Indians should take them and torture them all to death. "We had much ado to find a sufficient number of boats for ourselves," says Ringrose, for the Indians had carried many of the canoas away. Yet the terror of their situation so wrought upon the Spaniards that they climbed on to logs, or crude rafts, or into old canoas, "and by that means shifted so ... as to come along with us." The island Chepillo, off the mouth of the Cheapo River, had been named as the general rendezvous, but most of the buccaneers were to spend several miserable days before they anchored there. One canoa containing ten Frenchmen, was capsized, to the great peril of the Frenchmen, who lost all their weapons. Ringrose was separated from the company, drenched to the skin, half starved, and very nearly lynched by some Spaniards. His 19th of April was sufficiently stirring to have tired him of going a-roving till his death. He put out "wet and cold," at dawn; was shipwrecked at ten; saved the lives of five Spaniards at noon; "took a survey," or drew a sketch of the coast, an hour later; set sail again by four, was taken by the Spaniards and condemned to death at nine; was pardoned at ten; sent away "in God's name," "vaya ustad con Dios," at eleven; and was at sea again "wet and cold," by midnight. Sharp's party was the most fortunate, for as they entered the bay of Panama they came to an island "a very pleasant green Place," off which a barque of thirty tons came to anchor, "not long before it was dark." The island had a high hummock of land upon it with a little hut, and a stack for a bonfire, at the top. A watchman, an old man, lived in this hut, looking out over the sea for pirates, with orders to fire his beacon, to warn the men on the Main if a strange sail appeared. The pirates caught this watchman before the fire was lit. They learned from him that those at Panama had not yet heard of their coming. Shortly after they had captured the watchman, the little barque aforesaid, came to anchor, and furled her sails. Two of Sharp's canoas crept out, "under the shore," and laid her aboard "just as it began to be duskish." She proved to be a Panama boat, in use as a troop transport. She had just landed some soldiers on the Main, to quell some Indians, who had been raiding on the frontier. Her crew were negroes, Indians, and mulattoes. Most of the buccaneers, especially those in the small canoas, "endeavoured to get into" this ship, to stretch their legs, and to have the advantage of a shelter. More than 130 contrived to stow themselves in her 'tween decks, under "that sea-artist, and valiant commander" (the words are probably his own) "Captain Bartholomew Sharp." They put to sea in her the next day, followed by the canoas. During the morning they took another small barque, in which Captain Harris placed thirty men, and hoisted the green flag. The wind fell calm after the skirmish, but the canoas rowed on to Chepillo, to the rendezvous, where they found provisions such as "two fat hogs," and some plantains, and a spring of water. A little after dawn, on the day following, while the ships were trying to make the anchorage, Captain Coxon, and Captain Sawkins, rowed out from Chepillo to board a barque which was going past the island under a press of sail. The wind was so light that the canoas overhauled her, but before they could hook to her chains "a young breeze, freshening at that instant," swept her clear of danger. Her men fired a volley into Coxon's boat, which the pirates returned. "They had for their Breakfast a small fight," says Sharp. One of the pirates--a Mr Bull--was killed with an iron slug. The Spaniards got clear away without any loss, "for the Wind blew both fresh and fair" for them. Three or four pirates were grazed with shot, and some bullets went through the canoas. The worst of the matter was that the Spaniards got safely to Panama, "to give intelligence of our coming." As they could no longer hope to take the city by surprise, "while the Governor was in his bed-chamber," they determined to give the citizens as little time for preparation as was possible. They were still twenty miles from Panama, but the canoas could pass those twenty miles in a few hours' easy rowing. They set out at four o'clock in the evening, after they had delivered their Spanish prisoners "for certain reasons" (which Ringrose "could not dive into") into the hands of the Indians. This act of barbarity was accompanied with the order that the Indians were "to fight, or rather to murder and slay the said prisoners upon the shore, and that in view of the whole fleet." However, the Spaniards rushed the Indians, broke through them, and got away to the woods with the loss of but one soldier. After they had watched the scuffle, the pirates rowed away merrily towards Panama, "though many showers of rain ceased not to fall." Sharp's vessel, with her crew of more than 130 men, made off for the Pearl Islands, ostensibly to fill fresh water, but really, no doubt, to rob the pearl fisheries. He found a woman (who was "very young and handsome"), and "a Case or two of Wines," at these islands, together with some poultry. He made a feast there, and stayed at anchor that night, and did not set sail again till noon of the day following, by which time the battle of Panama had been fought and won. _Authorities._--Dampier's Voyages. Wafer's Voyages. Ringrose's Journal. "The Dangerous Voyage and Bold Assaults of Captain Bartholomew Sharp"; "The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Bartholomew Sharp" (four or five different editions). Ringrose's MSS., Sharp's MSS., in the Sloane MSS. CHAPTER XIV THE BATTLE OF PERICO Arica--The South Sea cruise On 23rd April 1680, "that day being dedicated to St George, our Patron of England," the canoas arrived off Panama. "We came," says Ringrose, "before sunrise within view of the city of Panama, which makes a pleasant show to the vessels that are at sea." They were within sight of the old cathedral church, "the beautiful building whereof" made a landmark for them, reminding one of the buccaneers "of St Paul's in London," a church at that time little more than a ruin. The new city was not quite finished, but the walls of it were built, and there were several splendid churches, with scaffolding about them, rising high, here and there, over the roofs of the houses. The townspeople were in a state of panic at the news of the pirates' coming. Many of them had fled into the savannahs; for it chanced that, at that time, many of the troops in garrison, were up the country, at war with a tribe of Indians. The best of the citizens, under Don Jacinto de Baronha, the admiral of those seas, had manned the ships in the bay. Old Don Peralta, who had saved the golden galleon ten years before, had 'listed a number of negroes, and manned one or two barques with them. With the troops still in barracks, and these volunteers and pressed men, they had manned, in all "five great ships, and three pretty big barks." Their force may have numbered 280 men. One account gives the number, definitely, as 228. The buccaneer force has been variously stated, but it appears certain that the canoas, and periaguas, which took part in the fight, contained only sixty-eight of their company. Sharp, as we have seen, had gone with his company to the Pearl Islands. The remaining 117 men were probably becalmed, in their barques and canoas, some miles from the vanguard. When the buccaneers caught sight of Panama, they were probably between that city and the islands of Perico and Tobagilla. They were in great disorder, and the men were utterly weary with the long night of rowing in the rain, with the wind ahead. They were strung out over several miles of sea, with five light canoas, containing six or seven men apiece, a mile or two in advance. After these came two lumbering periaguas, with sixteen men in each. King Golden Cap was in one of these latter. Dampier and Wafer were probably not engaged in this action. Ringrose was in the vanguard, in a small canoa. A few minutes after they had sighted the roofs of Panama, they made out the ships at anchor off the Isle of Perico. There were "five great ships and three pretty big barks," manned, as we have said, by soldiers, negroes, and citizens. The men aboard this fleet were in the rigging of their ships, keeping a strict lookout. As they caught sight of the pirates the three barques "instantly weighed anchor," and bore down to engage, under all the sail they could crowd. The great ships had not sufficient men to fight their guns. They remained at anchor; but their crews went aboard the barques, so that the decks of the three men-of-war must have been inconveniently crowded. The Spaniards were dead to windwind of the pirates, so that they merely squared their yards, and ran down the wind "designedly to show their valour." They had intended to run down the canoas, and to sail over them, for their captains had orders to give no quarter to the pirates, but to kill them, every man. "Such bloody commands as these," adds Ringrose piously, "do seldom or never prosper." It was now a little after sunrise. The wind was light but steady; the sea calm. As the Spaniards drew within range, the pirates rowed up into the wind's eye, and got to windward of them. Their pistols and muskets had not been wetted in the rain, for each buccaneer had provided himself with an oiled cover for his firearms, the mouth of which he stopped with wax whenever it rained. The Spanish ships ran past the three leading canoas, exchanging volleys at long range. They were formed in line of battle ahead, with a ship manned by mulattoes, or "Tawnymores," in the van. This ship ran between the fourth canoa, in which Ringrose was, and the fifth (to leeward of her) commanded by Sawkins. As she ran between the boats she fired two thundering broadsides, one from each battery, which wounded five buccaneers. "But he paid dear for his passage"; because the buccaneers gave her a volley which killed half her sail trimmers, so that she was long in wearing round to repeat her fire. At this moment the two periaguas came into action, and got to windward with the rest of the pirates' fleet. While Ringrose's company were ramming the bullets down their gun muzzles, the Spanish admiral (in the second ship) engaged, "scarce giving us time to charge." She was a fleet ship, and had a good way on her, and her design was to pass between two canoas, and give to each a roaring hot broadside. As she ran down, so near that the buccaneers could look right into her, one of the pirates fired his musket at her helmsman, and shot him through the heart as he steered. The ship at once "broached-to," and lay with her sails flat aback, stopped dead. The five canoas, and one of the periaguas, got under her stern, and so plied her with shot that her decks were like shambles, running with blood and brains, five minutes after she came to the wind. Meanwhile Richard Sawkins ran his canoa--which was a mere sieve of cedar wood, owing to the broadside--alongside the second periagua, and took her steering oar. He ordered his men to give way heartily, for the third Spanish ship, under old Don Peralta, was now bearing down to relieve the admiral. Before she got near enough to blow the canoas out of water, Captain Sawkins ran her on board, and so swept her decks with shot that she went no farther. But "between him and Captain Sawkins, the dispute, or fight, was very hot, lying board on board together, and both giving and receiving death unto each other as fast as they could charge." Indeed, the fight, at this juncture, was extremely fierce. The two Spanish ships in action were surrounded with smoke and fire, the men "giving and receiving death" most gallantly. The third ship, with her sail trimmers dead, was to leeward, trying to get upon the other tack. After a time her sailors got her round, and reached to windward, to help the admiral, who was now being sorely battered. Ringrose, and Captain Springer, a famous pirate, "stood off to meet him," in two canoas, as "he made up directly towards the Admiral." Don Jacinto, they noticed, as they shoved off from his flagship, was standing on his quarter-deck, waving "with a handkerchief," to the captain of the Tawnymores' ship. He was signalling him to scatter the canoas astern of the flagship. It was a dangerous moment, and Ringrose plainly saw "how hard it would go with us if we should be beaten from the Admiral's stern." With the two canoas he ran down to engage, pouring in such fearful volleys of bullets that they covered the Spaniard's decks with corpses and dying men. "We killed so many of them, that the vessel had scarce men enough left alive, or unwounded, to carry her off. Had he not given us the helm, and made away from us, we had certainly been on board him." Her decks were littered with corpses, and she was literally running blood. The wind was now blowing fresh, and she contrived to put before it, and so ran out of action, a terrible sight for the Panama women. Having thus put the Tawnymores out of action, Ringrose and Springer hauled to the wind, and "came about again upon the Admiral, and all together gave a loud halloo." The cheer was answered by Sawkins' men, from the periagua, as they fired into the frigate's ports. Ringrose ran alongside the admiral, and crept "so close" under the vessel's stern, "that we wedged up the rudder." The admiral was shot, and killed, a moment later, as he brought aft a few musketeers to fire out of the stern ports. The ship's pilot, or sailing master, was killed by the same volley. As for the crew, the "stout Biscayners," "they were almost quite disabled and disheartened likewise, seeing what a bloody massacre we had made among them with our shot." Two-thirds of the crew were killed, "and many others wounded." The survivors cried out for quarter, which had been offered to them several times before, "and as stoutly denied until then." Captain Coxon thereupon swarmed up her sides, with a gang of pirates, helping up after him the valorous Peter Harris "who had been shot through both his legs, as he boldly adventured up along the side of the ship." The Biscayners were driven from their guns, disarmed, and thrust down on to the ballast, under a guard. All the wounded pirates were helped up to the deck and made comfortable. Then, in all haste, the unhurt men manned two canoas, and rowed off to help Captain Sawkins, "who now had been three times beaten from on board by Peralta." A very obstinate and bloody fight had been raging round the third man-of-war. Her sides were splintered with musket-balls. She was oozing blood from her scuppers, yet "the old and stout Spaniard" in command, was cheerily giving shot for shot. "Indeed, to give our enemies their due, no men in the world did ever act more bravely than these Spaniards." Ringrose's canoa was the first to second Captain Sawkins. She ran close in, "under Peralta's side," and poured in a blasting full volley through her after gun-ports. A scrap of blazing wad fell among the red-clay powder jars in the after magazine. Before she could fire a shot in answer, she blew up abaft. Ringrose from the canoa "saw his men blown up, that were abaft the mast, some of them falling on the deck, and others into the sea." But even this disaster did not daunt old Peralta. Like a gallant sea-captain, he slung a bowline round his waist, and went over the side, burnt as he was, to pick up the men who had been blown overboard. The pirates fired at him in the water, but the bullets missed him. He regained his ship, and the fight went on. While the old man was cheering the wounded to their guns, "another jar of powder took fire forward," blowing the gun's crews which were on the fo'c's'le into the sea. The forward half of the ship caught fire, and poured forth a volume of black smoke, in the midst of which Richard Sawkins boarded, and "took the ship." A few minutes later, Basil Ringrose went on board, to give what aid he could to the hurt. "And indeed," he says, "such a miserable sight I never saw in my life, for not one man there was found, but was either killed, desperately wounded, or horribly burnt with powder, insomuch that their black skins [the ship was manned with negroes] were turned white in several places, the powder having torn it from their flesh and bones." But if Peralta's ship was a charnel-house, the admiral's flagship was a reeking slaughter-pen. Of her eighty-six sailors, sixty-one had been killed. Of the remaining twenty-five, "only eight were able to bear arms, all the rest being desperately wounded, and by their wounds totally disabled to make any resistance, or defend themselves. Their blood ran down the decks in whole streams, and scarce one place in the ship was found that was free from blood." The loss on the Tawnymores' ship was never known, but there had been such "bloody massacre" aboard her, that two other barques, in Panama Roads, had been too scared to join battle, though they had got under sail to engage. According to Ringrose, the pirates lost eighteen men killed, and twenty-two men wounded, several of them severely. Sharp, who was not in the fight, gives the numbers as eleven killed, and thirty-four wounded. The battle began "about half an hour after sunrise." The last of the Spanish fire ceased a little before noon. Having taken the men-of-war, Captain Sawkins asked his prisoners how many men were aboard the galleons, in the Perico anchorage. Don Peralta, who was on deck, "much burnt in both his hands," and "sadly scalded," at once replied that "in the biggest alone there were three hundred and fifty men," while the others were manned in proportion to their tonnage. But one of his men "who lay a-dying upon the deck, contradicted him as he was speaking, and told Captain Sawkins there was not one man on board any of those ships that were in view." "This relation" was believed, "as proceeding from a dying man," and a few moments later it was proved to be true. The greatest of the galleons, "the Most Blessed _Trinity_," perhaps the very ship in which Peralta had saved the treasures of the cathedral church, was found to be empty. Her lading of "wine, sugar, and sweetmeats, skins and soap" (or hides and tallow) was still in the hold, but the Spaniards had deserted her, after they had set her on fire, "made a hole in her, and loosened [perhaps cut adrift] her foresail." The pirates quenched the fire, stopped the leak, and placed their wounded men aboard her, "and thus constituted her for the time being our hospital." They lay at anchor, at Perico, for the rest of that day. On the 24th of April they seem to have been joined by a large company of those who had been to leeward at the time of the battle. Reinforced by these, to the strength of nearly 200 men, they weighed their anchors, set two of the prize galleons on fire with their freights of flour and iron, and removed their fleet to the roads of Panama. They anchored near the city, just out of heavy gunshot, in plain view of the citizens. They could see the famous stone walls, which had cost so much gold that the Spanish King, in his palace at Madrid, had asked his minister whether they could be seen from the palace windows. They marked the stately, great churches which were building. They saw the tower of St Anastasius in the distance, white and stately, like a blossom above the greenwood. They may even have seen the terrified people in the streets, following the banners of the church, and the priests in their black robes, to celebrate a solemn Mass and invocation. Very far away, in the green savannahs, they saw the herds of cattle straying between the clumps of trees. Late that night, long after it was dark, Captain Bartholomew Sharp joined company. He had been to Chepillo to look for them, and had found their fire "not yet out," and a few dead Spaniards, whom the Indians had killed, lying about the embers. He had been much concerned for the safety of the expedition, and was therefore very pleased to find that "through the Divine Assistance" the buccaneers had triumphed. At supper that night he talked with Don Peralta, who told him of some comets, "two strange Comets," which had perplexed the Quito merchants the year before. There was "good Store of Wine" aboard the _Trinity_ galleon, with which all hands "cheered up their Hearts for a While." Then, having set sentinels, they turned in for the night. The next day they buried Captain Peter Harris, "a brave and stout Soldier, and a valiant Englishman, born in the county of Kent, whose death [from gunshot wounds] we very much lamented." With him they buried another buccaneer who had been hurt in the fight. The other wounded men recovered. They would probably have landed to sack the town on this day, had not a quarrel broken out between some of the company and Captain Coxon. The question had been brought forward, whether the buccaneers should go cruising in the South Sea, in their prizes, or return, overland, to their ships at Golden Island. It was probably suggested, as another alternative, that they should land to sack the town. All the captains with one exception were for staying in the Pacific "to try their Fortunes." Captain Coxon, however, was for returning to Golden Island. He had been dissatisfied ever since the fight at Santa Maria. He had not distinguished himself particularly in the fight off Perico, and no doubt he felt jealous that the honours of that battle should have been won by Sawkins. Sawkins' men taunted him with "backwardness" in that engagement, and "stickled not to defame, or brand him with the note of cowardice." To this he answered that he would be very glad to leave that association, and that he would take one of the prizes, a ship of fifty tons, and a periagua, to carry his men up the Santa Maria River. Those who stayed, he added, might heal his wounded. That night he drew off his company, with several other men, in all about seventy hands. With them he carried "the best of our Doctors and Medicines," and the hearty ill will of the other buccaneers. Old King Golden Cap accompanied these deserters, leaving behind him his son and a nephew, desiring them to be "not less vigorous" than he had been in harrying the Spanish. Just before Coxon set sail, he asked Bartholomew Sharp to accompany him. But that proven soul "could not hear of so dirty and inhuman an Action without detestation." So Coxon sailed without ally, "which will not much redound to his Honour," leaving all his wounded on the deck of the captured galleon. The fleet, it may be added, had by this time returned to the anchorage at Perico. They lay there ten days in all, "debating what were best to be done." In that time they took a frigate laden with fowls. They took the poultry for their own use, and dismissed some of "the meanest of the prisoners" in the empty ship. They then shifted their anchorage to the island of Taboga, where there were a few houses, which some drunken pirates set on fire. While they lay at this island the merchants of Panama came off to them "and sold us what commodities we needed, buying also of us much of the goods we had taken in their own vessels." The pirates also sold them a number of negroes they had captured, receiving "two hundred pieces of eight for each negro we could spare." "And here we took likewise several barks that were laden with fowls." After Coxon's defection, Richard Sawkins was re-elected admiral, and continued in that command till his death some days later. Before they left Taboga, Captain Sharp went cruising to an island some miles distant to pick up some straggling drunkards who belonged to his ship. While he lay at anchor, in a dead calm, waiting for a breeze to blow, a great Spanish merchant ship hove in sight, bound from Lima (or Truxillo) to Panama. Sharp ran his canoas alongside, and bade her dowse her colours, at the same time sending a gang of pirates over her rail, to throw the crew under hatches. "He had no Arms to defend himself with, save only Rapiers," so her captain made no battle, but struck incontinently. She proved to be a very splendid prize, for in her hold were nearly 2000 jars of wine and brandy, 100 jars of good vinegar, and a quantity of powder and shot, "which came very luckily." In addition to these goods there were 51,000 pieces of eight, "247 pieces of eight a man," a pile of silver sent to pay the Panama soldiery; and a store of sweetmeats, such as Peru is still famous for. And there were "other Things," says Sharp, "that were very grateful to our dis-satisfied Minds." Some of the wine and brandy were sold to the Panama merchants a few days later, "to the value of three thousand Pieces of Eight." A day or two after this they snapped up two flour ships, from Paita. One of these was a pretty ship of a fine model, of about 100 tons. Sharp fitted her for himself, "for I liked her very well." The other flour ship was taken very gallantly, under a furious gunfire from Panama Castle. The buccaneers rowed in, with the cannon-balls flying over their heads. They got close alongside "under her Guns," and then towed her out of cannon-shot. They continued several days at Taboga, waiting for a Lima treasure ship, aboard which, the Spaniards told them, were £2500 in silver dollars. While they waited for this ship the Governor at Panama wrote to ask them why they had come into those seas. Captain Sawkins answered that they had come to help King Golden Cap, the King of Darien, the true lord of those lands, and that, since they had come so far, "there was no reason but that they should have some satisfaction." If the Governor would send them 500 pieces of eight for each man, and double that sum for each captain, and, further, undertake "not any farther to annoy the Indians," why, then, the pirates would leave those seas, "and go away peaceably. If the Governor would not agree to these terms, he might look to suffer." A day or two later, Sawkins heard that the Bishop of Panama had been Bishop at Santa Martha (a little city on the Main), some years before, when he (Sawkins) helped to sack the place. He remembered the cleric favourably, and sent him "two loaves of sugar," as a sort of keepsake, or love-offering. "For a retaliation," the Bishop sent him a gold ring; which was very Christian in the Bishop, who must have lost on the exchange. The bearer of the gold ring, brought also an answer from the Governor, who desired to know who had signed the pirates' commissions. To this message Captain Sawkins sent back for answer: "That as yet all his company were not come together, but that when they were come up, we would come and visit him at Panama, and bring our commissions on the muzzles of our guns, at which time he should read them as plain as the flame of gunpowder could make them." With this thrasonical challenge the pirates set sail for Otoque, another of the islands in the bay; for Taboga, though it was "an exceeding pleasant island," was by this time bare of meat. Before they left the place a Frenchman deserted from them, and gave a detailed account of their plans to the Spanish Governor. It blew very hard while they were at sea, and two barques parted company in the storm. One of them drove away to the eastward, and overtook John Coxon's company. The other was taken by the Spaniards. About the 20th or 21st of May, after several days of coasting, the ships dropped anchor on the north coast of the island of Quibo. From here some sixty men, under Captain Sawkins, set sail in Edmund Cook's ship, to attack Pueblo Nuevo, the New Town, situated on the banks of a river. At the river's mouth, which was broad, with sandy beaches, they embarked in canoas, and rowed upstream, under the pilotage of a negro, from dark till dawn. The French deserter had told the Spaniards of the intended attack, so that the canoas found great difficulty in getting upstream. Trees had been felled so as to fall across the river, and Indian spies had been placed here and there along the river-bank to warn the townsmen of the approach of the boats. A mile below the town the river had been made impassable, so here the pirates went ashore to wait till daybreak. When it grew light they marched forward, to attack the strong wooden breastworks which the Spaniards had built. Captain Sawkins was in advance, with about a dozen pirates. Captain Sharp followed at a little distance with some thirty more. As soon as Sawkins saw the stockades he fired his gun, and ran forward gallantly, to take the place by storm, in the face of a fierce fire. "Being a man that nothing upon Earth could terrifie" he actually reached the breastwork, and was shot dead there, as he hacked at the pales. Two other pirates were killed at his side, and five of the brave forlorn were badly hurt. "The remainder drew off, still skirmishing," and contrived to reach the canoas "in pretty good order," though they were followed by Spanish sharpshooters for some distance. Sharp took command of the boats and brought them off safely to the river's mouth, where they took a barque full of maize, before they arrived at their ship. Sawkins was "as valiant and courageous as any could be," "a valiant and generous-spirited man, and beloved above any other we ever had among us, which he well deserved." His death left the company without a captain, and many of the buccaneers, who had truly loved Richard Sawkins, were averse to serving under another commander. They were particularly averse to serving under Sharp, who took the chief command from the moment of Sawkins' death. At Quibo, where they lay at anchor, "their Mutiny" grew very high, nor did they stick at mere mutiny. They clamoured for a tarpaulin muster, or "full Councel," at which the question of "who should be chief" might be put to the vote. At the council, Sharp was elected "by a few hands," but many of the pirates refused to follow him on the cruise. He swore, indeed, that he would take them such a voyage as should bring them £1000 a man; but the oaths of Sharp were not good security, and the mutiny was not abated. Many of the buccaneers would have gone home with Coxon had it not been for Sawkins. These now clamoured to go so vehemently that Sharp was constrained to give them a ship with as much provision "as would serve for treble the number." The mutineers who left on this occasion were in number sixty-three. Twelve Indians, the last who remained among the pirates, went with them, to guide them over the isthmus. 146 men remained with Sharp. It is probable that many of these would have returned at this time, had it not been that "the Rains were now already up, and it would be hard passing so many Gullies, which of necessity would then be full of water." Ringrose, Wafer and Dampier remained among the faithful, but rather on this account, than for any love they bore their leader. The mutineers had hardly set sail, before Captain Cook came "a-Board" Sharp's flagship, finding "himselfe a-grieved." His company had kicked him out of his ship, swearing that they would not sail with such a one, so that he had determined "to rule over such unruly folk no longer." Sharp gave his command to a pirate named Cox, a New Englander, "who forced kindred, as was thought, upon Captain Sharp, out of old acquaintance, in this conjuncture of time, only to advance himself." Cox took with him Don Peralta, the stout old Andalusian, for the pirates were plying the captain "of the Money-Ship we took," to induce him to pilot them to Guayaquil "where we might lay down our Silver, and lade our vessels with Gold." They feared that an honest man, such as Peralta, "would hinder the endeavours" of this Captain Juan, and corrupt his kindly disposition. With these mutinies, quarrels, intrigues, and cabals did the buccaneers beguile their time. They stayed at Quibo until 6th June, filling their water casks, quarrelling, cutting wood, and eating turtle and red deer. They also ate huge oysters, so large "that we were forced to cut them into four pieces, each quarter being a large mouthful." On the 6th of June they set sail for the isle of Gorgona, off what is now Columbia, where they careened the _Trinity_, and took "down our Round House Coach and all the high carved work belonging to the stern of the ship; for when we took her from the Spaniards she was high as any Third Rate Ship in England." While they were at work upon her, Sharp changed his design of going for Guayaquil, as one of their prisoners, an old Moor, "who had long time sailed among the Spaniards," told him that there was gold at Arica, in such plenty that they would get there "£2000 a man." He did not hurry to leave his careenage, though he must have known that each day he stayed there lessened his chance of booty. It was nearly August when he left Gorgona, and "from this Time forward to the 17th of October there was Nothing occurr'd but bare Sailing." Now and then they ran short of water, or of food. One or two of their men died of fever, or of rum, or of sunstroke. Two or three were killed in capturing a small Spanish ship. The only other events recorded, are the falls of rain, the direction of the wind, the sight of "watersnakes of divers colours," and the joyful meeting with Captain Cox, whom they had lost sight of, while close in shore one evening. They called at "Sir Francis Drake's isle" to strike a few tortoises, and to shoot some goats. Captain Sharp we read, here "showed himself very ingenious" in spearing turtle, "he performing it as well as the tortoise strikers themselves." It was very hot at this little island. Many years before Drake had gone ashore there to make a dividend, and had emptied bowls of gold coins into the hats of his men, after the capture of the _Cacafuego_. Some of the pirates sounded the little anchorage with a greasy lead, in the hopes of bringing up the golden pieces which Drake had been unable to carry home, and had hove into the sea there. They got no gold, but the sun shone "so hot that it burnt the skin off the necks of our men," as they craned over the rail at their fishery. At the end of October they landed at the town of Hilo to fill fresh water. They took the town, and sacked its sugar refineries, which they burnt. They pillaged its pleasant orange groves, and carried away many sacks of limes and green figs "with many other fruits agreeable to the palate." Fruit, sugar, and excellent olive oil were the goods which Hilo yielded. They tried to force the Spaniards to bring them beef, but as the beef did not come, they wrecked the oil and sugar works, and set them blazing, and so marched down to their ships, skirmishing with the Spanish horse as they fell back. Among the spoil was the carcass of a mule (which made "a very good meal"), and a box of chocolate "so that now we had each morning a dish of that pleasant liquor," such as the grand English ladies drank. The next town attacked was La Serena, a town five miles from the present Coquimbo. They took the town, and found a little silver, but the citizens had had time to hide their gold. The pirates made a great feast of strawberries "as big as walnuts," in the "orchards of fruit" at this place, so that one of their company wrote that "'tis very delightful Living here." They could not get a ransom for the town, so they set it on fire. The Spaniards, in revenge, sent out an Indian, on an inflated horse hide, to the pirates' ship the _Trinity_. This Indian thrust some oakum and brimstone between the rudder and the sternpost, and "fired it with a match." The sternpost caught fire and sent up a prodigious black smoke, which warned the pirates that their ship was ablaze. They did not discover the trick for a few minutes, but by good fortune they found it out in time to save the vessel. They landed their prisoners shortly after the fire had been quenched "because we feared lest by the example of this stratagem they should plot our destruction in earnest." Old Don Peralta, who had lately been "very frantic," "through too much hardship and melancholy," was there set on shore, after his long captivity. Don Juan, the captain of the "Money-Ship," was landed with him. Perhaps the two fought together, on the point of honour, as soon as they had returned to swords and civilisation. From Coquimbo the pirates sailed for Juan Fernandez. On the way thither they buried William Cammock, one of their men, who had drunk too hard at La Serena "which produced in him a calenture or malignant fever, and a hiccough." "In the evening when the pale Magellan Clouds were showing we buried him in the sea, according to the usual custom of mariners, giving him three French vollies for his funeral." On Christmas Day they were beating up to moorings, with boats ahead, sounding out a channel for the ship. They did not neglect to keep the day holy, for "we gave in the morning early three vollies of shot for solemnization of that great festival." At dusk they anchored "in a stately bay that we found there," a bay of intensely blue water, through which the whiskered seals swam. The pirates filled fresh water, and killed a number of goats, with which the island swarmed. They also captured many goats alive, and tethered them about the decks of the _Trinity_, to the annoyance of all hands, a day or two later, when some flurries of wind drove them to sea, to search out a new anchorage. Shortly after New Year's Day 1681, "our unhappy Divisions, which had been long on Foot, began now to come to an Head to some Purpose." The men had been working at the caulking of their ship, with design to take her through the Straits of Magellan, and so home to the Indies. Many of the men wished to cruise the South Seas a little longer, while nearly all were averse to plying caulking irons, under a burning sun, for several hours a day. There was also a good deal of bitterness against Captain Sharp, who had made but a poor successor to brave Richard Sawkins. He had brought them none of the gold and silver he had promised them, and few of the men were "satisfied, either with his Courage or Behaviour." On the 6th January a gang of pirates "got privately ashoar together," and held a fo'c's'le council under the greenwood. They "held a Consult," says Sharp, "about turning me presently out, and put another in my Room." John Cox, the "true-hearted dissembling New-England Man," whom Sharp "meerly for old Acquaintance-sake" had promoted to be captain, was "the Main Promoter of their Design." When the consult was over, the pirates came on board, clapped Mr Sharp in irons, put him down on the ballast, and voted an old pirate named John Watling, "a stout seaman," to be captain in his stead. One buccaneer says that "the true occasion of the grudge against Sharp was, that he had got by these adventures almost a thousand pounds, whereas many of our men were not worth a groat," having "lost all their money to their fellow Buccaneers at dice." Captain Edmund Cook, who had been turned out of his ship by his men, was this day put in irons on the confession of a shameless servant. The curious will find the details of the case on page 121, of the 1684 edition of Ringrose's journal. John Watling began his captaincy in very godly sort, by ordering his disciples to keep holy the Sabbath day. Sunday, "January the ninth, was the first Sunday that ever we kept by command and common consent, since the loss and death of our valiant Commander Captain Sawkins." Sawkins had been strict in religious matters, and had once thrown the ship's dice overboard "finding them in use on the said day." Since Sawkins' death the company had grown notoriously lax, but it is pleasant to notice how soon they returned to their natural piety, under a godly leader. With Edmund Cook down on the ballast in irons, and William Cook talking of salvation in the galley, and old John Watling expounding the Gospel in the cabin, the galleon, "the Most Holy _Trinity_" must have seemed a foretaste of the New Jerusalem. The fiddler ceased such "prophane strophes" as "Abel Brown," "The Red-haired Man's Wife," and "Valentinian." He tuned his devout strings to songs of Zion. Nay the very boatswain could not pipe the cutter up but to a phrase of the Psalms. In this blessed state they washed their clothes in the brooks, hunted goats across the island, and burnt and tallowed their ship the _Trinity_. But on the 12th of January, one of their boats, which had been along the coast with some hunters, came rowing furiously into the harbour, "firing of Guns." They had espied three Spanish men-of-war some three or four miles to leeward, beating up to the island under a press of sail. The pirates were in great confusion, for most of them were ashore, "washing their clothes," or felling timber. Those on board, hove up one of their anchors, fired guns to call the rest aboard, hoisted their boats in, and slipped their second cable. They then stood to sea, hauling as close to the wind as she would lie. One of the Mosquito Indians, "one William," was left behind on the island, "at this sudden departure," and remained hidden there, living on fish and fruit, for many weary days. He was not the first man to be marooned there; nor was he to be the last. The three Spanish men-of-war were ships of good size, mounting some thirty guns among them. As the pirate ship beat out of the harbour, sheeting home her topgallant-sails, they "put out their bloody flags," which the pirates imitated, "to shew them that we were not as yet daunted." They kept too close together for the pirates to run them aboard, but towards sunset their flagship had drawn ahead of the squadron. The pirates at once tacked about so as to engage her, intending to sweep her decks with bullets, and carry her by boarding. John Watling was not very willing to come to handystrokes, nor were the Spaniards anxious to give him the opportunity. No guns were fired, for the Spanish admiral wore ship, and so sailed away to the island, when he brought his squadron to anchor. The pirates called a council, and decided to give them the slip, having "outbraved them," and done as much as honour called for. They were not very pleased with John Watling, and many were clamouring for the cruise to end. It was decided that they should not attack the Spanish ships, but go off for the Main, to sack the town of Arica, where there was gold enough, so they had heard, to buy them each "a coach and horses." They therefore hauled to the wind again, and stood to the east, in very angry and mutinous spirit, until the 26th of January. On that day they landed at Yqueque, a mud-flat, or guano island, off a line of yellow sand-hills. They found a few Indian huts there, with scaffolds for the drying of fish, and many split and rotting mackerel waiting to be carried inland. There was a dirty stone chapel in the place, "stuck full of hides and sealskins." There was a great surf, green and mighty, bursting about the island with a continual roaring. There were pelicans fishing there, and a few Indians curing fish, and an abominable smell, and a boat, with a cask in her bows, which brought fresh water thither from thirty miles to the north. The teeth of the Indians were dyed a bright green by their chewing of the coca leaf, the drug which made their "beast-like" lives endurable. There was a silver mine on the mainland, near this fishing village, but the pirates did not land to plunder it. They merely took a few old Indian men, and some Spaniards, and carried them aboard the _Trinity_, where the godly John Watling examined them. The next day the examination continued; and the answers of one of the old men, "a Mestizo Indian," were judged to be false. "Finding him in many lies, as we thought, concerning Arica, our commander ordered him to be shot to death, which was accordingly done." This cold-blooded murder was committed much against the will of Captain Sharp, who "opposed it as much as he could." Indeed, when he found that his protests were useless, he took a basin of water (of which the ship was in sore need) and washed his hands, like a modern Pilate. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am clear of the blood of this old man; and I will warrant you a hot day for this piece of cruelty, whenever we come to fight at Arica." This proved to be "a true and certain prophesy." Sharp was an astrologer, and a believer in portents; but he does not tell us whether he had "erected any Figure," to discover what was to chance in the Arica raid. * * * * * Arica, the most northern port in Chile, has still a considerable importance. It is a pleasant town, fairly well watered, and therefore more green and cheerful than the nitrate ports. It is built at the foot of a hill (a famous battlefield) called the Morro. Low, yellow sand-hills ring it in, shutting it from the vast blue crags of the Andes, which rise up, splintered and snowy, to the east. The air there is of an intense clearness, and those who live there can see the Tacna churches, forty miles away. It is no longer the port it was, but it does a fair trade in salt and sulphur, and supplies the nitrate towns with fruit. When the pirates landed there it was a rich and prosperous city. It had a strong fort, mounting twelve brass guns, defended by four companies of troops from Lima. The city had a town guard of 300 soldiers. There was also an arsenal full of firearms for the use of householders in the event of an attack. It was not exactly a walled town, like new Panama, but a light wooden palisade ran round it, while other palisades crossed each street. These defences had been thrown up when news had arrived of the pirates being in those seas. All the "plate, gold and jewels" of the townsfolk had been carefully hidden, and the place was in such a state of military vigilance and readiness that the pirates had no possible chance of taking it, or at least of holding it. When the pirates came upon it there were several ships in the bay, laden with commodities from the south of Chile. [Illustration: _A description of_ Arica] On the 28th of January, John Watling picked 100 men, and put off for the shore in boats and canoas, to attack the town. By the next day they had got close in shore, under the rocks by the San Vitor River's mouth. There they lay concealed till the night. At dawn of the 30th January 1681, "the Martyrdom of our glorious King Charles the First," they were dipping off some rocks four miles to the south of Arica. Here ninety-two of the buccaneers landed, leaving a small boat guard, with strict instructions how to act. They were told that if the main body "made one smoke from the town," as by firing a heap of powder, one canoa was to put in to Arica; but that, if two smokes were fired, all the boats were to put in at once. Basil Ringrose was one of those who landed to take part in the fight. Dampier, it is almost certain, remained on board the _Trinity_, becalmed some miles from the shore. Wafer was in the canoas, with the boat guard, preparing salves for those wounded in the fight. The day seems to have been hot and sunny--it could scarcely have been otherwise--but those out at sea, on the galleon, could see the streamers of cloud wreathing about the Andes. At sunrise the buccaneers got ashore, amongst the rocks, and scrambled up a hill which gave them a sight of the city. From the summit they could look right down upon the streets, little more than a mile from them. It was too early for folk to be stirring, and the streets were deserted, save for the yellow pariahs, and one or two carrion birds. It was so still, in that little town, that the pirates thought they would surprise the place, as Drake had surprised Nombre de Dios. But while they were marching downhill, they saw three horsemen watching them from a lookout place, and presently the horsemen galloped off to raise the inhabitants. As they galloped away, John Watling chose out forty of the ninety-two, to attack the fort or castle which defended the city. This band of forty, among whom were Sharp and Ringrose, carried ten hand-grenades, in addition to their pistols and guns. The fort was on a hill above the town, and thither the storming party marched, while Watling's company pressed on into the streets. The action began a few minutes later with the guns of the fort firing on the storming party. Down in the town, almost at the same moment, the musketry opened in a long roaring roll which never slackened. Ringrose's party waited for no further signal, but at once engaged, running in under the guns and hurling their firepots through the embrasures. The grenades were damp, or badly filled, or had been too long charged. They did not burst or burn as they should have done, while the garrison inside the fort kept up so hot a fire, at close range, that nothing could be done there. The storming party fell back, without loss, and rallied for a fresh attack. They noticed then that Watling's men were getting no farther towards the town. They were halted in line, with their knees on the ground, firing on the breastworks, and receiving a terrible fire from the Spaniards. Five of the fifty-two men were down (three of them killed) and the case was growing serious. The storming party left the fort, and doubled downhill into the firing line, where they poured in volley after blasting volley, killing a Spaniard at each shot, making "a very desperate battle" of it, "our rage increasing with our wounds." No troops could stand such file-firing. The battle became "mere bloody massacre," and the Spaniards were beaten from their posts. Volley after volley shook them, for the pirates "filled every street in the city with dead bodies"; and at last ran in upon them, and clubbed them and cut them down, and penned them in as prisoners. But as the Spaniards under arms were at least twenty times as many as the pirates, there was no taking the city from them. They were beaten from post to post fighting like devils, but the pirates no sooner left a post they had taken, "than they came another way, and manned it again, with new forces and fresh men." The streets were heaped with corpses, yet the Spaniards came on, and came on again, till the sand of the roads was like red mud. At last they were fairly beaten from the chief parts of the town, and numbers of them were penned up as prisoners; more, in fact, than the pirates could guard. The battle paused for a while at this stage, and the pirates took advantage of the lull to get their wounded (perhaps a dozen men), into one of the churches to have their wounds dressed. As the doctors of the party began their work, John Watling sent a message to the fort, charging the garrison to surrender. The soldiers returned no answer, but continued to load their guns, being helped by the armed townsfolk, who now flocked to them in scores. The fort was full of musketeers when the pirates made their second attack a little after noon. At the second attack, John Watling took 100 of his prisoners, placed them in front of his storming party, and forced them forward, as a screen to his men, when he made his charge. The garrison shot down friend and foe indiscriminately, and repulsed the attack, and repulsed a second attack which followed a few minutes later. There was no taking the fort by storm, and the pirates had no great guns with which to batter it. They found, however, that one of the flat-roofed houses in the town, near the fort's outworks, commanded the interior. "We got upon the top of the house," says Ringrose, "and from there fired down into the fort, killing many of their men and wounding them at our ease and pleasure." While they were doing this, a number of the Lima soldiers joined the citizens, and fell, with great fury, upon the prisoners' guards in the town. They easily beat back the few guards, and retook the city. As soon as they had taken the town, they came swarming out to cut off the pirates from their retreat, and to hem them in between the fort and the sea. They were in such numbers that they were able to surround the pirates, who now began to lose men at every volley, and to look about them a little anxiously as they bit their cartridges. From every street in the town came Spanish musketeers at the double, swarm after swarm of them, perhaps a couple of thousand. The pirates left the fort, and turned to the main army, at the same time edging away towards the south, to the hospital, or church, where their wounded men were being dressed. As they moved away from the battlefield, firing as they retreated, old John Watling was shot in the liver with a bullet, and fell dead there, to go buccaneering no more. A moment later "both our quartermasters" fell, with half-a-dozen others, including the boatswain. All this time the cannon of the fort were pounding over them, and the round-shot were striking the ground all about, flinging the sand into their faces. What with the dust and the heat and the trouble of helping the many hurt, their condition was desperate. "So that now the enemy rallying against us, and beating us from place to place, we were in a very distracted condition, and in more likelihood to perish every man than escape the bloodiness of that day. Now we found the words of Captain Sharp to bear a true prophecy, being all very sensible that we had had a day too hot for us, after that cruel heat in killing and murdering in cold blood the old Mestizo Indian whom we had taken prisoner at Yqueque." In fact they were beaten and broken, and the fear of death was on them, and the Spaniards were ringing them round, and the firing was roaring from every point. They were a bloody, dusty, choking gang of desperates, "in great disorder," black with powder, their tongues hanging out with thirst. As they stood grouped together, cursing and firing, some of them asked Captain Sharp to take command, and get them out of that, seeing that Watling was dead, and no one there could give an order. To this request Sharp at last consented, and a retreat was begun, under cover of a fighting rear-guard, "and I hope," says Sharp, "it will not be esteemed a Vanity in me to say, that I was mighty Helpful to facilitate this Retreat." In the midst of a fearful racket of musketry, he fought the pirates through the soldiers to the church where the wounded lay. There was no time, nor was there any conveyance, for the wounded, and they were left lying there, all desperately hurt. The two surgeons could have been saved "but that they had been drinking while we assaulted the fort, and thus would not come with us when they were called." There was no time for a second call, for the Spaniards were closing in on them, and the firing was as fierce as ever. The men were so faint with hunger and thirst, the heat of battle, and the long day's marching, that Sharp feared he would never get them to the boats. A fierce rush of Spaniards beat them away from the hospital, and drove them out of the town "into the Savannas or open fields." The Spaniards gave a cheer and charged in to end the battle, but the pirates were a dogged lot, and not yet at the end of their strength. They got into a clump or cluster, with a few wounded men in the centre, to load the muskets, "resolving to die one by another" rather than to run. They stood firm, cursing and damning the Spaniards, telling them to come on, and calling them a lot of cowards. There were not fifty buccaneers fit to carry a musket, but the forty odd, unhurt men stood steadily, and poured in such withering volleys of shot, with such terrible precision, that the Spanish charge went to pieces. As the charge broke, the pirates plied them again, and made a "bloody massacre" of them, so that they ran to shelter like so many frightened rabbits. The forty-seven had beaten off twenty or thirty times their number, and had won themselves a passage home. There was no question of trying to retake the town. The men were in such misery that the march back to the boats taxed their strength to the breaking point. They set off over the savannah, in as good order as they could, with a wounded man, or two, in every rank of them. As they set forward, a company of horsemen rode out, and got upon their flanks "and fired at us all the way, though they would not come within reach of our guns; for their own reached farther than ours, and out-shot us more than one third." There was great danger of these horsemen cutting in, and destroying them, on the long open rolls of savannah, so Sharp gave the word, and the force shogged westward to the seashore, along which they trudged to the boats. The beach to the south of Arica runs along the coast, in a narrow strip, under cliffs and rocky ground, for several miles. The sand is strewn with boulders, so that the horsemen, though they followed the pirates, could make no concerted charge upon them. Some of them rode ahead of them and got above them on the cliff tops, from which they rolled down "great stones and whole rocks to destroy us." None of these stones did any harm to the pirates, for the cliffs were so rough and broken that the skipping boulders always flew wide of the mark. But though the pirates "escaped their malice for that time," they were yet to run a terrible danger before getting clear away to sea. The Spaniards had been examining, or torturing, the wounded pirates, and the two drunken surgeons, left behind in the town. "These gave them our signs that we had left to our boats [_i.e._ revealed the signals by which the boats were to be called] so that they immediately blew up two smokes, which were perceived by the canoas." Had the pirates "not come at the instant" to the seaside, within hail of the boats, they would have been gone. Indeed they were already under sail, and beating slowly up to the northward, in answer to the signal. Thus, by a lucky chance, the whole company escaped destruction. They lost no time in putting from the shore, where they had met with "so very bad Entertainment." They "got on board about ten a Clock at night; having been involved in a continual and bloody fight ... all that day long." Of the ninety-two, who had landed that morning, twenty-eight had been left ashore, either dead, or as prisoners. Of the sixty-four who got to the canoas, eighteen were desperately wounded, and barely able to walk. Most of the others were slightly hurt, while all were too weary to do anything, save sleep or drink. Of the men left behind in the hospital the Spaniards spared the doctors only; "they being able to do them good service in that country." "But as to the wounded men," says Ringrose, "they were all knocked on the head," and so ended their roving, and came to port where drunken doctors could torture them no longer. The Ylo men denied this; and said that the seven pirates who did not die of their wounds were kept as slaves. The Spanish loss is not known, but it was certainly terrible. The Hilo, or Ylo people, some weeks later, said that seventy Spaniards had been killed and about 200 wounded. All the next day the pirates "plied to and fro in sight of the port," hoping that the Spaniards would man the ships in the bay, and come out to fight. They reinstated Sharp in his command, for they had now "recollected a better Temper," though none of them, it seems, wished for any longer stay in the South Sea. The Arica fight had sickened them of the South Sea, while several of them (including Ringrose) became very ill from the exposure and toil of the battle. They beat to windward, cruising, when they found that the Spaniards would not put to sea to fight them. They met with dirty weather when they had reached the thirtieth parallel, and the foul weather, and their bad fortune made them resolve to leave those seas. At a fo'c's'le council held on the 3rd of March, they determined to put the helm up, and to return to the North Sea. They were short of water and short of food, "having only one cake of bread a day," or perhaps half-a-pound of "doughboy," for their "whack" or allowance. After a few days' running before the wind they came to "the port of Guasco," now Huasco, between Coquimbo and Caldera, a little town of sixty or eighty houses, with copper smeltries, a church, a river, and some sheep-runs. Sixty of the buccaneers went ashore here, that same evening, to get provisions, "and anything else that we could purchase." They passed the night in the church, or "in a churchyard," and in the morning took "120 sheep and fourscore goats," about 200 bushels of corn "ready ground," some fowls, a fat hog, any quantity of fruit, peas, beans, etc., and a small stock of wine. These goods they conveyed aboard as being "fit for our Turn." The inhabitants had removed their gold and silver while the ship came to her anchor, "so that our booty here, besides provisions, was inconsiderable." They found the fat hog "very like our English pork," thereby illustrating the futility of travel; and so sailed away again "to seek greater matters." Before they left, they contrived to fill their water jars in the river, a piece of work which they found troublesome, owing to the height of the banks. [Illustration: _A Description of_ Hilo] From Huasco, where the famous white raisins grow, they sailed to Ylo, where they heard of their mates at Arica, and secured some wine, figs, sugar, and molasses, and some "fruits just ripe and fit for eating," including "extraordinary good Oranges of the China sort" They then coasted slowly northward, till by Saturday, 16th April, they arrived off the island of Plate. Here their old bickerings broke out again, for many of the pirates were disgusted with Sharp, and eager to go home. Many of the others had recovered their spirits since the affair at Arica, and wished to stay in the South Seas, to cruise a little longer. Those who had fought at Arica would not allow Sharp to be deposed a second time, while those who had been shipkeepers on that occasion, were angry that he should have been re-elected. The two parties refused to be reconciled. They quarrelled angrily whenever they came on deck together, and the party spirit ran so high that the company of shipkeepers, the anti-Sharp faction, "the abler and more experienced men," at last refused to cruise any longer under Sharp's command. The fo'c's'le council decided that a poll should be taken, and "that which party soever, upon polling, should be found to have the majority, should keep the ship." The other party was to take the long boat and the canoas. The division was made, and "Captain Sharp's Party carried it." The night was spent in preparing the long boat and the canoas, and the next morning the boats set sail. CHAPTER XV ACROSS THE ISTHMUS The way home--Sufferings and adventures At "about Ten a Clock" in the morning of 17th April 1681, the mutineers went over the side into their "Lanch and Canoas, designing for the River Santa Maria, in the Gulf of St Michael." "We were in number," says Dampier, who was of the party, "44 white Men who bore Arms, a _Spanish Indian_, who bore Arms also; and two _Moskito Indians_," who carried pistols and fish spears. Lionel Wafer "was of Mr Dampier's Side in that Matter," and acted as surgeon to the forty-seven, until he met with his accident. They embarked in the ship's launch or long boat, one canoa "and another Canoa which had been sawn asunder in the middle, in order to have made Bumkins, or Vessels for carrying water, if we had not separated from our Ship." This old canoa they contrived to patch together. For provisions they brought with them "so much Flower as we could well carry"; which "Flower" "we" had been industriously grinding for the last three days. In addition to the "Flower" they had "rubbed up 20 or 30 pound of Chocolate with Sugar to sweeten it." And so provided, they hoisted their little sails and stood in for the shore. "The Sea Breeze came in strong" before they reached the land, so that they had to cut up an old dry hide to make a close-fight round the launch "to keep the Water out." They took a small timber barque the next morning, and went aboard her, and sailed her over to Gorgona, where they scrubbed her bottom. They learned from their prisoners that the Spaniards were on the alert, eagerly expecting them, and cruising the seas with fast advice boats to get a sight of them. Three warships lay at Panama, ready to hunt them whenever the cruisers brought news of their whereabouts. A day or two later, the pirates saw "two great ships," with many guns in their ports, slowly beating to the southward in search of their company. The heavy rain which was falling kept the small timber barque hidden, while the pirates took the precautions of striking sail, and rowing close in shore. "If they had seen and chased us," the pirates would have landed, trusting to the local Indians to make good their escape over the isthmus. After twelve days of sailing they anchored about twenty miles from the San Miguel Gulf, in order to clean their arms, and dry their clothes and powder, before proceeding up the river, by the way they had come. The next morning they set sail into the Gulf, and anchored off an island, intending to search the river's mouth for Spaniards before adventuring farther. As they had feared, a large Spanish man-of-war lay anchored at the river's mouth, "close by the shore," with her guns commanding the entrance. Some of her men could be seen upon the beach, by the door of a large tent, made of the ship's lower canvas. "When the Canoas came aboard with this News," says Dampier, "some of our Men were a little dis-heartned; but it was no more than I ever expected." An hour or two later they took one of the Spaniards from the ship and learned from him that the ship carried twelve great guns, and that three companies of men, with small arms, would join her during the next twenty-four hours. They learned also that the Indians of that district were friendly to the Spaniards. Plainly the pirates were in a dangerous position. "It was not convenient to stay longer there," says Dampier. They got aboard their ship without loss of time, and ran out of the river "with the Tide of Ebb," resolved to get ashore at the first handy creek they came to. Early the next morning they ran into "a small Creek within two Keys, or little Islands, and rowed up to the Head of the Creek, being about a Mile up, and there we landed May 1, 1681." The men flung their food and clothes ashore, and scuttled their little ship, so that she sank at her moorings. While they packed their "Snap-sacks" with flour, chocolate, canisters of powder, beads, and whittles for the Indians, their slaves "struck a plentiful Dish of Fish" for them, which they presently broiled, and ate for their breakfasts. Some of the men scouted on ahead for a mile or two, and then returned with the news that there were no immediate dangers in front of them. Some of the pirates were weak and sick, and "not well able to march." "We," therefore, "gave out, that if any Man faultred in the Journey over Land he must expect to be shot to death; for we knew that the Spaniards would soon be after us, and one Man falling into their hands might be the ruin of us all, by giving an account of our strength and condition: yet this would not deter 'em from going with us." At three that afternoon they set out into the jungle, steering a N.E. course "by our Pocket Compasses." The rain beat upon them all the rest of that day, and all the night long, a drenching and steady downpour, which swamped the "small Hutts" they contrived to patch together. In the morning they struck an old Indian trail, no broader than a horse-girth, running somewhat to the east. They followed it through the forest till they came to an Indian town, where the squaws gave them some corn-drink or miscelaw, and sold them a few fowls and "a sort of wild Hogs." They hired a guide at this village, "to guide us a day's march into the Countrey." "He was to have for his pains a Hatchet, and his Bargain was to bring us to a certain Indians habitation, who could speak Spanish." They paid faithfully for the food the Indians gave them, and shared "all sorts of our Provisions in common, because none should live better than others," and so stand a better chance of crossing the isthmus. When they started out, after a night's rest, one of the pirates, being already sick of the march, slipped away into the jungle, and was seen no more. They found the Spanish-speaking Indian in a bad mood. He swore that he knew no road to the North Sea, but that he could take them to Cheapo, or to Santa Maria, "which we knew to be Spanish Garrisons: either of them at least 20 miles out of our way." He was plainly unwilling to have any truck with them, for "his discourse," was in an angry tone, and he "gave very impertinent answers" to the questions put to him. "However we were forced to make a virtue of necessity, and humour him, for it was neither time nor place to be angry with the Indians; all our lives lying in their hand." The pirates were at their wits' end, for they lay but a few miles from the guard ship, and this surly chief could very well set the Spaniards on them. They tempted him with green and blue beads, with gold and silver, both in the crude and in coin, with beautiful steel axe heads, with machetes, "or long knives"; "but nothing would work on him." The pirates were beginning to despair, when one of them produced "a Sky-coloured Petticoat," and placed it about the person of the chief's favourite wife. How he had become possessed of such a thing, and whether it came from a Hilo beauty, and whether she gave it as a love token, on the ship's sailing, cannot now be known. It may have been an article brought expressly from Jamaica for the fascination of the Indians. But _honi soit qui mal y pense_. The truth of the matter will never be learned. It is sufficient that the man produced it in the very nick of time, and laid the blue tissue over the copper-coloured lady. She was so much pleased with it "that she immediately began to chatter to her Husband, and soon brought him into a better Humour." He relented at once, and said that he knew the trail to the North Sea, and that he would gladly guide them thither were a cut upon his foot healed. As he could not go himself he persuaded another Indian to guide them "2 Days march further for another Hatchet." He tried hard to induce the party to stay with him for the rest of the day as the rain was pouring down in torrents. "But our business required more haste, our Enemies lying so near us, for he told us that he could go from his house aboard the Guard-Ship in a Tides time; and this was the 4th day since they saw us. So we marched 3 Miles further and then built Hutts, where we stayed all Night," with the thatch dripping water on to them in a steady trickle. On taking to the road again, wet and starving as they were, they found themselves in a network of rivers, some thirty of which they had to wade, during the day's march. The heavy rain drenched them as they clambered along across the jungle. They had but a little handful of fire that night, so that they could not dry nor warm themselves. They crouched about the "funk of green-wood," shivering in the smoke, chewing bullets to alleviate their hunger. They slept there in great misery, careless of what happened to them. "The Spaniards were but seldom in our thoughts," says Dampier, for the pirates thought only of guides and food, and feared their own Indian servants more than the enemy. A watch of two pirates kept a guard all that night, with orders to shoot any Indian who showed a sign of treachery. They rose before it was light and pushed on into the woods, biting on the bullet, or the quid, to help them to forget their hunger. By ten o'clock they arrived at the house of a brisk young Indian, who had been a servant to the Bishop of Panama, the man who gave the gold ring to Sawkins. Here they had a feast of yams and sweet potatoes, boiled into a broth with monkey-meat, a great comfort to those who were weak and sickly. They built a great fire in one of the huts, at which they dried their clothes, now falling to pieces from the continual soakings. They also cleaned their rusty gun-locks, and dried their powder, talking cheerily together, about the fire, while the rain roared upon the thatch. They were close beside the Rio Congo "and thus far," says Dampier, the most intelligent man among them, "we might have come in our Canoa, if I could have persuaded them to it." As they sat in the hut, in the warmth of the blaze, that rainy May day, Lionel Wafer met with an accident. He was sitting on the ground, beside one of the pirates, who was drying his powder, little by little, half a pound at a time, in a great silver dish, part of the plunder of the cruise. "A careless Fellow passed by with his Pipe lighted," and dropped some burning crumb of tobacco on to the powder, which at once blew up. It scorched Wafer's knee very terribly, tearing off the flesh from the bone, and burning his leg from the knee to the thigh. Wafer, who was the surgeon of the party, had a bag full of salves and medicines. He managed to dress his wounds, and to pass a fairly comfortable night, "and being unwilling to be left behind by my Companions, I made hard shift to jog on, and bear them Company," when camp was broken at daybreak. Lame as he was, he kept up with his mates all that day, fording rivers "several times," and crossing country which would tax the strongest man, in good condition. "The last time we forded the River, it was so deep, that our tallest Men stood in the deepest place, and handed the sick, weak and short Men"; by which act of comradeship "we all got over safe." Two of the pirates, "Robert Spratlin and William Bowman," could get no farther, and were left behind at the river. Dampier notes that his "Joint of Bambo, which I stopt at both Ends, closing it with Wax, so as to keep out any Water," preserved his "Journal and other Writings from being wet," though he had often to swim for it. Drenched and tired, they pitched their huts by the river-bank, poor Wafer in torment from his knee, and the rest of them hungry and cold. They had hardly finished their huts, when the river came down in a great wall of water, some sudden flood, due to a cloud-burst higher up. The flood sucked away their huts, and forced them to run to higher ground. They passed that night "straggling in the Woods, some under one Tree, some under another," with the thunder roaring overhead, and the lightning making a livid brightness all about them. The rain fell in torrents, and the pirates were far too wretched to keep watch. "So our Slaves, taking Opportunity, went away in the Night; all but one, who was hid in some hole, and knew nothing of their design, or else fell asleep." Among these slaves was a black man, Lionel Wafer's assistant, who carried the salves and medicaments. He took these with him when he slunk away, nor did he forget the "Chirurgeon's Gun and all his Money." He left poor Wafer destitute there, in the forest, "depriv'd of wherewithal to dress my sore." In the morning, they found that the river had fallen, but not so much as they had hoped. It was still too deep to ford, and the current ran very swiftly, but Dampier and some other swimmers managed to swim across. They then endeavoured to get a line over, by which to ferry the men who could not swim, and the arms and powder they had left on the other bank. They decided to send a man back with a line, with instructions to pass the goods first, and then the men. "One George Gayny took the end of a Line and made it fast about his Neck, and left the other end ashore, and one Man stood by the Line, to clear it away to him." When Gayny was about half way across, the line, which was kinky with the wet, got entangled. The man who was lighting it out checked it a moment to take out the kink, or to clear it. The check threw Gayny on his back, "and he that had the Line in his hand," instead of slacking away, or hauling in, so as to bring Gayny ashore, "threw it all into the River after him, thinking he might recover himself." The stream was running down with great fierceness. Gayny had a bag of 300 dollars on his back, and this bag, with the weight of the line, dragged him under. He was carried down, and swept out of sight "and never seen more by us." "This put a period to that contrivance," adds Dampier grimly. As they had no wish to emulate poor Gayny, they sought about "for a Tree to fell across the River." They cut it down, as soon as they had found it, "and it reached clean over." The goods and pirates were then crossed in safety. All hands soon forgot poor Gayny, for they came across a plantain walk in a clearing, and made a good breakfast, and stripped it of every fruit. They dismissed their guide here, with the gift of an axe head, and hired an old Indian to guide them farther towards the North Sea. The next day they reckoned themselves out of danger, and set forth cheerily. For the last two days Wafer had been in anguish from his burnt knee. As the pirates made ready to leave their bivouac, on the tenth morning of the march, he declared that he could not "trudge it further through Rivers and Woods," with his knee as it was. Two other pirates who were broken with the going, declared that they, also, were too tired out to march. There was no talk, among the rest of the band, about shooting the weary ones, according to the order they had made at starting. Instead of "putting them out of their misery," they "took a very kind Leave," giving the broken men such stores as they could spare, and telling them to keep in good heart, and follow on when they had rested. One of Wafer's comrades on this occasion was "Mr Richard Jopson, who had served an Apprenticeship to a Druggist in London. He was an ingenious Man, and a good Scholar; he had with him a Greek Testament which he frequently read, and would translate _extempore_ into _English_, to such of the Company as were dispos'd to hear him." The other weary man was John Hingson, a mariner. They watched their mates march away through the woods, and then turned back, sick at heart, to the shelter of the huts, where the Indians looked at them sulkily, and flung them green plantains, "as you would Bones to a Dog." One of the Indians made a mess of aromatic herbs and dressed Wafer's burn, so that, in three weeks' time, he could walk. Dampier's party marched on through jungle, wading across rivers, which took them up to the chest, staggering through swamps and bogs, and clambering over rotten tree trunks, and across thorn brakes. They were wet and wretched and half starved, for their general food was macaw berries. Sometimes they killed a monkey, once Dampier killed a turkey, and once they came to a plantain patch where "we fed plentifully on plantains, both ripe and green." Their clothes were rotted into shreds, their boots were fallen to pieces, their feet were blistered and raw, their legs were mere skinless ulcers from the constant soaking. Their faces were swelled and bloody from the bites of mosquitoes and wood-ticks. "Not a Man of us but wisht the Journey at an End." Those who have seen "Bad Lands," or what is called "timber," or what is called "bush," will know what the party looked like, when, on the twenty-second day, they saw the North Sea. The day after that they reached the Rio Conception, and drifted down to the sea in some canoas, to an Indian village, built on the beach "for the benefit of Trade with the Privateers." About nine miles away, the Indians told them, was a French privateer ship, under one Captain Tristian, lying at La Sounds Key. They stayed a night at the village, and then went aboard the French ship, which was careened in a creek, with a brushwood fire on her side, cleaning away her barnacles for a roving cruise. Here they parted with their Indian guides, not without sorrow, for it is not pleasant to say "So Long" to folk with whom one has struggled, and lived, and suffered. "We were resolved to reward them to their hearts' Content," said Dampier, much as a cowboy, at the end of the trail, will give sugar to his horse, as he bids him good-bye. The pirates spent their silver royally, buying red, blue and green beads, and knives, scissors, and looking-glasses, from the French pirates. They bought up the entire stock of the French ship, but even then they felt that they had not rewarded their guides sufficiently. They therefore subscribed a half-dollar piece each, in coin, as a sort of makeweight. With the toys, and the bags of silver, the delighted Indians passed back to the isthmus, where they told golden stories of the kind whites, so that the Indians of the Main could not do enough for Wafer, and for the four pirates left behind on the march. Dampier's party had marched in all 110 miles, over the most damnable and heart-breaking country which the mind of man can imagine. They had marched "heavy," with their guns and bags of dollars; and this in the rainy season. They had starved and suffered, and shivered and agonised, yet they had lost but two men, poor Gayny, who was drowned, and (apparently) one who had slipped away on the third day of the march. This man may have been the Spanish Indian. A note in Ringrose's narrative alludes to the capture of one of Dampier's party by the Spanish soldiers, and this may have been the man meant. Two days later, when the Indian guides had gone, and the privateer was fit for the sea, they set sail for "the rendezvous of the fleet," which had been fixed for Springers' Key "another of the Samballoes Isles." Perhaps the English pirates hove up the anchor, the grand privilege of the guests, aboard ship, to the old anchor tune, with its mournful and lovely refrain-- "I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid." The old band of never-strikes were outward bound on another foray. As for Wafer, and his two companions, they stayed with the Indians for some days, living on plantains (given very grudgingly), and wondering whether the Indians would kill them. The natives were kindly, as a rule, to the French and English, but it was now the rainy season, when they liked to stay in their huts, about their fires. The pirates "had in a Manner awed the Indian guides they took ... and made them go with them very much against their Wills." The Indians had resented this act of the pirates, and as days went by, and the guides did not return, they judged that the white men had killed them. They prepared "a great Pile of Wood to burn us," says Wafer, meaning to avenge their fellows, whom they "had supposed dead." But a friendly old chief dissuaded them from this act, a few hours before the intended execution. While the three were living thus, in doubt whether they would be speared, or held as slaves, or sold to the Spaniards, the two pirates, Spratlin and Bowman, who had been left behind at the Rio Congo, arrived at the village. They had had a terrible journey together, "among the wild Woods and Rivers," wandering without guides, and living on roots and plantains. On their way, they had come upon George Gayny "lying dead in a Creek where the Eddy had driven him ashore," "with the Rope twisted about him, and his Money at his Neck." They left the body where it lay, with its sack of silver dollars for which the poor man had come so far, and suffered so bitterly. They had no use for dollars at that time "being only in care how to work their way through a wild un-Known Country." After a time, the Indians helped the five men a two days' march on their journey, and then deserted them, leaving them to find the path by themselves, with no better guide than a pocket compass. While crossing a river by the bole of a fallen tree, the man Bowman "a weakly Man, a Taylor by Trade," slipped into the current, and was carried off, with "400 Pieces of Eight" in his satchel. He was luckier than poor Gayny, for he contrived to get out. In time they reached the North Sea, and came to La Sounds Key, according to the prophecy of an Indian wizard. Here they found Dampier's sloop, and rejoined their comrades, to the great delight of all hands. "Mr Wafer wore a clout about him, and was painted like an Indian," so that "'twas the better Part of an Hour, before one of the Crew cry'd out Here's our Doctor." There was a great feast that night at La Sounds Key, much drinking of rum and firing of small arms, and a grand ringing of bells in honour of the happy return. In spite of all they could do, poor Mr Jopson, or Cobson, only lived for three or four days after he reached the ship. "His Fatigues, and his Drenching in the Water" had been too much for the poor man. He lay "languishing" in his cot for a few days, babbling of the drugs of Bucklersbury, and thumbing his Greek Testament, and at last passed in his checks, quietly and sadly, and "died there at La Sounds Key." They buried the poor man in the sands, with very genuine sorrow, and then bade the Indians adieu, and gave their dead mate a volley of guns, and so set sail, with the colours at half-mast, for "the more Eastern Isles of the Samballoes." As for Captain Bartholomew Sharp, in the ship the _Trinity_, he continued to sail the South Seas with the seventy pirates left to him. Some days after Dampier's party sailed, he took a Guayaquil ship, called the _San Pedro_, which he had taken fourteen months before off Panama. Aboard her he found nearly 40,000 pieces of eight, besides silver bars, and ingots of gold. He also took a great ship called the _San Rosario_, the richest ship the buccaneers ever captured. She had many chests of pieces of eight aboard her, and a quantity of wine and brandy. Down in her hold, bar upon bar, "were 700 pigs of plate," rough silver from the mines, not yet fitted for the Lima mint. The pirates thought that this crude silver was tin, and so left it where it lay, in the hold of the _Rosario_ "which we turned away loose into the sea," with the stuff aboard her. One pig of the 700 was brought aboard the pirates "to make bullets of." About two-thirds of it was "melted and squandered," but some of it was left long afterwards, when the _Trinity_ touched at Antigua. Here they gave what was left to "a Bristol man," probably in exchange for a dram of rum. The Bristol man took it home to England "and sold it there for £75 sterling." "Thus," said Ringrose, "we parted with the richest booty we got in the whole voyage." Captain Bartholomew Sharp was responsible for the turning adrift of all this silver. Some of the pirates had asked leave to hoist it aboard the _Trinity_. But it chanced that, aboard the _Rosario_, was a Spanish lady, "the beautifullest Creature" that the "Eyes" of Captain Sharp ever beheld. The amorous captain was so inflamed by this beauty that he paid no attention to anything else. In a very drunken and quarrelsome condition, the pirates worked the _Trinity_ round the Horn, and so home to Barbadoes. They did not dare to land there, for one of the King's frigates, H.M.S. _Richmond_, was lying at Bridgetown, and the pirates "feared lest the said frigate should seize us." They bore away to Antigua, where Ringrose, and "thirteen more," shipped themselves for England. They landed at Dartmouth on the 26th of March 1682. A few more of the company went ashore at Antigua, and scattered to different haunts. Sharp and a number of pirates landed at Nevis, from whence they shipped for London. The ship the _Trinity_ was left to seven of the gang who had diced away all their money. What became of her is not known. Sharp and a number of his men were arrested in London, and tried for piracy, but the Spanish Ambassador, who brought the charge, was without evidence and could not obtain convictions. They pleaded that "the Spaniards fired at us first," and that they had acted only in self-defence, so they 'scaped hanging, though Sharp admits that they "were very near it." Three more of the crew were laid by the heels at Jamaica, and one of these was "wheedled into an open confession," and condemned, and hanged. "The other two stood it out, and escaped for want of witnesses." Of the four men so often quoted in this narrative, only one, so far as we know, died a violent death. This was Basil Ringrose, who was shot at Santa Pecaque a few years later. It is not known how Dampier, Wafer, and Sharp died, but all lived adventurously, and went a-roving, for many years after the _Trinity_ dropped her anchor off Antigua. They were of that old breed of rover whose port lay always a little farther on; a little beyond the sky-line. Their concern was not to preserve life, "but rather to squander it away"; to fling it, like so much oil, into the fire, for the pleasure of going up in a blaze. If they lived riotously let it be urged in their favour that at least they lived. They lived their vision. They were ready to die for what they believed to be worth doing. We think them terrible. Life itself is terrible. But life was not terrible to them; for they were comrades; and comrades and brothers-in-arms are stronger than life. Those who "live at home at ease" may condemn them. They are free to do so. The old buccaneers were happier than they. The buccaneers had comrades, and the strength to live their own lives. They may laugh at those who, lacking that strength, would condemn them with the hate of impotence. CHAPTER XVI SHIPS AND RIGS Galleys--Dromonds--Galliasses--Pinnaces--Pavesses--Top-arming-- Banners--Boats Until the reign of Henry VIII. the shipping of these islands was of two kinds. There were longships, propelled, for the most part, by oars, and used generally as warships; and there were roundships, or dromonds, propelled by sails, and used as a rule for the carriage of freight. The dromond, in war-time, was sometimes converted into a warship, by the addition of fighting-castles fore and aft. The longship, in peace time, was no doubt used as a trader, as far as her shallow draught, and small beam, allowed. The longship, or galley, being, essentially, an oar vessel, had to fulfil certain simple conditions. She had to be light, or men might not row her. She had to be long, or she might not carry enough oarsmen to propel her with sufficient swiftness. Her lightness, and lack of draught, made it impossible for her to carry much provision; while the number of her oars made it necessary for her to carry a large crew of rowers, in addition to her soldiers and sail trimmers. It was therefore impossible for such a ship to keep the seas for any length of time, even had their build fitted them for the buffetings of the stormy home waters. For short cruises, coast work, rapid forays, and "shock tactics," she was admirable; but she could not stray far from a friendly port, nor put out in foul weather. The roundship, dromond, or cargo boat, was often little more than two beams long, and therefore far too slow to compete with ships of the galley type. She could stand heavy weather better than the galley, and she needed fewer hands, and could carry more provisions, but she was almost useless as a ship of war. In the reign of Henry VIII. the shipwrights of this country began to build ships which combined something of the strength, and capacity of the dromond, with the length and fineness of the galley. The ships they evolved were mainly dependent upon their sails, but they carried a bank of oars on each side, for use in light weather. The galley, or longship, had carried guns on a platform at the bows, pointing forward. But these new vessels carried guns in broadside, in addition to the bow-chasers. These broadside guns were at first mounted _en barbette_, pointing over the bulwarks. Early in the sixteenth century the port-hole, with a hinged lid, was invented, and the guns were then pointed through the ship's sides. As these ships carried more guns than the galleys, they were built more strongly, lest the shock of the explosions should shake them to pieces. They were strong enough to keep the seas in bad weather, yet they had enough of the galley build to enable them to sail fast when the oars were laid inboard. It is thought that they could have made as much as four or five knots an hour. These ships were known as galliasses,[18] and galleons, according to the proportions between their lengths and beams. The galleons were shorter in proportion to their breadth than the galliasses.[19] There was another kind of vessel, the pinnace, which had an even greater proportionate length than the galliasse. Of the three kinds, the galleon, being the shortest in proportion to her breadth, was the least fitted for oar propulsion. [Footnote 18: See Charnock's "Marine Architecture."] [Footnote 19: See Corbett's "Drake and the Tudor Navy."] [Illustration: AN ELIZABETHAN GALLEON] During the reign of Elizabeth, the galleon, or great ship, and the galliasse, or cruiser, grew to gradual perfection, in the hands of our great sailors. If we look upon the galleon or great ship as the prototype of the ship of the line, and on the galliasse as the prototype of the frigate, and on the pinnace as the prototype of the sloop, or corvette, we shall not be far wrong. They were, of course, in many ways inferior to the ships which fought in the great French wars, two centuries later, but their general appearance was similar. The rig was different, but not markedly so, while the hulls of the ships presented many points of general likeness. The Elizabethan ships were, however, very much smaller than most of the rated ships in use in the eighteenth century. [Illustration: A GALLIASSE] The galleon, or great ship, at the end of the sixteenth century, was sometimes of as much as 900 tons. She was generally low in the waist, with a high square forecastle forward, a high quarter-deck, raised above the waist, just abaft the main-mast, and a poop above the quarter-deck, sloping upward to the taffrail. These high outerworks were shut off from the open waist (the space between the main-mast and the forecastle) by wooden bulkheads, which were pierced for small, quick-firing guns. Below the upper, or spar deck, she had a gun-deck, if not more than one, with guns on each side, and right aft. The galliasse was sometimes flush-decked, without poop and forecastle, and sometimes built with both, but she was never so "high charged" as the galleon. The pinnace was as the galliasse, though smaller. The galleon's waist was often without bulwarks, so that when she went into action it became necessary to give her sail trimmers, and spar-deck fighting men, some protection from the enemy's shot.[20] Sometimes this was done by the hauling up of waist-trees, or spars of rough untrimmed timber, to form a sort of wooden wall. Sometimes they rigged what was called a top-arming, or top armour, a strip of cloth like the "war girdle" of the Norse longships, across the unprotected space. This top-arming was of canvas some two bolts deep (3 feet 6 inches), gaily painted in designs of red, yellow, green, and white. It gave no protection against shot, but it prevented the enemy's gunners from taking aim at the deck, or from playing upon the hatchways with their murderers and pateraroes. It also kept out boarders, and was a fairly good shield to catch the arrows and crossbow bolts shot from the enemy's tops. Sometimes the top-arming was of scantling, or thin plank, in which case it was called a pavesse. Pavesses were very beautifully painted with armorial bearings, arranged in shields, a sort of reminiscence of the old Norse custom of hanging the ship's sides with shields. Another way was to mask the open space with a ranged hemp cable, which could be cleared away after the fight. [Footnote 20: See Sir W. Monson, "Naval Tracts," and Sir R. Hawkins, "Observations," etc.] The ships were rigged much as they were rigged two centuries later. The chief differences were in the rigging of the bowsprit and of the two after masts. Forward the ships had bowsprits, on which each set a spritsail, from a spritsail yard. The foremast was stepped well forward, almost over the spring of the cutwater. Generally, but not always, it was made of a single tree (pine or fir). If it was what was known as "a made mast," it was built up of two, or three, or four, different trees, judiciously sawn, well seasoned, and then hooped together. Masts were pole-masts until early in the reign of Elizabeth, when a fixed topmast was added. By Drake's time they had learned that a movable topmast was more useful, and less dangerous for ships sailing in these waters. The caps and tops were made of elm wood. The sails on the foremast were foresail and foretop-sail, the latter much the smaller and less important of the two. They were set on wooden yards, the foreyard and foretopsail-yard, both of which could be sent on deck in foul weather. The main-mast was stepped a little abaft the beam, and carried three sails, the main-sail, the main topsail, and a third, the main topgallant-sail. This third sail did not set from a yard until many years after its introduction. It began life like a modern "moon-raker," a triangular piece of canvas, setting from the truck, or summit of the topmast, to the yardarm of the main topsail-yard. Up above it, on a bending light pole, fluttered the great colours, a George's cross of scarlet on a ground of white. Abaft the main-mast were the mizzen, carrying one sail, on a lateen yard, one arm of which nearly touched the deck; and the bonaventure mizzen (which we now call the jigger) rigged in exactly the same way. Right aft, was a banner pole for the display of colours. These masts were stepped, stayed, and supported almost exactly as masts are rigged to-day, though where we use iron, and wire, they used wood and hemp. The shrouds of the fore and main masts led outboard, to "chains" or strong platforms projecting from the ship's sides. These "chains" were clamped to the ship's sides with rigid links of iron. The shrouds of the after masts were generally set up within the bulwarks. On each mast, just above the lower yard, yet below the masthead, was a fighting-top built of elm wood and gilded over. It was a little platform, resting on battens, and in ancient times it was circular, with a diameter of perhaps six or seven feet. It had a parapet round it, inclining outboard, perhaps four feet in height. It was entered by a lubber's hole in the flooring, through which the shrouds passed. In each top was an arm chest containing Spanish darts, crossbows, longbows, arrows, bolts, and perhaps granadoes. When the ship went into battle a few picked marksmen were stationed in the tops with orders to search the enemy's decks with their missiles, particularly the afterparts, where the helmsman stood. In later days the tops were armed with light guns, of the sorts known as slings and fowlers; but top-fighting with firearms was dangerous, as the gunners carried lighted matches, and there was always a risk of sparks, from the match, or from the wads, setting fire to the sails. The running rigging was arranged much as running rigging is arranged to-day, though its quality, in those times, was probably worse than nowadays. The rope appears to have been very fickle stuff which carried away under slight provocation. The blocks were bad, for the sheaves were made of some comparatively soft wood, which swelled, when wet, and jammed. Lignum vitæ was not used for block-sheaves until after the Dutch War in Cromwell's time. Iron blocks were in use in the time of Henry VIII. but only as fair-leads for chain topsail sheets, and as snatches for the boarding of the "takkes." The shrouds and stays, were of hawser stuff, extremely thick nine-stranded hemp; and all those parts exposed to chafing (as from a sail, or a rope) were either served, or neatly covered up with matting. The matting was made by the sailors, of rope, or white line, plaited curiously. When in its place it was neatly painted, or tarred, much as one may see it in Norwegian ships at the present day. The yardarms, and possibly the chains, were at one time fitted with heavy steel sickles, projecting outboard, which were kept sharp, so that, when running alongside an enemy, they might cut her rigging to pieces. These sickles were known as sheer-hooks. They were probably of little use, for they became obsolete before the end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. [Illustration: AN ELIZABETHAN GALLEON] Most of the sails used in these old ships were woven in Portsmouth on hand-looms. The canvas was probably of good quality, as good perhaps as the modern stout No. 1, for hand-woven stuff is always tighter, tougher, better put together, than that woven by the big steam-loom. It was at one time the custom to decorate the sail, with a design of coloured cloth, cut out, as one cuts out a paper pattern, and stitched upon its face with sail twine. In the royal ships this design was of lions rampant, cut out of scarlet say. The custom of carrying such coloured canvas appears to have died out by the end of the sixteenth century. Perhaps flag signalling had come into vogue making it necessary to abandon anything that might tend to confuse the colours. About the same time we abandoned the custom of making our ships gay with little flags, of red and white linen, in guidons like those on a trooper's lance. All through the Tudor reigns our ships carried them, but for some reason the practice was allowed to die out. A last relic of it still flutters on blue water in the little ribbons of the wind-vane, on the weather side the poop, aboard sailing ships. The great ship carried three boats, which were stowed on chocks in the waist, just forward of the main-mast, one inside the other when not in use. The boats were, the long boat, a large, roomy boat with a movable mast; the cock, cog or cok boat, sometimes called the galley-watt; and the whale, or jolly boat, a sort of small balenger, with an iron-plated bow, which rowed fourteen oars. It was the custom to tow one or more of these boats astern, when at sea, except in foul weather, much as one may see a brig, or a topsail schooner, to-day, with a dinghy dragging astern. The boat's coxswain stayed in her as she towed, making her clean, fending her off, and looking out for any unfortunate who chanced to fall overboard. _Authorities._--W. Charnock: "History of Marine Architecture." Julian Corbett: "Drake and the Tudor Navy." A. Jal: "Archeologie Navale"; "Glossaire Nautique." Sir W. Monson: "Naval Tracts." Sir H. Nicholas: "History of the Royal Navy." M. Oppenheim: "History of the Administration of the Royal Navy"; "Naval Inventories of the Reign of Henry VII." CHAPTER XVII GUNS AND GUNNERS Breech-loaders--Cartridges--Powder--The gunner's art Cannon were in use in Europe, it is thought, in the eleventh century; for the art of making gunpowder came westward, from China, much earlier than people have supposed. It is certain that gunpowder was used "in missiles," before it was used to propel them. The earliest cannon were generally of forged iron built in strips secured by iron rings. They were loaded by movable chambers which fitted into the breech, and they were known as "crakys of war." We find them on English ships at the end of the fourteenth century, in two kinds, the one a cannon proper, the other an early version of the harquebus-a-croc. The cannon was a mere iron tube, of immense strength, bound with heavy iron rings. The rings were shrunken on to the tube in the ordinary way. The tube, when ready, was bolted down to a heavy squared beam of timber on the ship's deck. It was loaded by the insertion of the "gonne-chambre," an iron pan, containing the charge, which fitted into, and closed the breech. This gonne-chambre was wedged in firmly by a chock of elm wood beaten in with a mallet. Another block of wood, fixed in the deck behind it, kept it from flying out with any violence when the shot was fired. Cannon of this sort formed the main armament of ships until after the reign of Henry the Eighth. They fired stone cannon-balls, "pellettes of lead, and dyce of iron." Each gun had some half-dozen chambers, so that the firing from them may have been rapid, perhaps three rounds a minute. The powder was not kept loose in tubs, near the guns, but neatly folded in conical cartridges, made of canvas or paper (or flannel) which practice prevailed for many years. All ships of war carried "pycks for hewing stone-shott," though after 1490, "the iron shott callyd bowletts," and their leaden brothers, came into general use. The guns we have described, were generally two or four pounders, using from half-a-pound, to a pound and a quarter, of powder, at each discharge. The carriage, or bed, on which they lay, was usually fitted with wheels at the rear end only. The other early sea-cannon, which we have mentioned, were also breech-loading. They were mounted on a sort of iron wheel, at the summit of a stout wooden staff, fixed in the deck, or in the rails of the poop and forecastle. They were of small size, and revolved in strong iron pivot rings, so that the man firing them might turn them in any direction he wished. They were of especial service in sweeping the waist, the open spar-deck, between the breaks of poop and forecastle, when boarders were on board. They threw "base and bar-shot to murder near at hand"; but their usual ball was of stone, and for this reason they were called petrieroes, and petrieroes-a-braga. The harquebus-a-croc, a weapon almost exactly similar, threw small cross-bar shot "to cut Sails and Rigging." In Elizabethan times it was carried in the tops of fighting ships, and on the rails and gunwales of merchantmen. In the reign of Henry VIII., a ship called the _Mary Rose_, of 500 tons, took part in the battle with the French, in St Helens Roads, off Brading. It was a sultry summer day, almost windless, when the action began, and the _Mary Rose_ suffered much (being unable to stir) from the gun-fire of the French galleys. At noon, when a breeze sprang up, and the galleys drew off, the _Mary Rose_ sent her men to dinner. Her lower ports, which were cut too low down, were open, and the wind heeled her over, so that the sea rushed in to them. She sank in deep water, in a few moments, carrying with her her captain, and all the gay company on board. In 1836 some divers recovered a few of her cannon, of the kinds we have described, some of brass, some of iron. The iron guns had been painted red and black. Those of brass, in all probability, had been burnished, like so much gold. These relics may be seen by the curious, at Woolwich, in the Museum of Ordnance, to which they were presented by their salver. In the reign of Elizabeth, cannon were much less primitive, for a great advance took place directly men learned the art of casting heavy guns. Until 1543, they had forged them; a painful process, necessarily limited to small pieces. After that year they cast them round a core, and by 1588 they had evolved certain general types of ordnance which remained in use, in the British Navy, almost unchanged, until after the Crimean War. The Elizabethan breech-loaders, and their methods, have now been described, but a few words may be added with reference to the muzzle-loaders. The charge for these was contained in cartridges, covered with canvas, or "paper royall" (_i.e._ parchment), though the parchment used to foul the gun at each discharge. Burning scraps of it remained in the bore, so that, before reloading, the weapon had to be "wormed," or scraped out, with an instrument like an edged corkscrew. A tampion, or wad, of oakum or the like, was rammed down between the cartridge and the ball, and a second wad kept the ball in place. When the gun was loaded the gunner filled the touch-hole with his priming powder, from a horn he carried in his belt, after thrusting a sharp wire, called the priming-iron, down the touch-hole, through the cartridge, so that the priming powder might have direct access to the powder of the charge. He then sprinkled a little train of powder along the gun, from the touch-hole to the base-ring, for if he applied the match directly to the touch-hole the force of the explosion was liable to blow his linstock from his hand. In any case the "huff" or "spit" of fire, from the touch-hole, burned little holes, like pock-marks, in the beams overhead. The match was applied smartly, with a sharp drawing back of the hand, the gunner stepping quickly aside to avoid the recoil. He stepped back, and stood, on the side of the gun opposite to that on which the cartridges were stored, so that there might be no chance of a spark from his match setting fire to the ammunition. Spare match, newly soaked in saltpetre water, lay coiled in a little tub beside the gun. The cartridges, contained in latten buckets, were placed in a barrel by the gun and covered over with a skin of leather. The heavy shot were arranged in shot racks, known as "gardens," and these were ready to the gunner's hand, with "cheeses" of tampions or wads. The wads were made of soft wood, oakum, hay, straw, or "other such like." The sponges and rammers were hooked to the beams above the gun ready for use. The rammers were of hard wood, shod with brass, "to save the Head from cleaving." The sponges were of soft fast wood, "As Aspe, Birch, Willow, or such like," and had heads covered with "rough Sheepes skinne wooll," nailed to the staff with "Copper nayles." "Ladels," or powder shovels, for the loading of guns, were seldom used at sea. The guns were elevated or depressed by means of handspikes and quoins. Quoins were blocks of wood, square, and wedge-shaped, with ring-hooks screwed in them for the greater ease of handling. Two of the gun's crew raised the base of the cannon upon their handspikes, using the "steps" of the gun carriage as their fulcra. A third slid a quoin along the "bed" of the carriage, under the gun, to support it at the required height. The recoil of the gun on firing, was often very violent, but it was limited by the stout rope called the breeching, which ran round the base of the gun, from each side of the port-hole, and kept it from running back more than its own length. When it had recoiled it was in the position for sponging and loading, being kept from running out again, with the roll of the ship, by a train, or preventer tackle, hooked to a ring-bolt in amidships. In action, particularly in violent action, the guns became very hot, and "kicked" dangerously. Often they recoiled with such force as to overturn, or to snap the breeching, or to leap up to strike the upper beams. Brass guns were more skittish than iron, but all guns needed a rest of two or three hours, if possible, after continual firing for more than eight hours at a time. To cool a gun in action, to keep it from bursting, or becoming red-hot, John Roberts advises sponging "with spunges wet in ley and water, or water and vinegar, or with the coolest fresh or salt water, bathing and washing her both within and without." This process "if the Service is hot, as it was with us at Bargen" should be repeated, "every eighth or tenth shot." The powder in use for cannon was called Ordnance or Corne-powder. It was made in the following proportion. To every five pounds of refined saltpetre, one pound of good willow, or alder, charcoal, and one pound of fine yellow sulphur. The ingredients were braised together in a mortar, moistened with water distilled of orange rinds, or aqua-vitæ, and finally dried and sifted. It was a bright, "tawny blewish colour" when well made. Fine powder, for muskets or priming seems to have had a greater proportion of saltpetre. The Naval Tracts of Sir W. Monson, contain a list of the sorts of cannon mounted in ships of the time of Queen Elizabeth. It is not exhaustive, but as Robert Norton and Sir Jonas Moore give similar lists, the curious may check the one with the other. Weight Weight Weight Point Length Bore of of of Blank Random in Cannon Shot Powder Range Feet ins. lb. lb. lb. paces paces Cannon Royal or Double Cannon 8½ 8000 66 30 800 1930 M.L. 12 Cannon or Whole Cannon 8 6000 60 27 770 2000 " 11 Cannon Serpentine 7 5500 53½ 25 200 2000 " 10 Bastard Cannon 7 4500 41½ 20 180 1800 " 10 Demi-Cannon 6½-7 4000 33½ 18 170 1700 " 10 Cannon Petro or Cannon Perier 6 4000 24½ 14 160 1600 " 4 Culverin 5-5½ 4500 17½ 12 200 2500 " 13 Basilisk 5 4000 15 10 230 3000 " 4 Demi-Culverin 4 3400 9½ 8 200 2500 " 11 Bastard Culverin 4 3000 7 5¾ 170 1700 " 11 Saker 3½ 1400 5½ 5½ 170 1700 " 9 or 10 Minion 3½ 1000 4 4 170 1700 " 8 Falcon 2½ 660 3 3 150 1500 " 7 Falconet 2 500 1½ 1¼ 150 1500 " 6½ Serpentine 1½ 400 ¾ ¾ 140 1400 " 4½ Rabinet 1 300 ½ ½ 120 1000 " 2½ To these may be added bases, port pieces, stock fowlers, slings, half slings, and three-quarter slings, breech-loading guns ranging from five and a half to one-inch bore. Other firearms in use in our ships at sea were the matchlock musket, firing a heavy double bullet, and the harquabuse[21] or arquebus, which fired a single bullet. The musket was a heavy weapon, and needed a rest, a forked staff, to support the barrel while the soldier aimed. This staff the musketeer lashed to his wrist, with a cord, so that he might drag it after him from place to place. The musket was fired with a match, which the soldier lit from a cumbrous pocket fire-carrier. The harquabuse was a lighter gun, which was fired without a rest, either by a wheel-lock (in which a cog-wheel, running on pyrites, caused sparks to ignite the powder), or by the match and touch-hole. Hand firearms were then common enough, and came to us from Italy, shortly after 1540. They were called Daggs. They were wheel-locks, wild in firing, short, heavy, and beautifully wrought. Sometimes they carried more than one barrel, and in some cases they were made revolving. They were most useful in a hand-to-hand encounter, as with footpads, or boarders; but they were useless at more than ten paces. A variation from them was the hand-cannon or blunderbuss, with a bell-muzzle, which threw rough slugs or nails. In Elizabethan ships the musketeers sometimes fired short, heavy, long-headed, pointed iron arrows from their muskets, a missile which flew very straight, and penetrated good steel armour. They had also an infinity of subtle fireworks, granadoes and the like, with which to set their opponents on fire. These they fired from the bombard pieces, or threw from the tops, or cage-works. Crossbows and longbows went to sea, with good store of Spanish bolts and arrows, until the end of Elizabeth's reign, though they were, perhaps, little used after 1590. The gunner had charge of them, and as, in a way, the gunner was a sort of second captain, sometimes taking command of the ship, we cannot do better than to quote from certain old books concerning his duties on board. Mr W. Bourne, the son of an eminent mathematician, has left a curious little book on "The Arte of Shooting in Great Ordnance," first published in London, in 1587, the year before the Armada. Its author, W. Bourne, was at one time a gunner of the bulwark at Gravesend. The art of shooting in great guns did not improve very much during the century following; nor did the guns change materially. The breech-loading, quick-firing guns fell out of use as the musket became more handy; but otherwise the province of the gunner changed hardly at all. It is not too much to say that gunners of Nelson's time, might have studied some of Bourne's book with profit. [Footnote 21: or caliver.] "As for gunners that do serve by the Sea, [they] must observe this order following. First that they do foresee that all their great Ordnannce be fast breeched, and foresee that all their geare be handsome and in a readinesse. & Furthermore that they be very circumspect about their Pouder in the time of service, and especially beware of their lint stockes & candels for feare of their Pouder, & their fireworks, & their Ducum [or priming powder], which is very daungerous, and much to be feared. Then furthermore, that you do keep your peeces as neer as you can, dry within, and also that you keep their tutch-holes cleane, without any kind of drosse falling into them." The gunners were also to know the "perfect dispart" of their pieces: that is they were to make a calculation which would enable them in sighting, to bring "the hollow of the peece," not the outer muzzle rim, "right against the marke." In the case of a breech-loader this could not be done by art, with any great exactness, "but any reasonable man (when he doth see the peece and the Chamber) may easily know what he must doe, as touching those matters." In fighting at sea, in anything like a storm, with green seas running, so that "the Shippes do both heave and set" the gunner was to choose a gun abaft the main-mast, on the lower orlop, "if the shippe may keepe the porte open," as in that part of the vessel the motion would be least apparent. "Then if you doe make a shotte at another Shippe, you must be sure to have a good helme-man, that can stirre [steer] steady, taking some marke of a Cloude that is above by the Horizon, or by the shadowe of the Sunne, or by your standing still, take some marke of the other shippe through some hole, or any such other like. Then he that giveth levell [takes aim] must observe this: first consider what disparte his piece must have, then lay the peece directly with that parte of the Shippe that he doth meane to shoote at: then if the Shippe bee under the lee side of your Shippe, shoote your peece in the comming downe of the Gayle, and the beginning of the other Ship to rise upon the Sea, as near as you can, for this cause, for when the other shippe is aloft upon the Sea, and shee under your Lee, the Gayle maketh her for to head, and then it is likest to do much good." The helmsman also was to have an eye to the enemy, to luff when she luffed, and "putte roomer," or sail large, when he saw her helmsman put the helm up. If the enemy made signs that she was about to lay the ship aboard, either by loosing more sail, or altering her course, the gunner had to remember certain things. "If the one doe meane to lay the other aboorde, then they do call up their company either for to enter or to defend: and first, if that they doe meane for to enter ... then marke where that you doe see anye Scottles for to come uppe at, as they will stande neere thereaboutes, to the intente for to be readie, for to come uppe under the Scottles: there give levell with your Fowlers, or Slinges, or Bases, for there you shall be sure to do moste good, then further more, if you doe meane for to enter him, then give level with your fowlers and Port peeces, where you doe see his chiefest fight of his Shippe is, and especially be sure to have them charged, and to shoote them off at the first boording of the Shippes, for then you shall be sure to speede. And furthermore, mark where his men have most recourse, then discharge your Fowlers and Bases. And furthermore for the annoyance of your enemie, if that at the boording that the Shippes lye therefore you may take away their steeradge with one of your great peeces, that is to shoote at his Rother, and furthermore at his mayne maste and so foorth." The ordering of cannon on board a ship was a matter which demanded a nice care. The gunner had to see that the carriages were so made as to allow the guns to lie in the middle of the port. The carriage wheels, or trocks, were not to be too high, for if they were too high they hindered the mariners, when they ran the cannon out in action (_Norton_, _Moore_, _Bourne_, _Monson_). Moreover, if the wheels were very large, and the ship were heeled over, the wheel rims would grind the ship's side continually, unless large skids were fitted to them. And if the wheels were large they gave a greater fierceness to the impetus of the recoil, when the piece was fired. The ports were to be rather "deepe uppe and downe" than broad in the traverse, and it was very necessary that the lower port-sill should not be too far from the deck, "for then the carriage muste bee made verye hygh, and that is verye evill" (_Bourne_). The short cannon were placed low down, at the ship's side, because short cannon were more easily run in, and secured, when the ports were closed, owing to the ship's heeling, or the rising of the sea. A short gun, projecting its muzzle through the port, was also less likely to catch the outboard tackling of the sails, such as "Sheetes and Tackes, or the Bolynes." And for these reasons any very long guns were placed astern, or far forward, as bow, or stern chasers. It was very necessary that the guns placed at the stern should be long guns, for the tall poops of the galleons overhung the sea considerably. If the gun, fired below the overhang, did not project beyond the woodwork, it was liable to "blowe up the Counter of the Shyppes Sterne," to the great detriment of gilt and paint. Some ships cut their stern ports down to the deck, and continued the deck outboard, by a projecting platform. The guns were run out on to this platform, so that the muzzles cleared the overhang. These platforms were the originals of the quarter-galleries, in which, some centuries later, the gold-laced admirals took the air (_Bourne_). Sir Jonas Moore, who published a translation of Moretti's book on artillery, in 1683, added to his chapters some matter relating to sea-gunners, from the French of Denis Furnier. "The Gunner, whom they call in the _Straights Captain_, _Master-Canoneer_, and in _Bretagne_ and _Spain_, and in other places _Connestable_, is one of the principal Officers in the Ship; it is he alone with the Captain who can command the Gunners. He ought to be a man of courage, experience, and vigilant, who knows the goodness of a Peece of Ordnance, the force of Powder, and who also knows how to mount a Peece of Ordnance upon its carriage, and to furnish it with Bolts, Plates, Hooks, Capsquares [to fit over the Trunnions on which the gun rested] Axletrees and Trucks, and that may not reverse too much; to order well its Cordage as Breeching [which stopped the recoil] and Tackling [by which it was run out or in]; to plant the Cannon to purpose in the middle of its Port; to know how to unclow[22] it [cast it loose for action], make ready his Cartridges, and to have them ready to pass from hand to hand through the Hatches, and to employ his most careful men in that affair; that he have care of all, that, he be ready everywhere to assist where necessity shall be; and take care that all be made to purpose. [Footnote 22: This word unclow may be a misprint for uncloy. To uncloy was to get rid of the spike, or soft metal nail, thrust into a piece's touch-hole by an enemy. It was done by oiling the spike all over, so as to make it "glib," and then blowing it out, from within, by a train of powder.] "He and his Companions [the gunner's mates] ought with their dark Lanthornes continually to see if the Guns play, and if the Rings in Ships do not shake." (That is, a strict watch was to be kept, at night, when at sea in stormy weather, to see that the cannon did not work or break loose, and that the ring-bolts remained firm in their places.) "If there be necessity of more Cordage, and to see that the Beds and Coins be firm and in good order; when the Ship comes to Anker, he furnisheth Cordage, and takes care that all his Companions take their turn [stand their watch] and quarters, that continually every evening they renew their priming Powder [a horn of fine dry powder poured into the touch-holes of loaded cannon, to communicate the fire to the charge], and all are obliged to visit their Cannon Powder every eight dayes, to see if it hath not receiv'd wet, although they be well stopped a top with Cork and Tallow; to see that the Powder-Room be kept neat and clean, and the Cartridges ranged in good order, each nature or Calibre by itself, and marked above in great Letters the weight of the Powder and nature of the Peece to which it belongs, and to put the same mark over the Port-hole of the Peece; that the Linstocks [_or forked staves of wood, about two and a half feet long, on which the match was carried_] be ready, and furnished with Match [_or cotton thread, boiled in ashes-lye and powder, and kept smouldering, with a red end, when in use_], and to have alwaies one lighted, and where the Cannoneer makes his Quarter to have two one above another below [_this last passage is a little obscure, but we take it to mean that at night, when the gunner slept in his cabin, a lighted match was to be beside him, but that in the gun-decks below and above his cabin (which was in the half-deck) lit matches were to be kept ready for immediate use, by those who kept watch_], that his Granadoes [_black clay, or thick glass bottles, filled with priming powder, and fired by a length of tow, well soaked in saltpetre water_] and Firepots [_balls of hard tar, sulphur-meal and rosin, kneaded together and fired by a priming of bruised powder_] be in readiness, and 3 or 400 Cartridges ready fill'd, Extrees [?] and Trucks [_wheels_] to turn often over the Powder Barrels that the Powder do not spoil; to have a care of Rings [_ring-bolts_] and of the Ports [he here means port-lids] that they have their Pins and small Rings." Sir William Monson adds that the gunner was to acquaint himself with the capacities of every known sort of firearm, likely to be used at sea. He also gives some professional hints for the guidance of gunners. He tells us (and Sir Richard Hawkins confirms him) that no sea-cannon ought to be more than seven or eight feet long; that they ought not to be taper-bored, nor honey-combed within the bore, and that English ordnance, the best in Europe, was sold in his day for twelve pounds a ton. In Boteler's time the gunner commanded a gang, or crew, who ate and slept in the gun-room, which seems in those days to have been the magazine. He had to keep a careful account of the expenditure of his munitions, and had orders "not to make any shot without the Knowledge and order of the captain." _Authorities._--N. Boteler: "Six Dialogues." W. Bourne: "The Art of Shooting in Great Ordnance"; "Regiment for the Sea"; "Mariner's Guide." Sir W. Monson: "Naval Tracts." Sir Jonas Moore. R. Norton: "The Gunner." John Roberts: "Complete Cannoneer." CHAPTER XVIII THE SHIP'S COMPANY Captain--Master--Lieutenant--Warrant officers--Duties and privileges By comparing Sir Richard Hawkins' "Observations" and Sir W. Monson's "Tracts" with Nicolas Boteler's "Dialogical Discourses," we find that the duties of ship's officers changed hardly at all from the time of the Armada to the death of James I. Indeed they changed hardly at all until the coming of the steamship. In modern sailing ships the duties of some of the supernumeraries are almost exactly as they were three centuries ago. The captain was the supreme head of the ship, empowered to displace any inferior officer except the master (_Monson_). He was not always competent to navigate (_ibid._), but as a rule he had sufficient science to check the master's calculations. He was expected to choose his own lieutenant (_ibid._), to keep a muster-book, and a careful account of the petty officer's stores (_Monson_ and _Sir Richard Hawkins_), and to punish any offences committed by his subordinates. A lieutenant seems to have been unknown in ships of war until the early seventeenth century. He ranked above the master, and acted as the captain's proxy, or ambassador, "upon any occasion of Service" (_Monson_). In battle he commanded on the forecastle, and in the forward half of the ship. He was restrained from meddling with the master's duties, lest "Mischiefs and factions" should ensue. Boteler adds that a lieutenant ought not to be "too fierce in his Way at first ... but to carry himself with Moderation and Respect to the Master Gunner, Boatswain, and the other Officers." The master was the ship's navigator, responsible for the performance of "the ordinary Labours in the ship." He took the height of the sun or stars "with his Astrolabe, Backstaff or Jacob's-staff" (_Boteler_). He saw that the watches were kept at work, and had authority to punish misdemeanants (_Monson_). Before he could hope for employment he had to go before the authorities at Trinity House, to show his "sufficiency" in the sea arts (_Monson_). The pilot, or coaster, was junior to the master; but when he was bringing the vessel into port, or over sands, or out of danger, the master had no authority to interfere with him (_Monson_). He was sometimes a permanent official, acting as junior navigator when the ship was out of soundings (_Hawkins_), but more generally he was employed temporarily, as at present, to bring a ship into or out of port (_Monson_ and _Boteler_). The ship's company was drilled by a sort of junior lieutenant (_Boteler_), known as the corporal, who was something between a master-at-arms and a captain of marines. He had charge of the small arms, and had to see to it that the bandoliers for the musketmen were always filled with dry cartridges, and that the muskets and "matches" were kept neat and ready for use in the armoury (_Monson_). He drilled the men in the use of their small arms, and also acted as muster master at the setting and relieving of the watch. The gunner, whose duties we have described at length, was privileged to alter the ship's course in action, and may even have taken command during a chase, or running fight. He was assisted by his mates, who commanded the various batteries while in action, and aimed and fired according to his directions. The boatswain, the chief seaman of the crew, was generally an old sailor who had been much at sea, and knew the whole art of seamanship. He had charge of all the sea-stores, and "all the Ropes belonging to the Rigging [more especially the fore-rigging], all her Cables, and Anchors; all her Sayls, all her Flags, Colours, and Pendants;[23] and so to stand answerable for them" (_Boteler_). He was captain of the long boat, which was stowed on the booms or spare spars between the fore and main masts. He had to keep her guns clean, her oars, mast, sails, stores, and water ready for use, and was at all times to command and steer her when she left the ship (_Hawkins_). He carried a silver whistle, or call, about his neck, which he piped in various measures before repeating the master's orders (_Monson_). The whistle had a ball at one end, and was made curved, like a letter S laid sideways. The boatswain, when he had summoned all hands to their duty, was expected to see that they worked well. He kept them quiet, and "at peace one with another," probably by knocking together the heads of those disposed to quarrel. Lastly, he was the ship's executioner, his mates acting as assistants, and at his hands, under the supervision of the marshal, the crew received their "red-checked shirts," and such bilboed solitude as the captain might direct. [Footnote 23: He had to hang out the ship's colours on going into action (_Monson_).] The coxswain was the commander of the captain's row barge which he had to keep clean, freshly painted and gilded, and fitted with the red and white flag--"and when either the Captain or any Person of Fashion is to use the Boat, or be carryed too and again from the Ship, he is to have the Boat trimmed with her Cushions and Carpet and himself is to be ready to steer her out of her Stern [in the narrow space behind the back board of the stern-sheets] and with his Whistle to chear up and direct his Gang of Rowers, and to keep them together when they are to wait: and this is the lowest Officer in a Ship, that is allowed to carry a Whistle" (_Boteler_). The coxswain had to stay in his barge when she towed astern at sea, and his office, therefore, was often very wretched, from the cold and wet. He had to see that his boat's crew were at all times clean in their persons, and dressed alike, in as fine a livery as could be managed (_Monson_). He was to choose them from the best men in the ship, from the "able and handsome men" (_Monson_). He had to instruct them to row together, and to accustom the port oarsmen to pull starboard from time to time. He also kept his command well caulked, and saw the chocks and skids secure when his boat was hoisted to the deck. The quartermasters and their mates had charge of the hold (_Monson_), and kept a sort of check upon the steward in his "delivery of the Victuals to the Cook, and in his pumping and drawing of the Beer" (_Boteler_). In far later times they seem to have been a rating of elderly and sober seamen who took the helm, two and two together, in addition to their other duties. In the Elizabethan ship they superintended the stowage of the ballast, and were in charge below, over the ballast shifters, when the ships were laid on their sides to be scraped and tallowed. They also had to keep a variety of fish hooks ready, in order to catch any fish, such as sharks or bonitos. The purser was expected to be "an able Clerk" (_Monson_) for he had to keep an account of all provisions received from the victualler. He kept the ship's muster-book, with some account of every man borne upon it. He made out passes, or pay-tickets for discharged men (_ibid._), and, according to _Boteler_, he was able "to purse up roundly for himself" by dishonest dealing. The purser (_Boteler_ says the cook) received 6d. a month from every seaman, for "Wooden Dishes, Cans, Candles, Lanthorns, and Candlesticks for the Hold" (_Monson_). It was also his office to superintend the steward, in the serving out of the provisions and other necessaries to the crew. The steward was the purser's deputy (_Monson_). He had to receive "the full Mass of Victual of all kinds," and see it well stowed in the hold, the heavy things below, the light things up above (_Boteler_). He had charge of all the candles, of which those old dark ships used a prodigious number. He kept the ship's biscuits or bread, in the bread-room, a sort of dark cabin below the gun-deck. He lived a life of comparative retirement, for there was a "several part in the Hold, which is called the Steward's room, where also he Sleeps and Eats" (_Boteler_). He weighed out the provisions for the crew, "to the several Messes in the Ship," and was cursed, no doubt, by every mariner, for a cheating rogue in league with the purser. Though Hawkins tells us that it was his duty "with discretion and good tearmes to give satisfaction to all." The cook did his office in a cook-room, or galley, placed in the forecastle or "in the Hatchway upon the first Orlope" (_Boteler_). The floor of the galley was not at that time paved with brick or stone, as in later days, and now. It was therefore very liable to take fire, especially in foul weather, when the red embers were shaken from the ash-box of the range. It was the cook's duty to take the provisions from the steward, both flesh and fish, and to cook them, by boiling, until they were taken from him (_Monson_). It was the cook's duty to steep the salt meat in water for some days before using, as the meat was thus rendered tender and fit for human food (_Smith_). He had the rich perquisite of the ship's fat, which went into his slush tubs, to bring him money from the candlemakers. The firewood he used was generally green, if not wet, so that when he lit his fire of a morning, he fumigated the fo'c's'le with bitter smoke. It was his duty to pour water on his fire as soon as the guns were cast loose for battle. Every day, for the saving of firewood, and for safety, he had to extinguish his fire directly the dinner had been cooked, nor was he allowed to relight it, "but in case of necessity, as ... when the Cockswain's Gang came wet aboard" (_Monson_). He would allow his cronies in the forenoons to dry their wet gear at his fire, and perhaps allow them, in exchange for a bite or sup, to cook any fish they caught, or heat a can of drink. Another supernumerary was the joiner, a rating only carried in the seventeenth century on great ships with much fancy work about the poop. He it was who repaired the gilt carvings in the stern-works, and made the bulkheads for the admiral's cabin. He was a decorator and beautifier, not unlike the modern painter, but he was to be ready at all times to knock up lockers for the crew, to make boxes and chests for the gunner, and bulkheads, of thin wood, to replace those broken by the seas. As a rule the work of the joiner was done by the carpenter, a much more important person, who commanded some ten or twelve junior workmen. The carpenter was trusted with the pumps, both hand and chain, and with the repairing of the woodwork throughout the vessel. He had to be super-excellent in his profession, for a wooden ship was certain to tax his powers. She was always out of repair, always leaking, always springing her spars. In the summer months, if she were not being battered by the sea, she was getting her timber split by cannon-shot. In the winter months, when laid up and dismantled in the dockyard, she was certain to need new planks, beams, inner fittings and spars (_Hawkins_). The carpenter had to do everything for her, often with grossly insufficient means, and it was of paramount importance that his work-room in the orlop should be fitted with an excellent tool chest. He had to provide the "spare Pieces of Timber wherewith to make Fishes, for to strengthen and succour the Masts." He had to superintend the purchase of a number of spare yards, already tapered, and bound with iron, to replace those that "should chance to be broken." He was to see these lashed to the ship's sides, within board, or stopped in the rigging (_Monson_ and _Boteler_). He had to have all manner of gudgeons for the rudder, every sort of nuts or washers for the pumps, and an infinity of oakum, sheet lead, soft wood, spare canvas, tallow, and the like, with which to stop leaks, or to caulk the seams. In his stores he took large quantities of lime, horse hair, alum, and thin felt with which to wash and sheathe the ship's bottom planking (_Monson_). The alum was often dissolved in water, and splashed over spars and sails, before a battle, as it was supposed to render them non-inflammable. It was his duty, moreover, to locate leaks, either by observing the indraught (which was a tedious way), or by placing his ear to a little earthen pot inverted against one of the planks in the hold. This little pot caused him to hear the water as it gurgled in, and by moving it to and fro he could locate the hole with considerable certainty (_Boteler_). He had to rig the pumps for the sailors, and to report to the captain the depth of water the ship made daily. The pumps were of two kinds, one exactly like that in use on shore, the other, of the same principle, though more powerful. The second kind was called the chain-pump, because "these Pumps have a Chain of Burs going in a Wheel." They were worked with long handles, called brakes (because they broke sailor's hearts), and some ten men might pump at one spell. The water was discharged on to the deck, which was slightly rounded, so that it ran to the ship's side, into a graved channel called the trough, or scuppers, from which it fell overboard through the scupper-holes, bored through the ship's side. These scupper-holes were bored by the carpenter. They slanted obliquely downwards and were closed outside by a hinged flap of leather, which opened to allow water to escape, and closed to prevent water from entering (_Maynwaring_). Each deck had a number of scupper-holes, but they were all of small size. There was nothing to take the place of the big swinging-ports fitted to modern iron sailing ships, to allow the green seas to run overboard. The cooper was another important supernumerary. He had to oversee the stowing of all the casks, and to make, or repair, or rehoop, such casks as had to be made or repaired. He had to have a special eye to the great water casks, that they did not leak; binding them securely with iron hoops, and stowing them with dunnage, so that they might not shift. He was put in charge of watering parties, to see the casks filled at the springs, to fit them, when full, with their bungs, and to superintend their embarkation and stowage (_Monson_ and _Boteler_). The trumpeter was an attendant upon the captain, and had to sound his silver trumpet when that great man entered or left the ship (_Monson_). "Also when you hale a ship, when you charge, board, or enter her; and the Poop is his place to stand or sit upon." If the ship carried a "noise," that is a band, "they are to attend him, if there be not, every one he doth teach to bear a part, the Captain is to encourage him, by increasing his Shares, or pay, and give the Master Trumpeter a reward." When a prince, or an admiral, came on board, the trumpeter put on a tabard, of brilliant colours, and hung his silver instrument with a heavy cloth of the same. He was to blow a blast from the time the visitor was sighted until his barge came within 100 fathoms of the ship. "At what time the Trumpets are to cease, and all such as carry Whistles are to Whistle his Welcome three several times." As the gilt and gorgeous row boat drew alongside, the trumpets sounded a point of welcome, and had then to stand about the cabin door, playing their best, while the great man ate his sweetmeats. As he rowed away again, the trumpeter, standing on the poop, blew out "A loath to depart," a sort of ancient "good-bye, fare you well," such as sailors sing nowadays as they get their anchors for home. In battle the trumpeter stood upon the poop, dressed in his glory, blowing brave blasts to hearten up the gunners. In hailing a friendly ship, in any meeting on the seas, it was customary to "salute with Whistles and Trumpets, and the Ship's Company give a general shout on both sides." When the anchor was weighed, the trumpeter sounded a merry music, to cheer the workers. At dinner each night he played in the great cabin, while the captain drank his wine. At the setting and discharging of the watch he had to sound a solemn point, for which duty he received an extra can of beer (_Monson_ and _Boteler_). The crew, or mariners, were divided into able seamen, ordinary seamen, grummets, or cabin-boys, ship-boys and swabbers. Swabbers were the weakest men of the crew; men, who were useless aloft, or at the guns, and therefore set to menial and dirty duties. They were the ship's scavengers, and had much uncleanly business to see to. Linschoten, describing a Portuguese ship's company, dismisses them with three contemptuous words, "the swabers pump"; but alas, that was but the first duty of your true swabber. Boteler, writing in the reign of James I., gives him more than half-a-page, as follows:-- "The Office of the Swabber is to see the Ship Kept neat and clean, and that as well in the great Cabbin as everywhere else betwixt the Decks; to which end he is, at the least once or twice a week, if not every day, to cause the Ship to be well washed within Board and without above Water, and especially about the Gunwalls [Gunwales or gunnels, over which the guns once pointed] and the Chains and for prevention of Infection, to burn sometimes Pitch, or the like wholsom perfumes, between the Decks: He is also to have a regard to every private Man's Sleeping-place; (to clean the cabins of the petty officers in the nether orlop), and to admonish them all in general [it being dangerous perhaps, in a poor swabber, to admonish in particular] to be cleanly and handsom, and to complain to the Captain, of all such as will be any way nastie and offensive that way. Surely, if this Swabber doth thoroughly take care to discharge this his charge I easily believe that he may have his hands full, and especially if there chance to be any number of Landmen aboard." Under the swabber there was a temporary rate known as the liar. He had to keep the ship clean "without board," in the head, chains, and elsewhere. He held his place but for a week. "He that is first taken with a Lie upon a _Monday_ morning, is proclaimed at the Main-Mast with a general Crie, _a Liar, a Liar, a Liar_, and for that week he is under the Swabber" (_Monson_). The able seamen, or oldest and most experienced hands, did duty about the decks and guns, in the setting up and preservation of the rigging, and in the trimming of the braces, sheets, and bowlines. The ordinary seamen, younkers, grummets, and ship-boys, did the work aloft, furled and loosed the sails, and did the ordinary, never-ceasing work of sailors. They stood "watch and watch" unless the weather made it necessary for all to be on deck, and frequently they passed four hours of each day in pumping the leakage from the well. They wore no uniform, but perhaps some captains gave a certain uniformity to the clothes of their crews by taking slop chests to sea, and selling clothes of similar patterns to the seamen. In the navy, where the crews were pressed, the clothes worn must have been of every known cut and fashion, though no doubt all the pressed men contrived to get tarred canvas coats before they had been many days aboard. The bodies and souls of the seamen were looked after; a chaplain being carried for the one, and a chirurgeon, or doctor, for the other. The chaplain had to read prayers twice or thrice daily, to the whole ship's company, who stood or knelt reverently as he read. He had to lead in the nightly psalms, to reprove all evil-doers, and to exhort the men to their duty. Especially was he to repress all blasphemy and swearing. He was to celebrate the Holy Communion whenever it was most convenient. He was to preach on Sunday, to visit the sick; and, in battle, to console the wounded. Admirals, and peers in command of ships, had the privilege of bringing to sea their own private chaplains. The chirurgeon had to bring on board his own instruments and medicines, and to keep them ready to hand in his cabin beneath the gun-deck, out of all possible reach of shot. He was expected to know his business, and to know the remedies for those ailments peculiar to the lands for which the ship intended. He had to produce a certificate from "able men of his profession," to show that he was fit to be employed. An assistant, or servant, was allowed him, and neither he, nor his servant did any duty outside the chirurgeon's province (_Monson_). CHAPTER XIX THE CHOOSING OF WATCHES The petty tally--Food--Work--Punishments As soon as an ancient ship of war was fitted for the sea, with her guns on board, and mounted, her sails bent, her stores and powder in the hold, her water filled, her ballast trimmed, and the hands aboard, some "steep-tubs" were placed in the chains for the steeping of the salt provisions, "till the salt be out though not the saltness." The anchor was then weighed to a note of music. The "weeping Rachells and mournefull Niobes" were set packing ashore. The colours were run up and a gun fired. The foresail was loosed. The cable rubbed down as it came aboard (so that it might not be faked into the tiers wet or dirty). The boat was hoisted inboard. The master "took his departure," by observing the bearing of some particular point of land, as the Mew Stone, the Start, the Lizard, etc. Every man was bidden to "say his private prayer for a bonne voyage." The anchor was catted and fished. Sails were set and trimmed. Ropes were coiled down clear for running, and the course laid by the master. [Illustration: THE SOVEREIGN OF THE SEAS CIRCA 1630] The captain or master then ordered the boatswain "to call up the company," just as all hands are mustered on modern sailing ships at the beginning of a voyage. The master "being Chief of the Starboard Watch" would then look over the mariners for a likely man. Having made his choice he bade the man selected go over to the starboard side, while the commander of the port-watch made his choice. When all the men had been chosen, and the crew "divided into two parts," then each man was bidden to choose "his Mate, Consort or Comrade." The bedding arrangements of these old ships were very primitive. The officers had their bunks or hammocks in their cabins, but the men seem to have slept wherever and however they could. Some, no doubt had hammocks, but the greater number lay in their cloaks between the guns, on mattresses if they had them. A man shared his bed and bedding (if he had any) with his "Mate, Consort, or Comrade," so that the one bed and bedding served for the pair. One of the two friends was always on deck while the other slept. In some ships at the present time the forecastles are fitted with bunks for only half the number of seamen carried, so that the practice is not yet dead. The boatswain, with all "the Younkers or Common Sailors" then went forward of the main-mast to take up their quarters between decks. The captain, master's mates, gunners, carpenters, quartermasters, etc., lodged abaft the main-mast "in their severall Cabbins." The next thing to be done was the arrangement of the ship's company into messes, "four to a mess," after which the custom was to "give every messe a quarter Can of beere and a bisket of bread to stay their stomacks till the kettle be boiled." In the first dog-watch, from 4 to 6 P.M., all hands went to prayers about the main-mast, and from their devotions to supper. At 6 P.M. the company met again to sing a psalm, and say their prayers, before the setting of the night watch; this psalm singing being the prototype of the modern sea-concert, or singsong. At 8 P.M. the first night watch began, lasting until midnight, during which four hours half the ship's company were free to sleep. At midnight the sleepers were called on deck, to relieve the watch. The watches were changed as soon as the muster had been called and a psalm sung, and a prayer offered. They alternated thus throughout the twenty-four hours, each watch having four hours below, after four hours on deck, unless "some flaw of winde come, some storm or gust, or some accident that requires the help of all hands." In these cases the whole ship's company remained on deck until the work was done, or until the master discharged the watch below.[24] The decks were washed down by the swabbers every morning, before the company went to breakfast. After breakfast the men went about their ordinary duties, cleaning the ship, mending rigging, or working at the thousand odd jobs the sailing of a ship entails. The tops were always manned by lookouts, who received some small reward if they spied a prize. The guns were sometimes exercised, and all hands trained to general quarters. [Footnote 24: See "The Sea-man's Grammar," by Captain John Smith.] A few captains made an effort to provide for the comfort of their men by laying in a supply of "bedding, linnen, arms[25] and apparel." In some cases they also provided what was called the petty tally, or store of medical comforts. "The Sea-man's Grammar" of Captain John Smith, from which we have been quoting, tells us that the petty tally contained: [Footnote 25: The men were expected to bring their own swords and knives.] "Fine wheat flower close and well-packed, Rice, Currants, Sugar, Prunes, Cynamon, Ginger, Pepper, Cloves, Green Ginger, Oil, Butter, Holland cheese or old Cheese, Wine-Vinegar, Canarie-Sack, Aqua-vitæ, the best Wines, the best Waters, the juyce of Limons for the scurvy, white Bisket, Oatmeal, Gammons of Bacons, dried Neats tongues, Beef packed up in Vineger, Legs of Mutton minced and stewed, and close packed up, with tried Sewet or Butter in earthen Pots. To entertain Strangers Marmalade, Suckets, Almonds, Comfits and such like." "Some," says the author of this savoury list, "will say I would have men rather to feast than to fight. But I say the want of those necessaries occasions the loss of more men than in any English Fleet hath been slain since 88. For when a man is ill, or at the point of death, I would know whether a dish of buttered Rice with a little Cynamon, Ginger and Sugar, a little minced meat, or rost Beef, a few stew'd Prunes, a race of green Ginger, a Flap-jack, a Kan of fresh water brewed with a little Cynamon and Sugar be not better than a little poor John, or salt fish, with Oil and Mustard, or Bisket, Butter, Cheese, or Oatmeal-pottage on Fish-dayes, or on Flesh-dayes, Salt, Beef, Pork and Pease, with six shillings beer, this is your ordinary ship's allowance, and good for them are well if well conditioned [not such bad diet for a healthy man if of good quality] which is not alwayes as Sea-men can [too well] witnesse. And after a storme, when poor men are all wet, and some have not so much as a cloth to shift them, shaking with cold, few of those but will tell you a little Sack or Aqua-vitæ is much better to keep them in health, than a little small Beer, or cold water although it be sweet. Now that every one should provide for himself, few of them have either that providence or means, and there is neither Ale-house, Tavern, nor Inne to burn a faggot in, neither Grocer, Poulterer, Apothecary nor Butcher's Shop, and therefore the use of this petty Tally is necessary, and thus to be employed as there is occasion." The entertainment of strangers, with "Almonds, Comfits and such like," was the duty of a sea-captain, for "every Commander should shew himself as like himself as he can," and, "therefore I leave it to their own Discretion," to supply suckets for the casual guest. In those days, when sugar was a costly commodity, a sucket was more esteemed than now. At sea, when the food was mostly salt, it must certainly have been a great dainty. The "allowance" or ration to the men was as follows[26]:-- [Footnote 26: See Sir W. Monson's "Naval Tracts."] Each man and boy received one pound of bread or biscuit daily, with a gallon of beer. The beer was served out four times daily, a quart at a time, in the morning, at dinner, in the afternoon, and at supper. On Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, which were flesh days, the allowance of meat was either one pound of salt beef, or one pound of salt pork with pease. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, a side of salt-fish, ling, haberdine, or cod, was divided between the members of each mess, while a seven-ounce ration of butter (or olive oil) and a fourteen-ounce ration of cheese, was served to each man. On Fridays, or fast days, this allowance was halved. At one time the sailors were fond of selling or playing away their rations, but this practice was stopped in the reign of Elizabeth, and the men forced to take their food "orderly and in due season" under penalties. Prisoners taken during the cruise were allowed two-thirds of the above allowance. The allowance quoted above appears liberal, but it must be remembered that the sailors were messed "six upon four," and received only two-thirds of the full ration. The quality of the food was very bad. The beer was the very cheapest of small beer, and never kept good at sea, owing to the continual motion of the ship. It became acid, and induced dysentery in those who drank it, though it was sometimes possible to rebrew it after it had once gone sour. The water, which was carried in casks, was also far from wholesome. After storing, for a day or two, it generally became offensive, so that none could drink it. In a little while this offensiveness passed off, and it might then be used, though the casks bred growths of an unpleasant sliminess, if the water remained in them for more than a month. However water was not regarded as a drink for human beings until the beer was spent. The salt meat was as bad as the beer, or worse. Often enough the casks were filled with lumps of bone and fat which were quite uneatable, and often the meat was so lean, old, dry and shrivelled that it was valueless as food. The victuallers often killed their animals in the heat of the summer, when the meat would not take salt, so that many casks must have been unfit for food after lying for a week in store. Anti-scorbutics were supplied, or not supplied, at the discretion of the captains. It appears that the sailors disliked innovations in their food, and rejected the substitution of beans, flour "and those white Meats as they are called" for the heavy, and innutritious pork and beef. Sailors were always great sticklers for their "Pound and Pint," and Boteler tells us that in the early seventeenth century "the common Sea-men with us, are so besotted on their Beef and Pork, as they had rather adventure on all the Calentures, and Scarbots [scurvy] in the World, than to be weaned from their Customary Diet, or so much as to lose the least Bit of it." The salt-fish ration was probably rather better than the meat, but the cheese was nearly always very bad, and of an abominable odour. The butter was no better than the cheese. It was probably like so much train-oil. The bread or biscuit which was stowed in bags in the bread-room in the hold, soon lost its hardness at sea, becoming soft and wormy, so that the sailors had to eat it in the dark. The biscuits, or cakes of bread, seem to have been current coin with many of the West Indian natives. In those ships where flour was carried, in lieu of biscuit, as sometimes happened in cases of emergency, the men received a ration of doughboy, a sort of dumpling of wetted flour boiled with pork fat. This was esteemed a rare delicacy either eaten plain or with butter. This diet was too lacking in variety, and too destitute of anti-scorbutics to support the mariners in health. The ships in themselves were insanitary, and the crews suffered very much from what they called calentures, (or fevers such as typhus and typhoid), and the scurvy. The scurvy was perhaps the more common ailment, as indeed it is to-day. It is now little dreaded, for its nature is understood, and guarded against. In the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, it killed its thousands, owing to the ignorance and indifference of responsible parties, and to other causes such as the construction of the ships and the length of the voyages. A salt diet, without fresh vegetables, and without variety, is a predisposing cause of scurvy. Exposure to cold and wet, and living in dirty surroundings are also predisposing causes. The old wooden ships were seldom very clean, and never dry, and when once the scurvy took hold it generally raged until the ship reached port, where fresh provisions could be purchased. A wooden ship was never quite dry, in any weather, for the upper-deck planks, and the timbers of her topsides, could never be so strictly caulked that no water could leak in. The sea-water splashed in through the scuppers and through the ports, or leaked in, a little at a time, through the seams. In bad weather the lower gun-decks (or all decks below the spar-deck) were more or less awash, from seas that had washed down the hatchways. The upper-deck seams let in the rain, and when once the lower-decks were wet it was very difficult to dry them. It was impossible to close the gun-deck ports so as to make them watertight, for the water would find cracks to come in at, even though the edges of the lids were caulked with oakum, and the orifices further barred by deadlights or wooden shutters. Many of the sailors, as we have seen, were without a change of clothes, and with no proper sleeping-place, save the wet deck and the wet jackets that they worked in. It often happened that the gun-ports would be closed for several weeks together, during which time the gun-decks became filthy and musty, while the sailors contracted all manner of cramps and catarrhs. In addition to the wet, and the discomfort of such a life, there was also the work, often extremely laborious, incidental to heavy weather at sea. What with the ceaseless handling of sails and ropes, in frost and snow and soaking sea-water; and the continual pumping out of the leaks the rotten seams admitted, the sailor had little leisure in which to sleep, or to dry himself. When he left the deck he had only the dark, wet berth-deck to retire to, a place of bleakness and misery, where he might share a sopping blanket, if he had one, with the corpse of a drowned rat and the flotsam from the different messes. There was no getting dry nor warm, though the berth-deck might be extremely close and stuffy from lack of ventilation. The cook-room, or galley fire would not be lighted, and there would be no comforting food or drink, nothing but raw meat and biscuit, and a sup of sour beer. It was not more unpleasant perhaps than life at sea is to-day, but it was certainly more dangerous.[27] When at last the storm abated and the sea went down, the ports were opened and the decks cleaned. The sailors held a general washing-day, scrubbing the mouldy clothes that had been soaked so long, and hanging them to dry about the rigging. Wind-sails or canvas ventilators were rigged, to admit air to the lowest recesses of the hold. The decks were scrubbed down with a mixture of vinegar and sand, and then sluiced with salt water, scraped with metal scrapers, and dried with swabs and small portable firepots. Vinegar was carried about the decks in large iron pots, and converted into vapour by the insertion of red-hot metal bars. The swabbers brought pans of burning pitch or brimstone into every corner, so that the smoke might penetrate everywhere. But even then the decks were not wholesome. There were spaces under the guns which no art could dry, and subtle leaks in the topsides that none could stop. The hold accumulated filth, for in many ships the ship's refuse was swept on to the ballast, where it bred pestilence, typhus fever and the like. The bilge-water reeked and rotted in the bilges, filling the whole ship with its indescribable stench. Beetles, rats and cockroaches bred and multiplied in the crannies, until (as in Captain Cook's case two centuries later), they made life miserable for all on board. These wooden ships were very gloomy abodes, and would have been so no doubt even had they been dry and warm. They were dark, and the lower-deck, where most of the men messed, was worse lit than the decks above it, for being near to the water-line the ports could seldom be opened. Only in very fair weather could the sailors have light and sun below decks. As a rule they ate and slept in a murky, stuffy atmosphere, badly lighted by candles in heavy horn lanthorns. The gloom of the ships must have weighed heavily upon many of the men, and the depression no doubt predisposed them to scurvy, making them less attentive to bodily cleanliness, and less ready to combat the disease when it attacked them. Perhaps some early sea-captains tried to make the between decks less gloomy by whitewashing the beams, bulkheads and ship's sides. In the eighteenth century this seems to have been practised with success, though perhaps the captains who tried it were more careful of their hands in other ways, and the benefit may have been derived from other causes. [Footnote 27: The mortality among the sailors was very great.] Discipline was maintained by some harsh punishments, designed to "tame the most rude and savage people in the world." Punishment was inflicted at the discretion of the captain, directly after the hearing of the case, but the case was generally tried the day after the commission of the offence, so that no man should be condemned in hot blood. The most common punishment was that of flogging, the men being stripped to the waist, tied to the main-mast or to a capstan bar, and flogged upon the bare back with a whip or a "cherriliccum." The boatswain had power to beat the laggards and the ship's boys with a cane, or with a piece of knotted rope. A common punishment was to put the offender on half his allowance, or to stop his meat, or his allowance of wine or spirits. For more heinous offences there was the very barbarous punishment of keel-hauling, by which the victim was dragged from the main yardarm right under the keel of the ship, across the barnacles, to the yardarm on the farther side. Those who suffered this punishment were liable to be cut very shrewdly by the points of the encrusted shells. Ducking from the main yardarm was inflicted for stubbornness, laziness, going on shore without leave, or sleeping while on watch. The malefactor was brought to the gangway, and a rope fastened under his arms and about his middle. He was then hoisted rapidly up to the main yardarm, "from whence he is violently let fall into the Sea, some times twice, some times three severall times, one after another" (_Boteler_). This punishment, and keel-hauling, were made more terrible by the discharge of a great gun over the malefactor's head as he struck the water, "which proveth much offensive to him" (_ibid._). If a man killed another he was fastened to the corpse and flung overboard (_Laws of Oleron_). For drawing a weapon in a quarrel, or in mutiny, the offender lost his right hand (_ibid._). Theft was generally punished with flogging, but in serious cases the thief was forced to run the gauntlet, between two rows of sailors all armed with thin knotted cords. Ducking from the bowsprit end, towing in a rope astern, and marooning, were also practised as punishments for the pilferer. For sleeping on watch there was a graduated scale. First offenders were soused with a bucket of water. For the second offence they were tied up by the wrists, and water was poured down their sleeves. For the third offence they were tied to the mast, with bags of bullets, or gun-chambers tied about their arms and necks, until they were exhausted, or "till their back be ready to break" (_Monson_). If they still offended in this kind they were taken and tied to the bowsprit end, with rations of beer and bread, and left there with leave to starve or fall into the sea. Destruction or theft of ships' property was punished by death. Petty insurrections, such as complaints of the quality or quantity of the food, etc., were punished by the bilboes. The bilboes were iron bars fixed to the deck a little abaft the main-mast. The prisoner sat upon the deck under a sentry, and his legs and hands were shackled to the bars with irons of a weight proportioned to the crime. It was a rule that none should speak to a man in the bilboes. For blasphemy and swearing there was "an excellent good way"[28] of forcing the sinner to hold a marline-spike in his mouth, until his tongue was bloody (_Teonge_). Dirty speech was punished in a similar way, and sometimes the offending tongue was scrubbed with sand and canvas. We read of two sailors who stole a piece of beef aboard H.M.S. _Assistance_ in the year 1676.[29] Their hands were tied behind them, and the beef was hung about their necks, "and the rest of the seamen cam one by one, and rubd them over the mouth with the raw beife; and in this posture they stood two howers." Other punishments were "shooting to death," and hanging at the yardarm. "And the Knaveries of the Ship-boys are payd by the Boat-Swain with the Rod; and commonly this execution is done upon the Munday Mornings; and is so frequently in use, that some meer Seamen believe in earnest, that they shall not have a fair Wind, unless the poor Boys be duely brought to the Chest, that is, whipped, every Munday Morning" (_Boteler_). [Footnote 28: _Circa_ 1670.] [Footnote 29: The punishment would have been no less severe a century earlier.] Some of these punishments may appear unduly harsh; but on the whole they were no more cruel than the punishments usually inflicted ashore. Indeed, if anything they were rather more merciful. CHAPTER XX IN ACTION In engaging an enemy's ship at sea the custom was to display the colours from the poop, and to hang streamers or pennons from the yardarms.[30] The spritsail would then be furled, and the spritsail-yard brought alongship. The lower yards were slung with chain, and the important ropes, sheets and braces,[31] etc., were doubled. The bulkheads and wooden cabin walls were knocked away, or fortified with hammocks or bedding, to minimise the risk of splinters. The guns were cast loose and loaded. The powder or cartridge was brought up in "budge barrels," covered with leather, from the magazine, and stowed well away from the guns, either in amidships, or on that side of the ship not directly engaged. Tubs of water were placed between the guns with blankets soaking in them for the smothering of any fire that might be caused. Other tubs were filled with "vinegar water or what we have" for the sponging of the guns. The hatches leading to the hold were taken up, so that no man should desert his post during the engagement. The light sails were furled, and in some cases sent down on deck. The magazines were opened, and hung about with wet blankets to prevent sparks from entering. Shot was sent to the shot-lockers on deck. Sand was sprinkled on the planking to give a greater firmness to the foothold of the men at the guns. The gunner and his mates went round the batteries to make sure that all was ready. The caps, or leaden plates, were taken from the touch-holes, and the priming powder was poured down upon the cartridge within the gun. The carpenter made ready sheets of lead, and plugs of oakum, for the stopping of shot-holes.[32] The cook-room fire was extinguished. The sails were splashed with a solution of alum. The people went to eat and drink at their quarters. Extra tiller ropes, of raw hide, were rove abaft. The trumpeters put on their[33] tabards, "of the Admiral's colours," and blew points of war as they sailed into action. A writer of the early seventeenth century[34] has left the following spirited account of a sea-fight:-- [Footnote 30: Monson.] [Footnote 31: _Ibid._] [Footnote 32: Monson.] [Footnote 33: _Ibid._] [Footnote 34: Captain John Smith.] "A sail, how bears she or stands shee, to winde-ward or lee-ward? set him by the Compasse; he stands right ahead, or on the weather-Bowe, or lee-Bowe, let fly your colours if you have a consort, else not. Out with all your sails, a steady man to the helme, sit close to keep her steady, give him chase or fetch him up; he holds his own, no, we gather on him. Captain, out goes his flag and pendants, also his waste-clothes and top-armings, which is a long red cloth about three quarters of a yard broad, edged on each side with Calico, or white linnen cloth, that goeth round about the ship on the outsides of all her upper works fore and aft, and before the cubbridge-heads, also about the fore and maine tops, as well for the countenance and grace of the ship, as to cover the men for being seen, he furies and slinges his maine yarde, in goes his spret-saile. Thus they use to strip themselves into their short sailes, or fighting sailes, which is only the fore sail, the main and fore topsails, because the rest should not be fired nor spoiled; besides they would be troublesome to handle, hinder our fights and the using our armes; he makes ready his close fights fore and aft. "Master, how stands the chase? Right on head I say; Well we shall reatch him by and by; what's all ready? Yea, yea, every man to his charge, dowse your topsaile to salute him for the Sea, hale him with a noise of trumpets; Whence is your ship? Of Spaine; Whence is yours? Of England. Are you a Merchant, or a Man of War? We are of the Sea. He waves us to Lee-ward with his drawne Sword, cals amaine for the King of Spaine and springs his loufe. Give him a chase piece with your broadside, and run a good berth ahead of him; Done, done. We have the winde of him, and he tackes about, tacke you aboute also and keep your loufe [keep close to the wind] be yare at the helme, edge in with him, give him a volley of small shot, also your prow and broadside as before, and keep your loufe; He payes us shot for shot; Well, we shall requite him; What, are you ready again? Yea, yea. Try him once more, as before; Done, Done; Keep your loufe and charge your ordnance again; Is all ready? Yea, yea, edge in with him again, begin with your bowe pieces, proceed with your broadside, and let her fall off with the winde, to give her also your full chase, your weather broadside, and bring her round that the stern may also discharge, and your tackes close aboord again; Done, done, the wind veeres, the Sea goes too high to boord her, and we are shot thorow and thorow, and betwene winde and water. Try the pump, bear up the helme; Master let us breathe and refresh a little, and sling a man overboard [_i.e._ lower a man over the side] to stop the leakes; that is, to trusse him up aboute the middle in a piece of canvas, and a rope to keep him from sinking, and his armes at liberty, with a malet in the one hand, and a plug lapped in Okum, and well tarred in a tarpawling clowt in the other, which he will quickly beat into the hole or holes the bullets made; What cheere mates? is all well? All well, all well, all well. Then make ready to bear up with him again, and with all your great and small shot charge him, and in the smoke boord him thwart the hawse, on the bowe, midships, or rather than faile, on the quarter [where the high poop made it difficult to climb on board] or make fast your graplings [iron hooks] if you can to his close fights and shear off [so as to tear them to pieces]. Captain, we are fowl on each other, and the Ship is on fire, cut anything to get clear and smother the fire with wet clothes. In such a case they will presently be such friends, as to helpe one the other all they can to get clear, lest they should both burn together and sink; and if they be generous, the fire quenched, drink kindely one to another; heave their cans overboord, and then begin again as before. "Well, Master, the day is spent, the night drawes on, let us consult. Chirurgion, look to the wounded, and winde up the slain, with each a weight or bullet at their heades and feet to make them sinke, and give them three Gunnes for their funerals. Swabber, make clean the ship [sprinkle it with hot vinegar to avoid the smell of blood]; Purser, record their Names; Watch, be vigilant to keep your berth to windeward that we lose him not in the night; Gunners, spunge your Ordnance; Sowldiers, scowre your pieces; Carpenters about your leakes; Boatswaine and the rest repair your sails and shrouds; and Cooke, you observe your directions against the morning watch; Boy, Holla, Master, Holla, is the Kettle boiled? Yea, yea; Boatswaine, call up the men to prayer and breakfast [We may suppose the dawn has broken]. "Boy, fetch my cellar of bottels [case of spirits], a health to you all fore and aft, courage my hearts for a fresh charge; Gunners beat open the ports, and out with your lower tire [lower tier of guns] and bring me from the weather side to the lee, so many pieces as we have ports to bear upon him. Master lay him aboord loufe for loufe; mid Ships men, see the tops and yards well manned, with stones, fire pots and brass bailes, to throw amongst them before we enter, or if we be put off, charge them with all your great and small shot, in the smoke let us enter them in the shrouds, and every squadron at his best advantage; so sound Drums and Trumpets, and Saint George for England. "They hang out a flag of truce, hale him a main, abase, or take in his flag [to hale one to amaine, a main or a-mayn, was to bid him surrender; to abase was to lower the colours or the topsails], strike their sails, and come aboord with their Captaine, Purser, and Gunner, with their commission, cocket, or bills of loading. Out goes the boat, they are launched from the ship's side, entertaine them with a generall cry God save the Captain and all the company with the Trumpets sounding, examine them in particular, and then conclude your conditions, with feasting, freedom or punishment as you find occasion; but alwayes have as much care to their wounded as your own, and if there be either young women or aged men, use them nobly, which is ever the nature of a generous disposition. To conclude, if you surprise him, or enter perforce, you may stow the men, rifle, pillage, or sack, and cry a prise." Down below in the gun-decks during an action, the batteries became so full of the smoke of black powder that the men could hardly see what they were doing. The darkness prevented them from seeing the very dangerous recoiling of the guns, and many were killed by them. It was impossible to judge how a gun carriage would recoil, for it never recoiled twice in the same manner, and though the men at the side tackles did their best to reduce the shock they could not prevent it altogether. It was the custom to close the gun-ports after each discharge, as the musketeers aboard the enemy could otherwise fire through them as the men reloaded. The guns were not fired in a volley, as no ship could have stood the tremendous shock occasioned by the simultaneous discharge of all her guns. They were fired in succession, beginning from the bows. In heavy weather the lower tiers of guns were not cast loose, for the rolling made them difficult to control, and the sea came washing through the ports and into the muzzles of the guns, knocking down the men and drenching the powder. It sometimes happened that the shot, and cartridge, were rolled clean out of the guns. In sponging and ramming the men were bidden to keep the sponge or rammer on that side of them opposite to the side exposed to the enemy so that if a shot should strike it, it would not force it into the body of the holder. A man was told off to bring cartridges and shot to each gun or division of guns and he was strictly forbidden to supply any other gun or guns during the action. The wounded were to be helped below by men told off especially for the purpose. Once below, in the cockpit, they were laid on a sail, and the doctor or his mates attended to them in turn. In no case was a man attended out of his turn. This system seems equitable, and the sailors were insistent that it should be observed; but many poor fellows bled to death, from shattered arteries, etc., while waiting till the doctor should be ready. The chaplain attended in the cockpit to comfort the dying, and administer the rites of the Church. When a vessel was taken, her crew were stripped by those in want of clothes. The prisoners were handcuffed, or chained together, and placed in the hold, on the ballast. The ship's company then set to work to repair damages, clean and secure the guns, return powder, etc., to the armoury, and magazines, and to give thanks for their preservation round the main-mast. [Illustration: Map Shewing the EARLY BUCCANEER CRUISING GROUND] INDEX Action, description of ship in, 334 Allowance of food and drink, 326, 327 Alvarado, 226, etc. ---- battle of, 227 _et seq._ Anastasius (church), 252 Andreas, Captain, 232, 234, 238 Antonio, Captain, 235 Arica, 259, 265, 266, 267 ---- battle of, 267 _et seq._, 273, 274 Arquebus, 303 Barbecue, 112 Barker, Andrew, 105 Baronha, Admiral, 245 Bastimentos, 22 _Bear_, pinnace, 79, 82, 84 Bishop (of Panama), 255, 256, 281 Blewfields, 134 Boats (ships'), 297 Boatswains, 313 Boco del Toro, 230, 231 Boucan, 112 Bracos, De los, 180 Bradley, John, 173 _et seq._ Buccaneers, rise of, 112 _et seq._; customs, etc., 113; dress, 114; drunkenness, 115; cruel, 116; religious, 119; attached to comrades, 119; preparations for raids, 120 _et seq._; shares of spoil, 125; at the Samballoes, 232; at Perico, 247 Buckenham, Captain, 225 Cabeças, or Cabezas, 80, 84, 88, 92, 95 Cabin-boys, 319 Campeachy, 127 Canoas, 127; capturing prizes from, 129 _et seq._ Captains, 311, 322, 323, 324 Caribs, 108 Carpenters, 316 Cartagena, 11, 26, 27, 33, 35, 40, 41 _et seq._, 44, 45, 94 Cartridges, 300, 301 Castle Gloria, 151 Cativaas, or Catives, 9, 38, 53, 82 Cedro Bueno, halt at, 182 ---- canoas sent to, 188 Chaplains, 321, 339 Chagres Castle, expedition to, under Bradley, 173 _et seq._ ---- Morgan's arrival at, 180 ---- party sent to, 203 ---- message from, 205 Chagres River, 25, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 81; also 180-210 Charesha, 26 Chatas (small Spanish boats), 179 Cheapo River, 61, 241, 279 Chapillo, 241, 253 Chirurgeons, 321 Colonies in West Indies, 110, 111 Commissions, 118 Cook, Captain, 233, 234, 256, 258, 262 Cooks (ships'), 315 Coopers, 318 Compensations, 122 Comrades, 323 Corporals, 312 Costa Rica, Morgan sails for, 149 Cox, Captain, 258, 259, 262 Coxon, Captain, 229, 233, 237, 240, 241, 243, 249, 253 ---- sails for home, 254 Coxswains, 313 Crews, 319 Daggs (pistols), 304 Dampier, William, 126; early life in West Indies, 218 _et seq._; ill at Campeachy, 225; ruined by storm, 226; goes pirating, _ibid._; returns to England, 228; to Jamaica, 229; joins buccaneers, 230; lands on isthmus, 234; not at Perico, 246; not at Arica, 267; leaves Sharp, 276, 277; tramps across isthmus, 280, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288 Darien, Gulf of, 4, 5, 8, 31, 99 Darien isthmus. _See_ Drake, Morgan, Dampier, etc. Delander, R., 180 De la Barra Castle, 162 Diego, 19, 24, 31, 32, 36, 50, 51 ---- Fort, 49, 51, 92 ---- River, 37, 38, 49 Discomforts, 328 Discipline, 330, 331, 332 Drake, Francis (afterwards Sir Francis), born, 1; at San Juan d'Ulloa, 1, 2; at West Indies, 2, 3; sails for Nombre de Dios, 3, 4, 5; lands, 6; joins Rause, 7, 8; sails west, 9, 10; attacks Nombre de Dios, 15, 16, 20, 21; hurt, 21; receives herald, 23; goes to Cartagena, 26; establishes fort, 31; goes east, 32, 33; in Cartagena, 40, 41, etc.; returns thither, 45; starving, 46, 47; holds post mortem, 52; goes for Panama, 55 _et seq._; fails to take treasure, 66; retreats, 68; at Venta Cruz, 69; returns to Hixom, 77; goes to Veragua, 80, 81; meets Captain Tetû, 82; makes his great raid, 84, 85, 86, 88; builds raft, 89-90; his bravado, 94; arrives at Plymouth, 96; mentioned, 97; sacks St Domingo, 110; his island, 259, 260 ---- John, 29, 30, 31, 32, 37 ---- Joseph, 52 Entertainments, 325 Estera longa Lemos (near Porto Bello), 153 Firing (of cannon), 301; and aiming, 305, 306 Fort Jeronimo (at Porto Bello), 151 Francisco River (St Francis River), 9, 84, 88, 91, 92 French in West Indies, 111, 117 ---- buccaneer commissions, 118 Fumigations, 329 Gabriele, Josef, 239 Galleons, 292, 293 Galliasses, 292, 293 Galleys, 291 Gambling, 131 Garret, John, 6 Gayny, G., 283, 285, 286, 287 Gear (sailors'), 296 Gibraltar (in Maracaibo), 162 Glub, Charles, 49 Golden Island, 232 Gorgona, 259, 276 Grummets, 320 Guasco (Huasco), 274 Gunners, 300, 301, 302, 304, 305, 308, 309, 312 Guns, 298 _et seq._, 307; list of, 303 Guzman, Don John Perez, takes Santa Katalina, 138. _See also_ Panama battle Harris, Captain, 233, 237; killed and buried, 253 Hawkins, Sir R., 98, 99; his story of Oxenham, 105 Hayti, 106 Hilo (Ylo or Ilo), 260, 273, 274 Hispaniola, 106, 107 _et seq._, 114 Hixom, Ellis, 48, 54, 56, 75, 76, 77 Hobby, Mr, 229 Hunters, 108, 109 Indians, 121, 265, 279 Iquique (Yqueque), 264 Iron Castle (at Porto Bello), 139, 151, 158 Jamaica, 118, 229, 289 Jobson (or Cobson), 284, 287 Joiners, 316 Juan Fernandez, 261, 264 Katalina, Santa, Mansvelt goes to, 135 ---- Morgan takes, 171 King Golden Cap, 236, 237, 239, 241, 246, 253, 255 La Serena, 260 Las Serenas, 44 La Sounds Key, 285, 287, 288 Liars, 320 Lieutenants, 311 Linstocks, 309 _Lion_, pinnace, 53, 84 Logwood cutting, 127; description of, 222 Longships, 291 Lorenzo, San, Castle of, 173; taken, 176; Morgan's return to, 213; destroyed, 214 Magdalena, 31, 37 Main, the, 28, 39, 83, 123, 124, 127 Mansvelt, Dutch pirate, cruises in South Seas, 135; his plans, 134; meets Henry Morgan, 135; sails with him, _ibid._; takes Santa Katalina, 135; seeks recruits and recognition from English Governor, 136; is refused help, 137; sails to Tortuga, 137; dies, 139 Maracaibo, 162 Maroons, 24, 28, 36, 38, 51, 53, 54, 56, 58, 59, 60, 62, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 74, 75, 76, 85, 89, 95, 99, 100, 101, 102 Marygalante, 4 Masts, 294 Masters, 312, 322 _Minion_, pinnace, 49, 79 Moone, T., 2, 29 Morgan, Henry (afterwards Sir Henry), meets Mansvelt, 135; sails with him, _ibid._; tries to get help from New England, 139; gathers fleet, 140; goes for Puerto del Principe, 141; battle there, 142; town taken, 142; stay there, 143; mutiny and fight, 145; defection of French allies, 146; returns to Port Royal, 146; sails for Costa Rica, 149; lands, 153; takes a fort, 155; attacks Porto Bello, 156; takes it, 157; receives summons from Panama, 159; defeats Spanish troops, 160; receives ransom, 160; returns to Port Royal, 161; goes for Maracaibo, 162; summons De la Barra Castle, 163; the fireship, 164; Spanish rally, 164; Morgan's stratagem, 166; his return to Port Royal, 167; goes for Main, 168, 169; takes Santa Katalina, 177; sails for Chagres, 179; reaches Venta Cruz, 187; sees Panama, 190; takes it, 199, etc.; burns his ships, 209; leaves ruins, 210; returns to Venta Cruz, 212; destroys San Lorenzo, 214; returns to Port Royal, 215; becomes Governor of Jamaica, 216 Mosquito Indians, 122, 123, 124, 125 Mule trains (or recuas), 65, 66, 67, 85 Munjack, 228 Muskets, 303 Mutiny, 257 Nombre De Dios, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14; description of, 16, 17, 18, etc.; attack on, 27, 28, 62, 63, 64, 65, 84, 85, 98, 99, 103, 104 Norman, Captain, 180, 205 One Bush Key, 219, 221, 224 Ortega, John de, 100, 101 Oxenham, John, 17, 18, 39, 43, 61, 64, 65, 79, 81, 82, 93, 98; sails on his raid, 98; builds ship, 99; raids South Seas, 100; mutiny, 102, 103; Spaniards take him, 104; and hang him, 104, 108 Panama, 8, 11, 12, 15, 39, 54, 55, 61, 62, 243, 244, 252, 254, 255 ---- description of, 192. ---- Morgan's sight of, 190 ---- Governor of. _See_ Guzman, 159, 160. Parrots, at Alvarado, 227 _Pascha_, a ship, 3, 30, 31, 32, 79, 81, 94, 95 Pavesses, 294 Pearl Islands, 100, 101, 244 Pedro, 57, 60, 95 Penn, 117 Peralta, Don, 206, 245, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 258, 261 Periaguas, 127 Perico, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 250-253 Petticoat (a sky-blue), 279 Petty tally, 324, 325 Pezoro, 79, 80, 81 Pike, Robert, 65, 67, 78 Pine Islands, 8, 9, 20 Pinnaces, 3, 7 Plenty, Port, 36 Plymouth, 3, 4, 96, 98 Porto Bello, 11, 13, 15; description, 150 _et seq._; attacked and sacked, 154 _et seq._; 230, 231 Port Pheasant, 5 Port Royal, 132 ---- Morgan's return to, 215 ---- Dampier arrives at, 221 Porto Santo, 4 Provisions, 326, 327, 328 Puebla Nueva, 256 Puerto del Principe, 140, 141 _et seq._ Pursers, 314 Quartermasters, 314 Quibo, 256, 257, 258, 259 Raft (Drake's), 89, 90 Rause, Captain, 7, 9, 25 Rigging, ancient, 295 Ringrose, Basil, 234, 237, 241, 243, 244, 247, 248, 349, 250 ---- at Arica, 267, 268, 269, 273, 288, 289 Rio de la Hacha, 47, 169 Rio Grande, 32, 33, 46 Roundships, 291 Sails, 294, 295, 296, 297 Sailing from port, 322, 323 San Andreas, 127 ---- Antonio, 96 ---- Barnardo, 26, 28, 40, 50, 94 ---- Domingo, 106, 107 ---- Juan d'Ulloa, 1, 2, 12 ---- Miguel, 277 Santa Maria, 232, 238, 239, 240, 253 ---- Martha, 5, 47 ---- Pecaque, 289 Savannahs, 61 Sawkins, Richard, Captain, 229, 233, 236, 240, 243, 248, 249, 250, 253, 254, 255, 256; killed, 257, 262, 263, 281 Scrivanos, 28, 41, 53 Sea-fighting, 334, 335, 336, 337 Searles, Captain, 206 Sharp, Captain Bartholomew, 229, 233, 237, 238, 241, 242, 243, 244, 252, 253, 254, 255; takes prizes, 257; elected admiral, 258, 259, 262, 265; at Arica, 267, 270, 271, 274, 275, 288, 289, 290 Ship-boys, 319 Simon Le Sieur, 136, 137, 138 Smith, Captain John, 89 Springer, Captain, 248 ---- his key, 286 Stewards, 315 Swabbers, 319, 320 _Swan_, a ship, 2, 3, 29, 30 Tawnymores (a ship of), 247, 248, 249, 251 Tetû, Captain, 82, 83, 84, 86; hurt, 86, 87, 91 Tiburon, Cape, 169 Tocamora, 231 Tolu, 6, 36, 53, 79 Top-arming, 294 Torna Munni, 183 Tortuga, 111, 112, 115, 117 Tree (a great), 60, 61 _Trinity_, the Most Blessed, a Spanish galleon, 206, 251, 253, 259, 260, 261, 263, 264, 288, 289 Tristian, Captain, 285 Trumpeters, 318 Tucker, Francis, 95 Venables, 117 Venta Cruz, 25, 62, 65, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 75, 85, 187, 212 Veragua, 78, 79, 80, 81 Villa del Rey, 35 Wafer, Lionel, 234, 276, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 287 Watling, John, 262, 263, 264, 266; attacks Arica, 267, 268, 269; shot, 270 Ylo, 260, 273, 274 Yqueque, 264, 265 Younkers, 320 Ysabel Nueva, 106 
43771	----	GARDENS OF THE CARIBBEES VOLUME II. Travel Lovers' Library [Illustration] _Each in two volumes profusely illustrated_ Florence By GRANT ALLEN Romance and Teutonic Switzerland By W. D. MCCRACKAN Old World Memories By EDWARD LOWE TEMPLE Paris By GRANT ALLEN Feudal and Modern Japan By ARTHUR MAY KNAPP The Unchanging East By ROBERT BARR Venice By GRANT ALLEN Gardens of the Caribbees By IDA M. H. STARR Belgium: Its Cities By GRANT ALLEN [Illustration] L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY Publishers 200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. [Illustration: FROM OUR BALCONY CARACAS, VENEZUELA.] GARDENS OF THE CARIBBEES Sketches of a Cruise to the West Indies and the Spanish Main By Ida M. H. Starr IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II. _ILLUSTRATED_ [Illustration: colophon] Boston L. C. Page & Company _MDCCCCIV_ _Copyright, 1903_ By L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) _All rights reserved_ Published July, 1903 Colonial Press Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD. "IERE" 11 II. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD. LA BREA 35 III. THE SPANISH MAIN 64 IV. IN VENEZUELA. CARACAS 101 V. IN VENEZUELA. CARACAS TO PUERTO CABELLO 125 VI. CURAÇAO. CITY OF WILLEMSTAD 153 VII. THE SOUTHERN CROSS 189 VIII. KINGSTON, JAMAICA 198 IX. "CUANDO SALIDE LA HABANA" 239 X. A MEMORY OF MARTINIQUE 247 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME II. PAGE FROM OUR BALCONY, CARACAS, VENEZUELA _Frontispiece_ THE BARRACKS, THROUGH LIVE-OAKS AND MAHOGANY-TREES, TRINIDAD 17 GOVERNOR'S PALACE AND PUBLIC GARDENS, PORT OF SPAIN, TRINIDAD 21 ON THE WAY TO THE SAVANNAH, PORT OF SPAIN, TRINIDAD 31 THE BEACH OF LA BREA, TRINIDAD 39 ASPHALT FOR NORTHERN PAVEMENTS, PITCH LAKE, TRINIDAD 47 LOADING CARS, PITCH LAKE, TRINIDAD 53 A NATIVE WASHERWOMAN ON THE PITCH LAKE, TRINIDAD 57 WHERE THE MOUNTAINS MEET THE SEA, LA GUAYRA, VENEZUELA 65 CARACAS AND THE MOUNTAINS, VENEZUELA 75 EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF BOLIVAR, THE LIBERATOR, CARACAS, VENEZUELA 85 AN INTERIOR COURT, CARACAS, VENEZUELA 91 CATHEDRAL AND PLAZA, CARACAS, VENEZUELA 111 A HOUSE BESIDE THE SEA, PUERTO CABELLO, VENEZUELA 127 A SOUTH AMERICAN STREET, PUERTO CABELLO, VENEZUELA 149 ACROSS STE. ANNE BAY, HARBOUR OF WILLEMSTAD, CURAÇAO 157 SOME OF OUR FRIENDS AT WILLEMSTAD.--WHERE THE BASKET-WOMEN WAITED, WILLEMSTAD, CURAÇAO 161 THE LANDING, WILLEMSTAD, CURAÇAO 165 A Jolly Dutch Port, Willemstad, Curaçao 173 A SNUG HARBOUR, WILLEMSTAD, CURAÇAO 185 KINGSTON, JAMAICA, FROM THE BAY 199 RIO COBRE, NEAR SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA 203 A NATIVE HUT, JAMAICA 209 THE BOG WALK ROAD, NEAR SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA 213 WHERE WE LANDED, KINGSTON, JAMAICA 223 EL MORRO, ENTRANCE TO HARBOUR, SANTIAGO DE CUBA 229 THE PLAZA, CIENFUEGOS, CUBA 233 THE GRAVE OF CERVERA'S FLEET, WEST OF SANTIAGO DE CUBA 237 THE WRECK OF THE MAINE, HAVANA HARBOUR, CUBA 241 CABAÑAS, LA PUNTA, AND HARBOUR ENTRANCE, HAVANA, CUBA 245 ST. PIERRE AND MT. PELÉE BEFORE THE ERUPTION, MARTINIQUE 249 ST. PIERRE AND MT. PELÉE AFTER THE ERUPTION, MARTINIQUE 253 RUE VICTOR HUGO BEFORE THE ERUPTION, ST. PIERRE, MARTINIQUE 257 RUE VICTOR HUGO AFTER THE ERUPTION, ST. 267 Gardens of the Caribbees CHAPTER I. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD, "IERE" I. Had we known just a little more about Trinidad, it would have made a great difference in that luncheon, but it all came out wrong because some of us didn't know. Too late to influence us in the least, we read in the _Daily Gleaner_, of Jamaica, that the beef sold in Trinidad is exported alive from Venezuela. To be sure, we were aware that Venezuela occupies a large part of the northern coast of South America, and were conscious that Trinidad lies enclosed in a great bay of that coast, called the Gulf of Paria, off the delta of the Orinoco River; also, in a hazy way, we knew that the Spanish Main is a name applied somewhat vaguely to that same South American coast--a relic of the days of pirates, buccaneers, and freebooting English admirals; but we no more expected to be served a roast of beef from the Spanish Main than a dish of Boston baked beans from our castles in Spain. The two dimly intangible names had ever borne a close comradeship in our minds, a poetic association affiliated them in closest bonds. The same sun kissed into rose tints the turrets of our castles in Spain and the lofty summits of the Spanish Main. The same romance lifted them both away from reality into that land just bordering upon the Islands of the Blest, and much as we longed to materialise our dreams, and make the Spanish Main a usable fact, when the opportunity came for us to do so, it slipped away from us before we were conscious of its existence. Unaware that the illuminated postal-card _menu_ on the table at the Queen's Park Hotel, Port of Spain, could in any sense lift the veil from our enchantments, we read the following bill of fare: Mayonnaise of Fish, with Lettuce Oysters _en Poulet_ Scrambled Eggs with Asparagus Tips Irish Stew Haricot of Oxtail Brain Fritters Curry of Veal _à l'Indien_ Boiled Turkey and Rice Ham and Spinach Fried Sausages and Potatoes Salad Assorted Cold Meats String Beans Rice Mashed Potatoes Macaroni _au Gratin_ Chocolate Ice-cream Cakes Cheese Eight of us sat down at a table on the veranda, white-walled, white-ceilinged, and white pillared. A white-gravelled walk led out into the white sun, through a stiff, boxed-in, English garden, stuffed with plants in green tubs, and redeemed only by those natural things that will grow and be beautiful in spite of all conventions. Thirsting for cool ices and delectable fruits, looking wistfully for our vanishing fancies of West Indian ambrosia, we turn in a listless, disappointed way to that bill of fare, where ham and spinach and Irish stew and fried sausages send our hopes a-scampering off like a lot of frightened children. What man in his sane mind would order an haricot of ox-tail in the tropics, when he needs but lift his hand for the food of Paradise; what man, with any sense of the fitness of things, would eat curried veal, when, for the asking, he might sup a libation fit for the gods? Alas! The asking never brought it, and we--that is, one, at least--settled down to scrambled eggs, and felt and looked unutterable scorn upon the one next at table who began at mayonnaise of fish, and took every course to cheese. Ah! friends, this was a case where the one who didn't know fared ill. She lost her first opportunity of paying her respects to the Spanish Main. Hungry and disillusioned, the one and the only thing to do is to forget those steaming sausages and the Irish stew as quickly as possible. We shall not stay here a moment longer. Hotels are makeshifts at the best. Let us leave these unromantic, unscrupulous venders of ham and spinach! There, over yonder on the other side of the savannah, there is a delicious retreat where we can make good our escape. II. We shall never again see anything which can compare in beauty, of its kind, with the _Jardin des Plantes_ of Martinique. No, we never shall--still, we must be just to all. Trinidad's Botanical Garden is beautiful in its own way, and we were impressed with the idea that it possessed some features which that of Martinique lacked. However, that might have been owing to the fact that we did not view the Martinique Garden in its entirety. Had we done so, we might have found the same species in both places. From casual observation there seemed to me to be one distinctive characteristic of tropical vegetation; the trees did not appear to grow so much in great social orders as do those of temperate zones. In the North, vast families of the same species of trees gather together and keep together with as rigid a pertinacity as any Scotch clan; the beech, birch, oak, maple, pine, hemlock, walnut, hickory, all have their pet homes and their own relations, and no amount of coddling or persuasion will ever induce them to a wide change of _habitat_; but in the far South, the tropical trees seem willing to settle anywhere in this land of endless summer. Of course, one finds that certain trees love the swamps, and others prefer the high lands; and some will grow in greater magnificence in some places where the conditions are absolutely congenial, than in other places where they are not so. There is the mangrove; it loves the wet and the mire--the mosquito-ridden, miasmatic river borders--and wherever, on these coasts, you find a swamp, whether in the very hottest spots, or in others only moderately so, there you'll find the mangrove sending out ærial roots, reaching down into the muck for new strength, forming--banyan-like--a family of new trunks, all under one leafy canopy, quite content if only it has the water about its roots and a certain degree of heat. Away up there in Haïti, we find the ceiba, and down here in Trinidad it is equally at home. These conditions make the formation of a botanical garden, representing the world-growth of sunlit vegetation, peculiarly favourable. Trinidad is said to possess the most superb collection of tropical plants in existence; and though gathered from all lands, growing not as strangers or even stepchildren, but as rightful heirs to the immeasurable vital force which pours forth from a rich soil warmed by a blazing sun the year around. [Illustration: THE BARRACKS, THROUGH LIVE-OAKS AND MAHOGANY-TREES Trinidad] The garden once entered, we pass a great, squarely built mansion, the governor's residence, and are in the midst of a wonderful vegetation from the first step. At the very entrance, we are greeted with, perhaps, the most unique tree in these latitudes. After all, there is something stupefying in the effort to describe tropical wonders. When they are passing before one's eyes, each has a feature distinct to itself, which, in a way, is its own manner of description. Each has its peculiar wonder, its own glory,--no two alike--and yet, when one sits down to think it over, there is the same old alphabet from which to draw new pictures, new miracles; and how to make each different with the same letters is a question indeed. If I could only tell you the name of this particular tree which stands at the entrance to the garden, you might some day hunt it up yourself, but as I know neither its family nor home, we will let that all go, and just tell you how it is dressed. It is a heavily, glossily leafed, symmetrical, low tree, just about the size of those dear old cherry-trees we used to climb, oh, so long,--so long ago! From the tip of every branch there drops a cord-like fibre about a foot and a half long, and at the end of this little brown string there hangs a cluster of delicate pink flowers. These are suspended in almost exact length in rows from the lowest to the highest branch, and it really seems as if Nature were experimenting to see what wonderful living garlands she could create for a canopy above our heads. III. The character of the garden is defined at once upon entrance. It is a botanical garden, pure and simple, a place for strange plants from far away, a sort of orphan asylum for everybody's vegetable baby. It is not, like Martinique, an enchanted forest with cascades and glens fit for nymphs and dryads; it is matter-of-fact, orderly, prim, and businesslike. Aside from its unique trees, there is little to attract one, so we decide for once it would be wise to engage a guide who can tell us something about the inhabitants of the place, which otherwise promises to be rather dull. [Illustration: GOVERNOR'S PALACE AND PUBLIC GARDENS Port of Spain, Trinidad] So we hunt up a crooked, stump-legged Portuguese gardener, by name Manuel, who takes our heavy baskets, we following down a little glen which grows at once quite dark and sweet and silent. Through long, freshly cut bamboo poles, streams of water are being carried hither and thither to special spots in the garden, and we stop to watch the trickling, and dip our hands down into its pleasant coolness. Away up through the dark leafage, a mighty royal palm with stern aristocratic grace swings and rattles its great, dead, brown arms--the skeleton of its last year's growth--beneath the luxuriant crown of this year's green plumes. In the thicket, we find the nutmegs, hiding among the delicate foliage of a low-branching tree. Sister reaches among the leaves and pulls off some of the fragrant fruit, and gathers many from the ground. A sense of rare luxuriance comes over us. This gathering of the spices of life from the very ground upon which we tread is intoxicating, and we just begin to understand the causes back of those dark pages of West Indian history, when man first partook of this delirium. These large-leafed, upright little trees are the Madagascar coffee, and the smaller and more graceful ones, the Java coffee--how they take us back to those happy days and months among the coffee plantations, long ago!--and near by is the friendly banana, so common an object that we pass its torn, drooping leaves with scarcely a thought, but it is worth more than a passing glance, for there is no plant in all the tropics more useful than the banana. It has not only delicious fruit of many sizes and varieties, but it is also cooked as a vegetable, and forms one of the chief sources of the native diet. It is planted, on account of its heavy shade and quick growth, to shade the coffee, while trees of slower growth and more permanent shade are maturing, thus forming a necessary and temporary protection; it is also used for the same purpose among the cacao trees. It is a sort of foster-mother to the cacao, to care for the tender shrub until its real mother, "_La Madre del Cacao_," can assume permanent care of its charge. The banana takes so little vitality from the ground that, as protection to the coffee and cacao, it is indispensable. We had some very delicious, green-skinned bananas at several places, and found the small apple banana everywhere. Manuel leads us on, and stops under a spindling, tall tree, flowering with dainty, pink buds of a delicious odour, and there's one branch just low enough for Little Blue Ribbons to reach on tiptoe. Does it seem possible that the little brown cloves, rattling in my spice-box at home, could ever have been so fresh and soft and pink? Poor little mummies! And just see what we are coming to! Did you ever imagine there could be such shade? It's a tree from the Philippines. We stoop to get under the black leaves, and there the shade is absolutely impenetrable. What an adjustment of things there is in this grand old earth of ours! My thoughts fly back to our Northern woods. I see the sinuously graceful elms, with the sunlight streaming through their wide open branches upon an earth longing for warmth; and long shafts of white noonday shooting through the interstices of basswood, maple, and ash; the woods are not black and sunless; they are translucently green, quivering with light and needed warmth. But here, where the sun is a ball of redundant flame the year around, Nature bequeaths to her children a shaded forest, rigidly trunked, stolidly formed, thick-leafed, which no blazing sun can penetrate or sweeping hurricane desolate. IV. Quite as one strokes the head of a favourite animal, Manuel leads us to an insignificant-looking tree, takes a branch caressingly in his hand, brings out his clumsy knife, selects just the right spot, cuts off a bit, and hands us a piece of camphor wood. Into the dear St. Thomas basket it goes, with the leaves of coffee, the pink and white clove blossoms, and a long spray of _araucaria_ from the Norfolk Islands,--a strange company, indeed! Yonder long yellow avenues are cinnamon and spice groves with reddish-yellow bark, smooth as wax, casting slender shadows in the golden light. Here is the shaddock, entirely weaned from its Malayan home, and farther on a clump of low bushes, in among the nutmeg trees and coffee, with small satin-like leaf, brings us to the herb that "cheers but does not inebriate,"--the tea. Just see those glorious great lemons, glowing in the ever-splendid sunlight, which transmits to every living object a radiance, a dazzling brilliancy, in which life progresses and finally dissolves out of sheer exhaustion from the exuberance of vitality. Oh, to our starved eyes of the North; to our senses benumbed by dreary days of darkened sky, hearts chilled by bitterness of wind and gray, unyielding frost, this never-ending, unspeakable sunlight, filtering through the yellow vistas of clove and cinnamon, comes like the actual presence of Apollo, the Shining One! We may, in unguarded moments, in ungrateful moments, maybe, consider his embrace too positive, and we may raise the white umbrella, but we never quite lose our rejuvenated love for his golden glory. Manuel, but half-clad, looks as if he would dismember at any moment. His trousers are hitched by a couple of old leathers, and his shirt looks as if it wished it "didn't have to," and his old hat is only there on sufferance, and his shoes--old flippety-flops--have dragged their ill-shaped existence through many a weary mile. But Manuel doesn't care; he loves his garden, and the sunshine and the luscious fruit, all his children so well behaved and so obedient to his voice. He takes a bamboo pole and gives one of the big, juicy lemons a rap, and down it falls on Wee One's head with such a thump! Then Manuel is very sorry, and he apologises for his child's misdemeanour in his funny, mixed-up Portuguese-English-Spanish and the rest, and we understand and don't mind a bit; in fact, we wouldn't care if more would fall in the same way. Once upon a time, in the far-off golden days, when the Divine in Creation had not been quite forgot, there came to this shore a band of men,--not faultless, no, not faultless--but great men "for a' that," who, with glittering cross aloft, christened this fair land after the blessed Trinity. But this was not her first sacrament. Deep in the eternal silence of the forest, the dweller in the High Wood had sought expression of the divine through beauty, and chose a name from out the radiant wilderness which would tell for ever of its wonderment: "Iere," the land of the humming-bird, they called her--those dusky children of the High Wood--and to this day she clings lovingly to her maiden name. We look about us. Where are the birds once peopling these forests, like myriads of rainbows? Oh, sisters! members of Humane Societies! Hunt up your old bonnets and see the poor little stuffed carcasses ornamenting your cast-off finery! So Trinidad has been bereft of her wonderful birds, and now there is but a name, a sad-sounding, meaningless name--Iere--to tell of days which knew not the pride and cruelty of women. Think of it!--at one time, there averaged twenty thousand humming-birds a year exported from Trinidad to England alone! And now, well--there are none left to export. We must find new islands to denude, to ravage, to desolate, for our adornment. But it's too unpleasant,--this seeing things as they are; we'll hide the poor little innocent card which the black woman gave us at the hotel; we'll cover up the word "Iere" with these coffee leaves. There, now the spray of _araucaria_, now the stick of camphor, and I think the lemon will fit right in among the nutmegs. Come along, Manuel, we are ready; and we follow through the birdless paths, down where the _Nux Vomica_ grows, and the pepper, and the lime and the calabash, and the orange and breadfruit, and tamarind, and pineapple; and we go on and wake up the comical lizards who scurry away like brown flashes of whip-cord. What ridiculous creatures they are, and how desperately frightened! Why, surely they must be fifteen inches long, and fully four inches high, and what funny, nimble legs! They start off in the same spasm-like way as do the toy lizards we buy for the youngsters. Manuel brings us to the plant house where the great forest wonders of the Far East are babied and loved into strength, and I could not but think of Daudet's dear old _Tartarin of Tarascon_, dreaming by the homesick little baobab-tree, which grew in his window-garden; and of the long nights under the mellow moon of sunny France; and how he fought great beasts and achieved great fame in the land of sweet illusion. [Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE SAVANNAH Port of Spain, Trinidad Copyright. 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Dream on, Tartarin, wherever you may be! The time will come when it will all be true, and you, too, will rest under the yellow splendour of the golden trees; and the earth, the great Mother Earth, will open her heart to you and breathe upon you the spirit of limitless possibilities! Good-bye, Manuel! The basket is heavy to carry with its spoils of fruit and flowers; and we take "turn about" across the savannah. The races are on, and horses are dashing around the grassy turf, and the Trinidadians are yelling, the cricket games are going, and the picnic parties are gathering up their baskets for home; and the Hindoo girls clamour to carry our basket, and we gladly give over the load to a tough little head; and the merry-go-round wheezes out its squeaking tunes, and we pass through the black crowd, and narrowly escape taking a cab, for the way to the quay looks long, and we waver and weaken, and are just about to give in, when up comes a tinkling tram, and we jump in, with a penny to the Hindoo girl, and rumble away. The man with the two monkeys, and the man with the green and blue parrot, and the boy with the shells, are still waiting. Alackaday! Where is the woman with the baskets? CHAPTER II. ISLAND OF TRINIDAD. LA BREA I. We were led to believe, through various accounts from former travellers, that the excursion to the Pitch Lake would be attended with considerable discomfort and some hardships. After a run of about four hours from Port of Spain, Trinidad, we made La Brea at two o'clock in the afternoon of a blistering hot day. Fully one-third of the ship's company were frightened off, while the rest of us made ready for the much-anticipated expedition. It was a funny-looking company that stood at the gangway, waiting for the first boat ashore. Handkerchiefs took the place of collars and ties; coats and vests were, for the most part, discarded, and all endeavoured to make themselves as light in wearing apparel as possible. The Caribbean Sea, which had, until now, been ruffled only by the regular sweep of the "trades," was badly tossed by a strong wind, so that the embarkation in the ship's boat was to me unpleasantly exciting. The sea was running so high that, in order to reach the boat without being wet through, we had to gauge our time well and take the jump just as the boat was lifted to the top of the wave. As we started down the ship's ladder, with Little Blue Ribbons tightly holding Daddy's hand, Sister having gone before in the whale-boat with friends, the ship's mate begged us to leave the Wee One with him. He said the sea was too rough and the landing too difficult; and besides he would take such good care of her, and she should have ice cream, and be a little queen all day,--if she would only stay. So, with some tears, and disdain for ice-cream, Little Blue Ribbons remained on board; the only time in the journey thus far when she was not one of the party. Had it not been for the confident man, who likes the water, and the absurdity of the thing, I should have begged to be taken back to the ship. We were in the second boat. The captain had arranged to have the launch tow us ashore, but the launch--true to the traditions of "oil engines"--had no intention of towing us ashore; it puffed and popped and made a great fuss, but would not move an inch. The engineer lost his steerageway, and it seemed every moment as if the great, clumsy thing would crash into us; and there we lay, going up and down the side of the ship, rolling from side to side, and bobbing from bow to stern, in a very disagreeable situation for those who don't like that sort of thing. I know quite well that I was not the only one who would gladly have felt himself safe on the solid decks of our ship. For once, the incessant talking had ceased, and our boat-load of people sat there absolutely quiet, thinking very hard. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to make the launch behave, they gave up the attempt, manned our life-boat with six round-faced, lubberly, German "jackies," each with a big oar, and went off independently. I was heartily thankful not to have been assigned to the launch, for it could not compare in sea-going qualities with the boat in which we were placed. As I said, it was a long row to the landing, but we finally reached smooth water, and disembarked at the end of a long bridge-like pier; not, however, without some difficulty. We were still some distance from shore, which was reached by means of a narrow board walk, carried along one side of the pier, and bridging over the shoal water. At the quay, a big "down-east" schooner (thank Heaven, there are a few American merchant vessels left!), two barks, and one full-rigged ship, were being loaded with pitch, by means of great steel buckets, travelling on an endless wire cable, which went from the end of the pier, up an incline, to the works on the hill, near to the great deposit of pitch beyond. [Illustration: THE BEACH OF LA BREA Trinidad] This ship at the pier was the first full-rigged merchant ship we had seen during the cruise--most merchantmen seeming now to be rigged as barks or barkentines--and was, even in spite of its black cargo, a beautiful sight. There is something in the look of a ship--its mass of rigging, its straight yard-arms, well set up, its black, drooping sails, half-furled, its inexplicable riddle of shrouds and stays and braces and halliards and sheets--that always stirs my soul mysteriously. Black as this vessel was, prosaic as was her cargo, unsightly the hands that loaded her, she was a picture. By right, she should have carried teas, and spices, and silks, and jewels; but she was worthy of admiration despite her humble calling. Once on land, we realised, looking up the long, black hill ahead of us, and feeling the heat from a blazing sun directly overhead, that the walk would be a hard one, and that we must go slowly, in order to make it with any degree of comfort; but walk we must, or stay on the beach. The pitch was in evidence immediately. Reefs of hard asphalt ran through the sandy beach into the sea. The hill was covered with asphalt, and down near the shore it lay in great wrinkles, where, when the road was being made, it had overflowed and taken to the hedgeway. It was apparent under the grass and weeds, around the roots of trees, and in the banana groves; in fact, there was pitch everywhere, black, oozing, and dull. II. Up the hill laboured the little procession of red-faced adventurers, in all conditions of negligée. The large lady from Kansas puffed and sweated and mopped her face; the doctor vowed we would die of sunstroke; the mother and her daughter, from Boston, made the ascent as their ancestors had stormed Bunker Hill, with features rigid and teeth set; our neighbour at table, who had been thrice around the world, wondered what on earth we would think of Manila in the summer-time if we called this hot; our jolly, delightful friend from New Haven laughed us all the way up the hill, and said he was suffering with the cold; the German baron, under his green umbrella, passed us with the superb stride acquired from his sturdy ancestors and his military training; down the hill back of us straggled on the rest of the company: the little women, the tall women, the lean ones, the fat ones, urged and supported by long-suffering husbands and brothers and friends who mopped and fanned furiously. There were hats of all descriptions: white East Indian helmets built of pith and lined with green, deliciously light, cool things; and all conceivable shapes of Puerto Rican hats, of a pretty, fine white palm "straw," very much like the Panama; and hats from Haïti; and French hats from Martinique; and then there were Puerto Rican sailor hats, one of which I wore with great pride. Our shoes were the heaviest we had, and our clothing the oldest and lightest available. Thus all marched on in broken file, with very hot faces, and shaded by all manner of outlandish umbrellas, over the hot asphalt to the Pitch Lake. As our little party plodded along, going so slowly it hardly seemed as if we were making any progress at all, my courage began to wane somewhat, for I remembered most vividly a similar day on the island of Capri, when I had been overcome by the sun, and in consequence of which had suffered many months after. With this in my mind, we stopped at a shanty half-way up the hill, where we saw some bananas growing, tore off part of a leaf, and asked for some water of a negress, who was one of many watching the procession with great amusement. In fairly good English she told me not to wet the head; in fact, by her vociferous rejection of our plan, we were led to believe that it would be dangerous to carry it out at all, so we threw away the leaf, and worked on up the blistering highway to the top of the hill. There was not a bit of shade in sight. To right and left, rank weeds and cacti grew in wild confusion, and with the exception of a few banana groves, and the huts of negro labourers farther down, there was nothing of a shade-producing nature along the road. The asphalt was so hot to the feet that we broke company, and took to single file in among the weeds on the edge of the road. As we approached the summit of the hill, a fine breeze gave us new courage, and the sight of the Pitch Works, not far distant, dissolved our fears of the heat into most absorbing interest of the great phenomenon coming into view. An endless train of buckets, which led the way up the long ascent, on a wire rope supported at short intervals by large sheaves on iron pillars, went squeaking along, one row down to the dock, full of great chunks of pitch, and the other back, empty, to be filled and started on its round again. III. I looked ahead as far as I could, and located our fellow voyagers, now here, now there,--white dots on the strangest landscape I had ever seen. I sat down on a barrel of pitch under the welcome shade of a rough shed in the power-house, and had my first glimpse of the great lake. Why it has been called a "lake," I fail to discover; it was probably named thus by the English. In that case, the matter is explained; it is called a lake because it is not a lake at all. The Englishman never seems to understand that the object to be named ought to bear some slight relation to its appellative. He decides upon a name, and the unfortunate victim has to fit himself, herself, itself, into its new form as best he can. If this curious deposit had been called the "Pitch Bed," there might have been some reason in the naming; some, possibly not all, but some of the existing physical conditions would have been suggested to the mind, and the traveller might thus have been able to form an approximate idea of the phenomenon before seeing it. Instead of a lake, you see a vast, flat, fairly smooth, black surface of pitch, with only here and there small pools of water,--in places, yellowish; in places, clear,--intersecting the black surface in all directions. Sometimes they enlarge, and, uniting, cover the surface quite a distance, and in the centre several feet deep; and again the intersecting, stream-like pools shrink to mere threads, but, as I said, the general aspect of the Pitch Lake is a flat, solid, black surface, covered occasionally with water, the water being only in the crevices between great masses of pitch that have pushed up from beneath. [Illustration: ASPHALT FOR NORTHERN PAVEMENTS Pitch Lake, Trinidad] We were as yet unconvinced of its carrying qualities, and, not wishing to run the risk of getting stuck in the pitch, we waited the approach of one of the trains of little cable-cars, running from the works out on to the lake, which we could see coming toward us. The brakeman is good enough to stop, and we pile into the ridiculous little steel cars and hang on as best we can, while we are sent flying down over a narrow-gauge track, laid on top of the pitch, to the place where most of the digging is going on. Here a great crew of black men--black as the pitch in which they stand--with bare feet, all with picks, dig out the wonderful formation, which breaks off in great brittle pieces. Seeing these men so fearlessly defying the forces of nature, we gained confidence, and stepped out of the buckets on to the surface of the so-called "lake;" and although our feet would sink in a half-inch or so when we stood still, we found that we could walk everywhere with perfect safety, with the exception of a few places where the surface seemed to be in big bubbles and disposed to crack and break away under us. It was remarkable to me that the pitch is both viscous and brittle at the same time. When standing still, the water--thick and yellow, with a sulphurous odour--would ooze up about the feet and form new rivulets, which, uniting, would trickle into some near-by pool. There were innumerable small, crater-like openings, some like air-bubbles in the sea beach, others, deep, black holes, two and three feet in diameter, but no appearance of heat or fire. All over the lake, small springs of yellowish fluid were constantly bubbling up into the pools. The supply of pitch is apparently inexhaustible, for, after a great trench has been dug out along these temporary tracks, some four feet deep, and many rods wide, by the next day the hole will again be so far filled that the mining goes on as before. The manager told us that it had not been found necessary to change the tram tracks for two years, that the level of the pitch fell only seven inches last year, after immense amounts had been removed for shipment. The depth of this deposit is not known. It has been sounded a number of times, but it seems to be impossible to find the bottom. I do not know the exact dimensions of the lake, but, making a rough estimate, should say that it is half a mile wide, and about a mile long; its extent is said to be about one hundred and ten acres. The great asphalt deposit in Venezuela, which has been the cause of so much recent trouble,--through, I am sorry to say, the quarrels of two American companies,--is thought by some to be shallower than the one of La Brea, although it is apparently much larger, being in the neighbourhood of ten miles in circumference. This Trinidad pitch is also worked by an American company, under concession from the British Colonial Government. IV. It seemed to me that I had never before seen such black pitch or blacker "niggers." They were a good-humoured lot of men, making no complaint of the heat, although they worked untiringly, bare-footed, in the hot, oozing pitch. We stopped one fellow, about as black and tattered a figurehead as we could find, and told him we wanted his picture. He was perfectly delighted, and struck a very fetching attitude. After the button had been pressed, we gave him a bit of silver, and then came a howl from a dozen others for a similar opportunity, all posing for us as fancy struck them. Seeing that we were obdurate, the fortunate holder of the silver doubled up with a tremendous laugh, and I can yet see before me his two rows of glistening white teeth and his wreck of a hat and his rag of a shirt, and his bepatched breeches. His laugh so exasperated the others, that one, an elderly gentleman who wore grand side whiskers, shouted out in tones of deepest sarcasm: "Guess I'd git my picture took, too, Sam, if I was such a orangoutang as you is!" It seemed as though they would come to blows, but, had I known the good-humoured blacks better, I should have had no fear, for their battles, fierce as they seem, are only words, and usually end in a laugh. There are two kinds of pitch: one, pure pitch, dead black, was loaded in the small cars, and the other, of a light brown colour, was carried off in dump-carts, drawn by mules. This black pitch forms the basis of all our asphalt pavements, and such a deposit must be worth millions to the _concessionaires_. Now, when did this mighty process begin, and what internal force is at work producing this continual outpouring upon the earth's surface? [Illustration: LOADING CARS Pitch Lake, Trinidad] At the farther end of the lake, women and young girls were busy gathering pieces of wood which were thrown up out of the pitch. I do not claim to understand this marvellous phenomenon. I would rather put the question to those of you who have access to the wisdom of libraries, and give you the privilege of bringing some light upon these strange manifestations of God's unknowable. As I understand it, pitch is obtained from tar, boiled down, and tar is a black, viscous liquid obtained by the distillation of wood and coal, so this residuum which we see is the third step in one of Nature's great caldrons; a process millions of years in forming, a process still in operation. Is this wood which is continually coming to the surface of the lake an unused part of that vast primeval forest which was when time did not exist; when chaos was revolving into form? How long has it been wandering, and what force is it which sends it thus unharmed, save for the loss of bark, out again into the light? Some very strange implements and tools, recognised as South American workmanship of a remote day, have come to the surface of this lake, and one theory for their appearance is, that they have been drawn under the Gulf of Paria, and up through the lake of La Brea by some unseen, but mighty power from the lake of pitch in Venezuela, of which this is supposed by some to be the outlet. The wood, gathered by the women, is not petrified, but merely impregnated with the pitch, and has all its original qualities as when it first left the parent stem, with, however, the additional affinity for fire which its pitchy bath would naturally give. We were much entertained by the women and children, who stood knee-deep in the fresh pools at the further end of the lake, doing the washing. The clothes were laid out on the pitch to dry, and the naked babies rolled around on the black stuff quite as much at home as our babies are on the clean nursery floor. The women had on but very little clothing, or none,--and some of the girls and boys, fourteen and fifteen years of age, were entirely nude. One young girl, as we approached, modestly hung a little fluttering rag about her loins, and, thus clothed, was not ashamed. [Illustration: A NATIVE WASHERWOMAN ON THE PITCH LAKE Trinidad] I have seen more immodesty on the floor of a modern ballroom than ever from the bare bodies of these black women. But terrible as the stories are which one hears of the immorality of the West Indies, I feel that here the evil is less heinous in the coloured races on account of the primitive nature and conditions of a half-savage people. Unfortunately this great and degenerating danger to the white inhabitants is ever present. The pitch lake foreshadows the terrible conditions of the people in Trinidad and Jamaica; the continual welling up of this black mass suggests the doom which awaits these beautiful islands, unless a giant hand is put forth to save them. The difficulties of this excursion have been much exaggerated. To be sure, we had a long walk, but we also had a good breeze most of the way, and our fellow traveller who, in spite of all warnings, had worn his immaculate white suit, came off without spot or blemish, notwithstanding the old proverb about "keeping away from the pitch." V. Hot and tired, I left the party, who wished to make the entire circuit, and took my way over the yielding pitch, over the sulphurous yellow puddles, until I finally came to the grateful shade of the power-house. A rickety old carryall looked very inviting, and in no time I had ensconced myself therein, and leaned back in full anticipatory enjoyment of a restful quarter of an hour. As I sat there, looking out over the distant sea,--for I was on the brow of a hill,--gradually the unsightly power-house, the pitch cars, the little huts where bananas were sold, the native shanties, the long, narrow bridge, even the rim of the canopy above my head, seemed to fade away into nothing. The ships at anchor had slipped their cables and were gone; the iron pier, with its busy life, had disappeared; all had changed, vanished. It was silent, ghostly. Then, out of nothing, out of dimness, there came a moving, a forming, a changing, and I became conscious that I was no longer alone, but that a company, great and illustrious, was assembling by ship-loads upon the beach of La Brea; and that, without word or confusion, five ancient, lofty-sterned, lumbering craft, and a quaint little caravel, lay bow-on to the strand, while one was already being careened on her side in the shoal water of the beach by cumbersome tackle fast to her thick mastheads. Their huge, clumsy hulks were gray with time; their gaping seams told of hot, blistering suns, and upon their decks there lay an array of guns and armament, crudely ancient and unwieldy. Silent men were noiselessly moving about at the command of one most beautiful to behold, in scarlet cloak, and silken hose and doublet of rare elegance, with hat beplumed, and glittering sword, who walked amongst the company as a king. To and from the ship there moved a ghostly procession of grimy sailors, carrying pitch to the beach, where fires were burning, and the venerable three-deckers were being daubed with the smoking fluid, and made ready for the high seas. It was a merry company, in truth, of lords and gentlemen, and scholars, too, who came upon my vision, and wonderingly my eyes followed the gallant leader. It seemed to me that I could all but catch his words. He spoke with a poet's grace, so full of charm and so deliberate, so courtly was his address. His face once turned, I knew him to be English. His fair skin was burned by deep-sea voyaging; his pointed beard just touched the lace of a deep, white ruff, and over his shoulder hung a plume, white and curling. In all my life, I had never seen so gay a gentleman, and I could not get my fill of looking and of wondering. Could it be that this great company were the revivified followers of the dauntless Sir Walter Raleigh, searching, centuries ago, for _El Dorado_? And it came to me, in that curious mixing of past and present, of which dreams are made, "Does Sir Walter, with all his wisdom, suspect that here, where he pitches his ships, is to be the great gold mine--some later man's _El Dorado_--while he eagerly sails away in futile quest of golden sands that are always just beyond his reach?" I lifted myself to strain my farthest sight, when lo! all was gone; galleons, gentlemen, scholars, sailors, even the little caravel--all! The sun was beating down upon the black road, the air was blistering; negroes were weighing the buckets of pitch, and the machinery clanked, with deafening indifference, through the quivering air; and up from behind a clump of bushes a red bow, atop of a well-known white hat, chased away the phantoms of long ago. I took off my dark glasses, rubbed my eyes, and, half-dazed, stepped from my enchanted carryall. CHAPTER III. THE SPANISH MAIN I. Steaming out of the Gulf of Paria the day before, away from the muddy water of the Orinoco, we had come again through the Dragon's Mouth, close to that long, eastward-pointing finger of South America that forms one side of this famous gateway, back into the welcome Caribbean Sea. Thence through the night we skirted the South American coast, passing the celebrated pearl-fishing island of Margarita--"The Pearl"--where it was said that a German gunboat with covetous eye had these many months been making careful surveys and taking elaborate soundings--so forehanded, you know! And now we were at anchor in the roadstead of La Guayra, the seaport of Caracas. [Illustration: WHERE THE MOUNTAINS MEET THE SEA La Guayra, Venezuela] Leaning over the rail of the white ship, early in the dawning of that day, it came to me over and over again that we were at last in the presence of the great West Indian Mother, and that her face was in truth an exact realisation of our imaginings. A strong breeze blew the waves fast and loose, one upon another, to the near-lying shore, where a white line of surf circled about a rounding promontory, and lost itself on the other side of the cliff. Up and beyond, rose the mountains, and some one said: "The Andes!" and we looked again, and longer, and said to ourselves--"The Andes,--South America, we are looking upon them with actual eyes!" Up, and still up, rose the mountains; great, tender lines of undulating softness, all green and blue and gentle and grand, one sweep upon another of matchless warm tints; one sweep upon another of voluptuous curves in billowy green, and dropping in and about the contour of the great continent's majestic form, far disappearing valleys swept into the dimness of soft, shadowy depths. Like a great mother, asleep, spread with a coverlet of the changing tints of malachite and beryl, South America lay before us. Clambering up her skirts were the little white roofs of La Guayra, spots on her verdant garment,--irregular spots here, there, and everywhere; now in patches, comfortably huddling together at her feet; now stray offshoots away beyond. All very square and very Spanish were these houses, very quaint to look upon; and if this is La Guayra, where is Caracas? Must we, too, clamber and climb away into those mountain heights, and, perchance, awaken the Great Mother, who sleeps so gently under the drowsy lullings of the deep sea? II. Things are moving on the shore, and in the distance dots like men and women stir about the tiny houses, and a toy train toots, and toy engines rattle, and toy cars seem filling with toy people; and we think it time to go ashore and see if we can find a seat in one of those cars; so we run up forward, where our impatient fellow voyagers have been hurrying into the launch this long time. It has just puffed away, and we are really glad. There is something very like the "stray sheep" in our make-up. It is Americanism boiled down,--this love of going alone, and being self-reliant. A beamy shore-boat is engaged at one _bolivar_ apiece (negotiations having been started on a basis of five _bolivars_ apiece, charged by the boatmen), and we have plenty of room for all, even the Doctor, who is going with us (for he was just too late for the launch--perhaps, with malice aforethought); and so we row to the stone steps of the quay of La Guayra, the port of Caracas, our first landing on the "Spanish Main." We have left the land of what we supposed to be our mother tongue, and are come to a country where we can really be understood, or misunderstood, according to our abilities to express ourselves, in a language more constant than English. I take a mental stock, and find four Spanish phrases which did not fail me in Santo Domingo, and shall not fail me here. Besides I have been practising them since then! With these I can fare sumptuously: _¿Cuanto cuesta?_ (How much does it cost?) _¿Qué hora es?_ (What o'clock is it?) _¡Mucho bonito!_ (Very beautiful!) _Yo no entiendo._ (I do not understand.) This, with a few nouns sprinkled in, was my vocabulary; but I had no fears,--had we not our own interpreter? And the big, strong oars brought us to the landing. Then we girls, in charge of the Doctor, were stood up in the shade of a warehouse, where we watched the white uniformed South Americans, struggling with our obdurate men for their landing charges--for here they charge for the right to land. Then the men disappeared with the bags, and we waited what seemed to us a very long time, until, with one consent, we just thought we wouldn't stay put another minute; so the Doctor takes the lead with his big white Indian helmet jammed over his eyes, and Little Blue Ribbons and Sister raise a fine cloud of dust, running on ahead. But we older ones know what it means to be in La Guayra, so we follow on very leisurely. On the way, we meet an excited messenger already sent to hurry us to the train. La Guayra is said to be the hottest place about the West Indies, and I could well imagine how the Great Mother would have to fan her little white children, when they once really felt the breath of the unconscionable sun; but, as we walked along, even though the sun had climbed a few steady hours, we found it far from uncomfortable, even carrying our heavy satchels, and the white umbrella, besides. Along a dusty and sun-stricken water-front, disfigured with railroad tracks, and low warehouses, we came to the station, where the men, triumphant, were impatiently waiting, after sending out their belated relief expedition. Tickets had been bought, gold pieces divided up into fascinating silver pieces, called _bolivars_ (in honour of the great South American liberator--accent on the second syllable, if you please), and all in our lord and master's own Spanish, of which we were justly proud; and then we find places in the train, and in a few moments after our arrival we jerk out among the white houses. It was a clever bit of forethought--that move of ours to hunt up the men. Had we not done so, we could never have caught the early morning train, for the messenger was slow, and we would have become merely a part of the hot and dependent crowd on the later "special." It's better sometimes _not_ to stay where you're put. We move along at a good pace among the gardens of La Guayra,--rather sparse gardens they are,--and then we climb to the balconies, and then a turn and we are hiding about the Great Mother's green petticoats; and anon we pass up to the roofs of La Guayra,--which reach out like a white sombrero over the little people below. Then the pull begins. Two powerful, stocky, low-built, narrow-gauge mountain engines haul us along with apparently no effort, up into the mountains, up a grade which seems to grow steeper every minute. Our men say that the average grade is over four per cent. I can't see how it is that men know all these things about grades and percentages. It seems like such a lot of plunder to lie around in the brain. But--about such trifles--men must know and women must ask, and that's all there is to it. It is a continuous twisting and turning and winding, seldom on a level stretch; it's up, up away from the sea from the very start. Now, we are far above the tree-tops of the town, and our white ship out in the harbour lies motionless, and seems far away. We wonder at the courage of the people who would dare so great a feat of road-building, and grow doubly curious to see the city, hidden beyond in the clouds of the mountain. III. La Guayra lies just above sea-level. In two hours, we must climb over the Great Mother's back, going thirty odd miles to reach Caracas, which lies at an elevation over three thousand feet in a valley, only six miles in an air line from La Guayra. Up, up into the thin vapours, into regions of other trees still higher, whose tops again we pass amongst. The sun is hazy through a translucent veil of mist, and far away, the white horses of the sea dance up against the shore and out of sight, and the white sombrero drops beneath an emerald cloak, and everything but the sky is shut out. We jump first to one side of the car and then to the other, for the sea-view and for the mountains. We are whirled around quick curves, and all but lose our feet; and some of us--even men--get dizzy looking at the drop below us; and then we cut through the mountain and hurry on up the steep climb until the plucky little engine decides to stop, and we are told that we have reached the summit; and we hurry from the cars and feel the sweet coolness of the mountains, and the actual presence of the Great Mother. We stand close together on the brink of a chasm and look tremulously into the depths of her great heart; down, down, a thousand feet and more of living, breathing green, into every hue of purple and blue, deepening into black near the far-off valley, and disappearing into azure among the clouds,--silence, shadow, tenderness, sublimity, overspread by the ineffable loveliness of morning. We are moving again, and now it is down, gradually, for Caracas lies a thousand feet below the summit. We follow along a white highroad, the mountain trail from Caracas to the sea. Now we are on its level; now we leave it. Long trains of pack-mules make a cloud of gray dust against the green, and here and there a red blanket thrown across a burro's back brings a delicious bit of life and colour into the passing scene. [Illustration: CARACAS AND THE MOUNTAINS Venezuela] Now we seem to be on the level, and scurry along at a great rate; and soon there spring up out of the brown earth _adobe_ houses (the first we have seen since we were in Mexico), and here are more and yet more, and there, ah! that must be Caracas, the great Venezuelan capital, the habitation of over one hundred and fifty thousand people! But, shall we say it? Must we be honest at the expense of all else? The approach to Caracas is a disappointment. There is scarcely any kind of a habitation which gives a landscape quite such a distressful look as the _adobe_ hut. Built of sun-dried mud blocks, it gives off an atmosphere of dust with every whiff of wind. It comes to our mind always with the thought of dry barrenness, heat, sun, dust, shadeless fields of maguey, prickly _nopals_, broad sombreros, and leather-clothed _rancheros_. And to see the suburbs of a great city, the outlying habitations, in gray, crumbling _adobe_, makes an unpleasant impression, in spite of the fact that, from the distance, we catch a quick glimpse of a peaceful campanile and high, imposing roofs a bit beyond. There's only time for a suggestion, but that suggestion biassed all our later impressions. We steam into the station and begin to pick up our traps and make for the carriages. IV. As we said before, the spirit of independence gained supremacy, when we were once fairly upon the Spanish Main. Out of many, a few of us escaped the tourist agent. A courier had been sent from New York, and at every port we had the privilege of availing ourselves of his guides, carriages, meal tickets, _et cetera_, if we wished to do so; and for some it was certainly a great advantage, for, unless one knows some French and Spanish, one is at the mercy of every shark that swims, and these waters are full of them, as are all others for that matter. We found the prices very high everywhere, with few exceptions; equally high for poor accommodations as for the better, the reasons whereof, for the present, must be left unexplained. Suffice it to say, that the American is his own worst enemy. Nine-tenths of our party thought it would be unwise to go through South America from La Guayra to Puerto Cabello on their own responsibility; so our little group were the only ones to experience the joy and excitement of an independent tour through a strange country, where English--good, honest, live English--is a rare commodity. The Doctor, and Mr. and Mrs. M---- from Boston, and Daddy were keen for the experience. I was afraid we might be left away down in South America, with no train to carry us on from Caracas, for "the personally conducted" were to have a "special," but my fears were finally allayed by constant assurances of safety; so independence carried the day. Once inside the Caracas station, Daddy disappears, and, after a bit, we see him beckoning to us from in among a crowd of vehicles, all very comfortable and well-appointed, and we sidle along among the noisy South American cabbies, and jump into the selected carriage. Now, what was said to the cabby, I'll never know; but we were no sooner in that carriage than the horses started on a dead run, rattlety-bang, whackety-whack, jigglety-jagglety, over stones and ruts, through the city of Caracas. Up the hill we tore, and all I could see from under the low, buggy-like canopy was the bottom of things sailing by in a cloud of dust. Every now and then we struck a street-car track on the wrong angle, and off we would slew, still on the run, with one wheel in the track and the other anywhere but in the right place, for half a block or so, and then no sooner well under way again, than we would all but smash to pieces some peaceful cab, jogging toward us from the opposite direction. A train of donkeys, coming from the market, on the way home to the mountains with empty baskets, narrowly escapes sudden death at our furious onslaught; and I can yet hear their little feet pattering off and the tinkle of the leader's bell, as his picturesque little nose just misses our big clumsy wheel. In a jumble we see the small feet of the passers-by, and so we jerk along until all at once we stop with a bump at the _Gran Hotel de Caracas_. There we wait in the garden while our recklessly independent men seek lodgings. None to be had! Off we gallop toward another inn, catch glimpses of a square, stop again, wait in the carriage, and find the standing still very delightful. In a few minutes, our bold leaders return with the look we know so well,--jubilant and hopeful. Beautiful rooms, fine air, clean beds, sumptuous parlours, and all that,--you know how it reads. We enter the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_. V. May I be forgiven if I leave the path of calm discretion for once, or how would it do to leave out the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_ altogether, and turn the page to where the mountains begin? But, you see, if we leave out the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_, we should have to leave out Caracas, and that would never do at all. There was one member of our party who never sat down to a meal that he did not declare it was the finest he had ever eaten in his life. This faculty of taking things as they come, conforming gracefully to the customs of a country, is, perhaps,--next to unselfishness,--the most enviable trait in the traveller. Well might it be applied, as we begin the search for our rooms in the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_. We climb a wide, winding, dirty stairway, pass through the sumptuously dusty parlour, up another flight of the same kind, only narrower and dustier and darker. An English housekeeper leads the way, and some one exclaims (Oh, the blessed charity of that soul!): "How pleasant to find a neat English woman in charge of the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_!" It has never been clear to me just what state of mind could have inspired that remark; whether it was a momentary blindness, occasioned by the mad drive, or a kind of temporary delirium, from the sudden consciousness of power over perplexing foreign relations; or whether it was merely the natural outburst of an angelic disposition, I could never quite make out. But those are the identical words he used: "How pleasant to find a neat English woman at the head of affairs in the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_." The "neat English woman" had dull, reddish, grayish hair, stringing in thin, stray locks from a lopsided, dusty knot on the top of her head. She had freckles, and teeth that clicked when she smiled. A time-bedraggled calico gown swung around her lean bones, and at her side she carried a bunch of keys, one of which she slipped up to the top into a wobblety door, and ushered us into our "apartments." The "neat English housekeeper" fitted into that room to a dot. It was gray, and red, and wobblety, and she was gray, and red, and wobblety. If it hadn't been for the everything outside, away beyond the balcony (for, thank Heaven, no Spanish house is complete without one!), no amount of philosophy could have atoned for that room. It was simply white with the accumulated dust of no one knew how long. Our shoes made tracks on the floor, and our satchels made clean spots on the bureau. Two slab-sided, lumpy beds suggested troubled dreams. Two thin, threadbare little towels lay on the rickety, dusty wash-stand, and an old cracked pitcher held the stuff we must call water. A thin partition of matched boards dividing ours from the next "apartments," rattled as we deposited our things in various places which looked a little cleaner than the places which were not so clean. Had it not been for the balcony, we could never have endured it; though we had put up in queer places before. We had not even the satisfaction of leaning on the balcony rail; it was too dusty. But we could stand, and we did stand, looking out over and beyond the picturesque buildings, to the everlasting hills, to the Andes, their lofty summits encircling us like an emerald girdle, with calm La Silla thousands of feet above all. Below us lay the city and the Square of Bolivar, with the bronze statue of the great Liberator in the centre, in the midst of a phalanx of palms, rising above the dust and the glaring white walk. VI. To the left, the Cathedral, one compensation at least for all the rest. What combination of characteristics is it that makes the Spaniard such a marvellous builder, and, at the same time, such a wretched maintainer? He builds a Cathedral to be a joy for all time; its lines fall into beauty as naturally as the bird's flight toward its nest. Whatever he builds, he builds for posterity; simply, beautifully, gracefully. Even his straight rows of hemmed-in city houses have a touch of beauty about them somewhere; and in the Cathedral, his true artistic sense finds full expression. Close at hand the noble Campanile, swung with ancient bells, watches in serene dignity and beauty the moving, streaming life below. Sweet lines, harmonious to the eye, lift the Cathedral from the hideous dirt and unkempt streets; from the whirling dust and circling buzzards, to a sphere of forgetfulness, where beauty struggles for the supremacy she holds with royal hand so long as we continue to gaze upward. [Illustration: EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF BOLIVAR, THE LIBERATOR Caracas, Venezuela] But once let our eyes leave the mountains and the Tower, and it all changes into that other picture, the other side of the life of that curious compound of traits, the Spaniard. For here, South American as he calls himself, down deep in his heart he is ever the Spaniard, and although he has claimed his independence of the mother country these many years, through the heroic victories of Bolivar and his brave associates, his characteristics are Spanish, his arts are Spanish, his life is Spanish; his glorious Cathedral is Spanish, and his horrible streets are Spanish; his magnificent statue of Bolivar is Spanish, and the dowdy, dusty garden about it is Spanish. Was he ever intended to be a householder? Should not his portion be to beautify the earth by his artistic intuition, and let the rest of us, who do not comprehend the A B C of his art, be the cleaners and the menders? Is not this a people left like children to build up the semblance of a government from the wrong stuff? Will not the world in time come to see that one race cannot be all things; that some must be artists, and some mechanics; that some must be leaders, and others followers; that some will be the builders of beauty, to last for all time, and others must be the guardians of health, the makers of strong, clean men? VII. Why is it that the President's house,--the great yellow house across the square, shown us by the Minister of War himself to-day,--one of the homes of Cipriano Castro, the present Dictator, is nothing more or less than an arsenal, packed to the full with cartridges, muskets, and rapid-firing guns, and alive with armed troops? How is it that Castro is said to have laid by a million dollars out of a twelve thousand dollars a year salary? Why is it that our going into Venezuela was considered by some unsafe? Why did we shake every bone in our bodies over the upturned streets and boulders of Caracas? Because the Venezuelan is trying to do that for which he is not fitted; in which, during all these long years of constant revolution, he has failed. He, past-master in certain of his arts, has taught the world his colours and his lights and shades; he has given to earth notable tokens of his skill in building; but in house-cleaning--municipal or national--he is out of his element, and should no more be expected to excel in that line than a babe in arms should be expected to know the Greek grammar. Like all Spaniards he is mediæval in his instincts; he cannot really govern himself as part of a republic. The city of Caracas exemplifies this statement. It is in a horrible state of dirt and disproportion. Its people are kind and courteous, but its streets are a nightmare; and over all hovers the strong hand of military despotism. VIII. After dinner our first expedition was to call upon the United States Minister L---- and his wife, who were occupying the former residence of Count De Toro, some miles out of the city. And what a drive! To move comfortably in Caracas, you must either take the donkey tramway--which never goes where you want to go--or you must walk. But to walk a half-dozen miles in the hot sun, on a dusty, stony road, is not particularly inviting, so, with our respects to the sun, we decide to drive, and all the way out we wonder why we ever did. And yet, had we walked, I suppose we would have wondered why we hadn't taken a cab. As it was, the dust blew about us from the rolling, bumping wheels in great clouds, and the big stones in the road sent us careening about from one side of the carriage to the other. Again we think of Mexico--of the dust, the parched earth, the _arroyos_, and the saving mountains beyond. We pass a dried-up river-bed, where women are washing in a faint trickle of water, and then we wind about the hill and climb up the rocky way, enter a sort of wood, and come suddenly to the minister's house. [Illustration: AN INTERIOR COURT Caracas, Venezuela] Our nation's arms on the gateway make us feel at home, and we jingle the bell and send in our cards and wait in the shady court. In a few moments, Minister L---- appears, and with him Mrs. L----, who bids us enter her cool, delicious drawing-room, very clean and sweet and old-fashioned and quiet, though the house is truly Spanish, with wide, airy rooms and curious pictured walls. The men went off up a flight of stone steps through the garden to the office, to talk politics and the "Venezuelan situation," I suppose; while we sat there with the minister's wife, who told us much of her life and the customs of the country, and, among other things, how difficult it is for a foreigner--even a diplomat--to gain access to the real home-life of the Spaniard; how the women live shut in, and see but little of the world, only glimpses now and then, never knowing anything of our Northern freedom. IX. The drive back to the city was one continuous round of jolt and bump and dust. We rattled down and up the streets which, despite their narrowness and general dilapidation, could not be utterly devoid of interest, if viewed from the eyes of the lover of wrought-iron handiwork and graceful handlings of simple and strong elements in building. We were told that it was our duty to view the Municipal Palace, and dear Sister, although I knew she was tired, did not want anything seeable omitted; so we most willingly left the cabs at the palace door, with the hope of never having the agony of that ride repeated. As the Spaniard builds his cathedral, so does he impart to each important structure a fitting grace and dignity of style commensurate with its office. The Municipal Palace is built about a great hollow square or plaza, which is filled with palms and other similarly beautiful vegetation. But, oh, dear! oh, dear! the dust! The great reception-hall, or audience-chamber,--or whatever one might call it,--was lined with stately gilt chairs and sofas, done up in linen dusters. The effort of driving and seeing and jolting and being agreeable had been such a strain that I just thumped down on one of the wide sofas and spent my time looking about me, while the others conscientiously made the _grande tour_ from one end of the great room to the other. It is a large oval hall ornamented with some very fine historical paintings. The Spanish Student had found an obliging officer--for soldiers are everywhere--and I quietly left the two alone. I thought it too cruel, after our long drive, to expect him to retranslate for my benefit, but then there came a faint suspicion in my mind, from a troubled expression on his face, when the guide launched into the deep waters of Venezuelan history, with Bolivar rampant and the Spaniards fleeing, that, possibly, it was not all clear sailing; that, possibly, this was just the occasion for the last of my phrases. No, I watch the face; it resumes once more its usual expression of serenity, and I sit there and think how beautiful it might all be if it were only clean; if Bolivar could only come back again and teach his children their unlearned lesson of disinterested self-love of country and home. Bolivar appears to have been the only liberator (and each new "President" who throws out the defeated party and instates himself is called "liberator") who ever died poor, having spent not only public funds for the betterment of arts and science and education, but nine-tenths of his own personal patrimony as well. The guide closes the blinds, and our party comes together at the door, leaving nice little clean spots where they have stood in groups on the dusty, once highly polished floor, and we turn down the long, wide balcony to an open door at the end. A brilliantly uniformed, handsome lad bars admission, for Castro the Great is holding a cabinet meeting there, and we can see the collar of a black alpaca coat and the back of a very solemn-looking chair, and hear a low voice speaking,--and that was all we saw of Castro. Some one proposes a drive; some one else suggests the shops, but we decide to go home. That dear old word sounds lonesome away down here in South America. Does it mean the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_? Was this the home; or was it the wide, out-reaching mountains, fading into the deeps of night; or the Cathedral, rising from the dread below in her sweet chastity? X. Tired bells jangle out the slowly passing time. An ancient carillon sounds the quarter, an added clang the half, one note more for three quarters. The long black arms reach to the hour, then another and another passes, and night brings rest to the Great Mother. But the soft gentle eyes are no sooner closed than all the children, the white children at her feet, begin to stir and move, just as yours and mine do when mother sleeps. The old church towers, with sweet grace, wrap about her stately form a mantle of whitest silver, bordered with great lines of black, and away above her head, up in God's garden, forget-me-nots and heartsease blossom out into twinkling spots of starlit beauty. The moon rolls languidly on in the gentlest heaven that earth e'er looked upon. Below, beneath God's garden, the white children brighten and awaken from the drowsy languor of the long day. Lights flare out, doors open, and streets fill with happy voices, and a white-frocked humanity empties itself into the Plaza to hear yet again the great Military Band of Caracas. There comes a hush, and then--it must be from the garden away off so far--there drops a veil,--the veil of forgetfulness, in sounds of music so inexpressibly tender and alluring as to catch the soul from earth away up to where white angels gather the forget-me-nots and heartsease. The crumbling city and its disordered sights, the dust and all unpleasantness pass away beyond the veil, and all that remains is covered with the witchery of music. To make it real, we, too, join the children and press in close, just as our little ones do who fear not the expression of their emotions. We, too, press in where the makers of this wonderful music, sixty of them, stand in a great semicircle at the head of a flight of stone steps, and then we listen to the old, eternally old stories of life and love and joy and tragedy; listen, until our souls are filled to the utmost with the deeps of life! An intermission comes; we take a deep breath; meanwhile he of the Spanish vocabulary, made bold by enthusiasm, threaded his way to where the leader of the band was nonchalantly smoking a cigarette, wishing to congratulate him on the masterful work done by his musicians, and also to thank him for having just played "The Star Spangled Banner," in honour of the Americans present. Shrugging his shoulders, the bandmaster remarked that his men had almost forgotten that American thing, as it was twelve years since last they played it! Thus does the Venezuelan show his love for these United States. But we forget that in the charm of the reawakened melody, for it is the kind of music that speaks real things; that brings the great forgetting of things visible; that brings the great remembering of things eternal. Mellow notes, as from the throat of a blackbird, slip through the liquid night as softly as the splash of feathered warblers in the cool water brooks, and when the strong word is uttered, it comes forth like the voice of a seer, unjarring, made strong through great tenderness. Closer and closer we press to lose not the slightest note, and we realise that it is the music which comes to our cold Northern senses but once in a lifetime, and our ears plead for more and yet more. No strings could ever have so mellowed themselves into the loveliness of that night as did those liquid oboes, whose sylvan tones filtered through our senses with ineffable sweetness. The wood and brass seemed to have been tempered by long nights of tears and days of smiles, so ripened were they into an expression of the soul of humanity. At last the Great Mother sleeps, her children are tired and go to rest, and God's garden blossoms away, away off beyond in the far country. CHAPTER IV. IN VENEZUELA. CARACAS I. The choice lay between a luncheon on board our vessel down in the hot harbour of La Guayra, with President Cipriano Castro and his suite invited as guests of honour by the German officers, or an added day in Caracas; and then a glimpse of South America on our way by Valencia to Puerto Cabello, where we would again take ship. The question was well-discussed, _pro_ and _con_, and finally decided in favour of Venezuela, the country _versus_ Castro, its dictator. After all, General Castro was not so very different from the other Venezuelans all about us, except in that great element, his personal success for the time being; and then you know we did see his alpaca coat and the back of his chair, and we heard his voice in the council-chamber,--at least we thought we did,--and that really ought to be enough to satisfy any one. In a way, we did feel satisfied, and yet there was a lingering inclination toward that luncheon. It might be that, for once, the great man would look, act, appear just a little different from the every-day sort. It was only a remnant of the everlasting hope for a perfect adjustment of mind and body,--that futile phantasmagoria which would make the great man great in all things. And to give up and leave Castro in a common, every-day alpaca coat,--and only the back of it at that,--when we might see him in gold lace and gorgeous uniform, well, it was too bad; but then old common sense comes lumbering along and spoils the whole thing, and tells us it's no use, no use at all, mourning over the impossible; he's only a man, and a little man at that, and there are plenty of fine men all over the world, and there's only one South America; and so and so on, until the balance weighs so heavily against the Castro faction that, when the time came to take the train for La Guayra, we divided the party, sent the little girls back to the ship with our friends, and turned ourselves loose upon the sunny streets of Caracas. II. We had no guide-book, no one told us what to do, no one seemed to know what we ought to do; so, freed from all restraint, we had the delightful sensation of unlimited liberty. It was Ash Wednesday and the church-bells rang incessantly. We took to the left, passing the Cathedral, whose black shades enveloped one after another of the faithful, and kept straight on, to where the women in white frocks and lace mantillas, and the black serving-girls with baskets, and the small boys, and trains of burros were streaming down in the direction of the market. Most naturally we join the procession, now in the street, with the cabs and carriers of all sorts of things, and now jostling in among the people on the narrow sidewalk of the shady side. We have no intention of telling about the flies and the smells and the dirt. They were all there and can easily be pictured, and we really have no intention of staying but a moment in the market, for we have seen so many before; but once a part of the big throng of buyers and sellers; once fairly free from the South Americans who insist upon speaking English, once free to use our own laboriously acquired Spanish, we stay on and on, buy and eat all sorts of curious fruit, until we fear for the consequences, and are delightfully uncomfortable and happy. It was a surprise to find in Caracas a market which surpassed in varieties and quantities any other place we had ever seen. Caracas, with its abortive palms, its dusty, dried-up appearance, gave one the impression of unproductiveness; and the dinner of the night before, with meat, meat, meat,--an exaggerated Trinidadian affair--led us to expect anything but fresh, sweet, delectable fruits; but here they were in masses! We had searched every port for pineapples, and these were the first ones we had found which answered to our ideals formed years ago by the pineapples of Amatlan and Southeastern Mexico. And such dear little thin-skinned refreshing limes! I wonder why they are not exported more freely in place of the big, thick-coated lemons? I suppose the impression prevails that the American wants everything on a big scale, so he gets the big lemon in place of the dainty aromatic lime. There we found in great abundance all the fruits with which we had grown familiar on the islands, but more surprising, the fruits of the temperate regions as well. There were some queer kinds of melons, too. We tried them, of course; we tried everything, buying here a slice of pineapple for _dos centavos_, and over at another stall a _medio's_ worth of mangoes; then we take up a piece of a curious fruit and examine it rather suspiciously. Its meat is yellow and covered with little black seeds, just the size and appearance of capers, and when one eats it, the seed is the only element of flavour. It has so exactly the taste of water-cress that one needs to use considerable will-power to believe it is a melon, and not a salad. Here were grapes, both white and black, and sweet and sour lemons, and all sizes of oranges. There were peaches and apricots, and curious little apples, about the size of a small crab-apple; and delicious little Alpine strawberries from away up in the Andes, and then there were in every stall mangoes, and sapodillas, and granaditas, and pineapples sweet as honey and luscious, and curious aguacotes and zapotas and many unknown fruits--besides the ever-present cocoanut. And vegetables! I only wish we could tell you the names of all the aromatic herbs and green stuffs spread out to tempt us. But there was one thing we did recognise at first sight: the beans--nine different varieties in one stall and maybe as many more in another--"_frijoles de todas clases_," the market-woman announced for our encouragement. A procession of bulging baskets crowds us along out of the market, and we move on to make room for a stream of empty baskets coming from the opposite direction. III. We take a straightaway course down toward the ever-beautiful curves of a massive old church, some blocks off, and on the way, with the wanderer's prerogative, step into the open door of a fine modern building, apparently a bank. The Spanish Student walks up to a grilled window in the court to get an American gold piece changed into Venezuelan bolivars and is at once invited to enter. The president and vice-president of the bank were at conference in a finely appointed, spacious office, and as we appeared, both greeted us most cordially and addressed us in perfect English. The weather started the ball of conversation rolling, and from that we chatted on about the voyage, and the islands, and all sorts of things; and then the men launched into a discussion of the political situation, and from that to the power Germany was acquiring in a mercantile way in their country. And they told us how the Germans came there with their families, and taught their children from babyhood the language and customs of the South Americans, at the same time holding firmly their grasp of the mother tongue and the thrifty business methods of their home concerns. Thus given from infancy this advantage of a thorough knowledge of the language and customs of the country, they acquire a prestige with which no amount of ability in a foreigner can compete should he be less ably equipped. How dangerous to America is becoming this Teutonic power and prestige we do not realise, for who can fathom the ambition and persistency of the Kaiser and his subjects in South America--Germans all, though thousands of miles from Berlin? I could but admire the facility and ease with which these South American men of affairs expressed themselves in English, and I thought, how few there were of us who could thus readily express ourselves in Spanish. It came to me forcibly that the American who is truly far-sighted, is the one who is acquiring, and having his children acquire, a good speaking knowledge of Spanish; for the time is surely coming when our need of Spanish will be far greater than to-day. The time is coming, if we guard our interests aright, when these South Americans will look to the North for a closer bond than now exists, and when that time does come, the man most potent in the new relation will be he who can, by a knowledge of the language, customs, and habits, place himself in perfect sympathy with his South American brothers. And we must remember, too, that we are dealing with men whose education is based upon the time-honoured culture of an old world, men of attainment, of polish and policy, of strength and power; however much that power may be at times misguided, there is latent great force and adaptability. The South American is a man of marked and strong mental ability, and is already--and for that matter has for years been--modelling his laws after those of his more fortunate younger brother of the Northern continent. It is not in proper law and forms of government that he lacks, but in their proper enforcement, and back of all in the muzzling of that healthy public interest that would demand their enforcement. However much he fails in government, the time when his country will be dispassionately ruled by fixed and just legislation is hoped for by such men as the officers of this bank. For how can the country's business go on amid the turmoil of ever-impending revolution? These West Indian Islands and South America, combined, have been used by all nations who have profited by their marvellous productiveness merely for what can be gotten out of them through one resource and another; even North Americans themselves are not above reproach in their quarrels over the Venezuelan Pitch Lake concessions, which was then a subject of keen interest. But in spite of the fact that some Americans have been feathering their nests from this foreign down, still I believe that our people will eventually lead the world in true philanthropy,--the philanthropy of development and honest business methods, and that ours should be the hand that brings to the South American the solution of his great difficulties; directed not to annexation of these Southern lands, but to helping in the evolution of a stable, self-respecting independent government. South America is waiting for the great hand, for the great liberator of the land from the faults and follies of its own sons, and when he comes he will find a country rich to overflowing in unrealised possibilities. The curse of these countries seems to be in the love of the Spanish American for political intrigue, which periodically bears fruit in the bogus political "liberator," throbbing with meretricious and self-seeking ambition which he bombastically labels "Patriotism." [Illustration: CATHEDRAL AND PLAZA Caracas, Venezuela Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] If you had stood face to face with two such well-poised types of conservative South Americans as we met that morning, I feel sure that you, too, might hope for a great future for this country, could it but be represented and led by its best men. IV. With courteous good wishes, we left the señors' pleasant company, and went on, still in the direction of a church-tower. The shops were far from interesting, much like others down in the islands, with the exception of a chocolate-shop, which we found to be the sales office of a factory where a great deal of prepared chocolate is made, for Caracas is a great chocolate market. After we had filled our pockets with all we could carry, of chocolate blocks and chocolate fishes and chocolate dolls, we started on again, munching the chocolate as we went, until we came at last to the Cathedral, which was in a state of mortar and lime and scaffolding, due to having the cracks from last October's earthquake doctored up in the same matter-of-fact way that we clean house in the spring. Well, we were glad at last to have seen the inside of the Cathedral, for even without the suggestion of a guide-book, we had in a sort of way felt that we ought to do so; such a slave of "Ought" does the traveller become, in spite of utmost precaution. By this time the sun was nearing noon, and we naturally turned in the direction of the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_ as the only available place in which to rest; that is, I thought it was the only available place, but the Spanish Student knew better. How he knew, or when he had experimented, he would not say, nor could the truth be forced or dragged from him, as he walked on toward the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_; but I had a suspicion, from the decided click to his step, and a lurking joy in his eye, that he had forsaken the Gran Hotel de Venezuela; that he had discovered a new Arcadia, and, oh! it was so delightful to feel that it was not the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_. Then he stopped at a lattice,--I am sure there wasn't a door in the house--at the lattice of an enticing _Dulceria_, and we sat down where it was cool and quiet, and I waited to see what would happen. _El propietorio_ appears. At once, at the sight of the Spanish Student, the señor smiles, and disappears. They had met before. The señor enters once more,--for we are not to be left to an ordinary waiter,--this time with two tall glasses,--very tall, thin glasses. If you could only have felt the fatigue of that moment! We had tramped about three hours, under the high, white sun, with the drowsy spell of noon creeping stealthily over the city, and even over the insatiable tourist; if you could have been with us to have seen the two tall glasses, filled to the brim, placed on the table by mine host himself, you, too, would have concluded that it was no small matter to be thus refreshed. It looked like lemonade, and yet it didn't, and it tasted,--well there's no other explanation possible; it was bewitched. Mine host had crossed his heart, looked twice over his right shoulder, turned three times on his left toe, and then pronounced the spell. One taste convinced me that it took a lot of things to make that lemonade,--a lot of things besides limes and water, and whatever that lot of things was, it was the finest combination I had ever known. Mine host pronounced it lemonade; so did the Spanish Student, though I heard him suggest "_un poquito de Rom Imperial_" to the señor. With one taste, all fatigue took wings, everything took wings. The bent-wood table capered off with the bent-wood chair, and the long, fly-specked mirror cavorted from side to side with the parrot-cage. Everything was lovely and undulatory, and life was one long oblivion of the red-headed housekeeper at the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_. He, the one opposite, leaned back and looked amused and satisfied, and said: "There's more coming." "What, more lemonade?" "No, not more lemonade, but more of something else." And then it came. Again two tall glasses of a delicious rose-coloured ice, made of fresh wild strawberries, gathered that morning among the glistening dew of the Andes. In the centre of the ice, like the rakish masts of a fairy's ship, two richly browned, delicate tubes of sweetened pastry bore the ensign of our feast. They reminded me of the lamplighters we children used to make at a penny a hundred, on winter evenings by the crackling coal fire. You remember? Or have you never had the fun? You take a bit of paper an inch wide and twelve inches long, wet your finger, give a queer kind of twist to one corner and up it rolls, in a long, neat shape. Double it over at the end, and there you are. Sometimes it unwinds, and then it is exactly like the confectioner's roll in Caracas, only white instead of a rich, luscious brown. From that moment on, all other attractions of Caracas, the University, the _Casa Amarilla_, the Pantheon, palled in attraction before that _Dulceria_. It became to us, and to every one we met, the loadstone of Caracas. To taste of an ice made from berries picked among the valleys of the Andes is no small matter, and to quaff a lemonade which, without suspicion, could still fashion wings at least as lasting as those of Icarus of old, is also no small matter, and may we not be forgiven and no questions asked if we confess to more than one return to the _Dulceria_ shop just across the Plaza in Caracas? V. Four o'clock was the hour appointed for the coming together of our diminished party, and until then the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_ was supposed to hold me in its ancient decrepitude, and it did hold me until about three o'clock; when the bells set up such a clanging, and were so zealous to get me up and out of bed and into their mid-afternoon vespers, that I finally yielded to their summons, and, making a hasty toilet, stole down the creaking stairs and out into the streets. No Northern city at midnight is more soundly asleep than the tropical town in mid-afternoon. The heavy white blinds are down, the green lattices closed tightly, awnings dropped close before the shop-doors; while the cabby and his horse, on guard near the Plaza, doze in willing slumber. The market is empty, the little donkeys are long since browsing upon the green slopes of the foot-hills; the street criers are still, the whole world seems dead asleep, and, as I slipped along toward the Cathedral, the drowsy chanting of priests' voices was the only sound which broke the quiescence of that delicious afternoon. For delicious it was, in truth. All of God's part was in its perfectness. The air was sweetly cool and refreshing, with a flavour of mountain ozone mingled with the sunlight, and, as I came to a cross street, looking up the long narrow, white reach to the foot-hills, it was with a bit of imagining, like a glimpse through the tube of a huge kaleidoscope, with the green and purple and blue and yellow mountains an ever-changing vista of resplendent colour in the vanishing distance. The priests' voices called out again, and I entered the high-domed, sweet place of worship. The chancel and altar were being repaired, so it was in the oblong nave that the priests, white-robed, rich with lace and embroidery, sat in ancient carved chairs, saying in responsive chants the words decreed for Ash Wednesday. The priests were old, and some were very feeble, and it seemed at times an effort for them to rise when the service demanded. A number of young men, of lesser dignity, assisted, and two little acolytes in red sat quite at the end of the row of priests. Still the chanting goes on and on, and the voices are monotonously sleepy, and long drifts of mellow, shaded light drop down on the white robes, and one of the priests yawns, and the little acolyte nods, and then goes fast asleep; and up overhead the lofty dome reëchoes the somnolent voices, and I hear the old bells telling me about four o'clock, but they seem very indistinct and sleepy and uninterested. And I feel sleepy and nod, and wonder if it's the priests' voices or the bells that put everybody to sleep, and I forget all about four o'clock until a workman way down near the altar, perched on a high ladder, mending more cracks, knocks off a piece of plaster, and I start and look around, then tiptoe out; while the bells tell me that the quarter-hour is gone with the rest of the day. VI. Caracas is responsible for a decided turning about from some of my former estimates of the Spanish character. It is not necessary to say just exactly what these preconceived opinions were, but they were there, and as I supposed, a fixture. In the children's neighbourhood brawls, I have noticed frequently that, whenever vengeance was to be meted upon some offending head, he was called by one and all, "a Spaniard." That was enough to arouse all the wrath of his youthful spirit into rebellion, and until the word was recalled, war reigned. This of course is largely since our late trouble with Spain. I shall not say that the use of the word exactly represented my state of mind toward the South Americans, but, in spite of the many pleasant experiences of years gone by in Mexico, I shall confess to a somewhat allied feeling with regard to that name, and to all people who are in any way affiliated with the race, and I dare say that something of this same prejudice has existed among our people at large for some time, and not altogether without cause. To have that impression partially removed was one of the results of an evening spent at the opera in Caracas, where General Cipriano Castro had arranged an especially fine performance to be given in honour of the North Americans then visiting his republic. The opera-house was decorated in our nation's colours, intertwined with the yellow, red, and blue of Venezuela, and every seat not taken by our party was occupied by the representative citizens of Caracas. The performance--a light, comic opera--was of excellent standard, and passed off with great applause. Much as we enjoyed the music, the Venezuelans themselves were our greatest object of interest. The house was apportioned in the usual foreign style, with two tiers of boxes circling on either side from the President's box in the rear centre. The women, as usual, occupied the front seats in the boxes, and were thus in a position to be seen and observed very closely. And never--I make no exception, no exception whatever--have I seen such modest, womanly appearing women as were present at the opera that night. They did not giggle nor stare nor flirt. They were richly, beautifully, becomingly gowned, but, although arrayed with a desire to please, they were as modest and unassuming as a lot of little girls at a doll's tea-party. Their eyes no sooner met yours than they dropped,--not affectedly, but naturally, naïvely,--and it was impossible to refrain from forming an opinion of the conditions of society from the faces and actions of these women. Women make society what it is; they make it right, high, true, and pure; they make it wrong, low, false, and vile, and the general appearance and actions of the women of a country, studied by an observer of human nature, will tell more truthfully the moral condition of a people than any book ever written. Whatever faults the Spaniard may have bequeathed to his descendants; whatever his failings in government and kindred problems, the women, these beautiful women of Caracas, made us feel that they had set for themselves high standards of morality; that the social life was away beyond the level we had expected; that the family--the wife--is a sacred trust given the man to protect in honour and virtue so long as he lives. There is, no doubt, much to be said against the rigid life of seclusion led by the Spanish women, but there is this to be said in its favour: it has created a race of men who honour and respect their homes, a race of men whose attitude toward women is universally respectful and deferential. With all our stiff-necked New England self-sufficiency, we have yet much to learn, we women of the North, and let it not be beneath our dignity to remember that the South American women have some lessons learned which we have yet to master; and perhaps there are none who could teach us more gently or more effectively than the modest, womanly women of Caracas. CHAPTER V. IN VENEZUELA. CARACAS TO PUERTO CABELLO I. And now we are at the railway station, headed for Valencia and Puerto Cabello, still determined to continue unguided back to the coast. There was to me something so extraordinary in the thought that, for once, we were really to get ahead of the professional guides, that it required repeated and oft repeated assurances to at least one of the women of our circle from the kindly official at the railway station, to relieve all doubts as to the wisdom of our plans. Of course, the men of our party had no doubts, at least, none were expressed; and yet some of us, particularly the writer, could hardly believe that the train we were to take would carry us on through Valencia, past the lovely Lake of Valencia down to Puerto Cabello, a half-hour in advance of the Special Train with the Special Courier; that we would be a half-hour earlier at luncheon in the mountains, and a half an hour earlier that evening in reaching Puerto Cabello; and this latter would be no small consideration after a long, hot ride from mountain-top to sandy beach. But this was to be the case, so the official informed us, not only in Spanish, but in French, and very perfect French, too--for not understanding Spanish, we women of course had to hear it all over again in French; so we left the party, and boarded the regular morning train for Valencia, amidst the warnings of many, the doubts of all the timid ones, and the envy of a few jollier spirits. What would become of us, if this train should make up its mind not to go through to Puerto Cabello, and drop us at La Victoria, or San Joaquin perhaps; and what if the much-lauded Special should after all fly on and leave us in the mountains, high and dry, a half-day's journey to Puerto Cabello, with no means of reaching the ship on sailing-time; and what if our pretty boat should sail away to God's country, and leave us literally stranded, marooned for weeks, on the sun-blighted beach of Puerto Cabello, waiting for a ship? [Illustration: A HOUSE BESIDE THE SEA Puerto Cabello, Venezuela] A thousand "ifs" are flung at us, but there stands the big, handsome South American railway official, with a rose in his buttonhole, patent leathers on his feet, and a smile on his face, and visible support in every attitude of his fine body; so we settle down, reassured, and look around to count heads, and we check off--all but one, the Doctor,--he is not at the station. Where is he? Where is the Doctor? He has sworn to stand by us to the end; in fact had been one of the prime movers in this venture, and here we are ready to start, even the men are aboard the funny little train, and the Doctor not in sight. Ten anxious heads lean out from ten abbreviated windows; ten distressed voices ask in all available tongues, "Where is the Doctor?" We ask the official--the one with the rose--if he has seen one called the Doctor, with bland, smiling face, round and jovial; blue eyes, light hair, walking with a confident, easy swing, wearing a linen suit and East Indian pith helmet. No one answering that description had come to the station. Fully half an hour before we left the _Gran Hotel de Venezuela_, the Doctor had taken a cab, so that there should be no doubt or question as to his being on time; for the Doctor was an orderly man, of decided opinions and exact habits. He was never known to be late at an appointment. He had with him the free untrammelled air of the unmarried man. He had neither wife to detain, nor sweetheart to beguile him. He was a free-lance, and yet here it was, a moment before the time for departure, and the Doctor nowhere to be seen. The train shivers, quivers, gives a bump or so, squeaks out a funny foreign whistle, and we are moving out of Caracas. Ten of us instead of eleven. Ten much troubled wanderers, thinking and wondering a very great deal. We pass the curious little chapel upon the hill, with its five disjointed little steeples, looking as if one more quake of the grand old Mother would topple them all over for good; pass the low _adobe_ huts on the outskirts of the city, and then catch a last glimpse of the Cathedral and its dear old bells, and the trees about the Square of Bolivar; and are almost into the rich country, outlaying the great city. But where is the Doctor! Had he been beguiled or waylaid, or had he waited for one too many a sip of the unforgettable lemonade; or had he gone to sleep with the priests under the magic of the old bells? No, nothing seemed to fit in just right. The Doctor had reached years of discretion, he knew the wiles of women, and, as for being waylaid, that was hardly possible, for he always carried his chest high; and, as for the priests,--no, it was not the priests, for the Doctor had paid his respect to the Cathedral the day before. Hadn't we seen his white hat disappear under the big, open doorway as we were on the way to market? But the lemonade,--there was the hitch; he might have longed for one more glimpse of the _Dulceria_, and the tall glass and the indescribable nectar,--_con un poquito de Rom Imperial_,--yes, he might have done so, any normal being might have done so, and that must be the whole trouble; then, just as we had decided on the lemonade, we stop at Palo-Grande, out in the gardens beyond the town, and into the car rushed a red-faced, very mad American, with satchels and luggage and souvenirs in his hands, and rage upon his face,--the Doctor; none more--none less,--the lost wanderer! If any one was ever welcome, he was. We figuratively threw our arms about him, and wept with joy at the return of our long-lost brother. The Doctor's face was a study. From despair, it changed to delight, and he flung himself into a seat, too happy to speak. But the Doctor was not slow in giving us an explanation. He had been experimenting on some very choice, newly acquired Spanish. That was the trouble, and instead of taking him to the city station, the cabby, probably anxious for a good fare, had driven about five miles to the first way-station on the road. I did not think the Doctor could ever have been disconcerted under any circumstances, but he was as thoroughly scared as one has need to be and live; and for the rest of the day, every few minutes, he would break out with some forceful expression about fool Americans who couldn't speak Spanish and fool Spaniards who couldn't speak English. We all then and there decided that we would learn Spanish or die. One or the other we are sure to do. II. It is a difficult matter to engage the Doctor in either scenery or conversation, and, in spite of all the wonders in which we find ourselves, as the plucky little train hurries along, it is a sort of laugh and jollification all the way with the Doctor. I shall never forget the willows at the station where our Doctor appeared. They were so exquisitely graceful and beautiful. They were tall, with somewhat of the habits of the Lombardy poplar, close-limbed, sinewy, and with the plumy grace of a bunch of feathers, bending, bowing, whirling, swishing, in the cool mountain air, and I shall always think of them as the Doctor's willows; for just as his frightened face popped into the door, in the twinkling of an eye, I glanced out of the window, and there stood that row of tall willows, like coy, young maidens, bowing their gentle heads in graceful congratulation. The Doctor's willow was to me one of the rarest, sweetest trees of that wonderful day of trees, of that wonderful world of trees, of that wonderful land of infinite beauties, known only to those whose eyes have touched the vibration of their being. This willow, modest, unassuming as it is, so unlikely to attract attention, without flower or colour, other than the richest green that sunshine ever bestowed upon a leaf, was in its way as exquisite as a dream of lace and dew-drops, as tender as the sound of a lute, as sweetly sinuous as the drop of a violet's head; and the mountain air, filtering through the thin, arrow-like leaves, was music fit for gods,--not men. But the Doctor would not look at the willows, nor at the tall grass--tall--tall--tall--following along the bed of a limpid stream--the Guaira--tumbling along over pools and rocks and mossy beds; grasses so high that even Jack's famous giants must needs stand on tiptoe to peep over the top; grass twenty to thirty feet high, with feathery plumes gracing the tall spires in masses of waving beauty. He would not see the beauty of the picture that the Great Mother showed us, for he was still in a dazed state of combined bewilderment, anger, and joy, and you know it takes time to find one's feet after such an experience. But did I tell you how as usual bravery was rewarded? When we boarded the train, we noticed our coach was unusually fine for a Venezuelan railway, and we wondered at it. Later the conductor explained that it was the private car of the general manager, all the common coaches being taken up to complete the Special Train; and so the Doctor was at last content. III. Speeding along over the lordly plateau beyond Caracas, through a country where the faintest effort on the part of man to cultivate the earth, the least scratch with the hoe, meets with more than abundant response, where, even in the high mountain altitude, sweet fields of cane and coffee bring restful green and delicious shades in the ever-pervading sunlight, we were entertained by some of the party, who were prophesying a hard day and a hot day with a relish which was quite enviable. Why is it that there must always be those who are constantly anticipating hot weather? It seems to be out of the question to escape them; they either predict that it will be, must be, unbearably hot, or unbearably cold, according to the latitude in which they happen to be found. There seems to be no way of getting along comfortably with the present. So we listened while dire forebodings were omened for Valencia, and worse for Puerto Cabello. In the meantime one of our friends,--Mrs. M---- from Boston,--was suffering with a severe headache, and the Doctor, who had been in the seat ahead of us, was asked if, in that small, black, professional-looking valise, there was not something to relieve her pain. And then the Doctor broke forth once more: "There's no use. I can't stand this any longer. I was called up last night for the sick man in the after-deck stateroom; after each port I am asked to prescribe for men suffering from swizzle jags, and I'm routed out at all hours, and buttonholed by nervous women I don't know. I wish I could help Mrs. M----; nothing would make me happier. But to tell the truth, I'm not a doctor. I am only a plain business man--a manufacturer. Somehow, when the passenger-list was made up, I was put in as 'Doctor S----' and the list was printed and circulated before I knew of my title. Then every one called me 'Doctor,' and it was such an easy name to catch that I thought I'd just let it go, and I've been 'Doctor' to every one ever since; but when it comes to setting a leg or curing a headache, I must put an end to it." But the name had become fixed. It was there to stay, so the Doctor was the "Doctor" in spite of his lack of diploma, and, in one sense, by his good cheer, his readiness to join in fun, his stock of good stories, and his consideration for others, he was quite as beneficial to our sometimes weary selves, as if he carried his pockets full of bitter tonic and invigorating elixirs. IV. In front of us sat the Doctor; back of us sat a young South American from "up country," with whom we entered into conversation, and from whom we learned much to confirm our rapidly forming opinions of his great country--Venezuela. He spoke English well, having been educated partially in England, partially in New York. He came from the Province of Colombo, to me a very indefinite, remotely hidden-away place somewhere in the Andes, accessible only by two or three days' journey from Caracas, partly by mule and partly by boat up the Maracaibo River. By the way, we are told that Colombo is the native state of that peppery little dictator--the present President Castro. This South American gentleman had been sent to Caracas to interview Castro and his ministers with regard to a loan of twenty thousand dollars in horses, cattle, and provisions made during the last revolution to the faction which had placed Castro in power; the transaction had evidently been dignified by the soothing name of "a loan" because the quondam cowboy leader Castro had ended as a self-elected President. Just what our fellow traveller's success had been, we were unable to learn or he to tell, for this same General Castro is a wily bird and keeps many an honest Venezuelan guessing. He told us what we already knew,--that Venezuela needs peace--peace--peace, and that, until she is assured of peace, her great hands must be idle. We needed no words to assure us of her greatness. It was there before us. The idle hands were clasping rich harvests unsown, rich treasures in gold and silver glittered upon her fingers, and following the sweep of her green mantle, there was a race of warm-hearted children, within whose being there was the making of great men and women. But there must be peace. For, when there is war, her great men go to the front, her brave men are killed; but in some unfortunate way her political schemers and professional revolutionists survive, and are always ready to make new trouble. "He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day." And so they run away--the unsuccessful ones--to Curaçao, to Paris, or to some of the neighbouring South American states, but their dirty shadows ever hang imminent on the horizon. V. During the conversation with our South American friends, we had reached the end of the plateau, and the descent began into the great valley below. It was not until we reached that point that we realised the wonder of this Venezuelan railroad, or that we understood the reason of its being called the "Great Venezuelan Railway"--_Gran Ferrocarril de Venezuela_. Like the greater portion of all the business enterprises in South America and the West Indies, the railroad was built by Germans. Krupp, of gun fame, was named as the head of the company, and too much cannot be said of the courage and skill of men who undertook to build a road under such difficulties. There are railways of difficult construction all over the world, indeed, but never, in our experience, were we more impressed with the magnitude of an undertaking than we were with the construction of this masterful road; though one might well criticise the business judgment of men who would thus put millions of dollars into an enterprise that apparently can never be self-supporting. Think of it, eighty-seven tunnels through rocky mountain spurs, one hundred and twenty heavy steel bridges between Caracas and Valencia, miles of rock-cutting and costly filling, and all this to carry a handful of passengers and a few tons of freight each day--altogether not enough to load one of our "mixed trains" in the States! It follows where cataracts leap a thousand feet, where rivers boil in thundering roar over mighty rocks; it cuts the mountain top asunder and dashes through the rock-hewn lap of earth; it drops down through the tops of giant trees, and robs the morning of her mist; it mingles with the clouds, and anon kisses the feet of the ocean--but it doesn't pay dividends. From its heights, the earth stretches out in wonderful ridges of gigantic proportion; geography becomes real, a fact, seen in the great perspective. The air is so clear that the eye seems to have new power of vision to reach to the uttermost end of the earth; the eye imparts to the soul its larger horizon, and a great leap of joy carries the spirit into the infinite room of creation, into the infinite grandeur of created things, and the spirit grows and feels its small estimate of God's earth expanding into a newer, grander conception of creation. Mountain ridges sweep through tremendous space, one upon another, and at their base, thousands of feet below, a green pillow of sugar-cane invites the head and heart to quiescence. No word "green" can ever bring back the quivering, transparent green of those young cane-fields, far below in the valleys, watered by the careful hand of man in thousands of tiny streams of irrigation. VI. The morning was just what it should be in spite of the croakers, and the immensity of nature had imparted to our spirits much of her buoyancy; so when the train came to a halt, we jumped with alacrity from the little coach, and sought among the people for the human interest, which was as ever very great. The route was dotted with charming stations, each one flying a German and Venezuelan flag in delightful amity--for the Germans impress the South American first with their greatness and then with their friendliness; the mailed hand is shown only as the last resort. Here were stations green and beflowered, in sweet good order, with fountains and running streams, and booths where we bought ginger cookies and Albert biscuit and _cervesa Inglesa_ and all sorts of fruit; and back of the stations, hints of quaint old churches with distant bells, and gathering about the mother church, blue and white and yellow glimpses of queer old houses. And oh! the colour! The flowering trees! What artist could ever reach the delicacy of the _Maria_ tree, one mass of living pearls. Its branches so full of flower that there seemed to be no room for leaf; the branch only there by sufferance. At La Victoria, where we stop for luncheon, in a curious little café under a confident German flag, our family interpreter disappears, and in a few minutes returns in the likeness of a Thracian god, bedecked with garlands, pink and white. He covers my lap with rarest blossoms, gives them to one and all, and brings into the dusty coach a fragrance of Elysium. I long to keep the flowers for ever; I long to hold that colour in such security that it can never escape; I long to enclose that essence in some secret shrine for ever. And shall I say I have not? VII. As we rush along down, nearing the Great Mother's mighty limbs, we pass drooping arbours of _Bucari_, another flowering tree of wonderful splendour, each flower like a glorious wax _Cattleya_, and millions of them at a glance. Just then, as the blaze of beauty dazzles our eyes, two brilliantly green parrots, frightened by the noisy interloper, take flight from under their beauteous canopy, and wing their way in yellow, green, and red vibrations through the scintillating landscape. We are now flying along on a level stretch, in a high, rich valley, full of luscious fruits and ripening harvests, and before the mountain opens to receive us into one of its deep tunnels, we see large fields of a low bush, growing quite in the nature of young coffee, with much the same size and general appearance; without, however, the customary shade-trees. Our friend from Colombo explained that it is tapioca; and off beyond, in this next, white-walled _hacienda_ (what a world of dreams and romance of the land of _siempre mañana_ comes to one in that combination of ordinary vowels and consonants--"_hacienda_"!), in the _Hacienda Las Palomas_,--or was it the _Hacienda La Sierra_ or _La Mata_, or _Guaracarima_?--the natives gather from the green river valleys, maize and beans and yucca, in the language of the country, "_frutas menores_;" but more abundantly than all else, are gathered the coffee and the sugar in vast crops year by year. Westward from the summit the River Tuy plays hide-and-seek with us for many a mile, darting, hurrying, beckoning, charming us, with a desire to loiter when she loiters, to leap through the cliffs with her joy, to rest under flower-spread arbours in sleepy towns with her, to dissolve ourselves at last into the deep earth as she does. Finally we see her no more, but now the larger Aragua, flowing toward the Lake of Valencia, reaches out a bold hand, and we follow the new pathfinder where she commands. One last look into the shadowy depths before we drop to the plains. It is only a glimpse, for the passing is so swift that the eye cannot reach its entirety of beauty; but that glimpse is like the shadow of a great rock,--a lasting memory. A bird slowly sways in mighty, circling sweeps, poised upon the ether, between two green-robed mountain priests--a great bird against the hazy mountain deep, swaying, calm, eternally sure of its strength. Was there a hand outstretched beneath in the far, disappearing morning which brought the ecstasy into the soul of that lonely wanderer? We leave the tunnels, the endless bridges, the heights, and drop down rapidly into the valley, where the heat begins and the dust flies. We follow the Aragua until she brings us to the Lake of Valencia, a long, rambling, shallow lake, much like some of our own Northern lakes, and, at the first opportunity (I think it was at Maracay), we leave the train, and stand under the wide doors of the freight depot, with the natives lying around half-asleep on sacks of coffee, and try to catch a whiff of refreshing coolness from the lake. More German flags; they are very interesting, but why should a party of Americans be so honoured? For the German officers had gone back to the ship to do the polite to General Castro. But the halt here was for a few minutes only; and we go on, down through the hot little city of Valencia into greater heat, and for a time into greater and more glorious vegetation. It was a curious sight,--the piles of compressed coal dust made into blocks,--"briquettes,"--eight to ten inches square, each stamped "Cardiff, Wales," piled in high, orderly heaps at each station; greater supplies of which we found, as we left the timber for the low country. But I must not give the impression that the low country is untimbered; far from it. As we leave the higher levels and start the final sharp descent toward the coast on the cog-road,--a curious device in railroading to overcome the danger of such steep inclines,--we can give no conception of the forest growth through which we pass. The air is hot and still; the trees stand in their eternal beauty, in their myriads of blossoms, in their vivid colourings, with deep festoons of moss and interweaving vines in motionless repose. They seem to exhale heat and silence and darkness, even under the blaze of a still, white sun; they tell only of night in the tangled growth of nature triumphant. It might have been at Nagua-Nagua, if not there it was very near there, that the springs of water, boiling out of the earth, were hot and sulphurous, and, as we were about to move on in our roomy coach, along came the much-talked of Special, with its crowded passengers looking jaded and worn and cross, more, I imagine, from the incessant clatter of tongues than from the asperity of the Southern sun. On, on, nearer to the sea, to where the palms grow. There had been cocoanut and royal palms before,--yes, from Haïti through all the islands we had seen them, but here they attain their most perfect grandeur and glory. We came upon them not singly, in isolated groups of conservative aristocracy, but in companies and regiments, miles of them, arranged by the masterful hand of Nature, now in mighty groups apart, like a conference of plumed generals, and then again in battalions of tall grenadiers on silent dress parade. Their light lofty trunks gave back from the sun a dull, grayish white pallor. They were still and grand, and unspeakably beautiful. The heat seems to grow more intense as the sun sinks lower in the heavens, and we drop down almost to the level of the ocean. The dust becomes more blinding, and the palms disappear, and all things prickly and unapproachably dry and forbidding, shadeless and impenetrable, take their place, and change the picture from one of tropical life to tropical death. [Illustration: A SOUTH AMERICAN STREET Puerto Cabello, Venezuela Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Long wastes of white sand spread over the desolate landscape, relieved by not one sprig of comely green or welcome shade, with great mounds and masses of gigantic and distorted cacti, more impassable than any man-made barricade. They fitted in well with the heat and the dust, and the long, low sun-rays, shooting in upon us their streaming floods of white light; and then, just as I began to think the croakers might have been right for once--there came a shout from the Doctor, from the Boston friend, from us all; and Daddy, who was on the other side of the car, jumps over to my seat and bends over my shoulder just in time to catch sight of the sea--_el Mar Caribe_--before a bristling bank of cacti shut it for the time from view. The Caribbean Sea--blue, far-reaching, sweetly cool, washing the feet of the great, good Mother;--we longed to plunge into the surf, and wash away the dust and heat and all unrest. The sight of the great sea so near us, and our trim ship at anchor in the harbour of Puerto Cabello, and the prospect of seeing the little girls, from whom we had been separated by so many hours and miles, gives us a deep joy. The day had been covered by the hand of God from dawn to setting, and to the end of time there shall no greater beauty meet our souls. Then through the sleepy streets of hot old Puerto Cabello we wander to where a boat waits us by the rotting quay at the river's mouth. Two darling faces find our wistful searchings as we near the ship, and four sweet arms accompanied by kisses fairly weigh us down as we reach the deck. "Oh, Mother! Just think of it, we shook hands with President Castro!" CHAPTER VI. CURAÇAO. CITY OF WILLEMSTAD I. Small wonder indeed that the early explorers, the men to whom we owe the discovery of these island gems, gave them such charmingly poetical names. Small wonder that they named them as one would a necklace of deep-sea pearls, strung as they are one upon another in a circlet about the blue Caribbean Sea, the shadow of one velvety peak throwing its dark coolness fairly to the base of sister isles, some but a few hours distant, others perhaps a day, across seas as blue and green and limpid as the ether above. It seems incredible that from these peaceful waters rise the vast, cyclonic storms which frequently make such desolation on our coasts; and that within the green and softly moulded outlines of some of these mountainous islands there lie volcanic craters which still grumble and threaten; but, as there are times and seasons for all things, so there seems to be an ordering for the giant winds to rage, when the sun is dyed its deepest, and the earth pants for want of drink to moisten her quivering lips. But that time of unrest is far away now, and, as we leave Puerto Cabello and its quiet harbour, bound for Curaçao, and drop below the horizon the cocoanut-fringed shores of the Spanish Main, it seems as if it must ever be on unruffled seas and toward peaceful havens that the islanders voyage back and forth. Surely it is not more than the turning once over in sleep before, with the morning breeze fresh in our nostrils, we are right upon the dear little Dutch city of Willemstad, the capital of the Dutch West Indies on the island of Curaçao; and, once ashore, we long to lodge indefinitely behind the spotless white curtains that peek out from under some snug little peaked roof, shifting scenes only when the impulse to go farther comes over us; and then sailing away in one of the little packet schooners which coast along from island to island, or possibly, taking passage in a mail steamer, or anything bound anywhere, just so it does not come blundering along before we are ready. There should be no words for days and hours in the tropics. Time should be measured by enjoyments in changeful measure, slow and fast, as one's mood demands. Rigid hours are obtrusive where the rustle of the cocoa-palm invites rest. II. The little girls and I are hurrying into our hair ribbons and our white petticoats and white waists and white hats, just as fast as our fingers can tie or button, when Curaçao jumps into our cabin windows, or maybe our ship has jumped into Curaçao; or is it Holland we have dropped upon, or is it a new stage-setting for the latest _al fresco_ production of "The Flying Dutchman?" We no sooner have our first glimpse than, for a bit, all the dressing stops, and we crowd our three heads up to the port-holes in perfect delight. As our slim ship slowly winds herself into the river-like harbour, this West Indian Holland becomes more and more enchanting. The harbours in these islands have been an increasing wonder to us. On the Venezuelan coast Puerto Cabello (translated literally, "The Port of the Hair," because there it was said a hair would hold a ship) is a perfect example of a harbour for small vessels. Deep, natural channels--like rivers--wind circuitously until they widen into land-locked basins where ships of all nations, and of all rigs, and for all purposes, from the grim war-ship to the native dugout, come unexpectedly into sight as the channel turns and broadens into the real harbour. There the ship is left by the native pilot. This harbour of Curaçao is no exception. We enter by a narrow, deep way protected by rocky barriers, directly into a little inner bay, encircled by the quaint town. The houses gliding by, within easy hailing distance of our decks, are preëminently Dutch, of brilliant, striking colouring, noticeably yellow, and mathematically exact as to rows and heights and proportions--most un-West-Indian. The town is certainly just recovering from a fresh coat of kalsomine. It is bright as a top and clean as a whistle. [Illustration: ACROSS STE. ANNE BAY Harbour of Willemstad, Curaçao Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] We are but a stone's throw from either dock, and it requires a lot of common sense, even downright logic, to persuade us that we are in the Caribbean Sea, and not far off on the other side of the globe coming out of the flat estuaries of the bleak North Sea into the Meuse or the Y. A bit of Holland has been lost from out Mother Earth's pocket, and has fallen by the way in this Western Hemisphere; and it has managed to get along without the big Dutch mother very well. It has grown up into full stature, following the instincts of its birth, almost wholly uninfluenced by tropical environment. Here it stands, a perfect little Dutchman, an exact reproduction of its staunch progenitors. Its forms and habits have followed the traditions of its ancestors, not those of its West Indian foster-mother. There is only one racial trait lacking in Curaçao,--we saw no windmills; all the rest is there. But, to our great relief, we are told that even the windmills appear on the country places farther inland. III. The arrival of our ship awakens the Yellow City early in the morning, and, before our boats are lowered, the shore is white with crowds of Curaçaoans, big and little, pushing and jostling each other for a sight of us. Our breakfast is done with in short order. A hurried bit of fruit, a quick swallow of boiling coffee, a fresh roll, and up we scramble to the deck. So it is invariably, as we near a port. Each time we come upon an island more curious, more irresistible than any we have seen before. We may be sighting it first as we refresh our bodies with a bath of the clear salt water from without, warmed into the most delicious mildness by the eternal smile of the sun. Then comes a scramble to dress, then a bolt to the dining-room, where we eat and run. Now, in pops a big "if." If we were only snoozing in a Dutch four-poster, with a frilled nightcap on, under a peaked roof in Willemstad, then we'd never need to hurry, for all we'd have to do would be to open our eyes and look around, and wait for the coffee to come with a rap at the door and a lifting of the curtain. But there is small comfort in listening to the endless schemes of that miscreant "if." We'll banish him in disgrace. [Illustration: SOME OF OUR FRIENDS AT WILLEMSTAD] [Illustration: WHERE THE BASKET-WOMEN WAITED Willemstad, Curaçao] Before we have time to readjust our impressions of one island to the anticipated pleasures of the one following, we are among a new people, speaking a strange tongue, living to us a new life,--to them a weather-worn old life; among people in densely populated cities, shut off from our world by weeks--at times by months--of silent isolation. Then all at once a fleck of smoke lifts above the horizon, a steamer is sighted far out at sea, the pilot puts out in his little open boat, and the whole island throbs with new emotion, for a ship is coming! From a poetical standpoint, I wish it were possible to believe that this emotion is a disinterested pleasure in welcoming strangers; in feeling once again the hand of man from the great world outside. Viewing the people, as we must, largely from an impersonal standpoint, it impressed us that the West Indian cares very little for the welcome or for the hand of man from the great continent; but that he is up early in the morning to devise new ways of reaching the pockets of the invaders, come they ever so peaceably. The natives await the coming of strangers, as a pack of hungry wolves watch for the shorn lamb. I myself have been that shorn lamb on several occasions. [Illustration: THE LANDING Willemstad, Curaçao] Quite undaunted by the great crowd of Curaçaoans on shore, our jackies made a cable fast to the near-lying quay, by which means our big boats are pulled back and forth, to and from the ship. Those coming to us bring the sellers of baskets; and it is here, although forewarned and forearmed, that our basket mania again breaks forth in full force. First came the famous Curaçaoan nests of baskets, of which Charles Kingsley confesses to have been beguiled into buying; and, if so wise a man as he fell victim to the wiles of the Curaçaoan basket-woman, how much more readily would we weaker mortals become her prey? Then, ranged temptingly, along the dock stood rows of Curaçaoan hampers,--great, fine, coloured affairs, which we looked at, and looked at, and looked at, and didn't buy. Then, beside the basket-women, were the men with fans and all sorts of straw weavings,--and then, oh! the work-boxes. Truly, you have seen them! Has not your grandmother stowed away in the dark attic somewhere an old mahogany box, inlaid with ivory and brass and coloured woods, with fascinating secret drawers and numerous lids for the hiding of her precious keepsakes and age-worn trinkets? Such a box is one of the chaste memories of my childhood,--Grandmother's mahogany box, with the inlaid lid and the musty odour of bygone years. When we found these same dear old boxes away down in Curaçao, the worn, hingeless, forsaken chest in the attic arose into a new dignity--into the dignity of a noble family lineage. So I have found at last its _habitat_, and these bright and gleaming creations are great-great--and no end to great--grandchildren of my far-away, lonely relic in the attic. But sentiment has to give way to reason, and we shake our heads at the box-man and the hamper-woman, who, nevertheless, follow us up to the bridge from the Otra-Banda shore over the canal, whence they watch dejectedly while we pay bridge-toll and disappear across the canal into the narrow Dutch streets, where the high roofs seem ready to topple over upon us. IV. What a picture of Dutch colonial life comes to us in that short walk! The overreaching eaves all but touch. Old lanterns swing across the narrow way, wrought-iron sign-posts reach long arms out over our heads, the shop doors are wide open, and the keepers of the shops could readily shake hands across the way. I wonder if there is any excuse at all for the fact that my preconceived ideas about Curaçao were wholly founded upon a very indistinct memory of a certain liquid of that name, said to be distilled upon this island from the wild sour orange? I expected to find this ambrosial nectar stacked in rows in every shop, in bottles, long and slim, chunky, dumpy, and round; in nice little flat bottles,--gifts for bachelor friends; in ornamented fancy bottles for envying housewives; in thick, pudgy, squatty bottles for gouty old uncles; in every conceivable shape and size I expected to find it. Willemstad was not to be Willemstad--city, town, burg--it was to be an inhabited flask of curaçao, a kind of West Indian bubble blown from the lips of the Northeast Trades, sweet with the breath of wild orange. The man with the bottles was to be a more subtle tempter than the hamper-woman, and--but it didn't happen that way at all. It turned out very differently. I, for one, did not see a single bottle of any shape or form in the whole town, but the men must have found some, for just before sailing a box was brought in, labelled "Curaçao," and I surmised it was liqueur, but I didn't open the box. Truly I did not! Some of us cynically argued that the liqueur was all sent in from somewhere else and palmed off as a native product; others clung to the home-production fancy, and yet neither one was altogether wrong, for the famous liqueur is made both in Holland and in this little Dutch colony away off in the New World; at any rate this is its birthplace and home. But the gold filigree, for which the islanders are famous, was true to our expectations. We are drawn up the shut-in street by the magnetism of a crowd which is gathering about a shop-door, and filling the tiny place fairly to suffocation with eager buyers of gold rings and pins, and all sorts of trinkets. We turn from the goldsmith and the seller of corals, and the shops, and make for the tram,--a little, two-seated bandbox on wheels, drawn by a two-penny mule on a tiny track through the clean white streets of Curaçao. We are told that there is a law against the painting of the houses white, on account of the blinding glare of the sun, and no wonder, for, even after a few short hours of wandering, our eyes ache with the strain and glare of so great light. The blue houses are an exquisite rest to the eye. The whole colour scheme of Curaçao is yellow and blue, and sometimes light green, with white used sparingly as decoration. Green, the green of trees and grass, you ask? No. I said nothing of the green of nature. It's too thoroughly Dutch for that. The bandbox car hitches along, threatening to topple over any minute on the toy donkey and stop,--at least until sundown, which would be most sensible. Let's cover up the donkey and get out of the glare until night! But, no! He has his own ideas, and experience has taught us the futility of an attempt to change them, so we settle down to the succession of yellow houses and blue houses, and white pillars and clean flights of white steps, but hardly a peep of green, not a sprig of palm, or tamarind, or orange, not a vestige of the great fundamental nature-colour--except in a well-concealed little park--everything paved and finished and whitewashed--only a few prim and well-pruned shrubs carefully set in either corner of the tiny front yards, and our eyes ache for the sight of trees and grass. Where the wild orange grows, we failed to discover, for the town itself is almost entirely bare of trees or flowers. Of course, it must be remembered that our very short stay made any long excursion into the country out of the question. Let us come again; we must find the wild oranges! Strange, is it not? No shade whatever in latitudes where the growing of great vegetation is but the matter of a few months. As far as we could see, there were no real trees in Willemstad; still, if palms do not grow in Holland, whatever would be the sense in having them here? They would spoil the likeness. So we jerk our hats down, readjust the dark glasses, tuck our handkerchiefs under our collars, and start up a breeze with a Curaçaoan fan, and decide to play "Jack-in-the-box" and jump out; primarily, to make straight for our ship to escape the midday sun; secondarily, to take one very impressionable member of our party away from the alarming charms of a stunning Curaçaoan woman--a woman of that noble and grandly developed type which often appears in the descendants of the Dutch--whose comely form occupies a goodly share of the bandbox seat. The streets in this residence part of the city are still and empty. The penny donkey and "we'uns" are the only live things visible. We are seized with a desire to pound on those eternally closed doorways to see if people really do live there. This seeing things on the outside is no fun. Let's make a sensation of some kind! Upset the bandbox, roll the plump lady in a heap inside; put on the cover; stand the penny donkey on top; capture some Curaçaoan hampers, jump inside, pull down the lid and play forty thieves. [Illustration: A JOLLY DUTCH PORT Willemstad, Curaçao] But, no,--we are sworn foes to scenes, and our vain wish to pinch somebody dies unsatisfied; and finally, when the penny donkey comes to the end of the route down by the quay, we take the longest way around, through the narrow thoroughfares, following the curve of the shore, over bridges which span the canals leading from the main channel of the harbour, down past the basket-woman with her tempting wares on the Otra-Banda quay to our floating home, where the governor and all the prominent citizens of Willemstad have assembled in great numbers. Well, we've found out one thing. The houses were empty sure enough. The people are all on our ship. What a good thing it was we left the bandbox right side up! There would have been no one to rescue the plump lady. V. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. U----, come toward us with a group of strangers--Curaçaoan--whose acquaintance happened just as the best things of life come to us--by the merest chance. They were driving about the city in company with the American consul, when, in passing one of the most attractive residences, their attention was drawn toward two young women who were standing out on the veranda, waving a great flag--our Stars and Stripes--in utter disregard of heat and sun; waving it forth in the yellow and white glare with all the love of country and home which motion could express. Their enthusiasm at once called forth a response on the part of the visitors; the carriage stopped and forthwith all the occupants of the house, following the two girls with the flag, came to welcome the strangers. The newcomers were bidden to enter and there was no limit to their hospitable entertainment. The flag-bearers were two homesick Southern girls, married to the sons of a leading Dutch family. They had not visited their native land since their marriage, and, oh! how they longed to see the dear old South again! When their countrymen set foot at Curaçao, all of the slumbering mother-country love broke forth again, and the old flag came out, and they feasted the strangers, and did their utmost to honour the precious sentiment of loyalty to home. And, after the ices and cooling drinks and fruits and confections, they and their friends were invited aboard ship, where it was our pleasure to make their acquaintance. We find here, as we have in all the other islands, that the leading families--the men in power--are comparatively pure representatives of the original colonising stock; that is, pure Dutch, Dane, Castilian, French, as the case may be; but that the people are a strange mixture of all nationalities, speaking languages for the most part unwritten, handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth, strangely intangible, and yet as fixed and well recognised among the people as is the old Common Law in the courts of Anglo-Saxon countries. Our friends in Curaçao tell us that the well-born natives speak Dutch, English, Spanish, and often French, with equal facility; added to this is another language which must be learned in order to deal with the common people. This curious language--"_Papaimiento_," it is called--has been reduced to a certain degree of form in order to facilitate its being taught in the schools. Children learn this language from their nurses, just as our Southern children acquire the negro dialect from the old "mammies." The comparison cannot be carried out to its full extent for the reason that, while our negro dialect bears a close and intelligible likeness to English, _Papaimiento_ is so unlike Dutch as to render its acquisition almost as difficult for a Dutchman as that of any other foreign language, but fortunately the Dutch are good linguists. It bears, of course, some likeness to Dutch in the fundamentals, but aside from that, it is a strange combination of speech--perhaps more Spanish than anything else--put together, it would seem, to meet the needs of as many people as possible. The meaning of the name _Papaimiento_ is, in the dialect, "The talk we talk," _i. e._, "our language." Curaçao lies some fifty miles off the coast of South America, and her favourable position between Venezuela and the Windward Islands has made her free port a most desirable one for the smugglers who wish to supply cheap goods to the South American ports. Thousands of flimsy tin-covered trunks ready for Venezuelan voyagers bear evidence of her popularity as a free and unquestioning port. Here, also, many steamers touch. But, above all, Curaçao is the haunt and refuge of the disappointed or temporarily exiled Spanish American politician or revolutionist. Here, like puppets in a show, appear from time to time many noble patriots ready to fight for their undying principles and incidentally to absorb any loose property in the track of their conquering "armies;" and here hies the deposed "President," or the lately conquered general, with his chests of treasure, waiting for a ship to his beloved Paris. Watch our own American newspapers for the warlike notes that Willemstad, Curaçao, ever feeling the pulse of northern South America, sends out to the world. Did she not give us the earliest news of Cervera's mysterious fleet? Does she not thrill us with the momentous gymnastics of President Castro, and the blood-curdling intentions of General Matos, General Uribe-Uribe, General Santiago O'Flanigan _et hoc genus omne_? The date of our visit to Curaçao is about the time of the little Queen of Holland's wedding, so that Wilhelmina and her prospects, and all the gossip attending so charming a personage, becomes with us, as we sit chatting together on the deck, a lively topic of interest. Mrs. C---- tells us of a gold box which is to be sent the young queen as a bridal gift from her subjects in Curaçao; a box fashioned after the most perfect art of the native goldsmith, in filigree so rare that none but a queen were fit to open it. This box, perchance the size of Pandora's once enchanted casket, is to be filled with the needlework of Curaçaoan women--work as far-famed as the lace of Maracaibo, the lace we expected to see everywhere in Caracas, while we were then so near the Maracaibo country, but which one can never find unless the open-sesame of the Spanish home is discovered, as impossible a task as the quest of the immortal Ponce de Leon. We did not see the Maracaibo lace, nor the Curaçaoan lace, and we are told that such a disappointment is not unusual; it is only for the elect--the Curaçaoan people themselves--that these wonderful specimens of the skill of patient women are visible. I shall never forget hearing that unwritten page in the tragic history of Spain's noble son, Admiral Cervera, as the Doctor in his quiet, low voice told how the great admiral touched first at Curaçao after his long and perilous voyage from Spain. It was the Doctor's son who sent the cable message to the United States, telling that the Spanish fleet was in the offing. But it was the Doctor himself who went with the surgeons who had been sent ashore by Cervera on their humiliating errand, to all the pharmacies in Curaçao for surgical supplies. The fleet had been hurried from Spain unprepared, and in fact almost unseaworthy, with not so much as a single bandage aboard or the most ordinary necessities for the immediate succour of the wounded. They had absolutely nothing in the way of such medical and surgical equipment at hand, although they knew their imminent and terrible need for just such things. Doctor C----, with the true physician's love for his fellow men, went from pharmacy to pharmacy with the surgeon, and bought up all the bandages and gauze and iodoform and other supplies which were to be found. Meantime detachments from the ships' crews began to land--hungry and worn, sad with the shadow of the great coming tragedy--and they fell upon the island like a lot of starved wolves. They actually had not food enough aboard to keep body and soul together, for the corrupt and procrastinating government at Madrid had not even properly victualled this fleet of war-ships before sending them to their certain destruction. The market was cleaned of everything it could afford, and even then it was a mere drop in the bucket to that unhappy host. Later Doctor C---- went out to the flag-ship with the surgeon, and spoke with Cervera, who prophetically told him that he knew he was going to his doom--but it had to be! And the twisted skeletons of those noble ships which we later saw strewn from Santiago on along the southern Cuban coast was but the fulfilment of the miserable fate he then so clearly foresaw, but which, after his unavailing pleas to the Spanish government before sailing, the staunch old admiral, with a Spaniard's pride and bravery, would not avoid. For so it was written! Is there not a strain of the Moor's fatalism still traceable in the true Spaniard? Thus as we chat with our new-found friends on topics grave and gay through the noon hour and on into mid-afternoon, the people of the city continue to crowd one another, row upon row, on the dock. A native band plays our national airs and Dutch national airs, and our decks are filled with visitors--the governor of the island and his suite and ladies, and fine little solemn-eyed and suspiciously dark-skinned Dutch children; and, in the midst of all the visiting and moving back and forth, some one asks Doctor W---- how the islanders feel about absorption by the United States--apparently a possibility now present in the mind of every West Indian; and the not surprising answer is made, that, for his part, he--a Dutchman, Holland-born--would favour annexation; and from the wild enthusiasm of the people ashore, as the bugle sounds the first warning of departure, one might readily believe that so favourable, so friendly, is the feeling for the United States, that the slightest advances toward peaceable annexation would be met with universal favour. And so the merchants also talked. The houses begin to move,--no, it's our boat herself, slowly, very slowly. We drop our shore-lines, and shout after shout rings after us. The populace moves in a mass along the quay, and the native band beats away its very loudest, and the bigger marine band aboard beats even louder, and it's a jumble of national airs in different keys, and hurrahs, and the people following along the quay. We wave our handkerchiefs until our arms are tired. One black-faced, bandannaed, Dutch conglomerate in her enthusiasm whips off her bright skirt, and in a white petticoat and red chemise she waves the fluttering skirt in the breeze. If the United States ever seriously contemplates the annexation of any of the West Indian islands, the surest way, and the quickest way, to bring it about would be to send ship-loads of pleasure-seeking Americans, for bimonthly visits, leave their mania for buying things unrestrained, and, before diplomacy has had time to put on its dress suit, the islanders would beg for annexation. [Illustration: A SNUG HARBOUR Willemstad, Curaçao] Do not deceive yourself into the belief that you will find El Dorado in these islands, where the products of the country, food, and lodging, can be bought for a song; where one can get full value for money expended. On the contrary, values have become so distorted by the extravagance of some American tourists that to be recognised as an American is a signal for the most extortionate demands from the hotel-keeper to the market-woman. The system of extravagant feeing and still more our readiness to pay what is asked us instead of bargaining and haggling over prices as the natives do, and as is confidently expected of any sane human being, has so demoralised service and the native scale of prices that it is fairly impossible to obtain the ordinary necessities for which one expects to pay in the hotel bill, without giving needlessly large fees to the servants who happen to be in your attendance; or to find anything offered at a reasonable price in the markets. At the sight of an American--and we are readily distinguished--the prices advance, and the unoffending tourist is obliged to suffer for the extravagance of those who have gone before him. This infection has spread through all the islands, and there has not been a port on our entire cruise wholly free from its effect. Perhaps, however, Willemstad was the pleasantest of all in this respect, for it is a free port, used to low prices and the ways of outsiders. It might be possible to go through the islands at a reasonable expense, provided one spoke the language necessary at the various ports with ease, and had the time and patience to bargain and shop indefinitely; provided, _also_, one could beat against the tide which sweeps the American toward the "Gran Hotel." Let him but once depart from his ancestral traditions of simple habits, let him but enter the portico of the "Gran Hotel," and he at once becomes the prey of every known species of human vulture. It is the old story of Continental Europe over again. CHAPTER VII. THE SOUTHERN CROSS "Wake up! Wake up! If you want to see the Southern Cross, wake up and come on deck!" And we remember how long we had been waiting for those wonderful stars, and how Daddy, who many nights slept on deck, had told us that he often saw them, and how we had, night after night, vowed we would make the effort to awaken at two in the morning, and how, each night, we had slept along, too tired with the wonder days to move an inch until bugle-call. But here comes this far-off voice again calling us from the Northland of dreams, and it seems to be saying, "This is your last chance. By to-morrow (whenever that uncertainty comes!) the stars will have rolled away, or you will have sailed along, and there will be no Southern Cross, and you may as well not have come away down here to the Spanish Main at all if you miss seeing it,"--and then we wake a bit more, and the figure in the doorway stands there with "come" on his face, and "wake up!" on his lips, and we try to think how sorry we shall be if we do not see the Southern Cross. And then the door closes with a rather contemptuous click, and we land in the middle of the floor, aroused by the disappearance of the figure in pajamas and by our somewhat reawakened sense of duty. Throwing on light wrappers, the little girls stumble along after me to where our man stands leaning against the rail, his face turned skyward. "There it is--see? Right in the south, directly opposite the Great Bear that sunk below the northern horizon two hours ago. One star down quite low, near the horizon, and one almost in a straight line above, and one at either side equal distances apart, like an old four-cornered kite. You must imagine the cross. But it's hardly what it's cracked up to be!" And we blink at the stars, and they blink at us, and we feel strangely unreal and turned about. What in all the world has the Southern Cross to do with the nineteenth century? It belongs to Blackbeard, and the great procession of pirates and roving buccaneers who swept these seas in tall-sparred, black-hulled craft, some hundreds of years ago. One or the other of us is out of place. The only consistent part of the night is, that, while our eyes are searching for the four luminous dots in the Southern Cross, our ship is plunging on toward Jamaica, that one-time Mecca of the bandit rover of the sea. There he found safe harbour and friends in the same profession; there it was that the hoards of Spanish gold and plate and all conceivable sorts of plunder, taken from the hapless merchantmen, were bought and sold and gambled away. But, without the accompaniment of roystering pirates and swaggering buccaneers, the Southern Cross seems out of joint. Jamaica may do as she is, but, as we look out across the scurrying waters, there's a malicious twinkle to the top star in the Southern Cross and that makes us all the more determined to give it an opportunity to renew old acquaintance. We'll have a pirate--we must have a pirate, if not a real one, bloody and black and altogether fascinating, we must conjure one by magic! Pirates there must be! So, to pacify our insatiable desire to resuscitate the ghostly heroes of the long-dead past, the Spanish Student offers a yarn. Four bells of the second night watch rings out, and "All's well!" floats above our heads, and the witching hour of two in the morning brings the proper flavour to the story. We cuddle down on some stray ship chairs, and the story begins: "Once upon a time--" "Oh, dear! Is it to be a 'once upon a time' story, Dad? Then it won't be real," breaks in the Wee One. "Yes, it is real, Chick; at least, so far as I know. But you must not interrupt me again. If you do, I might forget, and then the Cross up there would put out its lights and go to bed." "No, Dad, I'll be good." "Well, once upon a time, there was a doughty old French Corsair, who was one of the most daring pirates on the Spanish Main. Morals were in a topsyturvy state in those days, and in none were they more wrong-side-to than in this famous old Frenchman. He had a long, low, topsail schooner, painted black, with sharp clipper stem, clean flush decks and tall and raking masts, and--" "I know all about him, Dad. He had a black beard, and he used to braid it in lots of pigtails, and tie it with ribbons," says Wee One, again. "Now, Toddlekins, what did I say? I shall certainly bundle you off to bed. No, it wasn't Blackbeard, but it was a pirate just as fierce and fully as bad mannered. This old fellow had been rampaging around here, there, and everywhere, all about this Caribbean Sea and along the Spanish Main, in search of ships and gold and prisoners, and occasionally even food, and in fact anything of value he might come across; when not very far from where we are now--yes, just about this latitude, it was, but a few leagues more to the west--by the light of the stars--yes, by the light of this very Southern Cross, he makes out the land, and soon after spies a tidy, prosperous little village handy to the shore of a palm-fringed inlet. Like the provident pirate that he was, he at once decides that he is both hungry and thirsty and that his lusty followers are short of rations. Here is a likely port from which to supply. "So off goes a long-boat filled with his precious cutthroats, carrying a pressing invitation to the village priest and some of his friends to come aboard. The fat priest is routed out and escorted to the waiting boat; he understands his mission, he has seen such men before. So, taking along a few chosen friends, he makes the best of a bad business and is rowed off to the ship in short order. The citizens, meanwhile, are requisitioned for all sorts of food and drink, and the priest and his friends have a jolly time of it as hostages. But as his wit grows with the wine it occurs to our Corsair that, with a priest aboard, Holy Church should have due reverence, and roars out his imperative suggestion that mass would be in order. An altar is rigged up on the quarter-deck, holy vestments and vessels are quickly brought from the village church, and the ship's crew are summoned to assemble and warned to take hearty part in the service. In place of music, broadsides are ordered fired from the pirate's cannon after the _Credo_, after the _Elevation_, and after the _Benediction_. At the _Elevation of the Host_, the captain finds occasion to reprove a sailor for lack of reverence. But at a second offence from the same trifler, out comes his cutlass--a swift, shining circle follows the Corsair's blade, and off flies the still grinning head and the blood spirts high from the jumping trunk. The poor priest is startled, but the captain reassures him with kind words, for, says he, it is only his duty and always his pleasure to protect the sanctity of holy things; he would do the same thing again--and a thousand times!--to any one who was disrespectful to the Holy Sacrament. For why is there a great God above and his Holy Church on earth except to be honoured? Then the service continues as if nothing had happened and again comes the whine of the Latin chants and the thunder of the reverent guns. "After mass, the body is heaved overboard and no burial rites are said, for who shall try to save a heretic's soul? The priest is put ashore with many a smile and oath and many a pious crossing, and our Corsair and his pack of thieves go their way, having paid their respects to Holy Church." "Oh, Dad!" says Toddlekins, "that was lovely; is it true? Tell us another! Just one more! Don't you remember about Captain Kidd? "'My name was Captain Kidd, as I sailed, as I sailed, My name was Robert Kidd, as I sailed. My name was Robert Kidd, God's laws I did forbid, And wickedly I did, as I sailed.' "Don't you remember the other verses? You used to sing them to us on the yacht before we ever thought of seeing the real Southern Cross." And just as the indulgent parent begins to waver, and the little girls are sure they have won another story, down--down--down--drops a big star, the foot of the Cross, millions of miles away, and the three lonely wanderers still hanging low in the heavens reach out their great shadowy arms in ghostly warning to those unthinking children of Adam who defy time and sleep and all things reasonable, just for the sake of a few old memories of a very questionable past. Then those three deserted stars quiver and shiver and hide behind the wandering company of torch-bearers, and silently disappear, and a tired moon gives a vague uncertainty to sea and air. In spite of the early morning mystery, all our efforts to reinstate the French Corsair, the black-hulled phantom, and the headless sailor, fail. The decks of the ship are damp and empty and long. The ungainly deck chairs are locked together in gruesome lines like monstrous grasshoppers dying in winrows, and the great engines below beat and throb, and the water rolls past us in giant breathings, full of the sighs of dead men lying fathoms deep beneath our keel, and the stars sink lower and lower, and we are hurrying on toward the morning. Our eyes are still longing for sleep, and the little girls flutter down below, and we two after them. In the morning, after some strange dreams, we lie at anchor off the Blue Mountains of Jamaica. CHAPTER VIII. KINGSTON, JAMAICA I. Had he not come aboard, it is doubtful if even the "kirk-ganging habit" inherited from a long line of devout ancestors could have dragged us to the service. But there was an unforgettable something in his face which compelled us, in spite of the intense heat, to leave ship by a shore-boat on Sunday morning and inquire the way to the Parish Church. [Illustration: KINGSTON, JAMAICA, FROM THE BAY] Shortly after we had dropped anchor in Kingston Harbour, early on Saturday, we saw the rector of the English Church being rowed through the crowd of fruit-boats, which were bobbing about us like so many brilliant birds; but it was with considerable difficulty that he was finally enabled to reach the ship, so strenuous were the black fruiterers to give their wares the best possible showing. They were well worth the showing, too, for such masses and varieties and colours were a marvel indeed, even in the tropics. The shaddocks were as big as melons, and the tangerines, measuring some fifteen inches in circumference, were dyed as deep a yellow as the colour sense could grasp, and piled in great, heaping baskets, were watched over by beflowered negresses, who sat motionless in the boats, except for their great rolling eyes. The oranges of Mandeville, Jamaica, were well known to us through the accounts of former travellers, but no description had ever brought a suggestion of the true radiance of the Jamaican fruit as it shone forth that brilliant morning. After one look, the little girls ran down to the stateroom for the St. Thomas basket, to fill it to the very handle-tip with luscious tangerines. And while they scampered off with the basket brimful, the lid pressed back by piles of tender, yellow beauties, a strange boat-load of new passengers blocked the way once more for the good priest, and he leaned patiently back in his boat, as if he knew that to protest would be of no avail. The newcomers were two enormous live sea-turtles which the fishermen hauled up the gangway by a stout cable. The turtles groaned and puffed and flapped, and the little girls wanted them turned on their legs just to see what would happen; it would be such fun to ride a-turtle-back. And Wee One says, "Why, Mother! They are just like 'John the Baptist,' our pet turtle at home, only lots and lots bigger. I wish they'd turn over." But the sailors had evidently handled turtles before, for they were left on their backs and were--after having been duly wondered at--dragged down the deck out of sight, to reappear again in stew and _fricassee_, not in steak as the Jamaicans serve them. But Sister laments. She and Little Blue Ribbons wanted to see the turtles run. "Mother, if they had only been right side up we could have helped turn them on their backs just like the 'Foreign Children' Stevenson tells about,-- "'You have seen the scarlet trees And the lions over seas; You have eaten ostrich eggs, And turned the turtles off their legs.'" [Illustration: RIO COBRE, NEAR SPANISH TOWN Jamaica Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Meanwhile, as the way clears, the priest reaches the ship, and is soon lost among the crowd of passengers who are waiting for the first boat ashore. All of Saturday, we wandered about the dusty, uninteresting streets of Kingston, waiting for the great impression. But it didn't come. We were ready and willing to admire the beautiful, but it did not appear. Kingston was even more unattractive than Port of Spain, Trinidad; dirtier, hotter, and in every way dull and uninteresting. Had it not been for the Blue Mountains, against which Kingston leans, and the glorious old Northeast Trades which fan her wayworn features, and for the sea at her feet, we could not have forgiven her frowsy appearance. The whole place had a "has been" air, with unkempt streets, and low, square, dumpy-looking houses, facing each other like tired old tramps. II. In order to form a just estimate of the Englishman's work and methods in Jamaica, one must leave Kingston, and take to the roads outside, for example that one along the Rio Cobre which winds in and out among the mountains in a most enchanting course. This particular drive of eleven miles, called the "Bog Walk Drive," leads to a little settlement called "Bog Walk." It is to be hoped that there was at one time some excuse for this name, but as bogs do not disappear in a day, it must have been in quite a distant past that the name had any real significance. We saw no suggestion of a Bog Walk, although actively on the alert for it. We had uncertain anticipations of having to scramble over wet and oozing turf, and one of us, without saying a word to any one else, tucked a pair of rubbers into a capacious basket. But the rubbers stayed right there, for there was no bog, nor any suggestion of one,--funny way these English have of naming things! And speaking of names,--well, there never was a place--except other English colonial towns--where the good old British custom of naming houses is more rampant than in Kingston. Had the houses of some pretension been so labelled, it might not have seemed so strange; but, no, every little cottage had a name painted somewhere on its gate-post, and very grandiloquent ones they were, I assure you. No two-penny affairs for them! There was "Ivy Lodge" and "Myrtle Villa" and "Ferndale" and "Oakmere" and "The Hall," tacked on to the wobblety fence-posts of the merest shanties. And yet, in spite of their apparent incongruity, there was a sort of pitiful fitness in those names. It was a holding-on, in a crude way, to some half-forgotten ideal of the old English life. It might have been a memory of the far-away mother country, left as the only legacy to a Creole generation; it might have been the last reaching for gentility; who can tell what "The Hall" meant to the inmates of that shambling roof. But for the "Bog Walk" there was no reason apparent, and we did not waste a bit of sympathy on the supposititious man who first sank to his armpits in what may have been a bog. The Bog Walk road is wide enough for the passing of vehicles, and as solid as a rock. The English in the West Indies--as elsewhere--have ever been great road-builders. Now this bit of road--eleven miles long, as smooth as a floor, as firmly built as the ancient roads of Rome--is part of a great system of roads which extends for hundreds of miles throughout the island, and these roads have been constructed with so much care that, in spite of the torrents of tropical rain which must at times flood them, they remain as firm and enduring as the mountains themselves, seemingly the only man-made device in the West Indies which has been able to withstand the ravages of the tropical elements. Jamaica is one hundred and forty-four miles long and fifty miles wide, and its entire area is a network of these wonderful roads. Roads which would grace a Roman Empire, here wind through vast lonely forests and plantations of coffee and cacao, past towns whose ramshackle houses are giving the last gasps of dissolution. Jamaica has evidently suffered under the affliction of road-making governors, whose single purpose has been to build roads though all else go untouched, and they have held to that ambition with bulldog pertinacity. No one can deny the wonder of the Jamaican highway. But whither, and to what, does it lead? Good roads are truly civilisers, and essential to the good of a country, but there must be a reason for their existence which is mightier than the way itself. Had there been half as many forest roads in Jamaica as there are now, and the money which has been buried in practically unused paths put into good schools and the encouragement of agriculture, Jamaica might to-day show a very different face. The most casual observation tells us of vast, unreasoning waste of money on the beautiful island, and one cannot but pity the patient blacks who have suffered so much from the poor administration of their white brothers. [Illustration: A NATIVE HUT Jamaica Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] It was our pleasure to drive some distance on these hard turnpikes, and in miles we met but one conveyance of any kind, and that was a rickety old box on wheels, carrying a family of coolies to Spanish Town. This place out-Spanished any Spanish town we had ever seen in filth and general dilapidation. It was simply a lot of rambling old shacks, huddled together under the long-suffering palms--dirty, forlorn, forsaken, never good for much when young, and beyond redemption in its puerile old age. Down through these haunts of the half-naked blacks, there sweeps a road fit for a chariot and four. Diamond necklaces are queenly prerogatives, and the proper setting for a royal feast; but, thrown about the neck of a starving child, they are, to say the least, out of place. Nothing can be more entrancing, when perfect of its kind, than either diamonds or children, but they do not belong together. It may be, that, when the child is grown, circumstances will make the wearing of such a necklace a graceful adornment, but, until that time does come, the child's belongings should be those of simple necessity, all else being sacrificed to the normal growth of body and mind; let this be once well under way and adornments may follow. Jamaica has given her children a diamond necklace, and, although magnificent and wonderful, it is out of place, and the worst of it is, the children have had to pay dearly for it. What Jamaica would have been under wise and prudent management, and with a different racial problem, no one can say. She has certainly never been lacking in resources, nor has she lacked amenable--though not always desirable--subjects. But there is a hitch somewhere, and to find that hitch would take a long unravelling of a torn and broken skein, the kind of work few care to undertake; but it is the work which must be done if Jamaica is ever to have a future. [Illustration: THE BOG WALK ROAD, NEAR SPANISH TOWN Jamaica] Dusty and hot and still wondering where the "Bog Walk" would appear, we left the carriages for an inn which stood close to the road. It was somewhat--no, I should say much--above the average Jamaican house, passably clean, just passably, and in a way rather inviting to the traveller who is glad enough to go anywhere, where he can be satisfied, if he is hungry and tired. But the house was not what I wanted to tell you about; it was the _grande dame_ within, who played the indifferent hostess. We did not see her as we ran up-stairs to the upper balcony; it was well after we had sipped our rum and lemonade--for we did sip it; we not only sipped it, but we drank it, and it was fine, and we felt so comfortable that, when she--_la grande dame_--appeared, it never occurred to us to express our disappointment over the Bog Walk; we just agreed with her in everything she said, and felt beatific. I think we would have agreed with her even without the rum and lemonade, for she had an air about her that made one feel acquiescent. She was tall and angular. Her features were as clean-cut as though chiselled in marble; she was clearly Caucasian in type. Her lips were thin, her nose was aquiline, and her mouth had a haughty, indifferent curve, suggesting a race of masters, not slaves. But her skin was like a smoke-browned pipe, and her hair was glossy, and waved in quick little curves in spite of the tightly drawn coil at the back of her stately neck. She was dressed in the fashion of long ago, with a full flounced skirt and a silk shawl. She sent her menials to wait upon us, although I noticed that, in spite of herself, she was taking an interest in the strangers. The Madame went before, and we followed, through the ever-open door of the West Indian home. The Madame's skirts swept over the uneven threshold, over the bare, creaky floors, and her noiseless feet led the way into a past, rich in romance and disaster. The Madame had little to say; she just glided on before us like a black memory. Here on the bare, untidy floors were the Madame's treasures; treasures she used daily, for the table was spread (the Madame served dinner there just the hour before). Here was a table of Dominican mahogany with carved legs and oval top, and there on the sideboard was rare old plate, and quaintest pieces of Dresden china and Italian glass glistened as it once had done near the lips of its lordly master. The side-table of mahogany gave out a dull, rich lustre of venerable age, and there was a punch-bowl--silver, and much used--and curious candlesticks with glass shades. Ah! The Madame was rich. What a place, I thought, for a lover of the antique! In her bedroom hard-by, a massive four-poster reached to the ceiling, and off in a dark corner there was an old chest, richly ornamented with brass. In every room there were chairs and davenports in quaintest fashion, all dull and worn and beautiful, while the billiard-room outside was well filled by a massive old-fashioned rosewood billiard-table whose woodwork, undermined by the extensive ravages of ants, was fast falling in pieces. "Where has it come from?" we ask; and she replies, with a lofty air, that her grandfather brought all these over from England long, long ago. No doubt the Madame would have sold any and all of it, and we caught ourselves wondering how we could get one of those old pieces home. It really seemed as if we ought to buy something, for the black Madame, towering above us, certainly expected to make a sale. But we didn't buy; we just admired it all, and particularly the Madame, and then we began again to try and think out the dreary tangle. There was just one thing the Madame had which she would not sell, and that was the one thing we wanted most: the story of that grandfather. She was the _grande dame_; his history was sealed behind those unfathomable eyes. She admitted only the patrician in her blood, not the savage. The grandfather had left his stamp upon that face, but there was that other stamp! Alas, the Englishman has sold his birthright in Jamaica; he is selling it to-day, and what more hopeless future could rest over a people than does this day over the island of Jamaica? III. And now we are back in Kingston, the city. "How would it be for us to leave Daddy here--he wants to be measured at the military tailor's for some khaki suits--and run off down the street on the shady side, to what seems to be a 'Woman's Exchange?'" The little girls, always ready for a new expedition, take the lead, and for once we found a sign which was not misleading. It proved to be a veritable Woman's Exchange, filled with no end of curious specimens of native workmanship which had been brought there for sale. Among the natural curios--to us the most wonderful--was a branch of what is known as the lacebark-tree. The botanist will have to tell you its real unpronounceable name. For us "lacebark" answers very well, because we don't know the other, and have no way of finding it out just now. Who ever thought of carrying an encyclopedia in a steamer-trunk? I am sadly conscious that we even forgot the pocket-dictionary. Please forgive us this time! But it was the tree that interested us, not its name. Its fibrous inner bark (much like the bark of our Northern moosewood) is made of endless layers of lacelike network, which can be opened and stretched a great width, even in the bark of a bit of wood an inch and a half in diameter. These layers of lace are separated and opened into flowerlike cups, with rim upon rim of lacy edge, all coming from the one solid stick of wood, or carefully unrolled into filmy sheets of net-like tissue. The native whips are made by taking long branches of this tree, scraping off the brittle outer bark, opening the inner fibrous bark, and braiding the ends into a tapering lash as long as one wishes. Hats are trimmed with scarfs of this dainty woodland lace, and even dresses are said to be made from this cloth of the forest, which rivals in loveliness the fairest weaving of Penelope. The gracious woman in charge told us that, while the Exchange was self-supporting, it owed its existence to the liberality of an American girl, who had many years ago married an English nobleman. And it made me glad to think that our glorious American women had, with all their foolish love for titles, a generous hand for woman the world over, and that, wherever they wandered, their ways could be followed by the light of their liberality. In a way, the Exchange--founded by an American woman--made us forgive much in Kingston; so, when we took the street up to the Myrtle Bank Hotel, expecting from its name to find a sweet, delicious caravansary, embowered in myrtle green and magnolia, and found the "Myrtle Bank" an arid sand beach, with a large, self-sufficient modern hotel built therein, we still forgave, because we said we would for the sake of that dear American girl who couldn't quite forget. And then, too, the Doctor met us straight in the doorway; not the newly made Philadelphia doctor. No, not that one; it was the other one, the Northeast Trade, the million-year-old West Indian Doctor. Do you suppose he is as old as that? Yes, even older. But, for all that, he's as faithful to his trust as though but yesterday he had slipped from out the wrangling of chaos. So we kiss the Doctor, and run up after him into the big, spacious parlour of the Myrtle Bank Hotel, drop down into a delightful rocker, and think it all over. Here we are in Kingston, owned by the English, governed by the English, bullyragged by the English,--but where is he, the Englishman, where the Englishwoman? To be sure, we found some white faces in the shops, and we remembered seeing a few fair-haired, sallow little girls. And we saw on the street, just as we left the Exchange, an Englishman with a golf-bag on his shoulder; but these were the landmarks only--the exception. The people we saw were of all shades of a negro admixture, and some very black ones at that. But the Myrtle Bank Hotel was not the place for such reflections. At least, so the good Doctor seemed to think, for he had no sooner brought us under the magic of his presence, than we were carried into the most affable state of contentment with all things visible, and it was not until the next morning that the question fully dawned upon us in its true significance. IV. [Illustration: WHERE WE LANDED Kingston, Jamaica Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] I suppose we might have walked from the boat-landing to the Parish Church embowered in its palms a few blocks away, but even that short distance was exaggerated by the early hot glare of the sun. The Northeast Trade was taking his morning nap, and the air was utterly motionless. So Daddy hails a cab, and we rumble off in the direction of some ringing bells. The town, as we drove along, had the dead look of an English Sunday morning; there were few people visible, and those we saw were evidently following the bells, as we were. Back of our desire to go where the face of the priest was leading us, there was a hope that, in attending an English church, presided over by a white, English priest, we should there see the representative people of Kingston, the white owners of the island. This church was one of the few beautiful sights in Kingston. Truly, some good priest of the olden time must have planned with lingering touch the graceful garden which so lovingly enshrined the venerable spot. An avenue of palms, singing their silvery song all the long day, skirted on either side the wide stone walk to the entrance, and bent their long, waving arms very close to our heads as we stepped within the doorway. The church, as an ancient tablet indicated, was built in the latter part of the seventeenth century. It followed the sweet lines of the English cathedral, built from time to time, as one could readily observe from the varying indications of age in the structure itself. We were early for the service, for the second bell had not rung. The priest met us at the door. He was a man of ripe years, with close-cut whitening hair, and a face that one would always remember. It was framed in strength and moulded by the love of God. There was in it that indefinable beauty which comes from a sacrificial life, from a life breathed upon by the spirit of holiness and quiet. There were no lines of unrest there; the poise of divine equilibrium was his living benediction, and we followed him down the stone aisle, over the memorial slabs of the departed great buried beneath, to a seat just the other side of a massive white pillar, midway between open windows on one side and an open door on the other, where the grateful breeze, now faintly rustling the palms without, swept in upon us in delicious waves. We were placed quite well in front of the transept, and as we waited there in the quiet old building, I began to make a mental estimate of just where the different classes of Jamaican society would find themselves. Here, where we were, would be the whites, and back beyond the transept, the negroes, and in the choir, of course, the fair-haired English boys. Then the old bell began to ring again, and a few of our fellow voyagers came in and took seats in front of us,--notably Mr. and Mrs. F----, who had been the guests of the priest the day before. The church was filling. The owners of the seat in which the priest had placed us arrived, and we were requested by a silent language, which speaks more forcibly than words, to move along and make room. In the meantime, the pew was also filled from the other side, and in the same dumb language we were requested to move back the other way. Thus we were wedged in closely between the two respective owners of the seat. And they were not white owners,--they were black, brown, yellow--but not white. The church filled rapidly. It filled to the uttermost. Mr. and Mrs. F----, in front of us, were obliged to separate, for, when the owners of their seat arrived, they simply stood there until Mr. F---- was forced to leave his wife and crowd in somewhere else. The pew-owners were the rightful possessors, and the white man or the stranger apparently of little consequence. There was every conceivable shade of the African mixture. The choir was made up partially of black negresses, partially of yellow girls, with men of all hues besides, and the whole congregation in this Church of England was similarly mixed, with the black blood strongly predominant. I saw, outside of our party, only one Englishwoman and one Englishman, and a few about whom I was doubtful, and those were all. The blacks were very far from being the true type of African. In some cases, there would be the negro face in all its characteristics, with one exception, and that would be the oblique eyes of the Chinese. There were Japanese negroes, and Chinese negroes, and English and French negroes. It was a horrible mixture of negro with every other people found in the island, with the negro in the ascendant. I saw no marks of deference paid to the white strangers; they were placed in the same position in which a negro would find himself in a Mississippi gathering of white people. If you have ever witnessed the enthusiasm with which the negro is welcomed in such places, you can understand our position that day in Jamaica. We had been told of the contempt in which the white man is held in Haïti, and, not having experienced it, were disinclined to believe such an abnormal state of things. But, here in Jamaica, without ever having been informed of the state of society, we felt it as plainly as if it had been emblazoned on the sign-boards. We were not welcome and we felt it. We were out of our element. [Illustration: EL MORRO, ENTRANCE TO HARBOUR Santiago de Cuba Copyright, 1901, by Detroit Photographic Co.] The people were all well clothed,--many in elegance. The most of them in white and black; court mourning for the queen. And then the grand old service began,--that wonderful world-encircling service of our old English Mother Church--always the same and always sufficient--and it was all so strange,--the feeling I had about that word "we." There was a slow dawning in my soul that never before had the word "humanity" meant anything but a white humanity to me--a universal love for black, yellow, chocolate, brown, saffron humanity had never come fully into my consciousness. And, while I sat there in that vast, black assemblage, the long, terrible past of Jamaica arose before me, and, too, the doubtful future loomed up in gloomy outlines, and I wondered what would be the outcome of it all. Where would the Englishman be in another century in Jamaica? Would Jamaica revert back to the Haïtien type, or is some hand coming to uphold the island? It is far from my intention to touch upon the political situation in Jamaica,--especially as I don't know anything about it. I can only tell you what I saw, and you can draw your own conclusions. All I can say is, where is the white man in Jamaica? What is his position, and what has brought him into his present deplorable condition? Has the white blood after all so little potency? One needs but to glance at James Anthony Froude's masterful book, "The English in the West Indies," in order to see the why and wherefore of it all. His words have greater force to-day than even at the time of his writing, for the course of events has more than justified his predictions. Our opinions of the situation were wholly unbiased, for we did not read Froude's account until long after, so that our sensations, our surprises, at the Jamaican English Church service, were wholly original. [Illustration: THE PLAZA Cienfuegos, Cuba] The service proceeded through the prayers--our prayers--and then came the sermon. I shall never forget the text. It was taken from that masterpiece of Biblical literature, the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians: "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal." The priest had been there for over thirty years, and he began: "Beloved in the Lord, my children!" And we, white and black, were all his children. We were in a strangely reversed situation, for even the good priest had the tawny hue of Africa faintly shining in his fine face. No mention of colour distinction was made: but which of us was to have the charity? Did it not seem that he pleaded for the white man--that the stronger black should have more charity? Or was it for us as well? And it seemed to me I realised for the first time the position of our well-bred Southerner; and everything was jumbled and queer in my mind as the priest spoke. And his beautiful strong face shone over the people, and his voice quivered with a deep love, touching the raiment of one who said, "Come unto me all ye"--all--all--all! The white arches echoed back the pleadings, the commands, the love, while in quiet eloquence he told of One who set his face steadfastly toward Jerusalem. The church emptied itself, and we were left with the priest, and the old sunken tombs, and the sleeping organ, and the white light streaming through the windows. And we wondered if we had yet learned what the Master meant when he said: "Come unto me all ye--" [Illustration: THE GRAVE OF CERVERA'S FLEET West of Santiago de Cuba] CHAPTER IX. "CUANDO SALIDE LA HABANA" "I sometimes think that never blows so red The rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; That every hyacinth the garden wears Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head." The dream days have come and gone. We have left historic Santiago with its forts and battle-fields, and the beautiful harbour of busy commercial Cienfuegos; we have skirted along the southern coast of Cuba, Pearl of the Antilles, through the Yucatan Channel, into the Gulf of Mexico, and now we are come to Havana, where countless voices call us in every direction both day and night. And yet it is not of Santiago, the old _Merrimac_ lying in midchannel, El Caney, or San Juan Hill that I am writing to-day--no, nor of the wrecks of Cervera's fleet strewn in rocking skeletons along the coast. No, those stories have long since been well told you--those tragic stories of battle and death, gone now into the past with the echoes of muffled drums and the shuffling feet of sick soldier boys, dragging themselves home when the day of vengeance was over. No, it is not of that I am writing, but of a day which I gave to you, O mothers of our glorious marines! and I take it now from out the memories of those sunny isles, a precious keepsake, that it may be yours for ever. You are known to me, yet I cannot speak your names. You are near to me, yet the continent divides us. Your eyes speak to me, and yet, should we meet, you would pass unrecognised. A universal love, a universal memory has called you to me, and space cannot separate us. In this city of beauty, though alluring at every turn, there was one pilgrimage, come what may, I would not fail to make. The Morro and Cabañas might be slighted, but not that patch of green earth away over the hill where the boys of the _Maine_ lie buried so near the waters that engulfed them. [Illustration: WRECK OF THE MAINE Havana Harbour, Cuba Copyright, 1900, by Detroit Photographic Co.] Far from the city they rest, where none may trouble their deep slumbers. Their only monument a bare worn path where thousands of those who loved your boys and honoured their memory have trodden down the grass about the lowly bed. It was a day as still as heaven, when in the City of the Dead I silently took my way; and coming to their long home I knelt down in the moist coverlet of grass and folding my hands looked up into the infinite depth of the blue sky, which dropped its peaceful curtain so tenderly over them. I seemed to stand upon a sun-kissed summit, from which I might scan the whole earth. And it was from there, afar off, I felt the yearning of your tears. I reached down to the earth and gathered some humble little flowers which pitying had throbbed out their sweet souls over the blessed dead; and I held them lovingly in my hands, and then placed them within the leaves of a book, thinking that some day when we should meet I would give them to you. And now they wait for your coming, O mothers! I could give you naught more precious. Yes, the days have come and gone as all days must, and we shall soon have left the Isles of Endless Summer. But so long as life lasts, their radiance will enfold us, and when the day is done, we shall draw the curtain well content, knowing that no greater beauty can await us than this fair earth has brought. [Illustration: CABAÑAS, LA PUNTA, AND HARBOUR ENTRANCE Havana, Cuba Copyright, 1900, by Detroit Photographic Co.] CHAPTER X. A MEMORY OF MARTINIQUE "La façon d'être du pays est si agréable, la température si bonne, et l'on y vit dans une liberté si honnête, que je n'aye pas vu un seul homme, ny une seule femme, qui en soient revenus, en qui je n'aye remarqué une grande passion d'y retourner."--LE PÈRE DUTERTRE, _writing in 1667_. A few insignificant little photographs are lying on the desk before me. Some of them are blurred; some of them are out of focus. They have been for many months packed away among bundles of other photographs of a similar character, moved from their corner in the library amongst the books of travel, only to be occasionally dusted by the indifferent housemaid and packed away again out of sight. Days come and days go, and things move on in uniform measure, and life glides silently away from us, and one day passes much as does the day before; and we plan and work and hope, and we build to-day upon the assurances of yesterday and to-morrow; and, although we know that there are times when love can be crushed out of a life, yet we base our hope upon the eternal fixedness of love; and, although constantly face to face with the mutability of all created things, we build upon the eternal stability of matter. We hope by reason of an undying faith in those we love; we build upon a belief in the immutability of the everlasting hills; and we go on building and hoping until, with some, there comes a day when the soul burns out, and the everlasting hills crumble to ashes, and loving and building is no more, and there is never loving or building again in the same way. * * * * * Much as we touch the sacred belongings of the beloved dead, do I now bring forth from their lonely hiding-place the few photographs of St. Pierre and the fascinating shores of Martinique, which we took last winter, as we cruised through the Windward Islands. [Illustration: ST. PIERRE AND MT. PELÉE BEFORE THE ERUPTION Martinique Courtesy of Professor T. A. Jaggar, of the Geological Department of Harvard University] Having but just read the terrible tidings from Martinique that St. Pierre has been utterly destroyed by volcanic eruption, and the fair island left an ash-heap, these one-time insignificant little pictures become at once inexpressibly dear to me; and I have been sitting here for a long, long time, looking first at one and then at another, with a tenderness born of sorrow and love. Say what you may of the futility of a love which clings to places, it is nevertheless a passion so deeply rooted in some natures that neither life nor death seem able to cause its destruction. There is no reasoning with love; it is born to be, to exist, and why we love there is no finding out. Strange, this wonderful loving which comes to you and me! Not alone the love we lavish upon God's creatures; upon father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, and children, and the whole world of humankind; but upon all of God's handiwork: His trees, His flowers, His dear brown soil, His hills, His valleys, His broad, sweeping plains, His high, loftily crested peaks, His lonely byways, where shy birds and soft-footed beasts hold high carnival the livelong day. Beloved as are all of God's creatures, there are for each one of us a few, a very few, souls without whom loving would seem to pass away. Beautiful as is the great earth, there are chosen spots upon it for you and for me, to which our thoughts revert with an infinite tenderness; and were such sweet abiding-places suddenly to be blotted from the earth, it would seem to us as though beauty had died for ever. Such a treasure-house was St. Pierre to me. In the midst of islands, each rivalling the other in loveliness, Martinique had a claim for homage which none other possessed. Its charm was felt even far out to sea, as its lofty headlands, with terrible _Pelée_ looking over, struck a bold pace for the lesser isles to follow. As we approached the still, deep harbour,--although the hour was late for landing,--we were so permeated by the puissant fascination of the place, that, against the protests of old wiseacres aboard, we nevertheless took the first available small boat, lured into the arms of St. Pierre by her irresistible summons. And what was that summons? Who can tell? [Illustration: ST. PIERRE AND MT. PELÉE AFTER THE ERUPTION Martinique Courtesy of Professor T. A. Jaggar, of the Geological Department of Harvard University] The same hand beckoned us which has for generations been beckoning other children of men; other children who have gone there to live and die content; the same that beckoned old Father Dutertre hundreds of years ago. Children's children have been born there, and have grown old and withered, and have gone the way of all the earth, and _La Pelée_, the giantess, has slept for generations, and the children had quite forgotten that the day might come when she would awaken. _La Pelée_ was slumbering, oh! so gently--so peacefully, that far-away night, when we first wondered at her beauty--and we, too, forgot! For did not her children say that she would never waken more? The soft, blue hills said, "Come!" The lonely peaks, beyond, said, "Come!" And the little city waved its pretty white hand to us with "Come!" in every motion; and the sweet-voiced creole lads, who rowed us in, smiled, "Come!" and what could we do? And then, when we entered the little city, it was so snug and clean, and it was all so different, so different. How can I explain it to you? There was, as it were, a homogeneousness about the people which was not apparent in the other islands. Here was a people whose sires had sprung from the best blood of France, from a race of great men and women; here the question of colour had been more harmoniously worked out; and we felt at once that we were amongst those whose ancestors had learned, through the streaming blood of kings and princes, the principles of Liberty, Equality, and Justice. The people said, "Come!" and we answered, and long, long into the night we were following the summons. Then it was that _La Pelée_ was fair, and she lay so still, so still, that the children forgot--if they ever really knew--that very beautiful women can sometimes be very wicked--only "sometimes," for there are so many beautiful good women. But the children loved _La Pelée_; she was beautiful, and she took her bath so gently, away amongst the clouds and mist of the morning. * * * * * As I look again in the unchanging photograph at the dark mountains and the tiny white city, cuddled down by the sea, with its quaint lighthouse and its old church, there rises a strange mist over my soul, and a blur comes into my eyes, and I feel myself pressing the cold bit of cardboard against my lips as I would the face of a beloved. [Illustration: RUE VICTOR HUGO BEFORE THE ERUPTION St. Pierre, Martinique Courtesy of Professor T. A. Jaggar, of the Geological Department of Harvard University] It comes to me that once again there has gone from my life for eternity that which can never return; just as the whole bright world can be changed into darkness by the passing out of a soul we love; and we know that, however much we long for its return, it can never come back; that from that hour we tread the way alone. The silent spirit takes up the light, falters a moment at the door, turning, smiles sweetly upon us, and is gone, and we are left in a dark room. Oh! the love that we mortals lavish in this world of ours! There was about Martinique a sweetness, a translucent loveliness, an unforgettableness which crept into the innermost fibre of my being. It even seemed to creep into my blood and pulsate through my body with every beat of my heart. I listen now to the memories of my soul, and hear again the sweet, soft voices of the creole girls and the quick, noiseless tread of the carriers of water, fruits, and cacao coming down from Morne Rouge, coming from the tender shadows which droop caressingly about the feet of slumbering _Pelée_. And I can hear the cool trickle of the water from the half-hidden fountain in a cranny of the wall; and I hear the rush of the stream down from the mountainside, over stones as white as milk. And sweet, shy flowers hang over high walls and nod to me; and from green blinds in low, white mansions, I hear soft young voices, whispering and laughing. A youth passes, as the blind opens, and he laughs and goes to the other side of the street to beckon, and, oh! there it is again--the old story. And I go on and on, and I come to the _Rivière Roxelane_ where the women are spreading their clothes to dry on the great rocks, and the river tumbles along, and twists in and out with gentle murmurs, and the women are washing and laughing. [Illustration: RUE VICTOR HUGO AFTER THE ERUPTION St. Pierre, Martinique Courtesy of Professor T. A. Jaggar, of the Geological Department of Harvard University] And I go on to the palms, higher up, and some one brings me wild strawberries from the cool mountains, and I sit down and pick them from the basket and eat to my heart's delight; and I rest on the bridge, so old, all covered with moss and flowers, and I look down into the valley, where the city lies, and beyond where it dabbles its feet into the blue sea. And the picture is framed in an oval of green, drooping trees, and whispering vines, and deep-scented flowers. * * * * * It must have come--_the end_--just as the good priest was saying mass down in the white church by the sea, and the creole girls had come from the mountains with their sticks of palm--for salad--and had sold their fruits in the market, and had gone with the fishermen to the good priest; and the white church was crowded to the doors,--for the priest was beloved, and the church had broad arms,--and the boys were chanting, when--my God! where should the children escape? The fiery mountain back of them and the deep sea before them and the air about them a sweeping furnace! "Children! Children!" I seem to hear the clear, ringing voice of the old priest. "I commit your souls to God. Amen, amen." The beautiful _Pelée_ burned out her wicked soul, the River Roxelane ran dry, the dear, blue sky of morning was turned to hideous night, the white city fell in blazing ruins, and now the everlasting hills lift their scarred sides in grim desolation. THE END. INDEX Andes Mountains, The, 67, 84, 137. Aragua River, Venezuela, 145, 146. Bank, The, Caracas, 106-111. Blue Mountains, The, Jamaica, 197, 205. Bolivar, 95. Statue of, 84, 87. Botanical Gardens, The, Martinique, 15, 20. Botanical Gardens, The, Port of Spain, 15-34. Ceiba-Tree, The, 16. Coffee-Tree, The, 24. Cabañas, Havana, 240. Caracas, Venezuela, 64, 68, 73, 77, 79-124, 130. Bank, The, 106-111. Cathedral, The, 84, 87, 96-97, 103, 113, 118-120, 130. Gran Hotel de Caracas, The, 80. Gran Hotel de Venezuela, The, 81-84, 96, 114. Market, The, 103, 106. Military Band, The, 97-99. Municipal Palace, The, 94-96. Plaza, The, 117, 118. Society of Caracas, The 122-124. Square of Bolivar, The, 84, 87. Caribbean Sea, The, 36, 151, 153, 159, 193. Castro, Cipriano, 88-89, 96, 101, 121, 138, 152, 179. Cathedral, The, Caracas, 84, 87, 96-97, 103, 113, 118-120, 130. Ceiba-Tree, The, 16. Cervera, Admiral, 180-182. Cienfuegos, Cuba, 239. Coffee-Tree, The, 24. Curaçao, Island of, 139, 154, 156, 159, 176-179. _See also Willemstad._ El Caney, Cuba, 239. Gran Hotel de Caracas, The, Caracas, 80. Gran Hotel de Venezuela, The, Caracas, 81-84, 96, 114. Great Venezuelan Railway, The, 139-142. Gulf of Mexico, The, 239. Gulf of Paria, The, 11, 64. Havana, Cuba, 239. Cabañas, 240. Morro, The, 240. Jamaica, Island of, 197, 208, 211-212. Blue Mountains, The, 197, 205. Kingston, 198, 205, 218, 221, 224-236. Mandeville, 201. Natives, The, 227-228. Rio Cobre, 205. Spanish Town, 211-212. Kingston, Jamaica, 198, 205, 218, 221. Parish Church, The, 224-236. La Brea, Trinidad, 35, 42-59. La Guayra, Venezuela, 64, 68, 69-72, 78, 101. Lake of Valencia, Venezuela, 125, 145-146. Mandeville, Jamaica, 201. Margarita, Island of, 64. Market, The, Caracas, 103-106. Martinique, Island of, 248-264. Botanical Gardens, 15, 20. Mount Pelée, 255, 256, 263-264. Rivière Roxelane, 260, 264. St. Pierre, 248, 252. Military Band, The, Caracas, 97-99. Morro, The, Havana, 240. Mount Pelée, Martinique, 255, 256, 263-264. Municipal Palace, The, Caracas, 94-96. Natives, The, of Curaçao, 160-163, 177-178; of Jamaica, 227-228; of Trinidad, 51, 56. Orinoco River, The, 11, 64. Parish Church, The, Kingston, 224-236. Plaza, The, Caracas, 117, 118. Port of Spain, Trinidad, 12. Botanical Gardens, The, 15-34. Queen's Park Hotel, The, 12-14. Puerto Cabello, Venezuela, 78, 101, 125, 126, 129, 136, 151, 154, 156. Queen's Park Hotel, Port of Spain, 12-14. Rio Cobre, Jamaica, 205. River Tuy, The, Venezuela, 144-145. Rivière Roxelane, The, Martinique, 260, 264. St. Pierre, Martinique, 248, 252. San Juan Hill, Cuba, 239. Santiago, Cuba, 239. Society of Caracas, The, 122-124. Southern Cross, The, 189-191, 193, 196. Spanish Town, Jamaica, 211-212. Square of Bolivar, The, Caracas, 84, 87. Trinidad, Island of, 11, 16, 29. Natives, The, 51, 56. Valencia, Venezuela, 101, 125, 126, 136, 146. Willemstad, Curaçao, 154, 160-184, 187. Yucatan Channel, The, 239. 
32809	----	The Story of the Nations. THE WEST INDIES. [Illustration: RECEPTION OF SPANIARDS BY ARAWAKS. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN BY JAMES RODWAY _SECOND IMPRESSION_ London T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE MDCCCXCIX COPYRIGHT BY T. FISHER UNWIN, 1896 (For Great Britain). COPYRIGHT BY G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS, 1896 (For the United States of America). INTRODUCTION. The story of the West Indies and Spanish Main is one to stir the hearts of many nations. The shores of the Caribbean Sea have been the scene of marvellous adventures, of intense struggles between races and peoples, of pain, trouble, and disaster of almost every description. No wonder that the romance writer has laid his scenes upon its beautiful islands and deep blue waters, for nowhere in the world, perhaps, could he find such a wealth of incident. From "Robinson Crusoe" to Marryat's genial stories, and down to "Westward Ho!" and "Treasure Island," old and young have been entranced for many generations with its stories of shipwrecks, pirates, sea-fights, and treasure-seekers. Yet with all this the field has not been exhausted, for hardly a year passes without a new romance dealing more or less with the "Indies." Under this name of the Indies the islands and continent were first known to the Spaniards, and it was not until some years had passed that the mainland received the name of _Terra Firma_. The string of islands facing the Atlantic were the Antilles, so called from a traditional island to the west of the Azores, marked on maps and globes of the fifteenth century. This "Bow of Ulysses," as Froude called the islands, was divided into the Greater and Lesser Antilles, the latter being also known as the Caribbees, from their original inhabitants. Other divisions were made later into Windward and Leeward Islands, but these differed so much in the descriptions of different nations that it would be as well to leave them out of the question. Perhaps the best way would be to name the whole the Antilles or West Indian Islands and divide them, in going from north to south, into the Bahamas, the Greater Antilles, and the Caribbees. When we think of these beautiful islands and shores they recall those of that other "Great Sea" which was such a mighty factor in the development of Greece and Rome, Phoenicia and Carthage, Venice and Genoa. As Ulysses and Æneas wandered about the Mediterranean, so the early voyagers sailed along the coasts of the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico in fear of anthropophagoi, amazons, giants, and fiery dragons. As the Indies were the scene of struggles between great nations and the raids of buccaneers, so also was the Mediterranean a battlefield for Christian and Turk, and a centre for piracy. Reports of golden cities, pearls and emeralds in profusion, and wealth that passed all description, led the Spaniards to explore every island and river, until the cannibals became less alarming. Yet their sufferings were terrible. Hurricanes sunk their frail craft on the sea and earthquakes wrung their very souls on land. Starvation, with its consequent sickness and death, destroyed one party after another, but they still went on. The discovery of the riches of Mexico and Peru led them to look for other rich nations, and to travel thousands of miles on the mainland, guided by the reports of the Indians. Undaunted by suffering and failure, they would often try again and again, perhaps only to perish in the attempt at last. The treasures of the Indies made Spain the greatest nation in Europe. With her riches she could do almost anything. Other nations bowed down before her, and she became sovereign of the seas and mistress of the world. No matter how it was obtained, gold and silver flowed into her coffers; what did she care that it was obtained by the bloody sweat of the poor Indians? Then came envy and jealousy. Why should Spain claim the whole of the New World? England, Holland, and France began to dispute her supremacy and determined to get a share of the good things. The "invincible domination" of Spain led her to declare war against England, with the result that the hardy sea-dogs of that time began to worry the fat galleons at sea, and to pillage the treasure depôts on the Main. And here we must mention that there were two important places in the Indies where Spain was most vulnerable--the Mona Passage between Hispaniola and Porto Rico and the Isthmus of Darien. Through the first came the outward fleets with supplies, and on their return with gold and silver, while on the Isthmus was the depôt for merchandise and the great treasure store. At these two points the enemy congregated, either as ships of war, buccaneers, corsairs, or pirates, and in their neighbourhood some of the most bitter struggles took place. There was no peace in the Indies, whatever might nominally be the case in Europe. Englishmen's blood boiled at the atrocities of the Spaniards, but we are afraid it was not love for the oppressed alone that made them massacre the Spaniards whenever they got an opportunity. The poor Indian received but a scant measure of justice from these very people, when as a matter of convenience they required possession of the Caribbee islands. Other nations took possession of smaller islands, unoccupied by Spain, and from these centres continued their raids, as privateers in war, and as pirates at other times. Sometimes they were united among themselves against the common enemy, sometimes at war with each other. France and Holland against England, England and Holland against France--nothing but quarrels and fighting. Now an island changed hands, and again it was restored or recaptured. The planters were never sure of being able to reap their crops, and often had literally to superintend the estate work, armed with sword and arquebuse, while their black and white slaves cultivated the soil. Now the West Indies became the great training ground for three maritime nations--England, France, and Holland. Spain lost her prestige, and the struggle lay among her enemies for over a century. At first the three disputants for her place were equally matched; then Holland dropped behind, leaving England and France to fight it out. The struggle was a very close one, which only ended with the fall of Napoleon, and it was in the Caribbean Sea where the great check to France took place. Here Rodney defeated De Grasse, and here Nelson and many another naval officer gained that experience which served them so well in other parts of the world. Here also was the scene of that great labour experiment, the African slave-trade. The atrocities of the Spaniards caused the depopulation of the Greater Antilles, and led to the importation of negroes. Whatever may be said against slavery, there can hardly be any question that the African has been improved by his removal to another part of the world and different surroundings. True, he has not progressed to the extent that was expected by his friends when they paid such an enormous sum for his enfranchisement; still, there are undoubtedly signs of progress. The white colonists in the West Indies never settled down to form the nucleus of a distinct people. Since the emancipation the islands have been more and more abandoned to the negroes and coloured people, with the result that although the government is mostly in the hands of the whites, they are in such a minority as to be almost lost. In Cuba there appears to be such a feeling of patriotism towards their own island that probably we shall soon hear of a new republic, but elsewhere in the islands our hopes for the future must lie in the negroes and coloured people. On the mainland the original inhabitants were not exterminated as in the large islands, and consequently we have there a most interesting process in course of accomplishment--the development of one or more nations. Here are the true Americans, and as the Gaul was merged in the Frank, and the Briton in the Saxon, so the Spaniard has been or will ultimately be lost in the American. At present the so-called Spanish republics are in their birth-throes--they are feeling their way. Through trouble and difficulty--revolution and tyranny--they have to march on, until they become stronger and more fitted to take their places among other nations. Out of the struggle they must ultimately come, and it will be a most interesting study for those who see the result. In Hispaniola we have also a nation in the course of development--an alien race from the old world. More backward than the Americans, the Africans of Haïti are struggling to gain a position among other nations, apparently without any good result. The nation is yet unborn, and its birth-throes are distressing. We look upon that beautiful island and feel sad that such a paradise should have fallen so low. As a race the negro has little of that internal power that makes for progress--he must be compelled to move on. Some are inclined to look upon him as in the course of degenerating into the savage, but we, on the contrary, believe him to be progressing slowly. In the islands belonging to European nations the influence of the dominant power is visible in the negro even when he has no trace of white blood. The French, English, or Dutch negro may be recognised by his manners, and even features. In some places East Indians and Chinese have been imported, but these stand alone and make little impression. They are aliens as yet, and take little part in the development of the colonies. Latterly the West Indies have sunk into neglect by Europe. Except for the difficulties of the planters their history is almost a blank sheet. Few know anything about the beautiful islands or the grand forests of the mainland. Even the discovery of gold in Guiana, which goes to confirm the reports of Ralegh, three centuries ago, is only known to a few. Ruin and desolation have fallen upon them since the peace of 1815 and the emancipation. Even the negro--the _protégé_ of the benevolent--is no longer the object of interest he once was. Cane sugar is being gradually ousted by that from the beet, and hardly anything has been done to replace its cultivation by other tropical products. Yet the islands are still as lovely as they were four centuries ago, and on the continent is a wealth of interest to the naturalist and lover of the beautiful. Now and again a tourist goes the round of the islands and publishes the result in a book of travel; but the countries are out of the track of civilisation and progress. Possibly if the Panama or Nicaragua Canal is ever finished things may be a little better, but at present the outlook is very dismal. In attempting to compress the story of the West Indies and Spanish Main within the covers of one volume we have undertaken a task by no means easy. Every island and every province has its own tale, and to do them all justice would require a hundred books. Every West Indian will find something missing--some event unmentioned which is of the greatest importance to his particular community. This is only to be expected, yet we believe that the reader will get a fairer idea of their importance when they are comprehended in one great whole. The photo block illustrations are from negatives prepared by Mr. Thomas B. Blow, F.L.S. CONTENTS. I. PAGE THE SPANIARDS AND THEIR VICTIMS 1-22 The native Americans--The Arawak and the Carib--Their independent spirit--Their country--The character of the Spaniard--He wants to convert the natives to Christianity--"A ton of gold"--First Spanish settlers in Hispaniola--They ravage the island and are entirely cut off--The second colony oppresses the Indians--Repartimientos--Cruelties to the Indian slaves--Decrease of the population--Slave-hunting in other islands and on the Main--Resistance of the cannibals--Decline of Hispaniola. II. THE QUEST FOR "EL DORADO" 23-47 Treasure-seeking and its dangers--Alonzo de Ojeda--The proclamation to the Indians--Disastrous voyage of Valdivia--A cannibal story--"El Dorado," the gilded one--The German knights--Ambrosio de Alfinger--George of Spires--Nicholas Fedreman and others--Pedro de Ursua and Lope de Aguirre--Pedro de Acosta--Diego de Ordas and Juan Martinez--The quest and its dangers. III. "SINGEING THE SPANIARD'S BEARD" 48-67 The Papal Bull of partition--English and French seamen in the Indies--Raids on the Spanish possessions--Master William Hawkins goes to Brazil--The Caribs friendly to the enemies of Spain--John Hawkins carries negroes from Africa--Francis Drake's attack on Nombre de Dios--The Simaroons--Drake captures the Panama train--John Oxenham--Andrew Barker--Drake's second voyage--He captures St. Domingo and Carthagena--Last voyage of Drake and Hawkins--Death of Drake--Exploits of other adventurers. IV. RALEGH AND THE FIRST BRITISH COLONIES 68-89 "Letters Patent" to Ralegh--"El Dorado" again--Ralegh's first voyage to Guiana--Keymis and Berrie--The Dutch in Guiana--Charles Leigh founds a settlement--Robert Harcourt's colony--Ralegh's imprisonment--He is released to again visit Guiana--Disastrous results--Roger North's colony--King James's want of policy--Changes after his death--St. Christopher's and Barbados--North's colony again--The Bahamas--The French and Dutch settlements--Rise of the Dutch--The French and English at St. Christopher's. V. BUCCANEERS, FILIBUSTERS, AND PIRATES 90-112 The buccaneers of Hispaniola--Tortuga--Bay of Campeachy--Privateers turning pirates--Pierre Legrand--Captains de Basco and Brouage--Captain Lawrence--Montbar the "Exterminator"--Lolonois--Morgan storms and captures Panama--He settles down in Jamaica--Van Horn--Raid on the South Sea--Lionel Wafer's journey across the Isthmus. VI. WAR IN THE YOUNG COLONIES 113-136 Spanish raids--Effects of the "Great English Revolution"--The Caribbee Islands in revolt--Cavaliers and Roundheads in Barbados--Charles the Second declared king--Lord Willoughby arrives with a Commission from the fugitive--Persecution of the Roundheads--Sir George Ayscue sent out with a fleet to reduce Barbados--The island blockaded--Its surrender--Surinam held for the king--Cromwell and Spain--The Expedition to St. Domingo--Capture of Jamaica--Colonisation of the island--The Council for foreign plantations. VII. THE PLANTERS AND THEIR SLAVES 137-159 First adventurers not agriculturalists--Slaves wanted--Negroes imported--Sugar--Cotton--Tobacco--First plantations--Kidnapping-- Prisoners transported--English slave-trade--Comparative cost of negroes and whites--Rebels--Story of Henry Pitman--Condition of the bond-servants--Life of the planter--Dangers of the voyage--Jamaica--Slavery in Africa--Treatment of the West Indian slave. VIII. THE STRUGGLE FOR SUPREMACY 160-183 Trade disputes between England and Holland--War--The buccaneers employed--Repulse of De Ruyter at Barbados--Capture of Dutch colonies by English--The French drive the English from St. Kitt's--Abortive attempts for its recapture--Peace of Breda--The value of the buccaneers to Jamaica--Character of the three nations now contending for supremacy--Case of Surinam--English refused permission to leave with their slaves--War again--Peace of Westminster and the exodus from Surinam--Case of Jeronomy Clifford--Sir Henry Morgan represses buccaneering--Another war--Du Casse and the Corsairs--Jacques Cassard--Curious position of Berbice--Cassard takes Curaçao--His downfall. IX. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE DARIEN TRADE 184-206 Carthagena and Porto Bello fairs--The trade of the Isthmus--The joint-stock mania--William Paterson and the Darien scheme--Caledonia and New Edinburgh founded--Destruction of the colony--The _Assiento_ contract--The Great South Sea Bubble--Vain attempts of the English to obtain free trade with the Spanish provinces--Attacks on the logwood cutters of Campeachy--War with Spain--Contraband traders and their losses--Captain Jenkins' ear--Another war with Spain--Admiral Vernon takes Porto Bello--His failure at Carthagena--English exploits. X. SLAVE INSURRECTIONS AND BUSH NEGROES 207-236 Sufferings of the planters from war--Barbados alone as having never fallen to the enemy--Internal difficulties--Ferocity of slaves and cruelty of their punishments--The Maroons of Jamaica and bush negroes in Guiana--Slave insurrections--Abortive plots in Barbados--Troubles in Jamaica--Revolt in Antigua--The great slave insurrection in Berbice--The whites driven from the colony--Haunts of the Guiana bush negroes--Surinam in continual fear of their raids--Expeditions sent against them--Treaties--Great insurrection in Jamaica and suppression of the Maroons. XI. THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE SEAS 237-255 Downfall of Spain--England and France--Contraband traffic of the Dutch and Danes--Advantages of neutrality--The Jews in the islands--They support the buccaneers--The great war--England against the world--Admiral Rodney--His abortive fights with De Guichen--The training of his fleet--He captures St. Eustatius and confiscates private property--Capture of Demerara--Outcry against Rodney--British disasters--Rodney appears again--His decisive victory over De Grasse--Peace and its results--The great struggle with France and her allies--British supremacy--Peace of Amiens--War again--Nelson in the West Indies--The American war--Decline of the plantations from the abolition of the slave-trade. XII. DOWNFALL OF HISPANIOLA 256-275 Results of the French Revolution--The friends of the blacks--The rights of man--Civil disabilities of free coloured people--Agitation in the French colonies--James Ogé--Demand of the coloured people for equal rights--Civil war in Hispaniola--"Perish the colonies"--Great slave insurrection--The whites concede equal rights, but the Convention revokes their original decree--Truce broken--The struggle renewed--Devastation of the colony--The British expedition and its failure--Toussaint L'Ouverture--Slavery abolished--It is re-established by Napoleon--Treachery to L'Ouverture and the negroes--Dessalines and Christophe declare the independence of Hayti--Massacre of the whites--The Empire and Republic. XIII. EMANCIPATION OF THE SPANISH MAIN 276-288 Influence of the French Revolution on Spanish America--Miranda vainly attempts to rouse Venezuela--Revolution at Caracas--Simon Bolivar--Struggle for independence--Atrocities of both parties--Bolivar proclaims extermination to the Royalists--Spanish successes--The British Legion--Devastation of the country--The Columbian Republic--Guatemala. XIV. ABOLITION OF SLAVERY 289-313 Agitation against slavery by the Quakers--Abolition of the African slave-trade--Effects of this on the plantations--Condition of the slave--Registration--Rising in Barbados--The Protestant missionaries arrive--Opposition of the planters--Ordinance against preaching and teaching slaves passed in Jamaica--The anti-slavery party in England--Amelioration of the condition of the slave--Insurrection in Demerara--Prosecution and conviction of the Rev. John Smith--Emancipation in the British colonies--Its effect on colonies of other nationalities--Insurrection at St. Croix--Total abolition of slavery in the West Indies. XV. RESULTS OF EMANCIPATION 314-345 Ruin of the planters--Difficulty of procuring labour--Abolition of the differential duties--Immigration--Barbados an exception when ruin fell on the other colonies--Labour laws in French, Danish, and Dutch colonies--Another insurrection in St. Croix--Race prejudice causes riots in Demerara--Insurrection at Jamaica--Confederation riot at Barbados. XVI. THE ISTHMUS TRANSIT SCHEMES 346-364 Nelson's expedition to the San Juan--Miranda's project--Importance of a canal--Central America--Effects of the discovery of gold in California--The Panama railway--Canal projects--Darien again--The _Times_ and the Nicaragua project--Ship railway--Lesseps and the Panama Canal--Difficulties of the work--Its downfall--Character of Lesseps--The Nicaragua Canal. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE 1.--Reception of Spaniards by Arawaks. From Gottfried's "Reisen" _Frontispiece_ 2.--Reception of Spaniards by Caribs. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 5 3.--A corner of Paradise. The Victoria Regia 8 4.--_En route_ to the goldfields of Guiana. Passing the rapids of the Essequebo 10 5.--Worrying the natives with dogs. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 13 6.--A modern alluvial gold washing 16 7.--Suicides. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 17 8.--A Guiana river. The Tumatamari falls 26 9.--Inhabitants of the Spanish Main. From Colijn's "Reisen" 28 10.--"El Dorado." From Gottfried's "Reisen" 37 11.--Negro woman returning from market 53 12.--Negro barber 54 13.--Negro family on holiday 55 14.--Negresses gossiping 56 15.--Ralegh in Trinidad. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 71 16.--Gold hunting. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 80 17.--Carib attack on a settlement. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 89 18.--St. Kitt's. From Andrews' "West Indies" 118 19.--A Surinam planter. From Stedman's "Surinam" 138 20.--A negro festival. From Edwards' "West Indies" 140 21.--Voyage of the sable Venus. From Edwards' "West Indies" 142 22.--Slaves landing from the ship. From Stedman's "Surinam" 144 23.--Map of _Terra Firma_. From Gottfried's "Reisen" 197 24.--A rebel negro. From Stedman's "Surinam" 209 25.--The execution of breaking on the rack. From Stedman's "Surinam" 212 26.--March through a swamp. From Stedman's "Surinam" 224 27.--Trelawny town. From Edwards' "West Indies" 231 28.--Pacification of the Maroons. From Edwards' "West Indies" 234 29.--View of part of Hispaniola. From Andrews' "West Indies" 258 30.--La Guayra on the Main. From Andrews' "West Indies" 280 31.--The First of August. From Madden's "West Indies" 308 32.--A relic of the slavery days--old slave buying fish 310 33.--Negress, Guiana 315 34.--Negress fish-sellers, Guiana 316 35.--Chinese wood-carrier 317 36.--East Indian coolie 318 37.--East Indian coolie family 319 38.--Coolie barber 320 39.--East Indian coolie girl 321 40.--Coolie women, British Guiana 322 41.--Coolie vegetable sellers, British Guiana 323 42.--East Indian coolies, Trinidad 324 43.--East Indian coolie, Trinidad 325 44.--Trinidad coolies 326 45.--Barbados. From Andrews' "West Indies" 330 46.--St. Lucia. From Andrews' "West Indies" 331 47.--Atlantic entrance to Darien Canal. From Cullen's "Darien Canal" 348 48.--Europe supported by Africa and America. From Stedman's "Surinam" 363 [Illustration] THE WEST INDIES. I. THE SPANIARDS AND THEIR VICTIMS. When the early writers spoke of America as the new world, _mundus novus_, they could hardly have appreciated the full meaning of the name. True, it was a new world to them, with new animals, new plants, and a new race of mankind; but the absolute distinctness of everything, especially in the tropical regions, was not understood. With our fuller knowledge the ideas of strangeness and novelty are more and more impressed, and we are ready to exclaim, Yes! it is indeed a new world. Unlike those of the eastern hemisphere, the peoples of the West are of one race. Apart from every other, the development of the American Indian has gone on different lines, the result being a people self-contained, as it were, and unmodified until the arrival of the European. The American is perhaps the nearest to the natural man, and his character is the result of nature's own moulding. When compared with the European or Asiatic he seems to be far behind, yet the civilisation of Peru and Mexico was in some respects in advance of that of their conquerors. This was brought about by a dense population which forced men into collision with each other--in other parts of the continent and on the islands they were more isolated and therefore less civilised. In the forest region of the Spanish Main, and on the West Indian islands, the communities were, as a rule, very small and isolated one from another. A kind of patriarchal system prevented much communication, and inter-tribal disputes were a bar to union. Every community distrusted every other, and even when one tribe fought against its neighbour there were few attempts to bring the sections together against the common enemy. On the coasts and islands of the Caribbean Sea, at the time of their discovery, lived two distinct peoples, the Arawaks and the Caribs. There were also a few other tribes of minor importance, such as the Warrows, but these made little impression, and may therefore be left out of consideration. The remnants of the two great stocks still exist in Guiana and at the mouth of the Orinoco, living to-day in much the same manner as they did when the country was first discovered by the Spaniards. Four centuries ago the Greater Antilles were exclusively inhabited by Arawaks, and the Lesser by Caribs. The Arawak, as his name implies, was more or less an agriculturalist--a meal-eater, a cultivator of vegetables, mainly cassava. From the poisonous root of this plant bread, drink, and a preservative sauce for meat, were prepared, so that, with game or fish, it formed the staff of life. The probable course of his migration was from Yucatan or Mexico to the south-east, terminating in Guiana, and from thence north through the whole of the Antilles. When Columbus arrived people of this stock filled the larger islands and the Bahamas, but along the coast and in the island of Trinidad they disputed the occupation of the territories with the Caribs. In Porto Rico also the Caribs had become aggressive, and even in Hispaniola the Arawaks had to defend their shores against that warlike people. If we believe the accounts of the Spaniards the inhabitants of the Greater Antilles were not altogether a savage people. Whether they had destroyed all the larger game, or whether they found none on their arrival, the fact remains that they were agriculturalists rather than huntsmen. They were, however, expert in fishing, and built great canoes with sails, in which they carried on their operations even in comparatively rough water. Their provision grounds were highly praised by the Spaniards in language that could hardly apply to little clearings like those in the Guiana forest. In them were grown, besides cassava, yams, sweet potatoes, and maize, while other things such as cotton and tobacco were also largely cultivated. The natives had also acquired several arts besides that of canoe building, which, when we consider their want of proper implements, was almost wonderful. Cotton was spun and woven into cloth for their scanty garments, gold cast and hammered into figures and ornaments, and wood and stone idols and weapons were also carved. All this was done with stone implements, even to the work of hollowing great logs for their canoes, and shaping planks. We read of axe-heads made of _guanin_, an alloy of gold and copper, and also of attempts to make similar tools of silver, but these were very rare, and could hardly have been utilised to any good purpose. When we appreciate the labour and pains taken in excavating a large canoe, with only fire and the stone adze, we can see that these people were by no means idle. Nor were they altogether wanting in appreciation of art, for the figures on their baskets and pottery were beautifully true geometrical patterns, and their so-called idols, although grotesque and rude, often striking. On the mainland the Arawaks lived in small communities, only electing a war-chief as occasion required--in Haïti the Cacique seems to have been leader and ruler as well. And here we must mention the most striking characteristic of the American Indian--his utter abhorrence of anything like coercion. Even in childhood his parents let him do as he pleases, never attempting to govern him in any way. It followed therefore that neither war-captain nor Cacique had any real power to compel them to a course they disliked, and that discipline was entirely wanting. The traveller in Guiana at the present day can thoroughly understand this trait of character, for he has to take it into account if he wishes to get their assistance. They must be treated as friends, not as servants, and the greatest care taken not to offend their dignity, unless he wishes to be left alone in the forest. [Illustration: RECEPTION OF SPANIARDS BY CARIBS. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] They quarrelled little among themselves, and only fought against the Caribs; they were peaceable, kind, and gentle, so hospitable to strangers that Columbus could hardly say enough in their favour. "A better race there cannot be," he declared to his sovereigns, and this opinion was confirmed by all who came into contact with them. In fact if you do nothing to offend him, the Arawak of to-day is the same quiet and gentle fellow who met the voyagers on their arrival at Guanahani. The Caribs were a stronger race, and had probably followed the same track as the Arawaks in a later migration. At the time of the discovery they appear to have driven the more gentle race from the smaller islands south of Porto Rico, and had taken their women as wives. All along the coast the two tribes fought with each other, but on account of the greater stretch of country there was nothing like the extermination which took place in the Lesser Antilles. The Arawaks retired up the rivers and creeks, leaving their enemies to take possession of the coast, which they did to such good purpose that the Spaniards were unable to get a footing in Guiana. All the early writers agree that the Caribs were man-eaters--in fact the word cannibal seems to have been derived from their name. In the smaller islands they had eaten all the men of the gentler tribe, and now made periodical raids on the larger, from whence they carried off prisoners to be cooked and devoured at leisure. These raids led to combinations on the part of the inhabitants of Haïti and Porto Rico, and hitherto they had been successful in preventing anything like an occupation of these islands by their enemies. Whether these successes would have continued is doubtful; the arrival of the Spaniards upset everything. The Carib was not so entirely dependent on the produce of the soil as the meal-eater. He was a hunter and fisherman, but above everything else a warrior. His women had provision grounds like those of the Arawak, possibly because they came from that stock. The Carib's hunting grounds were circumscribed and poor, and his craving for meat could only be appeased in one way--by eating his enemies. Probably this made him all the more fierce and bloodthirsty, as a flesh diet is certainly more stimulating than one of fish and starchy tubers. If the Arawak was impatient of control, the Carib was even more independent. The former would pine away and die under coercion, the latter refused absolutely to be a slave. He would die fighting for his liberty, but never admit that he was conquered. It was not he who welcomed the Spaniards to the West Indies--on the contrary, he did everything possible to prevent their landing on his shores. His so-called treachery caused many difficulties to the new-comers, but taken altogether he was much respected by them as a foe worthy of their steel. These two peoples lived in a country which Columbus described as a veritable paradise--in fact he thought he had discovered the site of the Garden of Eden. Into this beautiful world he let loose a band of robbers and murderers, to depopulate and make it a wilderness. They were the product of an entirely different environment--a continent in which every man's hand was against that of his neighbour. For a long time Spain had been a battlefield, on which the most warlike instincts of mankind came to the front. Her soldiers understood the advantages of discipline, and would follow their leaders wherever anything was to be gained, yet at the same time they were individuals, and as such fought for their own hands as well. [Illustration: A CORNER OF PARADISE. THE VICTORIA REGIA.] Like the rest of Christendom Spain was very religious, and after treasure-seeking, the adventurers of that nation meant to convert the heathen. The cross was erected everywhere on landing, and religious services held to pray for help in their undertakings. If the cruelties that followed were not quite in accordance with Christ's teachings we must put it down to the manners and customs of the age. Ignorance was really the great characteristic of that period, and the brilliancy of the few only shone out the brighter because of the dark background. The majority were steeped in superstition, and almost entirely dominated by their passions. Columbus was continually harping upon the desirability of making the natives of the new world Christians. "Your Highness," he said, in one of his letters, "ought to rejoice that they will soon become Christians, and that they will be taught the good customs of your kingdom." He took nine of them to Spain, on his return from the first voyage, who were baptized and taught the Spanish language. The king and queen told him to deal lovingly with those in the Indies, and to severely punish any who ill-treated them. More were sent to Spain and allowed to go back for the purpose of "gaining souls." Columbus, however, did not altogether agree with his sovereigns--his project was to send enough as slaves to pay the expenses of his expeditions, and he actually shipped four lots for that purpose. But Ferdinand and Isabella would not have this, and even went so far as to prohibit the deportation of the Caribs notwithstanding the admiral's argument that they were unworthy of the royal clemency, because they ate men and were enemies of the friendly Arawaks. [Illustration: EN ROUTE TO THE GOLDFIELDS OF GUIANA. PASSING THE RAPIDS OF THE ESSEQUEBO.] How the new world was discovered in 1492 has been told so often that it is hardly necessary to repeat the story. Haïti, named Hispaniola or Little Spain, was chosen from the first as the island on which a settlement should be planted. Here Columbus left thirty-nine colonists under the command of Diego de Arana, and under the protection of the great Cacique Guacanagari. He "trusted to God" that on his return he would find a ton of gold and a large quantity of spices, with the proceeds of which his sovereigns might undertake the conquest of Jerusalem from the infidels. A ton of gold! This was the whole end and aim of his expedition. Everything else was subordinate to this. He had seen the natives wearing gold ornaments, and found that the precious metal could be gathered from certain streams on the island. But, could he estimate the amount of labour required to procure such an enormous quantity, by people who had no other appliances than baskets? This alone was enough to bring trouble upon the peaceful island. But this was not all. The colonists quarrelled among themselves, interfered with the Indian women, went hunting for gold all over the country, took it wherever it could be found, and stole provisions when their friends did not bring them enough. Not satisfied with the district of the friendly Cacique, they ravaged that of Caonabo, the Carib chieftain of another clan, a man of a different stamp. He resented the insults at once by attacking the Spaniards, who, notwithstanding the assistance of their allies, were utterly exterminated. When Columbus arrived, instead of a ton of gold, he found nothing but the blackened ruins of the fort and houses. This should have been a lesson to the Spaniards, but unfortunately it only led to further quarrels. The new-comers did not intend to cultivate the soil; their main object was treasure, and they expected the natives to provide them with food. And here we must mention the fact that the people of tropical climes _never_ have any store of provisions laid up--this is only necessary where winter prevails for half the year. It follows therefore that however liberal they may feel towards strangers, their supplies being restricted to their own wants leave little to give away. Up to a certain point the Indian gives freely, but when this means privation to himself he withholds his hand. The want of a full appreciation of this fact caused great trouble in many of the early settlements, and in some cases led to their destruction. The natives promised food supplies; but when they found themselves starving, naturally withheld further assistance. The settlers considered this a breach of faith, and made incursions on the provision grounds, taking what they wanted, and seriously injuring the crops. This the Indians resented, and deadly quarrels ensued, which ended in their driving out the colonists or deserting the place altogether. In the latter case the food supply was necessarily cut off, and often led ultimately to the abandonment of the colony. To the kindly people of Hispaniola the new-comers were gods, and their horses and cattle preternatural creatures. While wondering and admiring, they were at the same time frightened at these out-of-the-way men and animals, especially when the soldiers exhibited themselves on horseback. At first they thought them immortal, and were disagreeably surprised when they fell before the army of Caonabo. But even the proverbial worm will turn, and soon the oppressions of the second colonists drove the poor Haïtians to resist. To labour in the field was beneath the dignity of the adventurous treasure-seekers--the natives must supply them with provisions. What they had brought from Spain was soon spoilt in such a hot climate--no one had yet learned how to pack for long voyages. They must get food, and what was the good of having thousands of people, and acres of cultivated land in their neighbourhood, if the natives did not bring in as much as was required? At first they were supplied willingly, but when the results of this profuse hospitality began to tell upon themselves, the poor Haïtians withheld their hands. Then the Spaniards began complaining to the Cacique, who, however, had no real authority over his people in a matter of this kind, and therefore could do nothing. Driven by want the Spaniards made incursions on the provision grounds, where they spoilt as much as they took away, and left a waste behind. Sometimes they met with resistance, and the defenders were cut down without mercy. The spoilers only wanted an excuse for fleshing their swords; they were even anxious to show their powers, and make the natives feel that at last they had masters. [Illustration: WORRYING THE NATIVES WITH DOGS. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] Before two years had passed the Spaniards were beset with difficulties. The Indian looked despairingly at his wasted fields, and refused to cultivate them any longer. Why should he plant for others when he himself was starving? Some fled into the mountains and forests of the interior, others died of want. This naturally told upon the white men, who had not yet learnt that they must cultivate the soil if they wanted its produce. They could not demean themselves to this, but must have the power to compel the inhabitants and owners of this beautiful island to work for them. The home authorities knew what was going on, and did their best according to their lights to provide a remedy. At first they gave large tracts of land to the settlers, _repartimientos_ as they were called, but what was the use of these if their owners could get no labourers? Then to every grant was allotted a certain number of Indians as slaves, and thus the cruel system that ultimately depopulated the Greater Antilles and the Bahamas was introduced. Those who were not allotted as slaves were compelled to pay tribute. In the neighbourhood of the gold-washings this was to consist of a little bellful of gold; in other places of an arroba (28 lbs.) of cotton, once a quarter for every person above the age of fourteen. Metal tokens to hang upon the neck were given as receipts, and when these were absent the people were severely punished. Thus this gentle and independent race was enslaved. [Illustration: A MODERN ALLUVIAL GOLD WASHING.] Even with modern appliances and the use of quicksilver, gold-washing is a most precarious business; what then could it have been here with nothing but a basket and gourd? Columbus had such exaggerated ideas that, when he saw the gold-washings of Cibao, he came to the conclusion they were the Ophir of the Bible; from his reports the king and queen thought nothing of demanding this small tribute. To the Indian, however, the gleaning of the tribute meant the labour of days and weeks, and when there were so many seekers it was found utterly impossible for each to gather his amount. Then they ran away, and were hunted with dogs, brought back, and compelled to wash the gravel under surveillance, subject to the pricks of a sword if they were not active enough. But, even with all this, the returns were not equal to what was expected, and the tribute had ultimately to be abandoned. However, it was stated that as much as the value of a million crowns per annum was extracted during the best years, at a cost of pain and suffering awful to contemplate. [Illustration: SUICIDES. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] The cotton tribute had also to be abandoned, and even the _repartimientos_ were not a success. If they had been willing, the natives could hardly have performed steady work, and as slaves they were almost valueless. In their natural condition they laboured when they chose, wasting time as we should say with little good result. Now their masters demanded heavy tasks which prevented their working on their own provision grounds, and yet provided little or nothing in the way of rations. Hundreds died of starvation; thousands committed suicide. Some jumped from high precipices; they hanged, stabbed, drowned, and poisoned themselves; mothers destroyed their babes to save them from the misery of living. If caught in such attempts they were flogged, had boiling water or melted lead poured over them, and were otherwise tortured until death came to their relief. Their cruel masters, however, rarely wished to kill them outright--they were too valuable. No, they must break down this dogged, stubborn spirit--treat them as horses and mules, until they bent themselves to the yoke. It was left for bands of soldiers on foraging expeditions to kill in mere wantonness. A company would be travelling through the island and come upon a village, where perhaps they stopped for a short rest. The people looked on, admiring their shining armour and weapons, wondering what sort of creatures these were that so quietly cropped the grass and shrubs. One of the soldiers would take out his sword, feel its keen edge, and think what a pity it was that the weapon should be used so little. Behind him comes a little boy. The temptation is great; in a moment the sharp weapon flashes and the child lies dead. The Indians fly, and the whole party follows, chasing and slaughtering to their heart's content, not knowing nor caring why. In a few minutes fifty are killed, the soldiers return to their bivouac, and if they inquire into the matter at all pass it off as a good jest. Is it any wonder that the population decreased to a wonderful degree in a few years? The sugar-cane had been introduced by Columbus on his second voyage, and labour was soon required for cultivating this and other crops. As long as slaves were procurable the planters throve, and as by that time Hispaniola had become the great centre of the Indies, the settlers were in a fair way to make fortunes. But the decrease in the population became alarming, and something had to be done; then, new settlers were continually arriving who also wanted slaves. It followed, therefore, that some of the more audacious of the adventurers took up the trade of kidnapping the Indians from other islands and the mainland. A host of disappointed treasure-seekers had ransacked every shore, and were now well prepared for the business of man-hunting. The first people to suffer were those who so kindly welcomed Columbus on his arrival--the gentle inhabitants of the Bahamas. They were even more peaceful than the Haïtians, because they had not suffered from Carib invasions. When the slave hunters told them to come to the south and live with their ancestors, they willingly allowed themselves to be carried off to suffer like their neighbours. Some ran away and got to the northern shores of Hispaniola, where they stretched out their hands to their beautiful homes and then died of grief. Having entirely depopulated the smaller islands, and being prevented from kidnapping the people of Cuba, Porto Rico, and Jamaica, by the settlers on those islands, they tried the Caribbees. Here they met their match. No longer was it the gentle Arawak whom they encountered, but the ferocious cannibal. Like his foes he had been trained in war for many generations. Not only did he refuse to work for the stranger, but even went so far as to oppose his landing. On his islands was little to attract the treasure-seeker, and if he would not submit to be a slave, nothing was to be gained by interfering with him. This the Spaniard found out by bitter experience. A few vessels were wrecked on these inhospitable shores, the crews of which escaped to land only to be killed and eaten, after being tortured with all the ingenuity of the savage. Even a landing for fresh water had to be made in the most cautious manner, and the carriers protected by a strong guard. No doubt the Caribs had heard of the white man's cruelties from their Arawak prisoners, and were therefore all the more ready to repel their invasions. This was particularly noticeable later when the English and French arrived and found them by no means so ferocious as the Spaniards had reported. Possibly they knew these people to be enemies to their foes, and were therefore all the more ready to be friendly as long as no attempts were made to oppress them. Hispaniola rose to some importance very quickly, and almost as quickly declined. The settlers depopulated the island, and then complained of the want of labourers. The gold-seekers went elsewhere, and Mexico and the isthmus of Darien became of more importance. Some writers have attempted to give the number of Indians exterminated in the early years of the sixteenth century, but little reliance can be placed on their statistics. Generally, they range from one to three millions, but it is doubtful whether even the lowest figure is not too high. Yet, when we read the statement of Columbus that crowds of people (in one place two thousand) came forth to meet him, and his description of the large area of cultivated land, as well as the broad and good roads, it is not difficult to conceive that a million people lived in these great islands. With the destruction of the labourers down fell the plantations. Cattle had been introduced and throve wonderfully; now they ran wild over the islands, especially Hispaniola, until they became innumerable. On the abandoned provision grounds of the Indians they found a virgin pasturage. Hogs also took to the woods, and increased even faster than the cattle. At first there were neither huntsmen nor carnivorous animals to check this wonderful development. The once domesticated animals recovered some of the powers and capacities of their wild ancestors, and only required enemies to assist in bringing out other latent characters. And these were not long wanting. Large and powerful hounds had been imported from Spain to hunt the runaway Indians, and now that their occupation was gone, they also took to the woods and savannahs. Like their ancestors and cousins, the wolves, they combined into packs and fought the cattle and hogs. Both hunters and hunted became stronger and fiercer--the dogs learnt how best to attack, and their prey to defend themselves. It was a struggle like that between the cannibals and meal-eaters--nature's method of preserving the balance of life. This equalisation no doubt would have been the result had not man interfered; how this happened we must leave to another chapter. [Illustration] [Illustration] II. THE QUEST FOR "EL DORADO". Ophir was not found in the islands, and the bands of adventurers went over to _terra firma_ or the mainland to continue the search. Along the coast of Guiana and Venezuela they again came across the gentle Arawak and ferocious Carib, the latter making himself respected everywhere, while his poor-spirited fellow-countryman was alternately caressed and plundered. In every place the Spaniards found gold ornaments, and every tribe told them that the precious metal was only obtainable in some far distant country. The Haïtians sent Columbus to the south in search of the _guanin_ country, and it was there he discovered the coast of Paria and the delta of the mighty Orinoco. But he was not fated to come across the treasure cities of the Indies. Others followed to at last conquer Mexico and Peru, but even then it was generally believed that nations existed who had more riches to be plundered than those of the Inca and Montezuma. To find these golden regions the voyagers wandered in every direction, contributing much to the knowledge of the coasts and rivers, but always coming back disappointed. The horrors of this search can hardly be appreciated nowadays. The ships were so small and ill-found that we should hardly care to use them for coasters, yet in them these pioneers crossed the Atlantic and encountered the hurricanes of the West Indies. Decked only at bow and stern, the waves dashed into the hold and wetted the provisions, while the sun poured down upon the water casks and burst their wooden hoops. The butter and cheese stank, the flour in sacks became mouldy, and the bacon and salt fish putrid. Then the hull of the vessel was unprotected, and the teredo, or ship worm, bored it through and through, until nothing but careening and caulking could save the poor craft from sinking. When we understand the privations and dangers of this navigation we are not surprised that the adventurers often came to grief, but rather wonder that any of them survived. Living in the West Indies, we have often thought of the pain and suffering it would produce if we were compelled to walk or sit in the burning sun armed as were the soldiers at that period. We can hardly believe that they wore steel body armour, yet the evidence is too strong to be refuted. True, they gave it up afterwards in favour of quilted cotton, but before they did so how hot they must have felt! We can fancy the sentry standing exposed to the full blaze of the sun, his helmet and breastplate burning hot and his woollen underclothing saturated with perspiration. Then there would be the open boat ascending a river. The occupants dared not row in the shade for fear of cannibals shooting at them with poisoned arrows from the thicket, and out in the river they must have felt as if in a furnace. Even with our white clothing and light hats a long journey in an open boat when the sun is high often ends in fever, and almost invariably in a headache. The neck and backs of the hands get blistered, and become sore, the glare on the water dazzles the eye, and we feel faint. In one of the accounts of such a boating expedition on a river in Guiana we read of the men finding some yellow plums floating on the water, and of their being much refreshed by them. We also have come across these hog-plums when almost exhausted by a long exposure on the open river, and when even our negro steersman was nodding as he held the paddle. Suddenly we came to our destination, the mouth of a creek, and were under an arcade of vegetation, beneath which the plums floated on the cool dark water. The men of the sixteenth century must have been stronger than ourselves, or they could hardly have endured such pain and privation. They lay down on the bare earth night after night, and on board ship went to sleep on naked planks. As they could endure pain and discomfort, so also could they inflict it on others. The rough seamen learnt to bear hardships which blunted their feelings of humanity and made them inclined to torture others. When in the hands of the cannibals they were almost as stoical as the savage himself, their ruling passion being a desire for revenge. If cruelly treated by one tribe they retaliated on others; in the same way the Indians killed one party of Spaniards to avenge the insults of their countrymen. This led to a great deal of trouble and made the voyages of the treasure-seekers dangerous to all. However free from blame one party might be, they were liable to suffer for previous wrong-doings and they in turn left behind them injuries to be avenged on the next comers. [Illustration: A GUIANA RIVER. THE TUMATAMARI FALLS.] And then, how very audacious these adventurers were! Alonzo de Ojeda was perhaps the most striking example of utter recklessness in face of danger. In 1509 he entered the harbour of Carthagena in spite of a warning that its shores were inhabited by a ferocious tribe who fought with palm-wood swords and poisoned arrows. It was even stated that the women mingled in the battle, and could use the bow and a kind of lance. These people had been irritated by another party of Spaniards, and on sight of the vessels were up in arms at once. However, Ojeda was undaunted, and landed at once with his men and some friars, who had been sent to convert the Indians. In front stood the enemy brandishing their weapons, and prepared for the first hostile movement. Yet, even under these critical circumstances, he ordered the usual proclamation to be read to the Indians in a language of which they knew nothing. He, Alonzo de Ojeda, servant of the most high and mighty sovereigns of Castile and Leon, conquerors of barbarous nations, notified them that God had given St. Peter the supreme power over the world, which power was exercised by the Pope, who had given all that part of the world to these sovereigns. They were called upon to acknowledge this sovereignty at once, which, if they refused to do, he would bring upon them the horrors of war, desolation to their houses, confiscation of their property, and slavery to their wives and children. [Illustration: INHABITANTS OF THE SPANISH MAIN. (_From Colijn's "Reisen."_)] While one of the friars read this address the savages stood on the defensive, no doubt wondering what the delay meant. Ojeda knew not their language, and they took little notice of his signs of amity. As they still brandished their weapons, the intrepid adventurer led on an attack, calling the Virgin to his aid, and in a few minutes put them to flight, killing a few and taking others prisoners. Not content with this, he followed them through the forest to their village, and after a deadly fight, drove them out and burnt their dwellings. Still undaunted, he went on to another village, which he found deserted, but while his men were searching for plunder he was attacked by the enemy in overwhelming numbers. All his followers were killed, and he himself wounded with a poisoned arrow, yet he managed to escape into the forest to suffer hunger and thirst in addition to the pain of his wound. Meanwhile his men on board the ships were wondering what had become of their leader and his party. They were afraid to venture far into the woods on account of the yells and shouts of the Indians, who were celebrating their triumph. At last, however, they commenced a search, and found their captain in a mangrove swamp, lying on a tangle of roots, speechless and dying of hunger, yet still clutching his naked sword and bearing his buckler. Notwithstanding all this, he ultimately recovered, to go on as eagerly as ever in making fresh conquests. Later, the proclamation to the Indians was interpreted to them, sometimes eliciting replies very much to the point. When the Bachelor Enciso went in search of the country of Zenu, where gold was so plentiful that it could be collected in the rainy season in nets stretched across the river, he was opposed by two Caciques, to whom the paper was read. They listened courteously, and, when it had been expounded, said they were quite willing to admit that there was one God, the ruler of heaven and earth, whose creatures they were. But as to the Pope's regency and his donation of _their_ country to the king of Spain, that was another thing altogether. The Pope must have been drunk when he gave away what was not his, and the king could only have been mad to ask him for the territory of others. They, the Caciques, were the rulers of these territories, and needed no other sovereign: if their king came to take possession they would cut off his head and stick it on a pole, as they did the heads of their other enemies, at the same time pointing to a row of grisly skulls impaled close by. Their arguments, however, were useless, for Enciso attacked, routed them, and took one of the Caciques prisoner. The accounts of the early voyagers are full of such examples of audacity as well as of endurance of suffering. The perils of the sea were as great as those of the land, but few voyages were as disastrous as that of Valdivia, who in 1512 sailed from Darien for Hispaniola. When in sight of Jamaica, his vessel was caught in a hurricane and driven upon some shoals called the Vipers, where it was dashed to pieces. He and his twenty men barely escaped with their lives in a boat without sails, oars, water, or provisions. For thirteen days they drifted about, until seven were dead and the remainder helpless. Then the boat stranded on the coast of Yucatan, and the poor wretches were captured by Indians, to be taken before their Cacique. They were now put into a kind of pen to fatten for the cannibal festival. Valdivia and four others were taken first, and the horror produced on their comrades led them to risk everything and break out of their prison in the night. Having succeeded in reaching the forest, they were almost as badly off, for no food could be had, and they dared not run the risk of going near the villages. Almost perishing with hunger, they at last reached another part of the country, to be again captured, and kept as slaves. Finally they all died except two, one of whom at last escaped to tell the tale almost by a miracle. One of the stories is suggestive of "Robinson Crusoe." In 1499 Niño and Guerra sailed from Spain in a bark of fifty tons, and, while exploring the Gulf of Paria, came across eighteen Carib canoes filled with armed men. The savages assailed them with flights of arrows, but the sudden boom of the cannon frightened them away at once. One canoe, however, was captured, in which they took a Carib prisoner, and found an Arawak captive lying bound at the bottom. On being liberated, the Arawak informed the Spaniards, through their interpreter, that he was the last of seven who had been taken by the cannibals. The other six had been killed and eaten one after another, and he had been reserved for the next evening meal. The Spaniards, incensed against the man-eater, gave him into the hands of the Arawak, at the same time handing him a cudgel, leaving his enemy unarmed. Immediately the Arawak sprang upon him, knocked him sprawling, trod his breath out of his body, and at the same time beat him with his fist until nothing but a shapeless corpse remained. But, not yet satisfied, he tore the head off and stuck it on a pole as a trophy. After the conquest of Mexico and Peru had rewarded Cortez and Pizarro, others wished to be equally fortunate. From the Indians came reports of golden countries in the interior, and land expeditions were projected. These reports grew into shape, and at last a quest as romantic as that for the Holy Grail, led one adventurer after another on and on, to starvation, sickness, and death. The germ of the story of "El Dorado," the lake of golden sands, and the glittering city of Manoa, appears to have first arisen in New Granada. Here was the Lake of Guatavita, and before the arrival of the Spaniards this was the scene of an annual religious festival. To the genius of the lake the Cacique of the neighbouring district offered a holy sacrifice on a certain day. In the morning he anointed his body with balsam, and then rolled himself in gold dust until he became a "gilded king." Then, embarking in a canoe with his nobles, he was paddled to the centre of the lake, crowds of people thronging its shores and honouring him with songs and the din of rude instrumental music. Offerings to the god of the lake were made from the canoe, gold, emeralds, pearls, and everything precious being scattered upon the water. Finally, the Cacique jumped in himself and washed the gold from his body, while the people shouted for joy. To wind up the festival a great drinking bout was held, when canoesful of piwarree, the Indian's beer, were drunk, and every one made merry. Such was the tradition--for the ceremony had been discontinued half a century before--which had so impressed itself over the northern shores of South America, as to be told from the Amazon to the isthmus of Darien. "El Dorado" was gilded every morning, and his city was full of beautiful golden palaces. It stood on the edge of the great salt lake Parima, the sands of which were composed of the precious metal. Some went so far as to say that they had seen the glittering city from a distance, and were only prevented from reaching it by the peculiar difficulties of the way. Not to mention tigers and alligators, starvation and sickness, there were "anthropophagoi and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," besides amazons and fiery dragons. Wherever the story was told the golden city was located at a far distance, and it seemed ever to recede before the eager seekers. They sought it in the forest and on the savannah, over the lofty peaks of the Andes, and along the banks of the mighty rivers. The whole of the Spanish Main was explored, and places then visited which have hardly been seen again by the white man down to the present date. The quest began in New Granada, and from thence it shifted to Venezuela. The most daring seekers were German knights, the Welsers of Augsburg. They had received charters from Charles the Fifth, under which they were empowered to found cities, erect forts, work mines, and make slaves of the Indians. One of their representatives, Ambrosio de Alfinger, set out in 1530, accompanied by two hundred Spaniards, and a larger number of Indians, laden with provisions and other necessaries. On the journey the party committed such brutalities upon the poor natives that the reports afterwards helped to fire the blood of Englishmen, and make them bitterly cruel. To prevent the bearers from running away they were strung together on chains, running through rings round their necks. If one of them dropped from sickness or exhaustion, his head was cut off, the ring loosened, and thus the trouble of interfering with the chain saved. If he were to be left behind, it did not matter whether he was alive or dead. At one place on the river Magdalena the frightened natives took refuge on some islands, but the Spaniards swam their horses across and killed or took prisoners the whole of them. From their Cacique Alfinger got booty to the value of sixty thousand dollars, with which he sent back for further supplies. But, although he waited for a year his messengers did not return, and the company were reduced to such straits that many died for want of bare food. But the Indians fared much worse, for their provision grounds were utterly destroyed, and what with murders and starvation the surrounding country was quite depopulated and desolate. Even Alfinger had to give up waiting for his supplies and move on at last, for these had been utilised by his lieutenant on an expedition of his own. The party eked out a bare subsistence with wild fruits and game. If they found a village they plundered it of everything it contained, dug up the provisions from the fields, and left the survivors of the massacre to starve. Not that they themselves were in a much better plight; fever, the result of want and exposure, carried them off in continually increasing numbers. At last they got into a mountain region, and the poor naked bearers were frozen to death. Descending again they encountered stronger and fiercer tribes, by whom they were defeated, the cruel Alfinger himself dying two days afterwards from his wounds. A small remnant only returned after two years' absence, leaving a track of pain and suffering to make their memory accursed for many generations. George of Spires now fitted out a great expedition of three hundred infantry and two hundred cavalry, which started in 1536. They also went a long distance into the interior, braving hardships and dangers almost incredible. Jaguars carried off their horses, and even went so far as to attack and kill several of the Indian bearers and one Spaniard. Like their predecessors, they also encountered savage Indians, and died of starvation and sickness. After journeying fifteen hundred miles from the coast they had to return unsuccessful; but as their leader was less cruel than Alfinger, the losses of the party were not so great. Instead of dying on the journey he lived to become Governor of Venezuela. Nicholas Fedreman followed the last party with supplies, but took them to go treasure-seeking on his own account. He wandered about for three years, and at last returned with some wonderful stories which induced others to continue the search. Herman de Quesada also travelled about for a year, and returned like his predecessors. Then Philip von Huten, who had gone already with George of Spires, fitted out a great expedition. His party was at one time so utterly famished that they had to eat ants, which they captured by placing corn cobs near the nests of these little creatures. They travelled in a great circle without knowing where they went, and at the end of a year came back to the place from whence they had started. Hearing, however, of a rich city called Macatoa, Von Huten started again, and found streets of houses with about eight hundred inhabitants, but no treasure. The people here sent him on farther, with their tales of the Omaguas, a warlike people living away in the south. On he went for five days, and at last came upon what he thought must be the golden city. It stretched away as far as the eye could reach, and in the centre was a great temple. But, although the little party charged gallantly down a hill and into the town, the Omaguas came out in such force that they had to retreat, bearing their wounded leader in a hammock. Continually harassed by Indians, they at last got back, to tell such stories of the dangers of the quest that the Omaguas seem to have been afterwards left alone. Our account of the search for "El Dorado" is necessarily short and imperfect, as it would be impossible even to enumerate all the expeditions. There is one, however, that was so tragic and awful, that, although it was fitted out in Peru, it must yet be mentioned in the story of the Spanish Main. [Illustration: "EL DORADO." (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] Notwithstanding the enormous quantities of gold and silver found in Peru, the crowds of needy treasure-seekers who went to that country gave some trouble to the Viceroy, who appears to have been willing to get rid of them at any cost. Whether he purposely sent them on a "wild goose chase," or whether he really believed the "El Dorado" story, is doubtful, but it is certain that he thought it prudent to give them employment in some way, to prevent mischief in his province. The expedition was put in command of Pedro de Ursua, and was intended to go down the Amazon in search of treasure cities. Embarking on the river Huallaga, in the year 1560, they had hardly passed the mouth of Ucayali before Ursua found he had a most unprincipled gang of scoundrels under his command. A little farther down the river they mutinied, under the leadership of Lope de Aguirre, and murdered Ursua and his lieutenant, appointing Guzman as captain. Being dissatisfied, however, with their new commander, they also killed him a little later, together with most of his adherents. Now Aguirre became leader--a ruffian whose character was of the blackest. Father Pedro Simon delineates his features and character, making him out to be a very devil. He was about fifty years of age, short of stature and sparsely built, ill-featured, his face small and lean, his beard black, and his eyes as piercing as those of a hawk. When he looked at any one he fixed his gaze sternly, particularly when annoyed; he was a noisy talker and boaster, and when well supported very bold and determined, but otherwise a coward. Of a very hardy constitution, he could bear much fatigue, either on foot or horseback. He was never without one or two coats of mail or a steel breastplate, and always carried a sword, dagger, arquebuse, or lance. His sleep was mostly taken in the day, as he was afraid to rest at night, although he never took off his armour altogether nor put away his weapons. Simon said he had always been of a turbulent disposition; a lover of revolts and mutinies; an enemy to all good men and good actions. Such was the Tyrant or Traitor Aguirre--virtually a madman--who now became the leader of a band of wretches like-minded to himself. They journeyed down the mighty river, now and again murdering one or another of the party, on the least suspicion of their dislike to their proceedings, and ill-treating the natives everywhere. Aguirre was not ashamed to boast that he had murdered a woman--not an Indian, but a beautiful Spanish lady, who had accompanied her lover on this arduous journey. Donna Inez de Altienza, a young widow, fell passionately in love with Ursua, who was brave, generous, and handsome; and loath to part with him, she undertook the hitherto unheard-of journey of thousands of miles in a strange and savage country. No fears or terrors daunted this devoted woman until after the death of her lover. Aguirre then picked a quarrel on the ground that her mattress was too large for the boat, and she also was murdered. The Spanish poet, Castellanos, thus laments the cruel deed:-- "The birds mourned on the trees; The wild beasts of the forest lamented; The waters ceased to murmur; The fishes beneath the waters groaned; The winds execrated the deed When Llamoso cut the veins of her white neck. Wretch! wert thou born of woman? No! what beast could have such a wicked son? How was it that thou didst not die In imagining a treason so enormous? Her two women, 'midst lamentation and grief, Gathered flowers to cover her grave, And cut her epitaph in the bark of a tree-- 'These flowers cover one whose faithfulness And beauty were unequalled, Whom cruel men slew without a cause.'" Whether Aguirre reached the mouth of the Amazon is doubtful--the evidence is in favour of his getting out of that river into the Rio Negro, and from thence into the Orinoco. However this may have been, he arrived at last in the Gulf of Paria and proceeded to the island of Margarita. Here, true to his character, he and his men commenced to plunder and kill the inhabitants, going so far as to defy the local authorities and even the king of Spain himself. To even enumerate the deeds of this band of outlaws would fill a chapter, but we cannot omit giving an extract from Aguirre's letter to his king, one of the most curious productions ever written:-- "I firmly believe that thou, O Christian king and lord, hast been very cruel and ungrateful to me and my companions for such good service, and that all those who write to thee from this land deceive thee much, because thou seest things from too far off. I and my companions, no longer able to suffer the cruelties which thy judges and governors exercise in thy name, are resolved to obey thee no longer.... Hear me! O hear me! thou king of Spain. Be not cruel to thy vassals.... Remember, King Philip, that thou hast no right to draw revenues from these provinces, since their conquest has been without danger to thee. I take it for certain that few kings go to hell, only because they are few in number; if they were many, none of them would go to heaven. For I believe that you are all worse than Lucifer, and that you hunger and thirst after human blood; and further, I think little of you and despise you all; nor do I look upon your government as more than an air bubble.... "In the year 1559 the Marquis of Canete entrusted the expedition of the river of Amazons to Pedro de Ursua, a Navarrese, or, rather, a Frenchman, who delayed the building of his vessels till 1560. These vessels were built in the province of the Motilones, which is a wet country, and, as they were built in the rainy season, they came to pieces, and we therefore made canoes and descended the river. We navigated the most powerful river in Peru, and it seemed to us that we were in a sea of fresh water. We descended the river for three hundred leagues. This bad governor was capricious, vain, and inefficient, so that we could not suffer it, and we gave him a quick and certain death. We then raised Don Fernando de Guzman to be our king.... Because I did not consent to their evil deeds they desired to murder me. I therefore killed the new king, the captain of his guard, his lieutenant-general, four captains, his major-domo, his chaplain who said mass, a woman, a knight of the Order of Rhodes, an admiral, two ensigns, and five or six of his servants. I named captains and sergeants, but these men also wanted to kill me, and I hanged them. We continued our course while this evil fortune was befalling us, and it was eleven months and a half before we reached the mouths of the river, having travelled for more than a hundred days over more than fifteen hundred leagues. This river has a course of two thousand leagues of fresh water, the greater part of the shores being uninhabited, and God only knows how we ever escaped out of that fearful lake. I advise thee not to send any Spanish fleet up this ill-omened river, for, on the faith of a Christian, I swear to thee, O king and lord, that if a hundred thousand men should go up, not one would escape.... "We shall give God thanks if, by our arms, we attain the rewards which are due to us, but which thou hast denied us; and because of thine ingratitude I am a rebel against thee until death." He and his band of outlaws ravaged the settlements of Venezuela for some time, until at last, on a promise of pardon, all left him save Llamoso, the murderer of Lady Inez. Aguirre had a daughter, a girl of twelve to fourteen, and when he found that all was lost he resolved to kill her. They were living at a country house, and when Llamoso brought the news of the desertion of his men, he snatched up a loaded arquebuse and rushed into his child's room, saying, "Commend thyself to God, my daughter, for I am about to kill thee, that thou mayest not be pointed at with scorn, nor that it be in the power of any one to call thee the daughter of a traitor." A woman snatched the weapon from his hand, but, drawing his poniard, he stabbed the girl in the breast, saying, "Die! because I must die!" Rushing then to the door, he found the house surrounded by Spanish soldiers, who compelled him to surrender, and almost immediately took him out to be shot. This put an end to treasure-seeking on the Amazon, but the search for "El Dorado" had been going on and was still continued along the banks of the Orinoco. The first attempt to reach the golden city by this river appears to have been made by Pedro de Acosta about the year 1530, but after most of his men had been killed and eaten by the cannibals, he was compelled to abandon his project. After him came Diego de Ordas, the following year, whose expedition became afterwards famous. He, however, found nothing himself, although he went as far as the mouth of the Caroni--it was from one of his men that the "El Dorado" story was gleaned. By some accident the whole of the gunpowder was exploded, and this being attributed to the negligence of the munitioner, Juan Martinez, he was sentenced to be put in a canoe, without paddles or food, and allowed to drift at the mercy of the current. What became of the culprit was not known, but some months afterwards a strange white man was brought by some Indians to Margarita. He was wasted by sickness, naked, and apparently destitute, but, through the kindness of a ship-captain, he got a passage to Porto Rico, and was there placed in a religious house, under the care of some Dominican friars. Here he became worse, but when on the point of death he presented his friends with two gourdsful of gold beads to pay for the repose of his soul; he also declared himself to be Juan Martinez, and told the wonderful story of his adventures. After being cast adrift, the canoe floated down the stream until evening, when it attracted the attention of some Indians, who paddled out from the shore and rescued Martinez from his perilous situation. These were Guianians, who had never before seen a white man, and therefore resolved to take him to their king as a curiosity. He was, however, blind-folded to prevent his seeing the direction they were taking, and led on and on, through forest and over mountain, for fifteen days, until a great city was reached. Arriving here at noon, his bandage was taken off, and Martinez feasted his eyes upon a great plain covered with houses, the roofs of which glittered in the sun as if made of gold. As far as his eye could reach stretched this marvellous assemblage of palaces. In the centre dwelt the great king, but, although the party travelled the whole of that and the next day, they did not reach the palace until evening. Here Martinez was well treated, and allowed to walk about the city, but not beyond it. He remained for seven months, saw the great lake on the shore of which the city of Manoa stood, and handled its golden sands. However, he was not content to remain, and after repeated petitions to be allowed to depart, was at last furnished with guides and as much gold as they could carry. Arrived at the Orinoco, the cannibals fell upon the party, stole all the treasure save that hidden under some provisions in the two gourds, and left them destitute. After enduring many privations Martinez, however, got a passage in an Indian canoe to Margarita, from whence he expected to go to Spain and report his discovery to the king. What amount of truth, if any at all, was contained in the story is doubtful. It does not appear to have been told at once, but gradually leaked out, becoming more marvellous as it spread over the West Indies. Adventurers flocked to the Orinoco, and at least a score of expeditions went in search of "El Dorado." Under the command of bold adventurers one party after another entered into the forest, some never to return or to be heard of again. The remnant sometimes came back starving, and broken down with sickness. We read of one Juan Corteso that he marched into the country, but neither he nor any of his company did return again. Gaspar de Sylva and his two brothers sought El Dorado, but fell down to Trinidad, where all three were buried. Jeronimo Ortal, after great travail and spending all his substance, died on a sudden at St. Domingo. Father Iala, a friar, with only one companion and some Indian guides, returned with gold eagles, idols, and other jewels, but when he essayed to pass a second time was slain by Indians. Alonzo de Herera endured great misery, but never entered one league into the country; he also was at last slain by Indians. Antonio Sedenno got much gold and many Indian prisoners, whom he manacled in irons, and of whom many died on the way. The tigers being fleshed with the dead carcases assaulted the Spaniards, who with much trouble hardly defended themselves from them. Sedenno was buried within the precincts of the empire of the gilded king, and most of his people perished likewise. Augustine Delgado came to an Indian Cacique, who entertained him with kindness and gave him rich jewels, six seemly pages, ten young slaves, and three nymphs very beautiful. To requite these manifold courtesies he took all the gold he could get and all the Indians he could lay hold on, to sell for slaves. He was afterwards shot in the eye by an Indian, of which hurt he died. And so we might go on to tell of the thousands of people murdered and tens of thousands carried off as slaves; Every gold ornament was stolen, provision grounds destroyed, and the forest tracks strewn with the corpses of those who had been massacred, and marked out by the graves of their murderers. Sometimes treasure and slaves were recaptured and no one left to tell the tale, but more often a few escaped to fight over the booty and perhaps be hanged as mutineers on their return. The men of that age were undoubtedly great--great warriors, great ruffians, great villains. Only here and there can we distinguish a good man like Las Casas, who did his very best for the Indians against the opposition of the settlers and the lukewarmness of the Spanish Court. He was horrified at the atrocities in the Indies, but the kings wanted their tithes and cared little how they were obtained. "Get it honestly if you can, but get it," seems to have been their motto, and it was not for many years that anything like humanity was shown, and then only by a few priests. [Illustration] [Illustration] III. "SINGEING THE SPANIARD'S BEARD." On the discovery of the Indies, Ferdinand and Isabella at once applied to Pope Alexander the Sixth to secure the rights of Spain in the new countries against every other nation, but more especially against Portugal. Accordingly, the celebrated "Bull of partition" was issued on the 4th of May, 1493, giving, conceding, and assigning for ever, to them and their successors, all the islands and mainlands already found or that might be discovered in future, to the west of a line, stretching from the north to the south poles, a hundred leagues from the Azores or Cape de Verde Islands, provided they were not in the possession of any other Christian prince. The sovereigns were commanded to appoint upright, God-fearing, skilful, and learned men to instruct the inhabitants in the Catholic faith, and all unauthorised persons were forbidden to traffic on or even approach the territories. If they did so they would incur the indignation of Almighty God and of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul. Such was the gist of the document under which the enormities mentioned in the preceding chapters were committed. Portugal, except for some disputes about Brazil, accepted this arrangement, but the other great nations of Europe, especially England, disputed it from the very beginning. Nevertheless, the governments, as long as they were at peace with Spain, took no active part in the matter, but left the work to individuals, even going so far in some instances as to disclaim their responsibility for piracies committed beyond the seas. English and French seamen, hearing of the treasure continually imported into Spain, soon found their way to the new world, and as early as the year 1526 precautions had to be taken against them. Orders were sent to build castles on the coasts and strong houses, not only for defence against the cannibals, who continued to ravage the larger islands, but to protect the settlements from French corsairs who had already commenced their depredations. The tract of the Spanish fleets led them first to St. Domingo, and thence on to the isthmus of Darien or Panama, where at first the chief port was Nombre de Dios. At these two points it was of great importance that fortifications should be erected, and this was done in the first half of the sixteenth century. An English merchant named Thomas Tison seems to have been the first of our nation who went to the West Indies, but he got his goods sent from Bristol to Spain. In 1527 King Henry VIII. fitted out the _Dominus Vobiscum_ and another vessel for those parts, but little is known of their course. It was, however, reported that they went to Porto Rico, and got there a cargo of brazil wood, and then proceeded to St. Domingo, where permission was asked to trade. After waiting for the license two days the Spanish batteries fired upon them, driving them off to go back to Porto Rico, where the inhabitants were more friendly. From this time the corsairs and rovers became more numerous and audacious every year. Some went trading among the Indians of the mainland, others, more bold, forced their goods upon the Spanish settlements under threats of pillage. In 1536 the inhabitants of Havana paid seven hundred ducats to a French corsair to save the city, and because later the pirate was chased by three Spanish vessels, which he captured, he returned and exacted a second ransom. In 1538 there was a gallant fight in the harbour of Santiago de Cuba, between a Spaniard and a French corsair. The two vessels fought with each other the first day until sunset, when a truce was agreed to, and civilities exchanged between the captains. They sent each other presents of wine and fruit, were very friendly, and mutually agreed to fight only by day with swords and lances. Artillery, they agreed, was an invention of cowards--they would show their valour, and the one who conquered should have the other's vessel. The second day they fought again until evening without either being conquered, and again they exchanged courtesies. That night, however, the Spanish captain, Diego Perez, sent to the people of the city asking if they would compensate him for the loss of his ship if the corsair got the better of him; if they agreed to do this he would risk his life in their service. Were he not poor and without any other property, he would not have asked them, and as they would be gainers by his victory, he did not think his request at all extravagant. But the authorities refused to pledge themselves to anything, leaving Perez to fight for his own honour, life, and property. The battle continued the whole of the third day, each giving the other time for rest and refreshment, yet neither was conquered, although many had fallen on both sides. After similar courtesies the fight went on next morning, and when evening came the Frenchman promised to continue it next morning. Feeling, however, that the Spaniard was likely to get the better of him, he slipped his cable in the night and made off, leaving Perez to grieve at the drawn battle. The same year Havana was sacked and burnt, and three years later both English and French did great injury to the Spanish trade. Even Portugal did not escape, but when complaints were sent to the king of France, he said he intended to follow those conquests and navigations which by right belonged to him. In 1545 five French vessels captured the pearl-fishing fleet near the Main, which the owners were compelled to ransom; at the same time they were forced to buy seventy negroes from the captors. The Frenchmen then took Santa Martha and got a thousand ducats as ransom. One raid after another took place until the Spaniards were at their wits' ends. Forts were built, _guarda-costas_ stationed, and other precautions taken, but the depredations and forced traffic still continued. They cruelly punished all who fell into their hands, and this led to retaliation, not only for their own injuries, but to avenge the slaughter of the innocent natives. About the year 1530 Master William Hawkins made three long and famous voyages in the ship _Paul_. Hakluyt said he went to Brazil--a thing very rare in those days to our English nation. He became so friendly with the Indians that one of their kings came to England in his vessel, and was exhibited to King Henry, who marvelled to see this savage representative of royalty. Unfortunately the poor fellow died on the return voyage, which made Hawkins fear for the white hostage he had left behind. However, his explanation was accepted, and his man given back unharmed--a result all the more pleasing, as he knew so little of the language, and might easily have been misunderstood. This is an example of the good feeling of these people towards Englishmen and all who treated them fairly. Even the cannibals became more gentle under good treatment, and would allow the enemies of Spain to land on their shores without opposition. By this time the natives of the Greater Antilles were gone, and with them the thousands of captives from the mainland. Then began the importation of negroes, first from Spain, where the Portuguese had sold a fair number during the previous century, and then from Africa. Spain could not send and fetch the negroes on account of the Papal Bull, which reserved the savage countries east of the line to Portugal. It followed, therefore, that, as Spain claimed the Indies, so her sister country claimed the whole of Africa--a claim as little respected by other nations as that of her neighbour. [Illustration: NEGRO WOMAN RETURNING FROM MARKET.] Hearing that there was a good market for negroes in the West, Captain (afterwards Sir) John Hawkins, in 1563, got up an expedition to supply this demand. With three vessels of 120, 100, and 40 tons respectively, he sailed to Sierra Leone, and partly by the sword and partly by other means, got three hundred slaves, whom he carried to Hispaniola. Here he had a reasonable sale, probably forced, for he trusted the Spaniards no farther than he thought prudent, considering his strength. His returns were so good, however, that he not only loaded his own vessels with hides, ginger, sugar, and some pearls, but also freighted two hulks to send to Spain. [Illustration: NEGRO BARBER] [Illustration: NEGRO FAMILY ON HOLIDAY.] This success induced him to make another venture on a larger scale with the _Jesus_ of Lubeck, of 700, and three other vessels of 140, 50, and 30 tons. He sailed for Africa in October, 1564, to kidnap slaves, yet all the time he was very religious in a way. His orders concluded with the commands to "serve God daily; love one another; preserve your victuals; beware of fire; and keep good company"--_i.e._, do not stray from others of the fleet. At several places he took negroes by force, losing a few of his men in the fights, and with a good number set off for the West Indies. Fortunately, he said, although they were in great danger from a gale on this voyage, they arrived without many deaths of either the negroes or themselves. For "the Almighty God, who never suffereth His elect to perish, sent us, on the 16th of February (1565), the ordinary breeze." [Illustration: NEGRESSES GOSSIPING.] The first land they sighted was Dominica, where they watered, and then went on to Margarita, the Governor of which island refused them permission to trade. They then tried several other places, including Hispaniola and Cumaná, but also without success. At Barbarota they forced the people to traffic, and here they were joined by Captain Bontemps, a French corsair, with whom they went to Curaçao, and forced a hundred slaves upon the inhabitants. Finally they went to Rio de la Hacha and defeated a body of Spanish troops, after which the remainder of Hawkins' cargo was freely sold. In his third voyage, on which he started in October, 1567, Hawkins was accompanied by Francis Drake and several other gentlemen adventurers. He took a similar course to that of his former voyages, joined some African chiefs in storming a town, and received, as his share of the booty, five hundred prisoners, with whom he again sailed for the Indies. The alarmed Spaniards dared not refuse to trade, and consequently he soon sold his negroes at a good profit. On his return, however, he was caught in a storm near the coast of Florida and had to take shelter in the harbour of Vera Cruz, where at first his vessels were taken for a Spanish fleet then daily expected. Under this mistake several influential persons came on board, two of whom were retained as hostages. Next day the Spanish fleet, consisting of thirteen sail, arrived, and on board one of them was the new Viceroy of Mexico. From this high authority Hawkins got permission to repair his ships, victual, and refit, provided the English kept themselves to a small island in the harbour, for the due performance of which they gave twelve hostages. But the Spaniards were not prepared to let their enemies off so easily, and made preparations for a surprise. Hawkins, becoming suspicious, sent to inquire about certain shady transactions, and was at once attacked by something like a thousand men. The Spaniards sunk three of his vessels, seriously damaged the fourth, and left him with only one leaky ship in which to find his way home. A great number of his men were killed and others captured, the prisoners to be taken to Mexico and there cruelly used. Two of them--Miles Philips and Job Hortop--managed to escape and return to England, where they gave long accounts of their sufferings, the latter comparing himself to his namesake the patriarch. As for Hawkins, in speaking of his return voyage, he said, that "if all the miserable and troublesome affairs of this sorrowful voyage should be perfectly and thoroughly written, there should need a painful man with his pen, and as great a time as he had that wrote the lives and deaths of the martyrs." This disaster put an end to Hawkins' slave-trading, but made no impression on the other adventurers to the Indies. Francis Drake now took up the quarrel, and in the year 1572 "singed the Spaniard's beard" to some purpose. Knowing already something of the state of affairs near the isthmus, he resolved to gain his spurs in that direction. He cared not for a forced trade in negroes, but virtually went in for piracy, for although the relations of the mother countries were at that time somewhat strained, war had not yet been declared. Drake sailed straight for Nombre de Dios, the treasure port, arrived suddenly before the inhabitants had any warning, and landed a hundred and fifty men in the night. Suddenly the town was roused to the fact that the enemy were in possession, and as the people ran off to the forest, they asked each other what was the matter. Unfortunately for Drake, however, through a misunderstanding, the English were alarmed and took to their vessels, so that all the advantage of the surprise was lost. Undaunted by this failure, he determined to attempt something even more audacious--the capture of the Panama train. We have already seen that African slaves had been imported in considerable numbers; we have now to mention that on the continent they often escaped into the forest. Here they lived like the Indians, and were often in friendship with them, going under the name of Simerons, or afterwards Maroons. Always at enmity with the masters whom they had deserted, they were a terror to the settlers on account of their continual raids on the plantations. Drake determined to get the assistance of these people, which was freely given, and he was enabled to traverse the pathless forest and to lie in wait for the train of mules carrying gold and silver from Panama to Nombre de Dios. This he captured, but, on account of the difficulties of the way, was obliged to leave the silver behind, and content himself with the gold. Then he attacked some merchants, burnt their goods to the value of two hundred thousand ducats, and got safely back to his ships just as the dilatory Spaniards sent out three hundred men for his capture. It was on this excursion that he saw the Great South Sea, and determined to carry English ships into that immense Spanish preserve. How he carried out his resolve, and appeared suddenly off the Peruvian coast five years later, is a story we must leave, as it belongs to another part of the new world. When Drake returned to Plymouth the news of his adventures, and the more substantial evidence of the gold he had brought, roused others to follow his example. Among them was one John Oxnam, or Oxenham, who has been immortalised by Kingsley in "Westward Ho!" Arriving at the isthmus in 1575, in a vessel of 140 tons, he went to an out-of-the-way river, and hid his bark among the great trees. Landing with his seventy men, he went in search of the Simerons, who took him to a river which flowed into the South Sea, where a pinnace was built. In this the English pulled down to the Pacific, with the intention of capturing one of the treasure ships coming to Panama. They succeeded so far as to get sixty thousand dollars in gold from one bark, and a hundred thousand from another. Not yet satisfied, they went to the Pearl Islands, attacked the negro divers, and took a few pearls, with which they at last returned up the river. Unfortunately for Oxenham the negroes of the Pearl Islands carried the news of his presence to Panama, and in two days four boats with a hundred men were sent in pursuit. They found the two barks, which had been released, and from their captains learnt where the Englishmen had gone. Following up the river they were at a loss when they came to three branches, but spying some freshly plucked feathers floating down one of the streams, they followed that until they came upon the pinnace. Six men were on guard, one of whom was killed, but the other five escaped and gave the alarm to their comrades. Pursuing their track through the forest the Spaniards found the store of treasure hidden away under boughs of trees. With this they would have gone back had not Oxenham attacked them with two hundred Simerons before they reached their boats. Being more skilful in bush fighting than the English, the Spaniards repulsed the party, killing eleven and taking seven prisoners, from whom they learnt that the delay was caused by the difficulty of transporting the treasure. Now the news was sent to Nombre de Dios, and the authorities there found the English vessel and brought her away, thus cutting off the means of escape for those still lurking in the forest. Then an expedition was sent in search of them, and they were found building canoes. Some were sick and could make no resistance, the others fled and took refuge with the negroes, by whom they were ultimately betrayed and taken to Panama. Here Oxenham was interrogated as to his authority for the raid, and was obliged to admit that he had not his Queen's license. All except five boys were executed, the men at once, and the officers a little while afterwards at Lima. Thus ended one of the most audacious attacks on the Spaniards which only failed through a little want of calculation. Hakluyt, who wrote the account, said the enemy marvelled much to see that although many Frenchmen had come to these countries, yet never one durst put foot upon land; only Drake and Oxenham performed such exploits. When the news reached Spain the king was so alarmed that he sent out two galleys to guard the coast, which in the first year after their arrival took six or seven French vessels, and put a stop to their piracies for a time. There was another class of raids in the Indies, of which that of Andrew Barker, of Bristol, was an example. He, and one Captain Roberts, going to trade in the Canary Islands, had their goods confiscated, and were put in prison, from which Roberts escaped and Barker was ultimately discharged. To recoup his losses and revenge himself, Barker fitted out several vessels in 1576, in which he went trading to the Main, and afterwards committed acts of piracy. He took a small vessel off Margarita and a frigate near Carthagena, from which he got five hundred pounds' weight of gold and some emeralds. Now, following the example of Drake, he landed on the isthmus to get help from the Simerons, but could find none. Then, from the unhealthiness of the climate, most of his men fell sick, and eight or nine died, which made him give up this part of his project. Embarking again he took another Spanish vessel with some gold, but after that the party got into difficulties. Barker quarrelled with his ship-master, and one of the vessels became so leaky that they had to let her sink, first removing the cargo into the last Spanish prize. They, however, captured another vessel with a hundred pounds of silver and some provisions, but after that the crews mutinied and put Barker ashore with some others, where they were attacked by Spaniards, and nine, including the captain, killed. The mutineers then went on to Truxillo, which they surprised, but could find no treasure, and were soon driven to flight by a Spanish vessel. On their way home the Spanish vessel sunk, carrying down two thousand pounds' worth of their booty, and on their arrival at Plymouth they were imprisoned as accessories to their captain's death. Although none were executed, yet, says the worthy Hakluyt, "they could not avoid the heavy judgment of God, but shortly after came to miserable ends." Open war soon came, and culminated in the invasion of England by the "Invincible Armada" of 1588. No longer could there be any question of the Queen's license, and in 1585 Drake, now Sir Francis, fitted out a great fleet to cripple the power of Spain in the Indies. The Spanish authorities were no longer unprepared, but ready to give him a warm reception all along his expected course. The fleet consisted of twenty-five vessels, with two thousand three hundred men, among whom could be found many whose names are famous in the annals of Queen Elizabeth. At the Cape de Verde Islands they burnt the town of Santiago in revenge for the murder of a boy, and after this baptism of fire, proceeded to the island of St. Christopher's, where they landed the sick, cleaned their vessels, and spent Christmas. Leaving at the end of December, on the 1st of January, 1586, they arrived off Hispaniola with the intention of attacking St. Domingo. The English landed about ten miles distant from that city, marched upon the Spaniards unawares, and took it by surprise, notwithstanding every preparation that had been made, and the careful watch for enemies from the sea. Drake demanded a large ransom, and because it was not paid at once, commenced to demolish the buildings, which brought the inhabitants to their senses and made them offer the sum of 25,000 ducats (about £7,000), which he accepted. From thence the fleet sailed to Carthagena, where no opposition was made until the troops landed, when a great struggle took place in the streets. The Spaniards had erected barricades, behind which they succeeded in doing some execution, but only delayed the surrender for a short time. After a portion of the town had been burnt, 110,000 ducats were paid as ransom for the remainder, and after a few less brilliant exploits, the fleet went back to England, being thus hurried on account of sickness among the men. Otherwise, Drake had intended to capture Nombre de Dios and Panama, but from this disability had to be content with booty to the amount of £60,000, which would mean something like a quarter of a million at the present value of money. He arrived in time to help in repelling the Armada, and this invasion kept most of the English about their own shores for a year or two. In 1595, when there were no longer any fears of a Spanish landing, Drake determined on another voyage, and this time with Sir John Hawkins. Getting together six of the Queen's ships and twenty-one other vessels, they arrived safely at the Caribbee Islands, where Hawkins became sick and died. Drake then went on to Porto Rico and attacked the capital, but could do nothing more than capture a few vessels from under the guns of the forts. Going to the Main he captured Rio de la Hacha and a fishing village named Rancheria. These he held for ransom, but was dissatisfied with the number of pearls offered by private persons, the Governor refusing to give anything, and burnt both town and village. Santa Martha was also taken, and then Nombre de Dios, but he found that the treasure had been removed, the inhabitants taking to the forest when they heard his fearful name. Sir Thomas Baskerville took seven hundred and fifty men to go over to Panama, but returned much discouraged by the difficulties of the road. Drake finally burnt Nombre de Dios and every vessel in the harbour down to the smallest boats. After that, sickness began to tell upon the expedition, and Drake himself was stricken with dysentery. When on the point of death he rose from his bed, put on his full dress of admiral, called his men and gave them a farewell address, then, sinking down exhausted he died immediately afterwards. Several captains and other important officers also died, and they even lost the chief surgeon; after that, nothing was left but to return home. Off Cuba they were attacked by a Spanish fleet of twenty vessels, sent out to intercept them, with which they kept up a running fight until the enemy were left behind. On their arrival in England in May, 1596, the sad news of the death of Drake overshadowed all the glory of the expedition. In Spain, however, it was published for general information, and the people congratulated each other that at last their enemy was gone. Henry Savile, in his "Libel of Spanish Lies," said "it did ease the stomachs of the timorous Spaniards greatly to hear of the death of him whose life was a scourge and a continual plague to them." No wonder that the news was so grateful, for none was so daring, and no name like that of Drake ever came to be used as a bogey with which to frighten their children. Yet there were many gallant adventurers in the Indies at that very time. Sir Robert Dudley and Sir Walter Ralegh were both at Trinidad in 1595, and for several years before and after the English rovers were plentiful in the Gulf of Mexico. In 1591 the _Content_ was successfully defended against six Spanish men-of-war, and the galleons were obliged to sail in large squadrons. What with the dangers of storms and the enemy, it was stated that of a hundred and twenty-three vessels expected in Spain during that year, only twenty-five arrived safe. The number of rovers became at last so great that plunder was difficult to obtain. The Spanish settlers were in continual fear, and naturally took every precaution against their enemies, hiding the treasure on the least alarm, and taking to the forest. The French corsairs were not far behind the English, although as yet they had no proper licenses, and only fought for their own hands. Latterly, also, the Dutch and Flemings had arrived, and although mainly occupied in trading, they did not hesitate to fight on occasion, especially when attempts were made to prevent their traffic. While under the rule of Charles the Fifth they had been free to go to and from the Indies, and no doubt use the knowledge thus gained to further their own interests since their revolt. Like the English, they were at enmity with Spain, but there was also another bond of union--both were Protestant. Queen Elizabeth assisted Holland in gaining her independence, and therefore at this period the relations between English and Dutch were very cordial. But the fellow-feeling of enmity to Spain made even the French corsair unite with the two others, so that pirates, privateers, and traders all combined against the common foe. [Illustration] [Illustration] IV. RALEGH AND THE FIRST BRITISH COLONIES. The first grant made by Queen Elizabeth for a settlement in America was given to Sir Humphrey Gilbert in 1578, but the father of English colonisation was Sir Walter Ralegh. Although considered a rover, or pirate, by the Spaniards, he was of a different type to Drake, Hawkins, and the other adventurers of the sixteenth century. Not only was he famous as a brave warrior, but at the same time as one of the most learned men of his time; as enterprising in the arts of peace as on the battlefield. The "Letters Patent" to Walter Ralegh, Esquire, dated the 25th of March, 1584, may be considered as the first charter of the English colonies. Under them he was empowered to discover, occupy, and possess barbarous countries not actually in the possession of any Christian prince, or inhabited by Christian people, on condition that he reserved to Her Majesty a fifth of all the gold and silver found therein. He was also given all the rights of civil and criminal jurisdiction, and empowered to govern and make laws as long as these laws did not conflict with those of the mother country, or with the true Christian faith of the Church of England. Under this charter the first settlement in Virginia was undertaken, and thus England threw down the gauntlet in the face of Spain. However, Ralegh did not confine himself to North America--there were other countries not in the actual possession of any Christian prince, the most notable being Guiana. Ralegh had heard the story of "El Dorado" and of the failures of the many German and Spanish knights. He would succeed where they had failed. Englishmen had displayed their mettle in the Indies--if the treasures of Peru and Mexico had raised their enemy to be "mistress of the world" and "sovereign of the seas," why should not he also find other golden countries for the benefit of his virgin queen and country? Because two rich provinces had been discovered, it did not follow that there were no others; on the contrary, the rumours of "El Dorado" were so many that they could not be treated with contempt. And then the natives of the "Great Wild Coast," although cannibals, were friendly to the English, who had always treated them fairly, and there they had the advantage over Spain. The country was open to them, although strictly guarded against their rivals. The stories had been lately revived by the expeditions of Antonio de Berrio, Governor of Trinidad and Guiana, who had made explorations of the river Orinoco, and possibly exaggerated his reports for the purpose of getting settlers. Captain Popham took some letters from a Spanish vessel in 1594, wherein were found accounts of the "Nueva Dorado," which were spoken of as incredibly rich. Ralegh saw these, and was induced by their reports and his own knowledge of the Indies, which he had gained in working at his colonisation schemes, to go out and look up the matter. The occupation of Guiana, he said, had other ground and assurance of riches than the voyages to the West Indies. The king of Spain was not so impoverished as the English supposed by their taking two or three ports, neither were the riches of Peru or New Spain to be picked up on the sea-shore. The burning of towns on the coast did not impoverish Spain one ducat, for it was within the country that the land was rich and populous. Therefore England should endeavour to get possession of this yet unspoiled country, instead of wasting her energies on adventures that were of no real benefit, and that hardly touched the real source of her enemy's greatness. Ralegh arrived at Trinidad in March, 1595, and as a matter of precaution captured the Spanish town of St. Joseph, and the Governor, De Berrio, from whom he heard more stories of El Dorado. Here also he began those conciliatory measures with the natives which characterised all his dealings. He released five chiefs, who had been imprisoned in chains and tortured by dropping melted fat on their bodies, and thus gained their friendship. Unlike other adventurers he thought it necessary to excuse himself for burning St. Joseph, which he did in rather quaint language. Considering that if he entered Guiana by small boats and left a garrison of the enemy at his back, he "should have savoured very much of the ass," he took the place, and at the instance of the natives set it on fire. [Illustration: RALEGH IN TRINIDAD. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] Now began a weary voyage up the Orinoco, first through the delta, which is such a maze that they might have wandered for months without getting into the main river had they not secured an Indian pilot. Exposed alternately to burning sun and drenching showers in open boats, they toiled against the powerful stream. Ralegh everywhere tried his best to ingratiate himself with the Indians, succeeding so well that his name became known over the whole of Guiana. He told them that he had been sent by a great queen, the powerful Cacique of the north, and a virgin, whose chieftains were more numerous than the trees of the forest. She was an enemy to the Spaniards, had freed other nations from their oppression, and had now sent to rescue them. To confirm his statement he gave each Cacique a coin so that they could possess the queen's likeness, and these were treasured and even worshipped for a century afterwards. Everywhere he heard of El Dorado, but it was always receding farther and farther, until his men became so disheartened that he had to rouse them by saying that they would be shamed before their comrades if they gave up so easily. However, after reaching the mouth of the Caroni and getting specimens of gold ore, he had to return without doing more than locating the city of Manoa several hundred miles to the east of his farthest point. This was done in so exact a manner that the great lake of Parima, as large as the Caspian Sea, was retained upon the maps of South America down to the beginning of the present century. His ore was probably stream quartz, and in representing it as taken from the rock he probably reported what the Indians had told him. When, therefore, he said that the assay gave its value as £13,000 a ton, there is no reason to suppose a mistake or untruth, for pieces quite as valuable may still be picked up. His "Discoverie of Guiana" is such a mixture of close and accurate observation with the hearsay of the Indians, that it is difficult in some cases to separate truth from fiction. Yet, although historians have charged him with wilful lying, there can be no doubt of his good faith. It has been left to the present century to prove that gold-mines exist on the site of the fabled El Dorado, for it is there that the well-known Caratal diggings are situated. Ralegh asked the people of England to judge for themselves. He had spent much time and money, with no other object than to serve his queen and country. When they considered that it was the Spaniard's gold which endangered and disturbed all the nations of Europe, that "purchaseth intelligence, creepeth into councils and setteth bound loyalty at liberty," they would see the advantage of these provinces he had discovered. Guiana was a country that had never yet been sacked, turned, or wrought. The face of the earth had not been torn, nor the virtue and salt of the soil spent by manurance; the graves had not been opened for gold, the mines not touched with sledges, or the images pulled down from the temples. It was so easily defensible that it could be protected by two forts at the mouth of a river, and thus the whole empire be guarded. The country was already discovered, many nations won to Her Majesty's love and obedience, and those Spaniards who had laboured on the conquest were beaten, discouraged, and disgraced. If Her Majesty took up the enterprise, he doubted not that after the first or second year there would be a Contractation House for Guiana in London, with larger receipts than that for the Indies at Seville. Such was Ralegh's dream. Another Peru to be conquered, and England to be raised to the highest point of wealth and importance. But unfortunately he could get no assistance to carry out the grand project. Yet he was undoubtedly sincere, for did he not send out two expeditions under Captains Keymis and Berrie the following year, to assure the Indians that he had not forgotten them? Keymis found one tribe keeping a festival in honour of the great princess of the north, and anxiously waiting for the return of Gualtero, which name, by the by, was similar to their word for friend. They made fires, and, sitting in their hammocks, each man with his companion, they recounted the worthy deeds and deaths of their ancestors, execrating their enemies most spitefully, and magnifying their friends with all the titles of honour they could devise. Thus they sat talking and smoking tobacco until their cigars (their measure of time) went out, during which they were not to be disturbed, "for this is their religion and prayers which they now celebrated, keeping a precise fast one whole day in honour of the great princess of the north, their patron and defender." The explorations of Ralegh and his captains were published all over Europe, with the result that attention was generally drawn to Guiana. Already some Dutchmen had been trading on the coast for many years, and it was even reported that they had established a post in the river Pomeroon, the centre of the province of Caribana. As early as 1542 Flemings had settled at Araya on the coast of Venezuela, where they collected salt and were left undisturbed as long as the Netherlands belonged to Spain. Ralegh seems to have purposely ignored the presence of these people in Guiana, probably to prevent any question of prior rights on the part of a friendly nation. But, after all, the Dutchmen could only have been there on their own responsibility, and their temporary occupation had no meaning from a national point of view. Now that Guiana was made known, vessels of other nationalities went trading along the coast, everywhere meeting with a hearty welcome from the Indians as long as the visitors were not Spanish. They were only so many additions to their friends--their enemies were confined to Trinidad and the Orinoco, leaving the whole coast of Guiana to its rightful owners. In fact, the Spaniards could no more subdue the Caribs of the Main than they could those of the islands. Only in Trinidad, where the Arawak was employed against the cannibal, was a settlement made possible. Ralegh was unable to carry out his great project, but others were not backward in attempting to settle in the country. First came Charles Leigh, who in 1604 founded a colony in the river Oyapok, which failed partly from the lack of assistance from England and partly from too great a dependence on the promises of the Indians to supply food. Sickness followed on starvation, Leigh died, and a mutiny took place, after which the survivors got back to Europe in a Dutch trader, which fortunately arrived when all hope of succour had been abandoned. Robert Harcourt followed to the same river in 1609, like Leigh, getting promises of assistance from the Indians by using the name of Ralegh. With their consent he took possession of the country, "by twig and turf," in the name of King James. This ceremony was performed by first cutting a branch from a tree, and then turning up a sod with the sword, thus claiming everything in and on the earth. Harcourt's colony lasted several years, and in 1613 he received from James the First a grant of all that part of Guiana lying between the rivers Amazons and Essequebo, on the usual condition of the fifth of all gold and silver being handed over to the king. In the same year the Dutch trading factory at Kyk-over-al on the river Essequebo was established, and this was probably the reason why the English grant made that river the boundary of their possessions, leaving the Hollander to establish himself between the Essequebo and the Orinoco. Meanwhile, in 1603, poor Ralegh had been tried on a charge of aiding and abetting the plot to raise Arabella Stuart to the throne of England, on the death of Queen Elizabeth. Any one who reads the account of his trial will perceive at once the absurdity of the charge, yet Ralegh was convicted and sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. However, even with all his hatred for the knight, King James dared not carry out the sentence, but instead, kept him imprisoned in the Tower. Here Ralegh still hankered after the treasures of Guiana, and in 1611 he made a proposition to the Government to send Captain Keymis to find the rich gold mine which had been pointed out to him by an Indian. If Keymis should live to arrive at the place and fail to bring half a ton or more of that rich ore of which he had shown a sample, Ralegh himself would bear all the expense of the journey. "Though," said he, "it be a difficult matter of exceeding difficulty for any man to find the same acre of ground again, in a country desolate and overgrown, which he hath seen but once, and that sixteen years since--which were hard enough to do upon Salisbury Plain--yet that your lordships may be satisfied of the truth, I am contented to adventure all I have (but my reputation) upon Keymis's memory." This proposition was rejected, and the poor knight lingered on in the Tower, attended during part of the time by two Guiana Indians, Harry and Leonard Regapo. In 1616, however, he at last recovered his liberty on condition that he went to Guiana and brought back gold, but at the same time the king refused to pardon him. Nevertheless he took up the matter with an amount of enthusiasm which showed his entire confidence in its ultimate success. All his own money and as much of his wife's as could be spared was spent in fitting out the expedition, and he also got contributions from many of his friends. The king even went so far as to give him a commission to undertake a voyage to the south parts of America, or elsewhere in America, inhabited by heathen and savage people, with all the necessary rights of government and jurisdiction; yet with all this the old sentence hung over his head. The expedition of fourteen vessels started in March, 1617, but even from the commencement the voyage was disastrous. First a gale was encountered, which drove the fleet to take refuge in Cork Harbour, where it lay until August. This seems to have put a damper on the commander, who now began to realise how much depended on his success. He was twenty-two years older than when he went on his first voyage to Guiana, and most of those years he had spent in captivity. Is it any wonder that when the excitement attendant on his release had gone off he became sick and utterly prostrated? Such was his condition when the fleet arrived at Cayenne, where he went to look for his Indian boy Harry, who had gone back to his people and was now wanted as interpreter. So low was Ralegh's condition that he had to be carried ashore, and although he soon became a little better under a course of fresh meat and fruits, he never wholly recovered. So great was his weakness, both of mind and body, that he deputed Keymis to lead the party up the Orinoco, while he rested at Cayenne; in a few days he would go on to Trinidad and wait there until they returned. Keymis accordingly went on, accompanied by young Walter Ralegh, a number of other gentlemen, and four hundred soldiers. They arrived at the site of the supposed gold mine without accident, but found that since the first expedition some Spaniards had built "a town of sticks, covered with leaves," and this stood in the way of their approach to the mine. Possibly Keymis now thought of his master's expression in regard to St. Joseph, and did not care to "savour of an ass" by leaving the enemy to interfere with his work. He therefore attacked this town of St. Thome, and set it on fire. Unfortunately young Ralegh was killed in the fight, and the thought of how he could tell this bad news preyed upon the mind of Keymis until all relish for gold-seeking was lost. The Spaniards took to the bush, from whence they sallied forth on any small party of the English, and ultimately put them into a state of confusion. The mine could not be found, the adventurers began to complain that they had been fooled, and Keymis was so troubled that he seemed neither to know nor care anything about treasure-seeking. Ralegh had meanwhile arrived in the Gulf of Paria, where he received the news of the burning of St. Thome and the death of his son from some Indians. Presently Keymis arrived, utterly dejected, to find his master broken down and more woe-begone than himself. Ralegh said he was undone, and that Keymis was entirely to blame. Not even a sample of ore--the king would believe him a liar and a cheat. Then, this attack on a Spanish town! Did not Keymis remember that these were not the days of the virgin queen, when to "singe the Spaniard's beard" was worthy of praise? Did he not know that James was friendly with the king of Spain and wanted to get from him a princess for his son Henry? [Illustration: GOLD HUNTING. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] Keymis had been the intimate friend of Ralegh through all his troubles. He had remained faithful even when threatened with the rack at the time of the trial. As a kind of steward he had administered the prisoner's estate, and was a trusted friend and confidant of the family. He had seen young Walter grow up to manhood, and now through his fault the youth had been killed. For the first time the bereaved father was angry with his captain; perhaps if Keymis died the whole blame would be laid upon his shoulders, and Ralegh be exonerated. He went to the cabin allotted to him, loaded a pistol, shot himself, and then, as he feared the wound was not mortal, finished the suicide by driving a long knife into his heart. Thus died poor Keymis, but unfortunately this did not make any difference to his master. If Ralegh had been prepared to throw all the responsibility on his lieutenant, the king could only be satisfied with treasure. Even if James had been inclined to over-look the affair, the Spanish ambassador would not condone such an offence. He is said to have rushed into the royal presence with the cry of "Piracy! piracy! piracy!" at the same time demanding the immediate capture and punishment of the raiders. It followed, therefore, that Ralegh was arrested immediately on his return, and finally executed under the old sentence, but by decapitation instead of hanging. His last days were passed with resignation and fortitude. His old spirit was entirely broken, and although he petitioned the king for grace and pardon, he did so in a hopeless way. He had many sympathisers, and to satisfy them the king's printers issued a little book entitled "A Declaration of the Demeanour and Carriage of Sir Walter Raleigh," obviously inspired by the king himself. Here was a thing unheard of before or since; a sovereign excusing himself for his actions! If anything were required to prove the prisoner's innocence, this was sufficient. Did James want to salve his own conscience, or was it intended to satisfy those who clamoured on account of the injustice of the execution? No doubt many of the old sea dogs who had served under Drake and Hawkins were still living, and remembered when Plymouth bells rang at the news of fresh arrivals from the Indies. "But now, forsooth, you must not burn down a thatched hovel without a great to-do being made." If Spain wanted peace, why did her people murder a ship's company in cold blood a little while before? Out upon it! The good old days had passed and England was going to ruin. However, even King James's sneaking friendship for Spain could not keep back colonisation altogether. Something like moderation was introduced, and only pirates pure and simple kept up the old traditions. As for the king he hardly knew how to steer, what with the petitions for reprisals from English seamen on the one hand, and complaints of the Spanish ambassadors on the other. The result of this want of policy is well shown in the case of Roger North one of the adventurers in the last expedition of Ralegh, who, in 1619, wished to re-establish the colony in the Oyapok, which had virtually sunk to nothing. An association called the Amazon Company was formed, and, notwithstanding Spanish protests, the king granted "Letters Patent," under which North got up an expedition in four vessels. Then the Spanish ambassador began to storm, and the weak king revoked the patent, calling upon the members of the Company to renounce their rights. North, who had been warned that something was going on, hurried up his preparations, and was off so quickly that he sailed on the 30th of April, 1620, fifteen days before the proclamation revoking his license was published. On his return in January following he was arrested and sent to the Tower, where he remained until July. Meanwhile his cargo from Guiana was seized on the ground that it had been obtained from Spanish possessions, but with all his willingness to oblige Spain the king could not get the case proven. It followed, therefore, that North was released, and his goods restored, but as the cargo was mainly tobacco it had become much damaged by neglect. This detention of North, and the consequent delay in sending out supplies to the Oyapok, led to the downfall of the infant colony. Hearing nothing from England the settlers became disheartened, and if it had not happened that Dutch traders arrived there occasionally they would have been starved. Even as it was one left after another until few remained, and when, six years later, "the Company of Noblemen and Gentlemen of England for the Plantation of Guiana" was formed, the settlement had to be commenced anew. However, some of those who left carried the English flag to the island of St. Christopher's, where a settlement was commenced in 1624 by Thomas Warner. Thus, as Ralegh was the father of English colonisation, so his beloved Guiana became the parent of the British West Indies. James the First died in March, 1625, and with him went the English subservience to Spain, never to be restored. During his reign British enterprise had been kept back; now it broke down all obstructions. True, New England and Bermuda were settled during his reign, but they owed little to him or his government. As soon as the Royal obstructionist was dead, colonisation schemes came to the front. Before even a month had passed, on the 14th of April, John Coke came forward with a proposition to incorporate a company for the defence and protection of the West Indies, for establishing a trade there, and for fitting out a fleet to attack the Spanish settlements. About the same time, also, the Attorney-General made some "notes" on the advantages derived by the Spaniards and Dutch from their West Indian trade, showing that it was neither safe nor profitable to England for them to remain absolute lords of those parts, and suggesting that the new king should entertain the matter and openly interpose, or else permit it to be done underhand; then if it prospered he could make it his own at pleasure. What was done in these particular cases does not appear, but that a new policy was introduced is certain. In September following the case of St. Christopher's was brought before the Privy Council, which apparently confirmed what had been done, in taking possession of the island. In the "information" laid over it was stated that Thomas Warner had discovered that island, as well as Nevis, Barbados, and Montserrat, and had begun the planting and colonising of these islands, until then only inhabited by savages. King Charles was asked to take them under his royal protection and grant Thomas Warner their custody as his lieutenant, with the usual powers of jurisdiction. The result was not altogether to the liking of the petitioners, Ralph Merrifield and Thomas Warner, for in July, 1627, a grant of all the Caribbees was made to the Earl of Carlisle. This was sweeping enough, however, to suit those who wanted English colonies, however it ignored the rights of the first settlers in St. Kitt's and Barbados, which latter island had been settled a few months after the first. Now, also, Roger North came forward with his story and got the revoked patent renewed, so that he could go on with the settlement in the Oyapok. For a time it did very well, but the tide had turned in favour of the islands, and Guiana was soon abandoned to the Dutch and French. The most important of the two islands first colonised was Barbados, which, fortunately for her comfort, never suffered from such calamities as befel the sister island of St. Christopher's. As far as the English were concerned Barbados was discovered by a vessel going out to Leigh's settlement, in Guiana, in 1605. A pillar was erected with the inscription, "James, King of England and this island," but nothing was done in the way of a settlement until immediately after Warner commenced planting in St. Kitt's. The most intimate connection existed between Barbados and Guiana from the earliest times, as in fact it does to the present day, for Captain Powell, the commander of the little company of pioneers, sent to his Dutch friend, Groenwegel, in Essequebo, for a party of Arawak Indians to teach the new-comers how to plant provisions, cotton, and tobacco. In 1630 another group of islands was added by the granting of a patent to the "Governor and Company of Adventurers for the Plantation of the Islands of Providence, Henrietta, and the adjacent islands." Under this charter possession was taken of the Bahamas, but little was done in the way of settling them for about a century. Thus West Indian colonisation was commenced, and claims made to all the smaller islands on behalf of England. But it is not to be supposed that France and Holland were going to let everything go by default--on the contrary, they soon began to settle in some of the very islands which had been granted to the Earl of Carlisle. The Dutch, as we have seen, were traders from the beginning, preferring the so-called contraband traffic with the natives and Spanish colonists to anything like the raids of English or French. Yet, in their plodding way they went on steadily, and as early as the year 1600 took possession of the island of St. Eustatius. When the Spaniards awoke to the fact that the Dutch were injuring their trade, they began to enforce all the old prohibitions and seized the smugglers. But the Hollander commenced to feel his power, and gave his enemy several lessons, which made him feel that the United Provinces with their symbol of a bundle of darts were not to be despised. In 1615 the Dutch took the capital of Porto Rico, and in 1621 their West India Company was formed with territorial and trading rights over all the unoccupied countries of Africa and America. Suddenly as it were the despised Hollander became a power in the West Indies, and the Company was soon strong enough to conquer Brazil, which it must be remembered was, with Portugal and all her colonies, then in the hands of Spain. About the year 1627 Piet Heyn destroyed a Spanish fleet in Mataça Bay, Cuba, the booty from which was something enormous. Altogether, the West India Company was said to have captured 547 vessels, mainly off the coast of America, the prize money from which amounted to thirty million guilders (£2,500,000), while the damage to Spain was at least six times as much. Now also the French began to claim their share. In 1625 Mons. d'Enambuc went on a piratical expedition to the Caribbean Sea, but without any intention of founding a colony. However, off the Cayman's islands he was attacked by a Spanish galleon of much superior force, and although he succeeded at last in driving her off, his vessel was so crippled that he had to put into St. Christopher's for repairs. Here he found Warner already established, and with him a few Frenchmen. On account of his condition and the beauty of the island, he became inclined to settle, and as the English and French were then on good terms, Warner saw no objection. The consequence was that St. Kitt's became divided between the two nationalities, with results in the future most disastrous to both. At first, however, the assistance of the French was very welcome. The Caribs were still a power in the smaller islands and gave a great deal of trouble to the young colony. At first they were friendly, but when the settlers wished to oppress them by taking away their lands and compelling them to supply provisions, open war began. Hearing from an Indian woman that a conspiracy was forming to destroy all the white men, Warner determined to be beforehand with them. He massacred a hundred and twenty of the men, took the women as slaves, and drove the remainder off the island. But these powerful savages were by no mean conquered, for those who escaped soon came back with three or four thousand of their friends from neighbouring islands, and at first it appeared as if the whites would have been utterly exterminated. By a supreme effort of both French and English, however, this great invasion was repelled, the defenders killing about two thousand, and capturing fifteen large periaguas, with a loss to themselves of about a hundred, most of whom died from poisoned arrows. This was a bond of union between French and English, and Warner and d'Enambuc amicably divided the island between them. [Illustration: CARIB ATTACK ON A SETTLEMENT (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] [Illustration] V. BUCCANEERS, FILIBUSTERS, AND PIRATES. Now that settlements were commenced the old system of piracy was somewhat discountenanced by the home governments, and many of the adventurers began to become a little more civilised. But there was still a large number of them who became known as buccaneers, filibusters, freebooters, marooners, and brethren of the coast, who continued to worry the Spaniards, and even to attack other nationalities on occasion. They had taken to the trade, and, when no longer able to carry it on in a quasi-legitimate manner, did so on their own lines. The claim of Spain to the whole of America was the great cause of offence. Had she been content with what her people could occupy, there would have been little trouble, but the "dog in the manger" policy could hardly be recognised by other nations. It followed, therefore, that when complaints were made to France and England of the ravages on the Spanish coasts, the sovereigns told the king of Spain to protect his own shores, disclaiming on their own parts any responsibility whatever. The earliest accounts of the buccaneers are confused with those of the French corsairs, of which mention has been already made. They sailed along the coast from one island to another, trading a little, capturing Spanish vessels, fighting the guarda-costas, and now and again repairing to some out-of-the-way place to put their ships in order or even to assist the Caribs in their raids. The advantages of combination were soon felt, and with these also the necessity for places of rendezvous. Even the English adventurers became accustomed to obtain wood and water from Dominica, but this island was not conveniently situated for the French corsairs. They wanted an uninhabited place near enough to Hispaniola and the track of the Spanish vessels for them to be quickly pounced upon and for the corsairs to as quickly escape. Then there must be a food supply, and on the great island of Hispaniola were countless herds of wild cattle which ranged over a wilderness utterly depopulated. The palmy days of the Hispaniola planter were over, and although he imported negro slaves to some extent, he was virtually ruined. One after another left for the newly discovered countries on the Main, and for Peru and Mexico, leaving the island to a few merchants and wealthy planters, who found it to their interest to remain. Hispaniola was little more than a house of call on the road to the treasure countries, which meant that although the port of St. Domingo was fortified, the greater portion of the island was open to any one who chose to occupy it. Salt was a scarce commodity in those times, but it could be obtained in some of the smaller islands, notably Tortuga, which for that reason became the resort of the buccaneers. But the Indians had learnt how to preserve meat without this useful substance, by smoking it over a fire of green branches and leaves. Even Europeans knew something of this process, although we believe they never preserved their beef and bacon entirely without salt as did the Indians their game. The process was very simple. Four sticks with forked ends were pushed into the ground, and on these uprights a sort of rack of other sticks was laid to make an open platform, where the pieces of meat were laid above a fire until well dried and impregnated with smoke. This stage was called a boucan, or barbecue, and from their using it to prepare supplies for their voyages the corsairs became known as buccaneers. There were no tinned provisions in those days, nor had the proper means of keeping food on long voyages been yet perfected. It followed, therefore, that a food supply in the Indies had to be provided, and the Spaniards unintentionally did good service to their enemies by placing hogs on most of the islands to breed and be available in emergencies. It is obvious that the hunting of semi-wild animals and curing their meat required time, and for that reason a division of labour was initiated. While one party went cruising in search of Spanish vessels, another ranged the country to capture and prepare the supplies against their return. Thus a rendezvous became necessary, and in time plantations were established in this neighbourhood to gradually develop into a settlement. Now and again the Spaniards discovered these places, but as they were generally of little value, their loss was of no importance; if destroyed the buccaneers could easily escape to another locality. When the enemy burnt their vessels, they easily built canoes with which they soon captured others and became as strong as before. The hunters grew to like their hardy life with its perfect liberty, and became so inured to the climate and open air as to be utterly unlike the effeminate planters. They were even little subject to the diseases of the country, and could live for months at a time on nothing but meat. As for clothes, they made these from the skins of animals, and all they really required from outside was powder and lead for their firearms. They became known as the brethren of the coast from their custom of each choosing one comrade as a bosom friend and brother. Everything gained by either was common to both, and the company were very strict in enforcing their law against unfaithfulness in a companion, or unfair dealing in any way among themselves. Sometimes they marooned a culprit by leaving him alone on some small island to die of hunger, or perhaps to become a "Crusoe" for many years. The wounded received compensation according to a fixed tariff, from the common stock or from contributions; thus the loss of an arm was valued at five hundred crowns, and other mutilations at corresponding rates. As the attacks of the Spaniards became more common, the small bands united, and division of labour became more exact. Some were hunters of wild boars, others of cattle, a few became planters, but the main body were always sea rovers. At first the hunters were on good terms with the Spanish planters and entered into engagements to supply them with meat. A party would go off into the interior and stay away for months at a time, eventually returning with large supplies borne on the backs of their horses. During all this time they lived in rough shelters which could be erected in an afternoon, and were much exposed to the vicissitudes of the weather. Now they made up for their long term of privation by carousing to their hearts' content, and when drunk, often fought and killed each other. In the settlements there were generally a few women, and these often became the cause of contentions; there were also bond-servants who were treated most cruelly. Sometimes they made incursions on the Spanish settlements, which led to stronger efforts for their extermination that at last considerably reduced their numbers. In fact, had it not been for the continual accessions they would soon have died out, or have given up their trade and settled down as planters. Hispaniola became at last almost untenable, for the Spaniards, unable to find any other way of putting them down, organised several hunting parties with the view to utterly destroy the wild cattle and thus deprive them of their means of living. Not that this was easily done, for it took many years, during which the hunting parties from both sides fought and killed each other, committing enormities which made the quarrel all the more bitter. About the year 1632 a party of buccaneers captured the island of Tortuga from the Spaniards, the garrison of twenty-five men surrendering without a blow. Here was now the grand rendezvous of the French, for which it was perfectly suitable from its proximity to the food supply and the track of the Spanish vessels. It was situated on the north of the western portion of Hispaniola, and not very well suited for plantations, although good tobacco was grown there. There were, however, plenty of sea fowl and turtle to be had, as well as their eggs, which formed a large portion of the diet of the inhabitants. This island became a veritable pandemonium--the sink of the West Indies. It was the place of call for rovers of all nations, the market for their booty, and the storehouse for everything in the way of supplies. The merchants pandered to the tastes of their customers, and drinking and gambling went on continually. But in 1638 it was surprised by the Spaniards, who began to be alarmed at this nest of pirates at their very doors. They chose a time when most of the rovers were away on a cruise, and the buccaneers gone hunting in Hispaniola. All they captured were killed--even those who surrendered being hanged as pirates. Only a few escaped by hiding among the rocks and bushes to come forth after the enemy had left, which they did without leaving a garrison. A grand attempt to expel the hunters from the main island was now organised, in which a corps of five hundred lancers ranged the island in bands of fifties. Many of the buccaneers were killed, but the remainder combined together under an Englishman named Willis and again took possession of Tortuga. From this rendezvous near Hispaniola the main passages between the islands were under observation, but a similar station was required near the Isthmus, and this was established about 1630 in the Bay of Campeachy. Like that at Tortuga its beginnings are lost in obscurity. At first one or more of the small islands or keys was used on occasion--later fortifications were erected, and a watch always kept for the enemy. The excuse for the settlement was the logwood trade, but this did not become of much importance until after the English conquest of Jamaica. Like the true buccaneers these pirates were fond of hunting, but their game was principally Indians, whom they attacked and carried off from the Main, the men to sell to the plantations and the women to keep for themselves. When they arrived after a cruise and sold their booty, they would have a jolly time with drinking, gambling, and firing of guns, until the island would seem to be the habitation of devils rather than human beings. There were also other pirate resorts, notably the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas, but these were generally used only by one company, and never rose to the position of general resorts. It is to these that most of the romances refer, but the stories of Pirate and Treasure islands rarely have much foundation in fact. How privateers became pirates is well shown by a case that occurred in the latter half of the seventeenth century. A vessel went cruising from the Carolinas, and after being out for eighteen months had gained so few prizes that the crew began to complain. After discussing the situation, they resolved to try the South Sea, where they hoped to find the Spaniards less prepared. Meeting with very bad weather at the entrance of the Strait of Magellan, they were, however, obliged to turn back, and then the majority decided to become pirates. Eight men who refused to agree were marooned on the island of Fernando Po, their late comrades leaving them a small boat in which they expected to be able to get to some English colony. The vessel left, and commenced her piratical work at once by capturing a Portuguese ship larger than herself, the crew being brought and landed on the same island. In the night the Portuguese made off, taking with them the Englishmen's boat as well as their own, leaving the eight privateers to do the best they could. However, they were not easily daunted, and at once began to cut down trees and build a sloop of four tons, which they finished in six weeks, meanwhile living on sea fowl and their eggs, which were plentiful. Finally they sailed for Tobago, but missing that island got to Tortuga, where they arrived almost perishing with hunger and thirst, having had nothing to eat or drink for six days. Even then they were not discouraged, but after resting awhile, set sail in the same boat for New England, passing along the Spanish islands, often unable to land for water on account of the enemy, and lying under cover of the mangroves, to be almost devoured by mosquitoes. Even with all this care they were taken at last, stripped, thrust down in the hold of a Spanish _guarda-costa_, and finally kept as slaves in the island of Cuba. In the early years of the seventeenth century few of the adventurers had any commissions, but as the mother countries began to establish settlements, letters of marque were granted when there was a war. The corsairs and pirates then became privateers, only to go back to their old trade when peace was nominally restored. Some played fast and loose with these commissions, sometimes having both French and English at the same time, either to be used according to circumstances. The French Governors went so far as to sell these documents signed and sealed, but without names, so that they passed from hand to hand ready to be filled up when the pirate wished to escape the yard-arm. The young colonies were too weak to incur their displeasure--in fact they were glad to encourage their visits, as the settlers could always pick up good bargains when they sold their booty. Yet, with all that, there was a dread of them, even among their own countrymen, which prevented that feeling of safety which best consists with the progress of a colony. We can say little of individuals, as there were so many, but we may mention a few of the most striking characters and their daring exploits. They inspired such dread among the Spaniards that at last the latter hardly dared to defend themselves against them, but on their approach immediately surrendered. If the cargo was rich, quarter was granted, but if otherwise, or anything was found secreted, the whole company, officers, crew, and passengers, were forced to leap overboard. Pierre Legrand with his twenty-eight men once attacked a great Spanish galleon, and before going alongside scuttled his own vessel so that it sunk as the pirates leapt on to the enemy's deck. With no possibility of retreat the men fought like devils and quickly got possession of the galleon, with the usual result. When other nations had compelled respect from Spain their vessels were sometimes chartered to carry rich cargoes, which thus sailed under the protection of another flag. But the pirates were not to be cheated so easily, for they had their spies on the look-out, and often managed to glean information. On one occasion Captains Michael de Basco and Brouage heard of two Dutch vessels leaving Carthagena with treasure and at once followed, attacked and captured them. Exasperated at being beaten by a force much smaller than their own, the Dutch captains told Michael that he could not have overcome them if he had been alone. "Very well," said the audacious Frenchman, "let us begin the fight again, and Captain Brouage shall look on. But if I conquer I will not only have the Spanish silver you carry, but your own ships as well." The Dutch were not inclined to accept this challenge, but made off as soon as they could after the treasure had been taken into the pirate vessels, fearing they might otherwise lose their opportunity. Captain Lawrence was once unexpectedly overtaken by two Spanish sixty-gun ships, the crews of which numbered fifteen hundred. Addressing his men, he said--"You have experience enough to be aware of your danger, and too much courage to fear. On this occasion we must avail ourselves of every circumstance, hazard everything, and attack and defend at the same time. Valour, artifice, rashness, and even despair itself must now be employed. Let us fear the disgrace of a defeat; let us dread the cruelty of our enemy; and let us fight that we may escape him." After he was applauded with loud cheers, Lawrence took aside one of the bravest of his men, and in the presence of all, gave him strict orders to fire the gunpowder at a given signal, thus telling them plainly they must fight or be blown up. Meanwhile the enemy had approached very close, and Lawrence, ranging his men on both sides of the vessel, steered between the two great monsters, firing a broadside on either hand as he passed, which they could not return for fear of damaging each other. He did not succeed in capturing them, but they were so demoralised by his determined attitude, and the number of killed and wounded, that they were glad to make off. Montbar was a Frenchman who had heard of the atrocities of the Spaniards and the exploits of the buccaneers, and determined to go out to the West Indies to join in the fray. On his voyage from France he met a Spanish vessel which he attacked and boarded with a sabre in his hand. Passing twice from bow to stern, he carved his way through the enemy, entirely reckless of danger, and by his example animated his comrades until the vessel was taken. Then standing apart while the spoil was being divided, he gloated with savage pleasure over the corpses that lay on the deck. Arrived at Hispaniola he heard from the buccaneers that they could do little in the way of planting because of the continual attacks on their settlements. "Why then," said Montbar, roughly, "do you tamely submit to such insults?" "We do not!" they answered; "the Spaniards have experienced what kind of men we are, and therefore take advantage of the time when we go hunting. But we are going to join with some of our companions, who have been even worse treated than ourselves, and then we shall have hot work." "If such be the case let me lead you," said Montbar, "not as a commander, but first in the post of danger." They were quite willing to have him as leader, and the very same day he went at the head of a party to find the enemy. Meeting a small body of Spaniards he rushed upon them with such fury that hardly one escaped, and this at once justified them in their choice. He afterwards became such a terror all over the West Indies as to be known as "the Exterminator." Lolonois was another ruffian, who commenced his career by taking a Spanish frigate with only two canoes and twenty-two men. This vessel had sailed from Havana especially to put down the buccaneers, and had on board a negro executioner who was engaged to hang the prisoners. Hearing this from the negro, Lolonois ordered all the Spaniards to be brought before him, and going down the line, he struck off one head after another, licking his sword after each blow. He afterwards went to Port au Prince, where four vessels were fitting out for his capture. These he took and threw all their crews into the sea, except one man, whom he sent to the Governor of Havana with the news, and a warning that he would treat the Governor himself in the same way if he had the opportunity. After this he ran the best prizes aground and sailed for Tortuga in the frigate, where he joined Michael de Basco. With four hundred and forty men this worthy pair sailed for the Main, where they plundered the coast of Venezuela, set fire to Gibraltar, and held Maracaybo for ransom. They carried off all the crosses, pictures, plate, ornaments, and even bells from the churches, with the intention of using them in a great cathedral to be erected on Tortuga. Although the buccaneers were mostly French they were not confined to that nationality. The famous or notorious Captain Morgan was a Welshman, who began his career in the West Indies as a bond-servant. One of his greatest exploits was the capture of Porto Bello, which had taken the place of Nombre de Dios after that town had been burnt by Drake. He even out-did Drake and every other adventurer before him by storming Panama, from whence he obtained a very rich booty. Here he fell in love with a Spanish lady, who, however, threatened to stab herself rather than yield to his embraces. Even when he tried the gentlest measures which such a ruffian could think of, she still refused to yield, so that he had ultimately to comply with the wishes of his companions and leave her. Panama was burnt, the retreat across the isthmus safely performed without any serious misadventure, and Morgan sailed away to Jamaica with the lion's share of the plunder. In this great expedition the buccaneers of all nations united to form a combination hitherto unknown. But, as this was the first time that such a thing had occurred, so also was it the last. As for Morgan his career was ended; his comrades charged him with treachery and made it unsafe for him to come within their reach. He therefore settled down in Jamaica, made himself right with the authorities there and in England, was knighted by King Charles the Second, and professed now to have a great dislike to piracy. On two occasions Sir Henry Morgan became acting Governor of Jamaica, and in that capacity did his best to discountenance buccaneering. In 1683 a great expedition was organised at Tortuga by Van Horn, a Fleming, noted for his courage and ferocity. In the heat of an engagement he would pace the deck, and urge his men to fight by shooting any one who even flinched from a ball. He thus made himself a terror to cowards and the admiration of the brave; like Montbar, gaining the respect and confidence of his followers. Like the French leader also, he was careless about his own share of the booty, leaving everything to his men, which naturally increased his popularity. With twelve hundred men in six vessels he sailed for Vera Cruz, and surprised the town at night. Most of the inhabitants took refuge in the churches, and the buccaneers posted sentries with barrels of gunpowder in front of each, giving orders to blow up the buildings on the least sign of an attempt to escape. After plundering the houses they demanded about half a million pounds from the prisoners as ransom for their lives and liberties. This was not obtained, however, for while waiting the collection a large body of troops was seen approaching from the interior, and a fleet of seventeen vessels came into the harbour from Spain. Yet the buccaneers were determined to get something towards the ransom, and to this end seized fifteen hundred slaves, with which they quietly sailed away in defiance of the enemy, promising to call again for the balance of the ransom. The Spanish fleet let them pass without firing a single gun, and they went back to Tortuga, there to spend a year in rioting and carousing. When their money was all spent they resolved to try the most arduous of adventures, a raid on the ports of the Great South Sea. And it happened curiously that at that very time the English pirates were getting ready for a similar venture, without either having knowledge of that of the other party. About four thousand men were engaged, some going by way of the Straits of Magellan and others across the isthmus. The English and French met, and at first agreed to work together, but for want of one leader who could command and be respected by both parties, the expedition proved almost a failure. Possibly also the French had not forgotten Morgan's treachery, and this caused distrust and prevented any cordial feeling. Those who travelled across the isthmus stole boats on the other side, and with them captured larger vessels, until this little frequented sea became almost as dangerous to Spanish ships as the Caribbean. Most of the smaller ports were surprised, and even Guayaquil was captured, mainly because they were not provided with forts and other defences. In fact, the people were so unacquainted with war and so wrapped up by the supposed security of their position, that even when the alarm was given little could be done. Silver became so common that nothing but gold, pearls, and precious stones would satisfy the spoilers, yet with all their easy conquests they got little real benefit. Some died of sickness, and many from the results of drunkenness and debauchery. The storms of Cape Horn and the Straits wrecked several vessels, and drowned both spoil and spoilers, while those who attempted to return by land were equally unfortunate. They died in the bush of fever and dysentery, or were cut off by ambuscades of the enemy, often losing their booty if they escaped with their lives. What a journey across the isthmus really meant at that time is well exemplified in the case of Lionel Wafer. In 1681 he was a surgeon on board an English vessel under Captain Sharp, one of those privateers who went cruising in the South Sea. After spending some time there the party divided, one portion deciding to cross overland, and the other to continue the cruise. Wafer went with those who intended crossing the isthmus, the whole numbering forty-four white men and three Indians. They marched from the Pacific shore one afternoon, and towards night arrived at the foot of a hill, where they put up several rough sheds. Rain had already begun to fall--such rain as is only known in the tropics--and they had to crouch under these imperfect shelters until midnight, with streams of water running down their backs and rivulets flowing about their feet. By morning they felt less discomfort and were glad to warm their chilled limbs by walking up the hill. Here they came upon an Indian path which led to a village, where they were gratified with food and a drink made of Indian corn. After resting awhile they agreed with one of the Indians to guide them on the next day's journey, and that night rested in the village. Next morning they went on again, and at mid-day arrived at an Indian hut, the owner of which was so morose and surly that at first he refused to have anything to do with them. After they had spoken kindly and asked him to guide them on their journey, he roughly answered that he was prepared to lead them to the Spanish settlements. This of course would never do, and they offered him beads, money, axes, and knives to gain his good-will, but all without effect, until a sky-blue petticoat was dangled before the eyes of his wife. This turned the scale, for her persuasions being added to theirs, he at last consented to procure a guide, excusing himself from the task on the plea that he was lame from a cut. He wished to detain them with him for the day, as it still rained, but they were in so great a dread of being discovered by the enemy that, having obtained the guide, they marched three miles farther before stopping for the night. On the fourth morning the weather was fairer, and they travelled for twelve miles over hills and through slushy morasses, crossing one river after another to the number of about thirty. Rain poured down again in the afternoon and during the greater part of the night, so that they had much ado to keep their fires from going out. What with the discomforts of their situation, the want of proper food, and the chilliness preceding intermittent fever, they even forgot for the time their fears of the Spaniards. However, as the sun rose they went on again until, after travelling seven miles through the forest, they reached the hut of a Spanish Indian, who supplied them with yams, sweet potatoes, and plantains, but no meat except the flesh of two monkeys, which they gave to the weak and sickly. While resting here Wafer met with an accident. One of the company, in drying some gunpowder on a silver plate, carelessly placed it near the fire where he was sitting, with the result that it exploded and tore the skin and flesh from one of his thighs, rendering him almost helpless. He had a few medicines in his knapsack and dressed the wound as well as he could under the circumstances, but rest and proper food were needed, and these he could not have. The consequence was that, after struggling along with the others until he sank down exhausted and suffering from excruciating torture, he was left behind with two sick men at an Indian village, where they were presently joined by two others who had broken down. Observing the condition of Wafer's wound, the Indians treated it with a poultice of chewed herbs on a plantain leaf, and in twenty days it was healed. Nevertheless, although they did him this kindness, they were not over civil, but on the contrary treated the five white men with contempt, throwing them their refuse provisions as if they were dogs. One young Indian proved kinder, and got them some ripe bananas now and then, but the others were annoyed because the main body had compelled some inhabitants of the village to go with them as guides against their will. The weather was then so bad that even the Indians considered travelling almost impossible, and this annoyed them all the more, especially when the guides did not return. Day after day passed, and the Indians becoming more incensed at the non-arrival of their people, began to think of avenging themselves on Wafer and his comrades. Thinking that the guides had been murdered, they determined to burn them to death, and even went so far as to erect a great pile of wood for the purpose. But almost at the last moment their chief interposed, and offered to send away the Englishmen in charge of two guides. Accordingly they set out, their only food supply a little dry Indian corn, and their only resting-place at night the wet ground, still exposed to drenching rains which fell every day. The third night they went to sleep on a low mound, and in the morning woke to find it a little island with water extending as far as their eyes could reach. To add to their trouble, the Indian guides had disappeared, leaving them to remain here without shelter and almost starved for three days. Then the waters fell and they commenced the weary work of steering to the north by means of a pocket compass--a task the difficulty of which can only be appreciated by one who has attempted it. However, they soon reached the bank of a deep river, the stream of which was rushing along like a mill race. Here a lately-felled tree lying across showed them where their comrades had passed, and they commenced to climb over astride as the trunk was so slippery. One of the party was so weak and so overburdened by four hundred pieces of eight (silver dollars) that he fell, and was immediately carried down the stream out of sight. Giving him up as lost, the four survivors went wandering about, looking for the footprints of their comrades, but could find no trace of them, probably on account of the floods. Fearing a mistake, they again crossed the river and recommenced the search on the other side, where they were surprised to come upon their lost companion sitting on the bank, which he had managed to gain by grasping the bough of a tree as he was borne swiftly past. Finding no signs of a trail, they again went on working with the compass as before. On the fifth day they had nothing to eat but a few wild berries, and the day following arrived at another great river where not even a tree lay across to give them a passage. They had only their long knives, but with them they set to work and cut down bamboos, with which rafts were made by binding the sticks with bush-ropes. They had just finished and were resting awhile, when a terrible storm came on. The rain fell as if from a cascade, thunder rolled and lightning flashed, accompanied by a sulphurous odour which almost choked them. There was no shelter but the trees of the forest, and the fire was put out at once, leaving these half-starved wretches to shiver and shake with ague all through the afternoon and up to midnight. Then the waters began to rise, and in the darkness--that total absence of light under the canopy of foliage, where two men sitting together only know of each other's presence by feeling, for the din of the elements is absolutely deafening--Wafer began to appreciate the fact that the swirl of the flood had reached his feet. With no possibility of communicating with the others, he felt his way to a hollow silk-cotton tree, into which he crawled, and climbed upon a heap of debris that stood in the centre. Here he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, or more probably, perhaps, fainted. When he awoke he said it was impossible for words to paint the terrors that overwhelmed his mind. The water reached to his knees, notwithstanding that the mound was five feet above the ground level, and he was afraid it would reach still higher. However, as the sun rose the flood went down, and presently he was glad to crawl out and stretch his chilled limbs. But he was all alone, and at first thought his comrades had been drowned. He shouted, but no answer came back, except the echo of his own voice. Giving way to despair, he threw himself on the buttress of a tree, from which condition he was roused by the appearance of first one and then another, until the little company was again complete. They also had found similar refuges and now came to look after their rafts. But the bundles of canes had become water-logged and useless, so they resolved to retrace their steps if possible to the Indian village. On their way they unfortunately missed shooting a deer which lay beside the path, and had nothing to eat but macaw berries and the pith of a tree. Seeing the track of a wild hog they followed that, and ultimately came upon two provision fields. But even with this prospect of food they were so much depressed that, although perishing with hunger, they were afraid to venture near the Indian huts, and lingered about for some time. However, at last Wafer summoned enough courage to go into one of them, when almost immediately he was so affected by the close atmosphere and the odour of some meat cooking over the fire, that he fainted. The kindly Indians assisted in his recovery, and gave him something to eat, when he was pleasantly surprised to find there the very same guides on whose account he and his comrades had been nearly roasted to death. On telling them where the others were, the Indians went out and brought back three, but had to carry food to the fourth before he could gain enough strength to walk the short distance. Here they were treated with the greatest humanity and tenderness, and after resting a week they again started with four guides, to reach the same river that had before checked their progress, in one day. Here, finding a canoe, they proceeded up stream until, arriving at the dwelling of the chief who had saved them from torture, they were told it was impossible to go on in such weather. Wafer and his companions stopped here for several months--in fact the chief wished to retain them altogether. As a physician, Wafer was respected and loved; but at last, wishing to depart, by repeated importunities and the promise to come back with some good hunting-dogs, and then to marry the chief's daughter, he was at last furnished with guides. Over high mountains, along the edges of precipices, and through dense forests they toiled until they came to a river flowing north, on which they embarked, and reached the shores of the Gulf of Darien two days later. Here they were overjoyed to find an English vessel, the crew of which gave them a hearty welcome, making up to some extent for their long and perilous journey. [Illustration] [Illustration] VI. WAR IN THE YOUNG COLONIES. At the beginning of the seventeenth century Spain was nominally at peace with the other great powers, except the Netherlands, which had not yet come to the front. By the treaty of 1604 Queen Elizabeth made up the English quarrel, and in 1609 even Holland was conceded a truce for nine years. Thus amity was supposed to exist, and the raids of licensed privateers came to an end. Yet there was "no peace beyond the line." Not to mention corsairs and pirates, the English were as determined on their part to get a share of America as were the Spaniards to keep them out if possible. The founders of Virginia were resolute to lose their lives rather than abandon so noble a colony. Even King James dared not give it up, although in 1612 and the following year there was a hot contention with the Spanish Secretary of State on the matter. Spain was discontented that the colony should have the royal sanction, and at the same time demanded its removal, accompanying this with a threat to drive out the settlers, as well as those in the Bermudas. But James could not admit the Papal Bull, and as the English were firm, the claimants of the whole of America contented themselves with protests. In the West Indies, however, Spain went farther. Here she had undoubtedly the right by discovery, although not by actual possession, save in the Greater Antilles. The weak English king who succeeded the strong-minded Tudor princess was not prepared to contest the Spanish supremacy here, but simply answered the complaints against English adventurers by disclaiming all responsibility. Neither England nor France had officially taken the ground that only actual possession created territorial rights, but many Englishmen were clamouring loudly to that effect. We have already noticed in another chapter James's policy, or want of policy, and the change which took place a few weeks after his death--we have now to deal with the results of that alteration. In 1621 hostilities were renewed between Spain and the Netherlands, but even during the nominal truce the Dutch invaded Margarita, and demolished the fort, but without, however, taking actual possession. When the truce was over hostilities were recommenced with a vigour that rather astonished Spain, for in the interval the Netherlands had progressed wonderfully. In 1625, the year of his accession, Charles the First entered into a treaty, offensive and defensive, with the United Provinces, which of course brought England into collision with Spain, and open war began again in the West Indies. In 1629 a fleet of thirty-five vessels under Don Frederic de Toledo conquered the island of St. Christopher's and removed most of the English settlers, only a few of whom managed to escape to the mountains, while the French got off in two of their vessels. The French refugees suffered a great deal from the want of preparation for their hurried flight, and arrived at the island of St. Martin's perishing with hunger and thirst. Here they dug holes in the sand and obtained a supply of brackish water, which was so unwholesome that some died from drinking it in excessive quantities. After the Spaniards left they returned to St. Christopher's to find a few English, who, annoyed at their desertion, wanted to keep the island to themselves, but the French were too numerous and soon took possession of their old quarters. In 1632 the Dutch took possession of Tobago, and two years later of Curaçao, which latter island soon became their great stronghold in the West Indies, and the principal depôt for the contraband traffic with Venezuela. At that time no Spanish vessels went to this part of the Main, but finding that the trade was of some importance to the Dutch, the authorities now granted licenses to drive their rivals out of the market. But the Spanish traders could not compete with the Hollanders, and this so annoyed the authorities that they determined to extinguish smuggling at any cost. This they were unable to do by catching the delinquents, but they could punish those who dealt with them. The result was the infliction of heavy fines and confiscation, with disgraceful punishments, from which many were ruined. Yet with all that the trade was so lucrative to both parties that neither was inclined to give it up--the Dutch took care of themselves, while cheap commodities could generally command a market, whatever the risk. The fact was the mother country imposed so many restrictions, and exacted such heavy fees for licenses, that the cost of an article was doubled or trebled as compared with that of the Hollander. In 1627 a French Association was incorporated under the title of "The Company of the Islands of America." They appointed the Sieurs d'Enambuc and du Rossy to settle the islands of St. Christopher's and Barbados as well as others situated at the "entrance of Peru." Nothing was done at Barbados, as the English were already in possession, but in 1634 examinations of Dominica, Martinique, and Guadeloupe were made, which ended in the two latter islands becoming French colonies in 1635. Meanwhile, in November, 1630, a treaty was signed at Madrid between England and Spain, after which peace was supposed to again prevail. Nothing was said about the West Indies, probably because Spain knew that further protests were useless. Hardly had this been settled before, in 1635, France declared war against the common foe, and her corsairs could now legally carry on their work of pillage and destruction. In 1638 the island of St. Martin's, which had been partly occupied by French and Dutch, was captured by Spaniards, who expelled the inhabitants and replaced them by a strong garrison. In the same year Colonel Jackson, with a force from the English islands, captured Santiago de la Vega in Jamaica, and plundered it of everything valuable, after which, in retaliation, the island of New Providence, one of the Bahamas, was captured by Spain. Neither place was, however, occupied by the captors, who only did as much damage as they could and then left. Almost from the commencement of their settlements the French had quarrelled among themselves, but until the struggle which ended in the execution of Charles the First, there had been few difficulties in the English islands. The Barbadians, it is true, protested against the claim of the Earl of Carlisle, in which they were joined by the people of St. Kitt's, but this was settled without disturbance. Now, however, the effects of "the great rebellion" began to be felt across the seas, and disaffection towards the Parliament, and loyalty to the king, were promoted by a number of Royalists who had fled from the disturbance in the mother country. In 1650 the West Indies were virtually in revolt against the Parliament, and on the 10th of September an embargo was declared in England against vessels bound for the Caribbee Islands, Bermuda, and Virginia. This was followed on the 27th by an Act prohibiting all commerce with these colonies because of their rebellion against the Commonwealth. Virginia and the Bermudas had declared for King Charles the Second after the execution of his father, and sent emissaries to Barbados for the purpose of inciting them to join in the revolt. [Illustration: ST. KITT'S. (_From Andrews' "West Indies."_)] At the commencement of that year Barbados was in a state of ferment, waiting only for the spark which would plunge the island into civil war. Even at this early period the inhabitants of Little England, as it is called, were very loyal, and had something of the conceit which has characterised them ever since. True, there were "Roundheads" on the island, but hitherto party differences had been put in the background--now they were brought into prominence. When the agent of the Bermudians asked that Barbados should declare for the king, the majority were in favour of the project, but, as a matter of course, the others, who were of considerable importance, refused. At first the Royalists went so far as to advocate the banishment of their opponents, but were unable to find any reasonable excuse for such a high-handed proceeding. However they brought in an Act to imprison all who went to a conventicle, or who seduced others from repairing to the Public Congregation or from receiving the Holy Sacrament. For a second offence the penalty was forfeiture of all lands, goods, chattels, and debts by those whom they called "the enemy to the peace of the island." This was to have been published on April 15, 1650, and kept secret until proclaimed, to prevent trouble. But it appears that Colonel Codrington, a member of the Assembly, divulged it in his cups, for which he was fined twenty thousand pounds of sugar, and banished from the island. A deputation of Parliamentarians then waited upon the Governor, to enter their protest against the new law, and were asked to leave the matter in his hands, as he had to deal with "violent spirits." Finally, the proclamation was delayed, on the ground that there were many errors in the copy, and the two parties stood at bay. On the 23rd of April the Roundheads petitioned the Governor to issue his writ for a new Assembly, on the ground that the present body had sat for its full term. This he agreed to do, and thus alienated the Cavaliers, who said he was a most emphatic Roundhead and enemy to the king. Handbills and posters now began to be circulated calling attention to the "damnable designe" of the Independents, of which, they said, Colonel Drax, "that devout zealot (of the deeds of the Devil, and the cause of that seven-headed Dragon at Westminster), is the Agent." One of the writers declared that he should think his best rest but disquiet until he had sheathed his sword in the bowels of the same obnoxious personage. The Cavaliers were still adding to their numbers by the arrival of more refugees, while Colonel Drax and his friends fell into the background. The new-comers had mostly been ruined by the civil war, and were naturally desirous of doing something to retrieve their fortunes; it followed, therefore, that anything that led to the confiscation of the estates of the obnoxious party would be to their advantage. The Cavaliers set to work to rouse the island by going about on horseback, fully armed, everywhere challenging those they met to drink the health of Charles the Second and confusion to the Independent dogs. This, with the rumours of a Roundhead plot and the various manifestoes, induced the Governor to issue a proclamation declaring that in future if any persons spread such scandalous papers they would be proceeded against as enemies of the public peace, at the same time forbidding any one to take up arms in a hostile manner. This produced little effect, for the leader of one of the roving bands, Colonel Shelley, refused to disband. On this the Governor issued commissions to raise a militia for the preservation of order, but by the time that a hundred men had been collected an alarm went forth that the Cavaliers were advancing on Bridgetown. This was the 1st of May, and by that time the Cavaliers were prepared to act. Their leader was Colonel Walrond, who, on being sent for by the Governor, and saying they had no evil intention, was allowed to depart. However, they took possession of the town, and then came forward with the demand that all Independents and other disturbers of the peace should be at once disarmed. To this the Governor agreed, provided the well-affected should vouch for their safety. They also stipulated that the magazine on the bridge should be put under their protection, that those who obstructed the peace and laboured to ruin the loyal colonists should be punished, that twenty persons whose names they gave should be forthwith arrested, and that the Governor should speedily call together the Assembly to try them; meanwhile they refused to disperse until these things were done. The Governor could do nothing but accede to these demands, but even then there was something more which they considered the climax--"that our lawful soveraigne Charles the Second be instantly in a solemn manner proclaimed king." This staggered the Governor, who said it was a matter for the General Assembly, in which opinion he got them at last to agree. However, they were not yet content, but insisted that at the dissolution of the present Assembly only such men as were known to be well-affected to His Majesty and conformers to the Church of England should be chosen and admitted. After that they must be promised an "Act of oblivion" for the lawful taking up of arms, safe-conduct for all officers on legislative business, and, finally, that the Governor must come to them without the companionship of any disaffected person and put himself under their care. All this was perforce agreed to, and on the 3rd of May Charles the Second was declared king of England, &c., as well as of Barbados, and at the same time the Book of Common Prayer was proclaimed to be the only pattern of true worship. Behind all this was a fact which no one mentioned, but which probably everybody knew--on the 29th of April Lord Willoughby had arrived in the harbour, bearing a commission as Governor of the Caribbee Islands, from the fugitive King Charles and the Earl of Carlisle. No doubt the whole demonstration was got up on his account, the Cavaliers wanting to have the king proclaimed first, so that there should be no difficulty about the commission. Everything was ready now, and nothing was heard but uproarious drinking of His Majesty's health, the Cavaliers going from house to house and compelling others to follow their example. As for Lord Willoughby, he left the Governor to carry out the stipulated measures, while he went to look after the other islands under his jurisdiction. Now the Royalists of Barbados began to persecute the leaders of the obnoxious party, beginning with the twenty they had named to the Governor. Some, seeing their danger, had got off to England, but those who remained were sentenced to pay a million pounds of sugar and to be banished. Then nearly a hundred others were indicted and ordered to leave before the 2nd of July, while all their commissions of the peace or in the militia were cancelled. Wives were banished with their husbands, and unless the estate-owners humbly submitted, paid their fines, and appointed well-affected persons as attorneys, their properties were confiscated. Yet with all that, when an attempt was made to get to the bottom of the rumoured plot, no trace of it could be found. Some of the more moderate of the Royalists even began to doubt whether they were not going too far, but they salved their consciences by saying that everything was done in the interest of the king. When the news arrived in England it created a great stir. In November some merchants and planters interested in the island asked for permission to make reprisals on their own account. They wanted licenses to trade there with five or six able ships, and letters of marque to use in case of obstruction, or a refusal to comply with certain demands. These demands were to repeal all Acts dishonourable to the Commonwealth, to renounce obedience to Charles Stuart, to acknowledge the supreme authority of the Parliament, to banish certain "active incendiaries in the late troubles," and, finally, to recall those who had suffered, so that they might enjoy the same rights as the other inhabitants. A further petition asked for the removal of Lord Willoughby in favour of Edward Winslow, a man of approved fidelity to the Commonwealth. The Parliamentary Government did not adopt these proposals, as they intended to reduce the island in a regular manner. In January, 1651, a fleet was made ready for this purpose, but being employed in the reduction of the Scilly Islands, it could not be got ready for the West Indies until June following. Meanwhile Lord Willoughby had returned, and was doing his best to conciliate the Barbadians of both parties. He did not altogether approve of what had been done, but repealed the Acts of sequestration, thus putting the inhabitants in good spirits for the expected invasion. It was rumoured that Prince Rupert was coming out from Marseilles, and this made things appear brighter, encouraging them to put their forts in order. The English fleet did not actually leave Plymouth until the 5th of August. It was under the command of Sir George Ayscue, who took six or seven merchant vessels under convoy, probably those referred to in the petition. He reached Barbados on the 15th of October, when as yet no news had been heard of Prince Rupert; in fact, that great seaman had been dissuaded from crossing the Atlantic. Fourteen Dutch vessels were captured in Carlisle Bay, the sudden arrival of the fleet preventing their escape. Willoughby had some six thousand foot and four hundred horse stationed at different parts of the island, and was determined to hold it for the king, looking forward daily to see Prince Rupert arrive. He had heard from a Dutch vessel that the king was marching on London with an army of Scots: this also tended to make his resistance all the more stubborn. From a few Roundheads, who managed to come off in the night, Ayscue learnt this, but he was as equally determined to subdue the island as Willoughby was to defend it. On being called upon to surrender the island for the use of the Parliament of England, the Governor replied that he acknowledged no supremacy over Englishmen save the king and those having commissions from him, directing the letter to the admiral on board His Majesty's ship the _Rainbow_. He also said that he had expected some overtures of reparation for the hostile acts upon the ships in the bay. After this defiance nothing was left but to prepare first for a strict blockade, and then to effect a landing. The strength on shore was too great for any open attack, and Ayscue managed to send a proclamation addressed to the freeholders and inhabitants, urging them to accept in time his offers of peace and mercy. In answer to this the Assembly met and passed a declaration to "sticke to" Lord Willoughby and defend the island to the utmost. In England a great deal of interest was felt in the struggle, and the demand for news of the expedition created a supply giving circumstantial accounts of what had _not_ taken place. One of them was headed, "Bloody news from the Barbados, being a true relation of a great and terrible fight between the Parliament's Navie, commanded by Sir George Ayscue, and the King of Scots' Forces under the command of the Lord Willoughby; with the particulars of the fight, the storming of the Island, the manner how the Parliament's Forces were repulsed and beaten off from Carlisle Bay and the Block House, and the number killed and wounded." And all this before any attempt had been made beyond the blockade! On the receipt of the news of the battle of Worcester, Ayscue sent another flag of truce to give Willoughby the information, saying that he did so as a friend rather than as an enemy. He was acting in that quality, by stating the true condition of England, and leaving him and his friends to judge of the necessity for due obedience to the State of England; otherwise they would be swallowed up in the destruction so shortly and inevitably coming upon them. In reply, Willoughby said he had never served his king so much in expectation of prosperity as in consideration of duty, and that he would not be the means of increasing the sad affliction of His Majesty by giving up that island. To this Ayscue rejoined, that if there were such a person as the king, Willoughby's retention of that place signified nothing to his advantage, and therefore the surrender could be small grief to him. He well knew the impossibility of the island subsisting without the patronage of England, and the admiral's great desire was to save it from ruin and destruction. As Willoughby refused to surrender, Ayscue determined to attack the Hole or James's Town, which he did on the 2nd of November, beating off its defenders, taking thirty prisoners, and spiking the four guns of the fort. On the 1st of December the fleet which had been sent to reduce Virginia arrived, and on the temporary addition of this force, Ayscue again sent to Willoughby, as he stated, for the last time. In reply he was told that the Assembly would consider the matter in two or three days, but this reply did not please the admiral, so he tried to hurry up the decision by landing at Speight's Town. Against the stubborn opposition of twelve hundred men he stormed and took the fort, which he held for two days, ultimately retiring, however, after burning the houses, demolishing the fortifications, and throwing the guns into the sea. After that the correspondence was continued, Ayscue entreating Willoughby to spare the good people of the island the horrors of war. To this the Governor replied, that they only took up arms in their own defence; the guilt of the blood and ruin would be at the doors of those who brought force to bear. Then the Virginia fleet sailed for its destination, and Ayscue recommenced hostilities by again occupying Speight's Town. By this time, however, there was a party on the island in favour of peace, and they began to bestir themselves, thus making the Royalists more determined. They put forth a proclamation inviting the inhabitants to endure the troubles of war for a season, rather than by base submission to let the deceitful enemy make them slaves for ever. But the Roundheads now began to assemble under Colonel Modiford at his house, to the number of six hundred men, who declared for the Parliament, and threatened to bring Willoughby to reason, the admiral going so far as to visit them surreptitiously to read his commission. Hearing of this, Willoughby got two thousand four hundred men together and appeared near the house, but did not venture to attack it, as by this time he had become somewhat disheartened. This brought things to a crisis, and on the 10th of January arrangements were made for a commission from both sides to make arrangements for terms. After a great deal of hesitation on the part of the admiral, the capitulation was at last signed, the articles being exceedingly favourable both to the inhabitants and Lord Willoughby. So lenient were they that Ayscue had to excuse himself to the home authorities for fear that he might have been misunderstood. They were, in short, liberty of conscience, continuation of the old government, and of the old Courts of Justice, no taxation without consent of the Assembly, no confiscations, all suits to be decided on the island, no acts of indemnity, no oaths against their consciences, a temporary cessation of all civil suits, and finally that Lord Willoughby should retain all his private property in the islands as well as in Surinam, with full liberty to go to England. These articles were signed on the 11th of January, 1652, and the "storm in a teapot" came to an end, the Barbadians proudly boasting that they had been able to defy the mighty power of the Commonwealth. Most of the leaders were banished from the island, some going to Surinam, where a colony had been established by Lord Willoughby soon after his arrival in Barbados. Among them was Major Byam, who became Governor, and virtually held the settlement for the king until he came to his own again. This is all the more curious because Cromwell knew the circumstances, yet made no effort to bring the people under submission. At first the settlers established a little Commonwealth of their own, with Major Byam as president, but when his term had expired, instead of giving place to another he declared he had a commission as Governor from the king, although he refused to show the document to any one. With enough Royalists to back him, he thus held office until the Restoration, notwithstanding the complaints of the Parliamentary faction and their requests to the home authorities for redress. Meanwhile, early in 1652 England went to war with the Dutch, and this seriously interfered with the trade of that nationality in the West Indies. The Navigation Act was another blow to them, although it could not yet be enforced altogether. Cromwell made himself respected in such a manner that peace with Holland was restored in April, 1654, thus leaving him free to carry out his designs against the old enemy--Spain. Since Queen Elizabeth's time the English Governments had done little in the way of worrying the Spaniards, although pirates had been busy almost without intermission. Now, however, Cromwell was at liberty, and he began to see that they wanted a little correction to prevent their having too much of their own way in America. The Spanish ambassador was cringing enough when he saw what a powerful leader had arisen, and did his best to avert the impending storm. It is even stated that he assured the Protector of his master's friendship, and declared that if he took the Crown of England Spain would be first in her approval. Cromwell was not to be mollified by soft speeches; he had got peace at home, and was determined to have it across the seas as well. He was quite willing to arrange for a treaty, but it must be on his own terms, not at the dictation of Spain. A commission was appointed to meet the ambassador and discuss the grounds of the agreement, and they began at once with the West Indies. A long list of depredations was produced for which the English demanded satisfaction before going farther. The English had been treated as enemies wherever the Spaniards met them in the West Indies, even when going to and from their own plantations, notwithstanding the former treaty, and the Commission insisted on a proper indemnity. The English must be free to trade everywhere--in fact the old claim of Spain to the whole of America must be finally abandoned. The Spanish ambassador replied that the inquisition and trade to the West Indies were his master's two eyes, and that nothing different from the practice of former times could be permitted. On hearing this Cromwell, seeing that neither indemnity for the past nor promises of amendment in the future could be obtained, prepared for war, and commenced by fitting out an expedition to conquer Hispaniola. In December, 1654, we find the first mention of a special service under the command of Generals Penn and Venables, and early in the following year the fleet sailed for Barbados. With five thousand men from England, and as many from the West Indies, the expedition arrived near St. Domingo on the 13th of April, 1655, frightening the inhabitants so much that they fled to the woods on its approach. However, the affair was so badly managed that no benefit accrued from following the example of Drake, which appears to have been the object of the leaders. Like the great Elizabethan hero, they landed at a distance from the town with the intention of marching along the shore, but instead of landing ten miles off they went as far as thirty. For four days the troops wandered through the mangrove bushes, without guides, and even without provisions, thus giving the runaway Spaniards time to rally from their fright and come out after them. Weary, entangled in the swamps, and utterly unfit to cope with an enemy, the English became an easy prey; the slaughter was considerable, and it was even stated that those killed were mostly shot in the back while trying to escape. Unwilling to attempt anything further in Hispaniola, Penn and Venables took off the dispirited remnant and sailed for Jamaica, hoping to do something there to prevent failure altogether. Not that there were any laurels to be gained in that direction, for the inhabitants only numbered three thousand, and half of these were negro slaves. A few shots were fired, and then the inhabitants took to flight, leaving the English in possession of the island. A capitulation was agreed upon with the old Spanish Governor, who was brought in a hammock to sign it, but many of the people took to the woods with their slaves, and refused to be bound by the articles. A body of two thousand men was then sent to scour the interior and bring them back, but they could find nothing save great herds of wild cattle. Afterwards, in pure wantonness, the churches and religious buildings were demolished, the cattle killed or driven far away, and the provision grounds devastated, with the result that the invaders were soon starving. In less than a month two thousand were sick, many had died, and the remainder had become mutinous. Altogether the whole affair was so badly managed that Cromwell became almost mad at the news, and sent both commanders to the Tower on their return. However, Jamaica was captured, and for the first time in the history of the West Indies a Spanish possession went into the hands of another nation. Some thought the island of no importance as compared with Hispaniola--it was certainly of little value to the Spaniards. However, a few English people foresaw something of its future importance, and did their best to develop the island. In October Cromwell issued a proclamation offering certain advantages to settlers from the other islands, or from England, so that it might be occupied as soon as possible. It stated that by the providence of God Jamaica had come into the possession of the State, and that they were satisfied of its fertility and commodiousness for trade; it had therefore been resolved to plant it. To this end it was made known to the people of the English islands and colonies the encouragements offered to those who removed their habitations there within two years from the 29th of September, 1656. Twenty acres of land would be granted to every adult, and ten for each child, they would have freedom to hunt wild cattle and horses, be given the privilege of mining except for gold and silver, and freedom from taxes for three years. It resulted from this that many planters from Barbados and St. Kitt's went over, and in a very few years Jamaica was more prosperous than it had ever been while in the possession of Spain. In November, 1656, Cromwell ordered the Scotch Government to apprehend all known idle masterless robbers and vagabonds, male or female, and to transport them there, and at the same time the Council of State ordered that a thousand girls and as many young men should be enlisted in Ireland for the same purpose. As for the adventurers who went with the expedition, they were reported as being so lazy "that it could not enter into the heart of any Englishman that such blood should run in the veins of his countrymen"--they were so unworthy, slothful, and basely secure, out of a strange kind of spirit desiring rather to die than live. As for planting, little was done by them, although every possible inducement and encouragement was given. Meanwhile letters of marque were issued to privateers for the West Indies, which drove the Spaniards to send their treasure from Peru to Buenos Ayres, a route that had been abandoned since the time of Queen Elizabeth. Now also they began to make efforts for the recovery of Jamaica, and in May, 1658, thirty companies of infantry, under the command of the late Governor, landed on the north side of the island. Here in a small harbour they entrenched themselves, and built a little fort before their presence became known to the English. However, Governor D'Oyley at last heard of the invasion, but it was nearly two months after their arrival before he could proceed to approach them by sea. When he arrived, however, with seven hundred and fifty men, he at once stormed their fortress and drove them to their vessels, in which they fled to Cuba. This put an end to the matter; but the old Governor returned, and lived with the remnant of the Spaniards and their slaves in the mountains. Now at last even the Pope had to acknowledge other sovereignty than that of Spain, and this he did in a letter to Father Fontaine, of the Dominican Mission, on the 25th of July, 1658. Therein he acknowledged the king of France as ruler of the conquests and colonies his subjects had made in the American islands. Thus was the Bull of partition at last cancelled by the successor of its original promulgator, and the ground for the exclusive claim to America cut away. At this time France was also at war with Spain, but the following year a treaty was signed, and in 1660, on the restoration of Charles the Second, peace was restored with England. At the first private audience of the Spanish ambassador with the king, he delivered a memorial demanding the restoration of Jamaica to his master, on the ground that it had been taken by his rebel subjects, contrary to the treaty between the two Crowns. Instead of doing this, however, Charles despatched a vessel with letters to the Governors of the Caribbee islands, asking them to encourage all persons willing to transplant themselves to the larger islands. At the same time the Royal African Company, the great slave-trading corporation of that time, was asked to make Jamaica its headquarters for the sale of negroes. Then it was arranged to send women from England to be wives for the planters, Newgate and Bridewell to be spared as much as possible, so that poor maids might have a chance, with whom it was stated that few English parishes were unburdened. On the 1st of December, 1660, King Charles the Second made a move which must be considered as of the greatest importance to the development of the British Colonial Empire--he founded the "Council for foreign plantations," which later developed into the Colonial Office. This Council were to inform themselves of the state of the plantations and of how they were governed, keeping copies of all grants in a book. They were to write to every Governor asking for exact accounts of their proceedings, the nature of their laws and government, as well as statistics. They must establish a correspondence with the colonies, so that the king might be informed of all complaints, their wants, what they cultivated, their commodities, and their trade, so that all might be regulated upon common grounds and principles. They must adopt means for rendering them and England mutually helpful, and bring them into a more uniform government, with a better distribution of justice. Especial care was to be taken for the execution of the Navigation Act, and consideration given to the best means of providing servants, to which end care was to be taken that no persons were forced or enticed away by unlawful means. Those willing to be transported were, however, to be encouraged, and a legal course was to be settled for sending over vagrants and others who were noxious and unprofitable in England. Learned and orthodox ministers were also to be sent, and instructions given for regulating and repressing the debaucheries of planters and servants. The Council were also to consider how the natives and slaves might be invited to, and made capable of, baptism in the Christian faith, and finally to dispose of all matters relating to the good government, improvement, and management of the plantations. Thus England commenced her great career of colonisation, the results of which we see to-day. While taking all due account of Virginia and New England, we cannot but note that it was in the West Indies where the "prentice hand" was first tried. Jamaica was the main object of these provisions--to that island the king's attention had been specially directed, and it was here that many difficulties had to be encountered before it could be made a worthy appendage of the Crown. Most of the other islands were in the hands of private persons or companies, while this was under the control of the State. No matter that the island had been annexed by rebels, Charles the Second was determined to hold it fast for England, in spite of all the protests of Spain. [Illustration] VII. THE PLANTERS AND THEIR SLAVES. When the first European adventurers went to the West Indies, serfdom was still common in Spain. The peasantry were, as a rule, bound to the soil, and could neither be taken away by their lords nor remove at their own will. The consequence was that only soldiers, mariners, and free men from the towns took part in the first expeditions. The townsmen had mostly been brought up to the trades of their fathers, and were hardly fit to cultivate the land even in Spain, much less, therefore, were they suited to the tropics. They could not demean themselves by performing anything so servile, but must get their land cultivated by others. As the serfs were not available, first Indians and then negro slaves and white bond-servants were employed. We have seen how the Indians were exterminated, and how the first planters in Hispaniola were ruined by the want of labour. Even the Spanish priests could see that the poor Arawak's nature was quite distinct from that of the European peasant. The serf had been kept under subjection for centuries; his father and grandfather had worked in the fields, and he must do the same. The armourer, the mason, and the weaver carried on their trades, because they had been born into the respective guilds as it were. The Indians, on the contrary, were free, and had always been so; yes, more free than any people in the old world. They died, and the planter had to look elsewhere for his labour supply. Then commenced the cry which has been continually rising from the plantations ever since--More servants! More slaves! More coolies! [Illustration: A SURINAM PLANTER. (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] For many years the Portuguese had been kidnapping negroes on the west coast of Africa. By their connection with Morocco they had learnt that the natives of the interior were brought to and openly sold in the Moorish towns--possibly they themselves had purchased some of them. To bring home a number after every voyage to the coast was therefore nothing strange, nor was it anything novel to sell them in Portugal to help pay the expense of the voyage. From Portugal to Spain this negro slavery spread, until it became fairly common in both countries. When the cry for labourers came over the Atlantic--even before the extermination of the natives--a few negroes were sent out. Finding them more docile and better able to endure hard labour than the Indians, more were called for, the benevolent priests also urging the matter to save the remnant of the Arawaks. The demand created a supply, and soon the Portuguese found themselves embarked in a lucrative trade, of which they commanded the monopoly. Thus began a traffic which has been unreservedly condemned by the most enlightened of humanity, and praised alone by those whose very livelihood depended upon it. [Illustration: A NEGRO FESTIVAL. (_From Edwards' "West Indies."_)] On his second voyage Columbus carried the sugar cane, which was destined to have such an influence for good and evil on the West Indies. Its produce was at first known as a kind of honey, and recognised as an expectorant and comforting medicine. Now it had made its way into the kitchens of the great, where it was considered as one of the spices, and with them became more and more used every year. In early times the cane was cultivated on the warmer shores of the Mediterranean, and, after their discovery, in the Canary and Cape de Verde islands. At the period of the discovery of America sugar was sold at about eightpence a pound, equivalent to something like three shillings nowadays. As the demand continued to increase large plantations were laid out in Hispaniola, until it became the staple product of the colony. Cotton was known in the old world, but as yet had hardly come into use in Europe. In the West Indies it was generally cultivated in a small way by every native, and on being forwarded to Spain, the "tree wool," as it was called, soon came into use. Then came another product, tobacco, which was quite new at that time, although probably known in the far East. It seemed strange to the new-comers that people should carry firebrands in their mouths, and at first they took tobacco-smokers for juggling fire-eaters, until they also learnt the sustaining power of the "weed." This soon took place, and by the year 1550 tobacco was well known in Spain and Italy. Probably also the Dutch knew it quite as early, for it was in the Netherlands that it became more quickly appreciated than in any other country, probably on account of its particularly comforting properties in marshy districts. Soon afterwards Jean Nicot introduced it into France, and probably Master Hawkins brought samples into England from Brazil, although Ralegh is stated to have been the first English smoker. Towards the end of the sixteenth century its use became so common all over Europe that Popes and Churchmen thundered their curses against the "filthy habit," and later poor King James wrote his "Counterblast to Tobacco," which only had the effect of making it better known. [Illustration: VOYAGE OF THE SABLE VENUS. (_From Edwards' "West Indies."_)] Here at the beginning were two commercial products which grew well in the West Indies, with a doubtful third to come to the front as soon as it became known. As yet coffee had not been introduced--this followed in the next century. Notwithstanding the large profit on sugar the Spaniard would not labour in the field, and in the end the plantations became fewer and fewer until only one or two were left. This falling off tended to keep up the price, and although the Dutch bought much cotton and tobacco from the Indians of the Main, and the Portuguese began to grow sugar in Brazil, the supply was always limited. There was room for more plantations, and the first people to take advantage of this opening were the English. Their many different colonies in Guiana all commenced planting with tobacco: Virginia and the Bermudas did the same. All through the reign of James the First, however, the trade was obstructed in so many ways that a great deal of their produce was sent to the Netherlands and thus escaped the English duties. Probably also the smuggling of tobacco, so notorious at a later period, began at this time, as the Dutch were always noted free-traders, not only on the Spanish Main, but in Europe as well. [Illustration: SLAVES LANDING FROM THE SHIP. (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] Like the Spaniards, the English adventurers were soldiers and sailors, and therefore did not work in the field. Subject to the raids of the European claimants of the territory as well as the incursions of ferocious cannibals, they went about literally with pistols in their belts and swords at their thighs. Now they had to show a good face to some buccaneer company, and anon to fight the French or Dutch when war broke out. Later, when there was no fear of enemies from without, they had a continual dread of slave insurrections. It followed, therefore, that the planter was always on the alert, and, even if he felt inclined, could do little in the way of cultivation. In England serfdom had virtually come to an end, and the agricultural labourer might go where he pleased. But the love of country, the unknown but magnified perils of a sea voyage, and stories of cruel Spaniards and man-eating Caribs, prevented many from going to the Indies, notwithstanding the great inducements offered. The English planters found it difficult to get negroes, as their enemy controlled the trade. As for the Indians, they had to deal with cannibals whose women cultivated small clearings, but resented anything like coercion, while no labour whatever could be got from the men. Something had to be done. If the English labourer would not come willingly, he might be kidnapped, and the carrying out of this work led to the organisation of bands of ruffians, who went sailing along the coasts, especially of Scotland and Ireland, to pick up likely fellows wherever they found opportunity. However, this caused such an outcry that extraordinary efforts were made on the part of the Government to put down "spiriting," as it was called. In June, 1661, the Council for foreign plantations considered the best means of encouraging and furnishing people for the colonies, and they thought that felons condemned for small offences, and sturdy beggars, might be sent. They had several complaints of men, women, and children being spirited away from their masters and parents, and later the Mayor of Bristol and the Lord Mayor of London petitioned the king for authority to examine ships, with the view of finding out whether the passengers went of their own free will. It was stated that husbands forsook their wives, wives fled from their husbands, children and apprentices ran away, while unwary and credulous persons were often tempted on board by men-stealers. Many who had been pursued by hue and cry for robberies, burglaries, and breaking prison, also escaped to the plantations. Certain persons, called spirits, inveigled, and by lewd subtleties enticed, away young persons, whereby great tumults and uproars were raised in London, to the breach of the peace and the hazard of men's lives. These abuses led to an Order in Council, published in September, 1664, for registering persons going voluntarily, and commissions were given to the Lord High Admiral and the officers of the ports to establish registration offices and give certificates. Yet the spiriting still went on, for in April, 1668, Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper was asked to move the House of Commons to make the offence capital. His petitioner, said he, had found one lost child, and after much expense and trouble, freed him, but there were several others in the same ship, and other ships in the river at the same work. Even if the parents found their children, they could not recover them without money, and he was sure that if such a law were passed the mercy to these innocents would ground a blessing on those concerned in introducing it. This Act was finally passed on the 1st of March, 1670, punishing the spirits with death without benefit of clergy. There were, however, other means of procuring servants. In 1649, when Cromwell took Drogheda by storm, about thirty prisoners were saved from the massacre to be shipped to Barbados, and in 1651 seven or eight thousand Scots, taken at the battle of Worcester, were reserved for a similar fate. After the Restoration, however, there was an intermission in such supplies, and the planters began to look to Newgate and Bridewell for their labour supply. The supply was by no means equal to the demand, for the agents in London of the planters of Virginia, Barbados, St. Christopher's, and other islands were equally clamorous for their share. As for King Charles the Second, he granted the prisoners as a privilege to his favourites, and even mistresses, who generally sold it to the highest bidder. The agent must have had influence to get into the presence of the holder, say of a hundred prisoners sentenced to transportation, and this was only obtainable by largess to door-keepers and servants. Then came the trouble of obtaining delivery from the prison authorities, and here again fees were demanded. In one case that is recorded the amount paid to the gaoler of Newgate was fifty-five shillings a head. But even now the trouble was only beginning. The prisoners were supposed to be delivered at the door of the gaol, and the planter was under a heavy bond not to allow one to escape. He must account for each by a certificate of death on the voyage or of landing in Barbados, on penalty of five hundred pounds for every one missing. It followed, therefore, that a sufficiently strong guard had to be provided, and provision made for attempts at rescue by the prisoners' friends. Even this was not all, for the concession simply granted a certain number, and it rested with the gaoler to palm off the old, weak, and infirm on those who were at all wanting in liberality. Then, at the best the prisoners were hatters, tailors, and haberdashers, rather than agricultural labourers, many of whom ultimately proved valueless. If a large number was available, and there were several applicants, the competition became quite spirited--every one wanted his pick before the others, and the gaoler made the best of the occasion, leaving those to whom he allotted the refuse to curse their evil fortune. Up to the passing of the Navigation Act the Dutch had been free to trade with English colonies, and had brought a fair number of negroes; and afterwards the king established the Royal African Company to prevent the supply being cut off. The average price of the African was then about £16 or 2,400 pounds of sugar, but the Dutch sold their slaves for a little less, which led the planters to evade the Navigation Act when they had opportunities. The white bond-servant was valued at about 2,200 pounds of sugar, very little less than the slave for life, although he had generally but five years to serve. The cost of transport was about £5 per head; it followed, therefore, that if the London agent got his prisoners cheap he made a good profit. There was also another way of making money in this business. Some of the gaol-birds had friends who were willing to pay good sums on consideration that the convict should be virtually freed on his arrival. Many a sum of fifty pounds was obtained in this way, sometimes without helping the bond-servant in the least. How were the relations to prove that the promise had not been fulfilled, and if they did so what redress could be obtained? They certainly could not go to law, as the whole transaction was illegal. We have seen how Charles the Second tried to people Jamaica with free settlers, but this did not prevent the transportation of criminals. In 1665 four young men, who had been convicted of interrupting and abusing a preacher, were whipped through the streets of Edinburgh and afterwards sent to Barbados, and in 1684 some of the Rye House plotters were reprieved on condition that they served ten years in the West Indies. When these plotters arrived in Jamaica, the Governor, "by His Majesty's command," directed the Assembly to pass an Act "to prevent all clandestine releasements or buying out of their time," so that their punishment should not be evaded. But it was after the Monmouth rebellion, in 1685, that the greatest deportation took place. The miserable followers of the duke were executed by Judge Jeffreys until even his thirst for blood was somewhat slackened, when the remainder were sent to the plantations. The story of one of these unfortunates gives such a graphic picture of the life of a bond-servant that we cannot do better than give an outline of the "Relation of the great sufferings and strange adventures of Henry Pitman, surgeon to the late Duke of Monmouth." Having been taken prisoner after the battle of Sedgemoor, he was committed to Ilchester Gaol, had his pockets rifled, his clothes torn off his back, and was remanded until the Wells assizes. While in gaol he was inveigled into telling all he knew, by promises of pardon, and then his acknowledgments were treated as a confession. Those who pleaded not guilty on the first day of the trial were convicted and executed the same afternoon; others who confessed were equally condemned. After two hundred and thirty had been hanged the remainder were ordered to be transported to the Caribbee islands, of whom Pitman was one. With some others, including his brother, he was disposed of to an agent who took £60 from his friends to set him free on his arrival at Barbados. The Legislative Assembly of that island, however, in consequence of the "most horrid, wicked, and execrable rebellion," lately raised, and because many of the rebels had been transported for ten years, passed a special Act, under which they were bound to serve, notwithstanding any bargain to the contrary. If they attempted to escape they were to be flogged, and burnt in the forehead with the letters "F.T.," meaning "Fugitive Traitor." By this law Pitman's hopes were frustrated, and, utterly disheartened, he was not inclined to work at his profession for the master to whom he had been sold. Although the status of a surgeon was not then as high as it is now, it was yet a great downfall to practise the profession on rations of five pounds of salt beef or fish per week, with nothing else but corn meal. As for the fees, which were large, the master pocketed them, leaving Pitman to endure the discomforts of a tropical residence and semi-starvation as best he could. On one occasion he refused to go on with his work, and for this he was beaten by his master until the cane used was broken in pieces. Then the master became bankrupt, and, with his brother, Pitman was sent back to the merchant to whom they had been first consigned. Here his brother died of the hardships he had experienced, and Pitman resolved to escape, notwithstanding the risk of attempting such a thing. Having made the acquaintance of a poor man who was willing to help, he got a consignment of goods from his friends in England, with which to raise the means. A boat was purchased for twelve pounds; but this led to inquiries, as the buyer was known to be poor, and his creditors began to come down upon him. However, Pitman contributed enough to satisfy them, meanwhile postponing his departure until suspicion had been lulled. On the evening of the 9th of May, 1687--this being a holiday, when most of the people were revelling--he and seven other bond-servants got safely off in their open boat, with a small supply of provisions and water, a few tools, a compass, and a chart. They intended to make for the Dutch island of Curaçao, six hundred miles distant; but even before they were out of Carlisle Bay their frail craft began to leak, and they had to tear up their clothes to stop the gaping seams. At sunrise they were out of sight from the land, but so enervated by sea-sickness that some would willingly have gone back. However, they went on as best they could, with nothing but their hats to bale out the water, which still continued to trickle into the boat. They were a little more comfortable as the sun rose, but when night came a gale arose which kept them employed baling for their lives. To add to their difficulties the rudder broke, and they had to steer with an oar. Five days passed in this manner, the refugees hardly able to get an hour's rest for the baling and continual fear that the boat would sink if left alone. On the sixth morning they saw Margarita, but could not land on account of the rocky shore, which nearly wrecked them on their making the attempt. Sheering off, they next day sighted Saltatudos island, one of the Dry Tortugas, where they met a boat manned with privateers, who treated them very kindly, and wanted them to join their company. To this, however, Pitman and his companions would not agree, and this annoyed the privateers, who burnt their boat and virtually kept them as prisoners. When they went on a cruise the refugees were left in charge of four men, and had much ado to find enough turtle to keep them from starving. After remaining here for three months an English privateer arrived, and, at their request, took them on to New Providence, to which the inhabitants had just returned after being driven off by Spaniards. Pitman at last got to Amsterdam, and from thence to England, where the revolution had just taken place, and his friends had succeeded in obtaining a free pardon. The white bond-servant, being under a short engagement, was generally worked to his utmost capacity. No matter if he died before the end of his term as long as he paid for the expense incurred. But Englishmen were no more inclined to be slaves then than they are now, and the planters of St. Kitt's found them so troublesome to manage that they soon became afraid of buying, and showed a preference for negroes. Some of the English servants committed suicide, and it is recorded that a pious master told one of them, who had expressed his intention of destroying himself, that he trusted that God would give him more grace, than, for a short term of trouble in this life, to precipitate himself into hell. Even in the earliest times some of the planters were absentees, living in England. The system was always more or less fortune-hunting, the whole end and aim being to get rich and return to the old country. There were, as we have seen, many difficulties and dangers to encounter, and not the least of the drawbacks was the want of good society. We who live in an age when there is daily communication with the whole world, can hardly conceive how entirely these pioneers were cut off from their friends. The long voyage was full of discomfort, and at the best uncertain as to its termination. The words still found on bills of lading, "the act of God or the queen's enemies," had a meaning then hardly appreciable by the present generation. Barbary pirates and French corsairs ranged the Channel; in the broad Atlantic storms shook the crazy vessels to pieces; and when they escaped these dangers, it was often to fall into the hands of the buccaneers when in sight of their destination. Then there were hurricanes on both sea and land, and earthquakes on some of the islands. Vessels were sunk in harbour, houses blown away, and sugar buildings torn down. As for the negro huts, they were carried off altogether, and the crops injured so as to become useless. Then, perhaps, when the planter had strained himself to the utmost to put things straight, another tornado would put him in a worse plight than before. Yet with all this the planter struggled on, generally doing his best to carry the traditions and fashions of the mother country into his new home. We have already noticed Barbados, and how it was affected by the "great rebellion." Many other examples might be noted had we sufficient space. The planter was nearly always a gentleman, even if he had begun his career as a transported rebel. Some were gallants, and dressed in the extreme of London fashion, often living beyond their means. Others were merchants, trading with their own vessels, and selling their surplus goods for produce to make up cargoes. With their own sugar, and as much as they could procure from others, they filled their ships for the homeward voyage, and in return got enough merchandise for trading. These were the fortune-hunters, who were always looking forward to that happy time when, with money in their pouches, they could once more settle down in Merry England. The old country was always "home," as it is still for the West Indian, although perhaps neither himself nor his parents ever saw it--then it was the will-o'-the-wisp that drove him to endure all the discomforts of a life in the tropics, often to die of fever before his work was hardly begun. While Jamaica was under the dominion of Spain little was done to develop the island. The Indians were exterminated, as in Hispaniola, to be replaced by wild cattle and horses, and fifteen hundred negroes were introduced to cultivate provision grounds. From these, passing vessels, which called in on their way to Mexico, got their supplies. As yet it was not a rendezvous for buccaneers, and taken altogether it was quite insignificant. Thousands of white men and tens of thousands of negroes were required before it became the important island which ultimately rivalled Hispaniola. However, although the Spaniard was driven out he left his sting behind in the shape of his slaves, who took to the mountains, to be afterwards known as Maroons, and to worry the English colonists for over a century. And here, as we are dealing with the planter and his labour supply, we must say something of the negro slaves, to whom the West Indies were indebted for their very existence as European colonies. Unlike the American, the African had known slavery for ages. Prisoners taken in war were kept in servitude as a matter of course; debtors were slaves to their creditors, and even children were sold by their parents. Yet there were great differences between the tribes--the Coromantees, for example, were particularly troublesome, and the Foulahs often dangerous. The first slave-traders took their cargoes from the more northern coasts, and from this cause, perhaps, as well as the want of proper supervision in the Indies, runaways, or Simerons, were mentioned at very early periods. Later, the trade was carried on in a particularly judicious manner, and the more docile tribes selected, to be sold in the colonies as "Prime Gold Coast Negroes." In their native countries these people were all virtually slaves to their chiefs, and as such were liable to be sold at any time. The authority was unlimited; the slightest offence meant slavery; death was the only alternative. Often when, for some reason or other, the negro was rejected by the trader, he was executed at once. Adultery was punished by the sale of both offenders, and debtors could be sold by their creditors. Bryan Edwards, author of a history of the West Indies, took much pains to procure information from the slaves themselves, through an interpreter; and as they had no reason to misrepresent their cases, we can safely give the outlines of one. The most interesting story is, perhaps, that of the boy Adam, a Congo, about fourteen years of age when he was brought to Jamaica. His country was named Sarri, and was situated a long distance from the coast. While walking one morning through a path, about three miles from his native village, the boy was captured by one of his countrymen. With his prisoner the man hid himself in the woods during the whole of the day, and at night stole away from the neighbourhood, going on like this for a whole month. Then he came to the country of another tribe, where he sold the boy for a gun, some powder and shot, and a little salt. His new owner afterwards sold Adam for a keg of brandy to another black man who was going about collecting slaves, and when twenty had been collected they were taken to the coast and sold to a Jamaica captain. Of the five-and-twenty interrogated by Bryan Edwards, fifteen frankly declared that they had been born in slavery, and were sold to pay the debts, or bartered to supply the wants, of their owners. Five were secretly kidnapped in the interior, and sold to black merchants; the other five fell into the hands of the enemy in some of those petty wars which were continually going on, when, if there had been no market for their sale, they would almost certainly have been killed. It is hardly necessary to state that in giving these statements we are not attempting the impossible task of vindicating slavery either of the black or white man. It would be well, however, if, in mitigation of the offence against the negro, his former condition were taken into consideration, and the undoubted fact that he was better treated by the West India planter than by his own countrymen. His lot was by no means so hard as slavery had been to the Indian and white bond-servant. He did not sink under the hardships of a life of toil in the burning sun, but was happy in his way, and in most cases better off than his descendant, the West Indian peasant of to-day. He was certainly treated as a domestic animal, but his value was always high enough to prevent anything like ill-usage. There were certainly people who could be cruel to their negroes, as there are yet men so low as to brutally flog valuable horses, but that such were common is a statement utterly without foundation. As a well-kept animal, the planter took a pride in him, fed and doctored him, patted him on the back, and proudly showed him to his friends. All this appears very degrading to humanity, but after all the negro did not see it in that light. On the contrary, he took a pride in exhibiting his strong muscles and in showing the "buccras" what a fine nigger massa had got. The slave of the rich planter, like the horse of the English gentleman, was undoubtedly very comfortable. First, he was a picked lot--the healthiest, strongest, and most suitable for his work--one of those "pieces d'India," as the best negroes were called by the traders. Then, as an expensive chattel, everything was done to make him still more valuable, and to prevent his deteriorating. But unfortunately there was another class--the miserable, broken-down creatures sold cheap as refuse lots to poor white men or even to slaves. Yes, the slaves bought their diseased fellow-countrymen, to work on their own allotments, treating them as the costermonger sometimes does his donkey. Half-starved, hard-worked, and covered with sores, they lingered in misery until death came to make them free. Some were so disfigured with yaws, or leprosy, that none but a negro could bear the sight of them; these were kept out of the way and treated worse than mangy dogs. [Illustration] [Illustration] VIII. THE STRUGGLE FOR SUPREMACY. By the time of the Dutch war of 1665 the pretensions of Spain to the exclusive possession of the Indies had been entirely ignored. Now began the great struggle of other nations for supremacy, and the position of "sovereign of the seas," the islands and Guiana becoming scenes of contention between English, French, and Dutch. To these struggles is greatly due the positions the naval powers of the world hold to-day, and especially that of Britain. As it was mainly a demand for free trade which led to so many attacks on the Spanish possessions, so it was now the same question which led to the struggle between the two great mercantile nations which succeeded Spain and Portugal, as these had followed Venice and Genoa. In the West Indies there was no line of demarcation between these new powers, and consequently their interests often clashed, but on the whole the colonists were favourable to the Dutch, and did all they could to evade the Navigation Act. Early in 1665 preparations were made in Barbados to repel an expected invasion by the Dutch. Vessels were ordered to keep together and protect each other, and men-of-war were sent out to afford convoy. Already the English buccaneers had been somewhat discountenanced by the home government, although they were generally encouraged by the colonies, especially Jamaica, which derived considerable advantage from their sales of booty. Now that there was a demand for all the forces that could be gathered together, the Governor of that island gave the rovers letters of marque, under which they were empowered to ravage the Dutch colonies. At St. Eustatius they succeeded in carrying off everything portable, including nine hundred slaves, and even such heavy articles as sugar coppers and stills. De Ruyter made an attempt on Barbados on the 20th of April, but the people there made such a stand that he had to retire. He commenced the attack at ten o'clock in the morning with his fourteen vessels, but by three in the afternoon the fleet was so much damaged that he was forced to move away his own ship, with a hole in her side "as big as a barn-door." He then went on to Montserrat and Nevis, where he captured sixteen ships, but did not take either of the islands. In Guiana, the English from Barbados captured the Dutch trading factory in the river Essequebo, as well as the young sugar colony in the Pomeroon, and in retaliation the Dutch took Surinam. In January, 1666, France joined the Netherlands, and an English fleet was sent out to protect Barbados, which now began to feel alarmed at the possible result of such a powerful combination. Then came the critical period for the island of St. Kitt's, which, as we have before stated, had been divided between English and French, the former holding the middle portion with the enemy on either side. As soon as the news of the declaration of war arrived, the relations between the two nationalities, which had often before been much strained, became ruptured. The English Governor, Watts, gave his rival three days' notice, and prepared to attack him, with the assistance of five hundred men from Nevis, and two hundred buccaneers. General de la Salle, on the French side, asked and obtained forty-eight hours' longer grace, and took advantage of this to steal into the English territory with a large body of horse and foot, as well as a mob of negroes armed with bills and hoes. The slaves also carried firebrands, and were said to have been promised, in return for their assistance, freedom, English women as wives, and the liberty to plunder and burn. At the town of St. Nicholas a gentlewoman with three or four children, on trying to escape, was forced back into her blazing house and kept there until the whole family were burnt to death. A party of English, who advanced to check their progress, was overwhelmed by the number of the enemy and driven back, thus leaving them to advance over the island with fire and sword. Governor Watts took things so coolly, that Colonel Morgan (not the famous Sir Henry), who led the buccaneers, went to rouse him, and found he was lounging about in dressing-gown and slippers. Presenting a pistol to his breast, Morgan called the Governor a coward and a traitor, at the same time swearing he would shoot him dead if he did not at once take his place at the head of the forces. The contingent from Nevis had already gone over to the French quarter near Sandy Point, and, after a hard struggle, had taken the post, when the Governor at last followed behind. Coming up late his men fired on the mingled French and English, indiscriminately slaughtering both. After that everything was confused, neither party distinguishing friend from foe, with the result that the Governor, Colonel Morgan, several other officers, and most of the English, were killed. After that the main body of the French arrived, driving before them a confused mob of women and children, who ran shrieking to their friends for help. Nothing remained for the English now but to fly or sue for quarter, and the French became masters of the whole island, with a body of prisoners twice as numerous as themselves. In 1667 a petition was forwarded to Charles the Second on behalf of several thousand distressed people, lately inhabitants of St. Christopher's. In this it was stated that the island had been one of the most flourishing colonies--the first and best earth that ever was inhabited by Englishmen among the heathen cannibals of America. They prayed that a colony so ancient and loyal, the mother island of all those parts, the fountain from whence all the other islands had been watered with planters, might not remain in the hands of another nation. Since the surrender they had been continually oppressed, until thousands had left for other parts. Many had sold their estates for almost nothing, and had been stripped and plundered at sea of the little they had saved. If the inhumanities of the French nation were examined, their bloody and barbarous usage of the Indians, their miserable cruelties to prisoners of war, all nations would abhor their name. They would make Christians grind their mills instead of cattle, leave thousands to starve for want, and send other thousands to uninhabited lands. In 1666 Lord Willoughby, who had gone back to Barbados on the restoration of Charles the Second, fitted out an expedition to recapture St. Kitt's, but his fleet encountered a hurricane, and neither his vessel nor one of his company was ever heard of again. The following year his nephew, Henry Willoughby, made an unsuccessful attempt for the same object. On the 10th of May of the same year a fight took place between the English and French fleets off Nevis. On the English side were ten men-of-war and one fire-ship, while the enemy had more than double that number. One of the English vessels was blown up, but, undaunted by this disaster, they drove the enemy before them to the very shores of St. Kitt's, where they took shelter under the guns of Basse-terre. Peace was signed at Breda in July, 1667. The gains of territory by any one of the three nations were not considerable, and the result went to prove that England could hold her own against the only two powers who were able to dispute her supremacy. During the war she had captured New Amsterdam (now New York) from the Dutch, and they in turn had taken Surinam. As it was agreed with Holland that both parties should retain what was then in their possession, Surinam was virtually exchanged for what is now the capital of the United States. Antigua and Montserrat, which had been taken by the French, were now restored to England, and St. Christopher's returned to its former condition, but without the least prospect of the two nationalities ever being again on friendly terms. Now that the war was over the trade of the privateers came to an end, and further efforts were made to make them settle down. Having received orders to discountenance them, the Governor of Jamaica deputed Colonel Cary to report on the matter. Cary thought they should not be discouraged, as already harm had been done to Jamaica by such attempts, and in the future the want of their help might be prejudicial. On the news that the commissions against the Spaniards were called in, several English privateers resolved never to return to Jamaica, unless there was a war, but in future to carry on their operations from Tortuga. To divert them from injuring the Spaniards, the Governor had, during the late war, appointed Cary to treat with them for the reduction of Curaçao, to which they at first consented, but afterwards disagreed. If, said Cary, they had two of His Majesty's nimble fifth-rate frigates, they would be able to keep the privateers to their obedience, observe the enemy's movements, and guard their own coasts from rovers. There was no profitable employment for the privateers against the French and Dutch; these fellows, being people that would not be brought to plant, must prey upon the Spaniard, whether they were countenanced at Jamaica or not. There was such an inveterate hatred of the English in those parts by the Spaniard, that he would not hear of trade or reconciliation, but, on the contrary, inhumanly butchered any of the islanders he could cowardly surprise. The French interest daily increased in the Caribbees, Hispaniola, and Tortuga, and if this was suffered to grow it would in a short time prove of dangerous consequence. Here we have plain speaking. It was not to the interest of England for the pirates to become too closely connected with the French, as they would then be helping to build up the prosperity of a nation that might any day become our enemy. As for the rovers themselves, they cared little or nothing for the interests of their country; they were willing to plunder the Spanish possessions because they got something worth having; with those of the French and Dutch it was another thing. It is evident that Cary troubled himself but little as to how a cargo was obtained as long as Jamaica profited by the transaction. We may here also call attention to the differences between the characters of the nations which now commenced a great struggle for mastery in these parts. The Dutch were, above everything else, an association of traders, and although they could fight on occasion, they hardly ever went out of their way to pick a quarrel. Their wars with England were brought about by mercantile disputes, the first two, as we have already seen, mainly on account of the Navigation Acts. The English, "the nation of shopkeepers," were naturally rival traders, but they did not altogether confine themselves to traffic, being rather inclined to alternate or mix it up with something like piracy. Such transactions as those of Hawkins were not carried on by any other nation, the Hollander being more inclined to take advantage of the swiftness of his fly boat than the metal of his guns. The French were rarely traders, for even their plantations were largely supported by buccaneering. When, after a peace, some of the rovers settled down for a time, they were always ready to abandon their fields at the first rumour of a war. England thus stood between the two others as a stumbling-block; she interfered with the trade of the one and offended the dignity of the other; thus coming in for many blows, which only made her all the more able to resist and conquer. The character of the Dutchman is well shown in the curious difficulty which hastened a third breach of the peace with England in 1672. In 1667 a fleet from the Netherlands captured Surinam, and forced the authorities of the colony to capitulate on favourable terms. By these articles the inhabitants were at liberty to sell or transport, when or where they pleased, all or any part of their possessions. After the peace, a few went to Barbados, but the majority found it difficult to dispose of their plantations, and therefore remained in hopes of a better market on the arrival of new Dutch settlers. At that time the Dutchmen were few and mostly poor; they had been ruined by the war, and in many cases driven from their settlements by the English. It followed, therefore, that there were no buyers, and the plantation owners, trusting to the capitulation, decided to wait rather than abandon their flourishing properties. In June, 1669, the Dutch Governor issued a proclamation calling upon all the English who intended to leave to give notice within six months, after which a like term was given them to dispose of their goods, when they might leave for English colonies under free passes from the authorities of both nations. In case they were unable to sell their slaves, the Governor would take them over at the market price, but only those negroes who had been in their possession at the rendition of the colony could come under this arrangement. At first sight this looked very fair, but the English saw at once that something was wrong. In the first place they understood that under the capitulation they were free to take away all their property, including slaves, and at the then market prices they saw that a forced sale would be a serious loss. Although not expressly intimated, they also understood that the Governor meant they were not to carry them away, and this at once caused much dissatisfaction. Things were, however, in such a critical state that little notice was taken of the proclamation; in fact, the people had not as yet made up their minds what to do. Such a sacrifice as was required from those who had flourishing properties, naturally made them hesitate; and when the English Government inquired about the matter, they were told by the Dutch authorities that the people were so well satisfied that they intended to remain. Such was, however, not the case, and when the year of grace had expired, and they were virtually prevented from leaving with or without their negroes, they sent memorials to King Charles the Second asking for his interference. It was another case of Egyptian bondage; the Dutch would not let the people go--except a few of the poorest. It can easily be understood that it was not very pleasant to lose the best colonists and have nothing left but a lot of abandoned plantations. This would have been a poor exchange for New York, and it is evident that the Dutch knew very well what they were doing, and had the welfare of Surinam at heart. But, in face of the capitulation, they were undoubtedly wrong, and when they began to oppress the English for claiming their rights, they went a great deal too far. When Major Bannister, who had been acting Governor under the English, protested against this, he was arrested and transported to Holland, where he obtained his release only by the intervention of the English ambassador. Then complaints were made to the Dutch Government, but it was two years before permission was granted for commissioners from England to go out and transport those who wanted to leave. Even then secret orders were sent to put every possible obstruction in their way, which was done by bringing suits for debt, and otherwise putting the English in positions which made it impossible for them to wind up their affairs. It followed, therefore, that only a few more went away, carrying with them the prayers of the more important to be delivered from such bondage. Matters now came to a crisis. Other questions had arisen between the two powers, notably some in connection with the Eastern trade, and the refusal of Holland to honour the English flag. War broke out in 1672, and this time the French joined England against the Dutch, who had to stand alone. French and English buccaneers were let loose to plunder the colonies, and they made the seas so dangerous that hardly one of the enemy's vessels could show herself in the West Indies. The Dutch colonies were thus cut off, and even the settlements of Essequebo and Berbice had to go without their usual supplies. This deprivation caused much dissatisfaction among the garrison of the latter colony, and led to a mutiny, which resulted in the incarceration of the Governor, who was not released until next year, when the belated supplies arrived. Spain was also involved in the war the following year, and thus all the nations interested in the West Indies were fighting at once--Holland and Spain against France and England. The French buccaneers had already gained a footing on Hispaniola; now they attempted to get possession of the whole island, but could not succeed. However, they went on to Trinidad, which had always been a Spanish island, and plundered it of a hundred thousand dollars. The Spanish and Dutch colonies suffered greatly, but Englishmen by no means escaped altogether. As an example of their treatment by the enemy, the case of John Darbey is interesting. In April, 1674, he and six others were taken by a Dutchman from a small English vessel, while sailing from St. Thomas to Antigua, and carried to Havana. There they were kept in irons for five weeks, and then set to work as slaves on the fortifications. After enduring great misery for three months, they were removed to work on board a ship, which was captured by the French off St. Domingo, when they were of course released, and finally carried to Jamaica. Here they told of the sufferings they had endured and witnessed--the story of which more and more embittered the English feeling against Spain. On one occasion Darbey had seen eight men brought in from a New England bark, who afterwards attempted to escape. They marched along the shore hoping to attract the notice of some friendly vessel, but the Governor sent a party of soldiers in pursuit, and they were all murdered at once save the master, who was brought back, executed, and his head stuck on a pole. He also saw the commander of a man-of-war bring in a New England vessel and hang five men at the yard-arm, where the corpses were used as targets by him and his officers. The same captain wanted himself and several other Englishmen to sail with them, but because they indignantly refused, he deliberately stabbed one of them with his sword, killing him at once. In February, 1674, a treaty was signed at Westminster in which there was a special clause bearing on the English in Surinam. To the intent that there might be no more mistakes, the States General agreed that the articles of capitulation should not only be executed without any more prevarication, but also that His Majesty of Great Britain should be free to depute commissioners to examine into the condition of his subjects and agree with them as to the time of their departure. Also that no special laws should be made to hamper them in any way in the sale of their lands, payments of their debts, or barter of their goods, and that vessels should be as free to go to Surinam, as they and their servants should also be free to depart. Accordingly, in March, 1675, three commissioners were instructed to proceed there, and were enjoined to see that the provisions of the treaty were properly carried out, to press for debts owing to the English, and to endeavour to get over the difficulty of their obligations to the Dutch. Vessels were provided to carry the settlers wherever they wished, and provision made for victualling them on the voyage, as well as for a short time after their landing in their new homes. Now at last it might be presumed that the exodus could be freely managed; yet even then the Dutch authorities tried to put obstructions in the way. Among the servants of the English were many Indians, some of whom were nominally free, and these the Dutch Governor demanded should be put ashore, to prevent the mischiefs and cruelties of the heathen, their friends, who might avenge themselves for the deportation on those who remained in the colony. The English claimed that these people went of their own free will, and that some of them were much attached to their white masters, which was probably true. Besides these, most of whom were got off against the Governor's protests, there were ten Jews with 322 slaves, in preventing the departure of whom he was more successful. They were not, strictly speaking, British subjects, although they had lived under the flag for many years, and the commissioners did not insist on their admission. Finally, three vessels sailed away for Jamaica in September, 1675, carrying 1,231 people, including thirty-one Indians, and more negroes than whites. On arriving at that island they were granted lands in St. Elizabeth, afterwards known as Surinam quarters, and thus Guiana again became a factor in the development of the English islands. As for the Jews, even they were afterwards allowed to depart when they memorialised the king and got him to press the matter. Even yet, however, the last had not been heard of this detention, for it cropped up again in the case of Jeronomy Clifford, one of those who actually left with the others for Jamaica. He was then a lad, and went off with his father, returning again to the colony as the second husband of an Englishwoman who had property there. It appears that, as surgeon of a Dutch vessel, he was so kind to a dying planter named Charles Maasman, that his widow went to London and married him in August, 1683. Not getting on very well in Surinam, Clifford and his wife resolved to sell out and take their slaves with them to Jamaica, but in this they were frustrated. The Dutch felt very sore about the former migration, especially when Jamaica plumed herself on her great acquisition, and taunted them with the fact that they got little by the transfer of the colony. When, therefore, Clifford made known his intention, the Governor told him he could not remove his wife's property because she had inherited it from a Dutch subject. Clifford had some of that doggedness which has been observed so often in Englishmen, and was determined to obtain what he considered his rights. Under the capitulation he might leave at any time, and he did not consider that this right had been in any way forfeited. However, the Dutch Governor said otherwise, and, to prevent the alienation or removal of his property, put it in trust, and then endeavoured to set his wife against him so that she might refuse to leave. By some tittle-tattle about a female cousin of Clifford, her jealousy was aroused, and she petitioned for a divorce on the grounds of cruelty and adultery. However, when she found out the object of the traducers of her husband, she asked that her petition be annulled and made void, because she had been misled and drawn away by the ill advices of others--now she was sorry, and well satisfied and content with him. This having been read before the Court of Justice, a council of Dutch planters, they showed their animus by deciding that Mrs. Clifford was a weak and silly woman, and that it appeared to them that her husband, to the prejudice of his wife and that land, had endeavoured to remove his goods, which they would willingly prevent. They therefore ordered the plantation to be appraised and put in commission, forbidding either Clifford or his wife from diminishing, removing, or making away with the estate, but only to enjoy the interest and produce as long as they lived and corresponded well with each other. They also wished the wife much joy of her reconciliation, and condemned her to pay the costs both present and future. Finally, considering her frowardness and ill-nature, and for an example to all other like-natured women, they condemned her to pay a fine of five thousand pounds of sugar. Clifford, who yet stood by what he considered his right, was now subjected to a number of petty persecutions. His wife went to England, leaving him her attorney, and he began to pester the Governor to remove the illegal arrest on his estate. At last this importunity led to his arrest, and he was sentenced by this same Court of Justice to be hanged, as a mutineer and disturber of the public peace. But, being "more inclined to clemency than to carry things to the utmost rigour of justice," they commuted this sentence to imprisonment for seven years, with a fine of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds of sugar. As may be supposed, this arbitrary judgment only made Clifford more exasperated. He still went on petitioning and protesting that he was not a Dutch subject, as he had refused to take the oath of allegiance, and that therefore he was only standing up for his rights. However, he was imprisoned in the fort, where every effort was made to prevent his communicating with England or the English colonies. Notwithstanding these precautions he managed to send several letters, meanwhile threatening the Court that if they kept him any longer he would be forced to use such means of relief as he should be advised. After some delay his communications reached Barbados, Jamaica, and New York, from whence they at last reached King William, who soon got him released. But even then Clifford could not get back his estate, and although he went to London and petitioned the king, who directed inquiry of the ambassador at the Hague, he could never get any redress. For seventy years he, and his heirs after his death, kept up a stream of petitions and memorials, without result, in the end claiming for illegal detention, damages, and interest, over half a million pounds. During the short peace which followed the treaty of Westminster attention was again directed to the buccaneers, who were now called pirates, and treated as such even in Jamaica, with the result that many of them settled down. It has been stated that Charles the Second shared in their gains even after he had issued proclamations against them, but this sort of thing now came to an end. The French continued their depredations up to the year 1680, when the king issued a proclamation, forbidding the further granting of commissions, and recalling those which had been issued, at the same time ordering that those who persisted in the trade should be hanged as pirates. This tended to bring the less audacious to settle down, but even to the beginning of the present century piracy was still known in the West Indies. While Sir Henry Morgan was Acting Governor of Jamaica, in 1681, Everson, the Dutch pirate, came to Cow Bay on that island, but Morgan captured him and his crew and sent them off to Carthagena, to be punished by the authorities there for the ravages they had committed on the Spanish coasts and shipping. During the ex-buccaneer's administration he also got an Act passed to restrain privateers, and keep inviolable all treaties with foreign states. Any British subject who treated a foreign prince or State in a hostile manner should be punished with death as a felon. Peace did not last long, however, for in 1688 the French began to move against Holland, and the year following King William was also bound to declare war. Almost immediately the English were again driven out of St. Kitt's, the French, as on the former occasion, committing outrages quite unjustifiable among civilised nations even in war. They also took St. Eustatius from the Dutch. As if there were not enough pirates in the West Indies, the French brought some more from their own coast--the celebrated corsairs, who had held a position in Europe during the wars similar to that of the buccaneers in America. Some rovers, who had lately settled in Cayenne, were agreeably surprised at the beginning of the year 1689 by the arrival of Du Casse, who soon enrolled them under his banner and started to pillage the Dutch and English colonies. The first attack was made upon Surinam with nine vessels, but after three days' fighting the Dutch obliged the corsairs to retire, leaving one ship aground to be captured. Two of the squadron were, however, more successful in Berbice, which, after the enemy had destroyed one or two plantations, was obliged to pay a ransom of twenty thousand guilders (£1,666), which was settled by a draft on the proprietors in Amsterdam, and which curiously enough appears to have been afterwards paid. Another privateer destroyed the small settlement in the Pomeroon river, and obliged the few inhabitants to fly to Essequebo, and to afterwards abandon the place altogether. Du Casse then went on to the islands, where he did much damage to both Dutch and English, finally, in 1697, Spain being also on the other side, joining De Pointis to attack and capture Carthagena. The corsairs were privateers with proper commissions, authorised by the French Government to pillage and destroy and divide the plunder among themselves after setting aside the king's share. Up to the present France could hardly be said to have a navy, and these private adventurers to some extent filled its place. True, there were a few king's ships, but the treasury was often so bare that they could not be properly armed or manned without assistance from outside. Then, perhaps, one or more would be put at the disposal of a renowned corsair, on condition that the State should be put to no expense. Courtiers, ministers, and merchants would come forward and form a joint stock company, equip the ship or fleet as the case might be, and share the plunder. Du Casse settled down as Governor of the French part of Hispaniola, which by this time had been taken over, and he appears to have encouraged the buccaneers on account of their assistance to the colony. When that great corsair, Jacques Cassard came out, he was therefore enabled to supply him with as much help as he required. Cassard, in 1712, was supplied by the merchants of Marseilles with a large fleet, with which he sailed to the West Indies, beginning, as Du Casse had done, with Surinam, where he arrived on the 8th of October, with eight large and thirty small vessels. The Dutch were not so fortunate this time, for he sailed up and down the river for three weeks, burning, pillaging, and carrying off slaves, until most of the inhabitants took to the bush. Among other exploits he is said to have broken open the Jewish synagogue, killed a pig within the sacred precincts, and sprinkled its blood over the walls and ornaments. He was ultimately bought off for over £50,000, which, in the absence of enough coin, was paid in sugar, negro and Indian slaves, cattle, merchandise, provisions, stores, jewellery, and a very little cash. While remaining in Surinam Cassard sent three vessels to Berbice, which was easily captured, and for which a ransom of three hundred thousand guilders (£25,000) was demanded. But this settlement was far worse off than Surinam, and had neither goods nor money to pay such a large amount, which was out of all proportion to that of her neighbour. After raising 118,000 guilders in various ways, the balance was accepted in a bill of exchange on the proprietors, two of the leading planters of the colony being taken as hostages and security. Not satisfied with this, the corsairs insisted on a further sum of ten thousand guilders in cash, as ransom for the private estates, on the ground that they had been paid only for the fort and properties of the Government. There was not so much money in the whole river, and after collecting every bit of plate and jewellery they possessed, to the value of six thousand guilders, the enemy had to take the balance in sugar and stores. Now came the most curious part of this transaction. The two hostages died, and the proprietors refused to pay the draft--in fact, they said Berbice was not worth so much. Nevertheless the colony could not be taken over as a French possession, and even when the peace of Utrecht was signed in 1713, nothing could be done. Here was an anomaly--a Dutch settlement in the hands of French merchants as security for a debt. On account of trade restrictions its produce might not be brought to France, and the owners of the draft neither knew what to do with the document nor its security. The Dutch proprietors were equally at a loss, for they knew very well that, if they ignored the claim of the corsairs, revenge would be taken on the first opportunity--during the next war, if not before. At last one of the Marseilles merchants was deputed to go to Amsterdam, and after a great deal of haggling he sold the draft to a third party at a reduction of about forty per cent. Meanwhile Cassard had captured St. Eustatius, and exacted a large ransom. From thence he resolved to proceed to Curaçao, the great stronghold of the Dutch, and the depôt for goods used in the contraband traffic with the Spanish colonies. Here there were many Jews, who had large stocks of merchandise, and as the booty would be certainly great, Cassard resolved to risk everything on such an exploit. On his arrival he sent a boat ashore with a demand for the surrender of the island, to which the Governor sent a jeering reply, as he considered the place impregnable. However, the corsair fleet stood in for the harbour, but were greeted with such a heavy fire that Cassard was forced to retire and call a council. The balance of opinion was against going any farther. The officers said the Dutch guns were of heavier metal than theirs, the currents round the island rendered a landing almost impossible, and the entrance to the harbour was so narrow that it could easily be commanded by the two forts. However, Cassard himself and a few others were in favour of the attempt, and it was ultimately resolved to carry it out on the morrow. To deceive the Dutch, Cassard sent part of his fleet on a cruise round the island, while he with the remainder commenced to bombard the forts, keeping this up during the day as if that were his line of attack. The following night, however, he embarked most of his men in small craft, and keeping the lights on his ships burning, managed to land under cover of the darkness. Fortunately for him, this manoeuvre was not perceived by the Dutch, for he had quite enough to do in contending with a strong current and in avoiding sunken rocks, which made the landing so perilous that it is doubtful if even these hardy fellows would have attempted it during the day, when the dangers would be conspicuous. However, they got ashore without serious accident, and at once erected a breastwork for the light guns they had brought. Morning broke, and Cassard expected to see the second half of the squadron returned from its cruise, and ready to support him, instead of which it was visible several miles to leeward. To add to his difficulties, the Dutch had discovered the landing, had erected a powerful battery a mile away, and were preparing to attack him before his reinforcements could come up. Yet in face of all this he was undaunted. He must, however, attack at once, and this was done, with the result that the forts were taken. Cassard was wounded by a musket ball in the foot, yet he did not relinquish the command, but followed this first success by turning the guns of the forts on the town. At the same time he sent a flag of truce to the Governor, declaring, that if the place were not at once surrendered at discretion he would bombard it. In reply, the Dutch attacked the forts, but were repulsed with great loss, and at last terms were discussed, with the result that the ransom was fixed at 600,000 louis d'ors. This amount was considered so reasonable that the merchants hastened to pay it over and get rid of him, which they did in three days. On his arrival in Martinique, Cassard found he had been superseded in the command, and that the fleet was ordered home. Giving the buccaneers their share of the booty, he sailed for Brest, and on the way met an English squadron. The French admiral signalled his vessels not to fight, but Cassard, turning to his second in command of the vessel, said his duty to his king was above that to his admiral--he would fight His Majesty's foes wherever he met them. On that he bore down upon the English and captured two small craft before nightfall, afterwards making his voyage to Brest alone. This want of subordination so incensed the admiral that he preferred several charges against him, one being that he had retained more than his share of the booty. Whether this charge was true or not, the "Hero of Nantes," as he was called, fell into disgrace, followed by great poverty. Almost a beggar, he was at last sent to prison for importuning a cardinal and king's minister too much, by claiming what he considered his rights. There he ultimately died, and, like some others who have been as badly treated in life, has now a statue erected to his memory in his native town. [Illustration] [Illustration] IX. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE DARIEN TRADE. Carthagena and Porto Bello were the great trading stations for the Spaniards in the Indies. The latter had taken the place of Nombre de Dios, since that town had been destroyed by Drake, and was now the port to which the treasures of Peru were brought overland from Panama. The galleons from Spain, after calling at St. Domingo, went on to Carthagena, where the first great fair of the year was held. Here the traders from the inland provinces of New Granada came to get their supplies from Europe, which they paid for in gold, silver, emeralds, and produce. For the short time the vessels remained, the people of the town woke up from their year's inactivity, and made the most of the occasion. Stores were in demand, and lodging-houses required for the visitors, so that the cost of living went up by leaps and bounds. Those who had slaves got enormous profits by their hire, and even the negroes themselves made large sums beyond the amounts they had to pay their masters. The whole place lost its air of desertion and became the scene of such bustle and confusion as would hardly be conceivable to those who saw it as a "sleepy hollow" during the _tiempo muerto_, the dead time, as it was called. Having done with Carthagena, the galleons went on to Porto Bello, the beautiful haven, said to have been the most unhealthy place on the Main. By reason of its noxious air and barren soil there was a scarcity of provisions, which led to its desertion at ordinary times. In anticipation of the fleet, however, it woke up and became even more lively than Carthagena. The only reason for its existence was the trade across the isthmus, otherwise it would have been deservedly abandoned. Here was held the great fair, that at the other port being petty in comparison. The concourse of people was so great that a single chamber for a lodging during the busy time sometimes cost a thousand crowns, while a house would be worth five or six times as much. As the galleons came in sight, the people began to erect a great tent in the _Plaza_ to receive their cargoes, where they were assorted and delivered to the various consignees or their representatives. The crowd of men and animals soon became so great that movement was difficult. Droves of mules came over the isthmus loaded with cases of gold and silver, which were dumped down in the open streets or in the square, for want of storehouses. Yet, with all the confusion, it is said that theft was unknown, and losses through mistakes very rare. But not only were there thousands of mules and their drivers, but small vessels continually arrived from different parts of the coast, bringing goods and people, to increase the hubbub. Here was a cargo of cinchona bark, there another of cacao, and further on, by no means the least important, were boat-loads of fresh vegetables and fruits to supply the great assembly. This went on for forty days, after which the port was deserted and the town resumed its poverty-stricken air. Then two persons in the streets formed a crowd and half a dozen a mob. Solitude and silence reigned, where so lately the bustle and noise had been rampant, and the _tiempo muerto_ ruled until the following year. It can be easily understood that the influence of the Porto Bello fair was not only felt on the Gulf side, but on the shores of the Pacific as well. Panama was largely dependent on the transport business, which employed a great number of mules and slaves. Even in the absence of buccaneers and pirates the road was always difficult, and sometimes even dangerous. Heavy rains caused great floods, which delayed the traffic for days, and left the tracks on the hills so slippery that even that sure-footed animal the mule was often carried over a precipice. Then there were cannibal Indians and Simarons always lurking in the forest, ready to cut off stragglers. On the rumour of a buccaneer landing on the coast--it might be a hundred miles away--the traffic was at once stopped and the merchants began to "fear and sweat with a cold sweat," as Thomas Gage very quaintly puts it. The Spanish merchants no doubt deplored this state of things, and would have been thankful for a good road instead of such an unutterably worthless bridle track. There was, however, a side to the question which probably influenced them--a way that would be easy for them would also be more accessible to their enemies. Then, again, a good road should have been the work of the Spanish Government rather than of the settlers, but it was useless to expect anything from that direction. Nevertheless, a good road and even a canal were mooted before the end of the sixteenth century, thus anticipating the Panama railroad and canal of our own time. But, although the advantages were patent, the difficulties were so many as to be practically insurmountable, and nothing whatever was done. Towards the end of the seventeenth century came a sudden craze for carrying out gigantic schemes of various kinds, practicable or impracticable, useful or worthless, Utopian or utterly absurd. Among them was the Mississippi scheme in France and the South Sea Bubble in England, of which the latter was intimately connected with the Indies. The time had arrived when people began to think of trading on credit or pledges, and of combining together for carrying on banks and other commercial operations. Private banks had existed for several centuries, and more or less public establishments in the great commercial centres, such as Venice, Amsterdam, and Hamburg, but up to the present there was no Bank of England. In fact the great principle that allows an enormous trade to be carried on without the actual interchange of specie or commodities had just been discovered, and the people of France and England went mad over it. The pioneer of the system in England was William Paterson, who seems to have been acquainted with Dampier and Wafer, both of whom knew the isthmus of Darien very well. He is also said to have travelled in the West Indies himself, and even to have visited the Porto Bello fair, but this is not quite certain. Paterson first came into prominence by bringing forward a scheme which ultimately led to the establishment of the Bank of England on the 27th of July, 1694. From this he appears to have derived no actual benefit, however, although he was one of the first directors, upon a qualification of £2,000 stock, which he sold out after the first year, and thus withdrew. Probably he wanted his money to carry out the new project for a settlement on the isthmus of Darien. In the course of this history we have advisedly used the word "English" instead of "British," in speaking of our nation, because as yet Scotchmen were little concerned in colonisation schemes. In fact, except as transported rebels or convicts, they had hardly any interest in the plantations. This was the result of Navigation Acts, which debarred Scotch merchants and vessels from trading, by ordering that all traffic with the colonies should be carried on in English vessels and from English ports. Paterson's idea was to take possession of the isthmus of Darien, establish a Scotch colony at a convenient harbour on the Gulf side, and then open up a proper road by which the trade would be so much facilitated that it would become the great highway. Seated between the two vast oceans of the universe, he said, the isthmus is provided with excellent harbours on both sides, between the principal of which lie the more easy and convenient passes. If these ports and passes were fortified, the road could easily be secured and defended, thus affording the readiest and nearest means of gaining and keeping the command of the South Sea--the greatest and by far the richest side of the world. With the passes open, through them would flow at least two-thirds of the produce of both Indies. The time and expense of the voyage to China and Japan would be lessened more than half, and the consumption of European commodities soon doubled, and annually increased. He contended that Darien possessed great tracts of country up to that time unclaimed by any European, and that the Indians, the original proprietors, would welcome the honest and honourable settler to their fertile shore. The soil was rich to a fault, producing spontaneously the most delicious fruits, and required the hand of labour to chasten rather than stimulate its capabilities. There crystal rivers sparkled over sands of gold--there the traveller might wander for days under a canopy of fruit-laden branches, the trees bearing them being of inestimable value as timber. The waters also abounded in wealth. Innumerable shoals of fish disported themselves among the rocks, and the bottom was strewn with pearls. From the dawn of creation this enchanted country had lain secluded from mortals--now it was revealed and opened to Scottish enterprise. Let them enter and take possession of this promised land, and build a new city--a new Edinburgh, like Alexandria of old, which grew to prodigious wealth and power from its position on another isthmus--to soon become famous as the new emporium of a new world. The reader who has seen our account of Lionel Wafer's miserable journey will be able to discount these florid statements, but the Scotch people seem to have taken everything for gospel. Now, at last, they would have a colony--a plantation of more value than any of those that the English had begun to boast of. They were enthusiastic, and although poor, did their very best to contribute, actually promising the large sum of £400,000. England also subscribed to the extent of £300,000, and Holland and Hamburg £200,000. Everything looked bright, and at last a concession was obtained for the "Company of Scotland, trading to Africa and the Indies." Strange to say, Paterson entirely ignored the claims of Spain, although he must have known that she would strenuously object to such a settlement. It was all very well to say the place belonged to the Indians, but the very fact of its vicinity to the great trading centre and channel of communication with the Pacific coast should have made him anticipate trouble. Even if he argued that the buccaneers were practically unmolested along the Mosquito shore, he must also have known that their position was by no means secure, and even had this been the case, that it would have afforded to argument in favour of his project. To be successful he must also have had the support of the English Government, but unfortunately this was denied. Jealousy and envy between the two countries led to representations adverse to the scheme being made to King William, with the result that the Company was discountenanced, and that most of the promised subscriptions outside of Scotland were withdrawn. Then came dissensions among the leaders themselves, and this lost them half the amount from their own county. Yet with all that Paterson was undaunted, and, notwithstanding the diminished funds at command, he still resolved to go on. On the 26th of July, 1698, twelve hundred men in five ships sailed for a place near the entrance of the Gulf of Darien, a hundred miles to the east of Porto Bello. It was afterwards stated that the vessels were rotten and ill-found, although gaily decked with flags on the day of departure, which hid some of their deficiencies. The provision supply was bad, and, to crown all, the captains were coarse, brutal, and ignorant, continually quarrelling with each other. Through envy, Paterson had been prevented from having any voice in the arrangements, and although he went with the expedition, he entered the ship as ignorant of her equipment as any other passenger. But he evidently had his doubts, for he asked for an inspection of the stores, only to have his request treated with contempt. On the 27th of October the fleet came to anchor in a fair sandy bay three leagues west of the Gulf of Darien, now known as the Port D'Escocés. It was an excellent harbour surrounded by high mountains, and capable of holding a thousand sail in security from wind and tempest. The settlers named the district Caledonia, and considered it to be fertile and even healthy. They commenced at once to erect a fort, to which they gave the name of St. Andrews, and a cluster of houses for the town of New Edinburgh. These labours gave them little time for planting, and it naturally followed that they had to live on the provisions brought from Scotland, which, bad at the beginning, were now almost worthless. Paterson sent emissaries to the neighbouring Spanish settlements to ask for their friendship, and went himself into the interior to arrange treaties with the Indians, so that the Scotch might have a good title to the land. In this latter object he was successful, and it was agreed that peace should be kept between the natives and the colonists, "as long as rivers ran and gold was found in Darien." After six days' absence he returned to find a great change in the settlement. A spirit of mutiny and discontent had broken out, those who worked hard being naturally dissatisfied with others who did nothing. Then the provisions became rotten, and even then were so reduced in quantity that the people suffered from want and its consequent sickness. Four months passed, and nothing but daily discouragements were encountered; not even a little gold to enliven their spirits. Hard work under a tropical sun began to tell upon them, and although the friendly natives brought a little game, it was almost useless among so many. Every day, however, the number was reduced by death, fevers, and dysentery playing sad havoc, until those who remained were utterly dispirited. To add to their troubles they were refused supplies from Jamaica, King William having sent instructions to the Colonial Governors to discountenance the colony in every way. Paterson sent to Jamaica to get food for the starving people, and instead, his empty vessel brought copies of the Proclamation that had been issued in that island. This stated that as His Majesty knew nothing of the intentions and designs of the Scots at Darien, and as their settling on the isthmus was contrary to the peace of Spain, every one was commanded not to hold any communication with them, and not to supply arms, ammunition, provisions, or anything whatsoever, on their peril. In this desperate condition they awaited supplies from Scotland, but these did not arrive, for the ship had foundered on her way, and even Paterson began to be discouraged when day after day passed without relief. Even the reduced number could no longer exist, and with heavy hearts they prepared to leave. They had a ship, but no provisions for the voyage, and on account of the prohibition were prevented from victualling at one of the islands. At last, however, they got together as much barbecued fish and game as the Indians could procure, with a few fruits, and sailed away. But even now fate was against them. Hardly had they got out of the harbour before they were becalmed off this deadly shore for many days, their scanty supply of food diminishing when it was so much wanted for the long voyage. However, the remnant of about thirty, survivors of the twelve hundred, at last arrived at Charlestown, Carolina, in a most miserable condition. Paterson was himself so worn out that he lost his senses for a time, becoming quite childish, yet he recovered, to go back to Scotland and ask the Company for another expedition. This he urged on the ground that the first had failed simply through the want of supplies and the action of the English Government. Some were in favour of still carrying out the project, and these drew up a petition to the king, giving it for presentation to Lord Hamilton. William the Third, however, refused not only to receive the petition, but even to grant an audience to its bearer. Lord Hamilton would not be put off, however, but watched for his opportunity, and found it one day as the king was mounting his horse. He laid the petition on the saddle, which made His Majesty cry out, "Now, by heaven, this young man is too bold," adding in a softer tone, "if a man can be too bold in the service of his country." With that he threw the document from him and rode off, afterwards, when memorial after memorial came from Scotland, issuing a Proclamation against the worry of such petitions. Notwithstanding this refusal, another expedition was sent out, the management of which was as bad as that of the first. But this time the Spaniards were on the alert, and hardly had the settlers begun to put things in order before the enemy was upon them in force. Famine and sickness again fell upon New Edinburgh, added to the horrors of a siege, which ultimately led to a capitulation on fair terms. But so weak were they as the Spaniards allowed them to embark, that their late enemies out of pity helped to heave their anchors and set their sails. It was long before the Scotch people forgot or forgave their sister kingdom for her action in thus frustrating their darling project. Besides impeding the Union, it is said to have strengthened the Jacobite feelings in the rebellions of 1715 and 1745. Even as late as the year 1788, when it was proposed to erect a monument in Edinburgh to King William the Third and the "glorious revolution," the affair was remembered, and some one suggested that the pedestal should have on the one side a view of Glencoe, and on the other the Darien colony. Queen Anne, in 1702, tried to pacify her Scotch subjects by an autograph letter, stating that she regretted the Company's losses and disappointments, but this did not kill the ill-feeling. As for Paterson, in 1715 the English House of Commons voted him the sum of £18,241 as some indemnity for his losses, but as the bill was thrown out by the House of Lords, he got nothing. Thus ended one of the most disastrous of British attempts to colonise the Indies. From beginning to end it was an example of the Dutch caution of William of Orange, as contrasted with the recklessness of Queen Elizabeth's time or the sturdy defiance of Cromwell. The king was not prepared to risk war for an idea, yet at the same time he would not prohibit the expeditions. From 1702 to 1713 there was war between England and Holland on the one side, and France and Spain on the other. By the treaty of Utrecht, which again brought peace, the English received the concession for the exclusive supply of negro slaves to the Spanish colonies for thirty years. This _Assiento_ contract was given to the Great South Sea Company, which resulted from one of those joint-stock manias, now epidemic in France, England, and even Holland. The Company was projected by the Earl of Oxford in 1711, and, like the Mississippi scheme in France, was intended to assist the Government, which was virtually bankrupt. As yet there was no funded national debt, but large sums were owing to the army and navy, which had been provisionally settled by debentures, that could be discounted only at a serious loss to the owners. Down to the establishment of the Bank of England in 1693 no public loan existed, but this was commenced by borrowing the capital of that institution. At the peace of Ryswick, in 1697, the public debt amounted to twenty millions, but by the time the South Sea Company was started the arrears of pay made it half as much again. Part of the great scheme was to advance this amount on security of English customs duties amounting to £600,000 per annum, and a monopoly of the Spanish trade in the Indies as far as the _Assiento_ contract would permit. Whether the whole affair was a fraud from the commencement is doubtful; there were certainly misrepresentations in the prospectus, either wilful or possibly in good faith. Spain was to allow free trade to England in four ports on the Pacific, and three vessels besides slavers were to go to the isthmus every year--concessions never promised nor intended by Philip the Fifth. The slave trade was a fact, and according to the statements it would give fabulous profits. [Illustration: MAP OF TERRA FIRMA. (_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)] Visions of boundless wealth now floated before the eyes of the English people, and they at once began to rival the French in their madness, as they had in their colonisation. The English Government was ready to make every possible concession because it wanted to be rid of the incubus of thirty millions, and therefore did nothing to check the Company. As the stock was issued it was at once bought up, and then sold again at a considerable advance. Everybody expected to make fortunes, therefore they must get shares at any price. Rumours of peace with Spain, and great concessions that would bring all the riches of Peru and Mexico into their coffers, roused them still more. Gold would soon be as plentiful as copper, and silver as iron. The shareholders would be the richest people the world ever saw, and every share would give dividends of hundreds per cent. per annum. The bill making the Government concessions was passed in April, 1720, when the stock was quoted at £310 for a hundred pound share. Strange to say, it then began to fall, but the projectors put forth a rumour that England was about to exchange Gibraltar for a port in Peru, and confidence was restored at once. So great was the increased demand that another million was issued at £300 per £100 share, and these were so much run after that the fortunate owners were at once offered double what they had paid. Then another million was offered at £400, and in a few hours applications were received for a million and a half. People were so eager to invest their money that they swallowed almost any bait thrown to them. Hundreds of bubble companies hovered on the outskirts of the parent, among them one for settling the barren islands of Blanco and Sal Tortugas, another to colonise Santa Cruz, and a third to fit out vessels for the suppression of piracy. But perhaps the most absurd was "a company for carrying on an undertaking of great advantage, but nobody to know what it is." Near their highest point the South Sea Shares were sold at £890, but so many wanted to sell at that price that they soon fell to £640. This put the directors again upon their mettle, and they set to work with fresh rumours and pushed them up to £1,000, from which they suddenly went down, with a few fluctuations, until utterly worthless. The treasurer of the Company ran away to France when the blow fell, but the directors were arrested and their estates ultimately confiscated. Thousands of people were ruined, and the public credit received a blow from which it took many years to recover. Meanwhile the South Sea Company had not been altogether idle. Besides the slave vessels they were entitled to send _one_ ship annually to the Carthagena and Porto Bello fairs, this being called the _Navio de permisso_. It was not to be larger than five hundred tons, yet the Company picked out the biggest they could find and filled it with goods, to the exclusion of food and water, which were carried in small store vessels that waited outside the harbour. This caused a great deal of dissatisfaction, as the English brought so much that they could under-sell the Spanish merchants in their own market. In 1715 the _Bedford_, nominally of six hundred tons, was seized at Carthagena on the ground that her burden was excessive. By the Spanish measurements the cargo was said to have amounted to 2,117-1/2 tons, and the excess was confiscated and ordered to be sold. However, the English protested, at the same time passing over some valuable presents to the authorities, with the result that a remeasurement was ordered, which made the amount only 460 tons. In 1716 the Spaniards took Campeachy and sixty English logwood vessels, which occasioned another war. The English claimed that they had an undoubted right to cut logwood at that place, and that former kings had always maintained them in this. For a long time they had quietly possessed a part of Yucatan, uninhabited by Spaniards, and they claimed not only the privilege of wood-cutting, but of settlement as well. Probably the little notice taken of their attack on the Darien colony made the Spanish authorities think England ready to bear any insult, but they soon found out their mistake. War was declared in 1718, and all the property of the South Sea Company, including debts, was confiscated, the whole amounting to £850,000. This would have been a great blow to the Company had it been genuine, but as we have seen, its mercantile transactions were secondary considerations. Peace was restored by the Treaty of Madrid in June 1721, when the _Assiento_ contract was renewed in favour of the Royal Company instead of that of the South Sea. So much dissatisfaction had been created by the concession for a trading ship, however, that the English did not insist upon its continuance, and therefore only slave vessels were to be permitted to visit the Indies in future. Everything that had been seized from the South Sea Company was to be restored, or its equivalent value paid, but the amount actually received only came to £200,000, which did not go far to help the unfortunate shareholders. Thus, this small measure of free trade with the Spanish Indies came to an end, and things went on much the same as before. English, Dutch, and French vessels still carried on the contraband traffic, doing all they could to evade the law, often with the assistance of the local authorities. The Spanish settlers got their supplies so much cheaper in this way than through the usual channels, that they were not likely to give up buying as long as the smugglers ran the risk. At last, however, the authorities received very strict orders to enforce the law, with the result that vessels were often captured, their cargoes confiscated, and crews imprisoned. Then the Spanish _guarda-costas_ claimed the right to search vessels of other nationalities, and to confiscate them if they found produce from their colonies on board, or other evidence that they were carrying on illicit trade. This led to another dispute with England, which claimed compensation for such seizures and the abolition of the right of search. English vessels had always resented this overhauling, and latterly several had fought the _guarda-costas_ rather than submit, with the result that, when captured, their crews were treated with a severity often amounting to cruelty. In 1739 several petitions were presented to the British Parliament, complaining of such outrages, and asking the Government to obtain redress. Among them was one from Captain Jenkins, the master of a Scottish vessel, who was examined by the House. His story was that he had been boarded by a _guarda-costa_, the Spaniards from which searched his vessel without finding anything contraband. Apparently enraged at their discomfiture, and possibly annoyed by the jeers of the English, they cut off one of Jenkins' ears and told him to carry it to his king with the message that they would do the same to him if he came near the Main. Finally, according to Jenkins' statement, he was further tortured and threatened with death. "What did you think when you found yourself in the hands of those barbarians?" asked a Member of the House; to which the captain replied, "I recommended my soul to God and my cause to my country." The severed ear he exhibited in Parliament as he had done elsewhere whenever he told the story. It was then stated that the losses from Spanish depredations by plundering and the taking of fifty-two vessels, since 1728, amounted to £340,000. In every case the masters and crews were brutally treated, and in some cases murdered. The English demand for compensation was met by the reply that the king had ordered inquiries to be made, and that if any of his subjects were found guilty they would be punished according to their deserts; also that orders would be given to conform exactly to the treaties. It was, however, claimed that the treaty of 1667 did not contain any clause bearing on the navigation and commerce of the Indies, and that the English had been wrong in supposing they had a right to sail and trade there; they were only permitted to sail to their own islands and plantations, and were therefore subject to confiscation if they changed their course to make for the Spanish possessions without necessity. There were then in Havana fifteen British vessels which had been detained on one pretext or another, and about the same time the _Success_ from London to Virginia was captured off Montserrat, and her captain and crew set adrift in an open boat to find their way ashore as best they could. In January, 1739, a convention between Great Britain and Spain was arranged, under which the latter agreed to pay £95,000 on account of these demands, less the value of certain vessels which they agreed to restore. This did not satisfy the West India merchants, and they petitioned against it. The indemnity was to be paid on the 10th of July, but that date having passed without a settlement, Great Britain issued letters of marque and ordered all Spanish vessels in her waters to be seized. Spain commenced reprisals the following month, and war was actually declared by Great Britain on the 19th of October. The declaration stated that for several years past unjust seizures and depredations had been carried on, and great cruelties exercised. The British colours had been ignominiously insulted, against the laws of nations and solemn treaties, and Spain had lately ordered British subjects from her dominions within a shorter period than had been covenanted by express stipulation in those treaties. In July previous a fleet under Admiral Vernon had sailed from Spithead, and after a short cruise off the Spanish coast, went over to the West Indies, arriving at Antigua the 27th of September. Going on to Jamaica, Vernon prepared for a grand raid on the Spanish settlements, leaving for Porto Bello on the 5th of November with six vessels and 2,500 men. They arrived on the 21st, and bombarded the forts, which made a stout resistance; but while this was going on, the British landed and took the town, thus compelling the forts to capitulate. Two warships and several other vessels were captured, as well as specie to the amount of ten thousand dollars, but the town was not pillaged, although the guns were either taken away or rendered useless, and the forts as far as possible demolished. This was virtually the end of that stronghold, as it was afterwards allowed to fall into decay, to be ultimately replaced by Chagres, Grey Town, and Colon. Later, also, the treasure from Peru had much diminished, and the isthmus sunk in importance, especially after the way round Cape Horn and through the Straits of Magellan was adopted more and more. As the dispute with Spain had arisen from her action in the Indies, so retaliation on the part of Great Britain was greatest on the Main. In February, 1740, Vernon again sailed from Jamaica, and on the 6th of March bombarded Santa Martha, but did not capture it. After repairing damages at Porto Bello he went on to Chagres, took a Spanish man-of-war from under the guns of the fort, captured the place, and demolished it. In January, 1741, Sir Chaloner Ogle came out from England with a fleet, and joined him, making a force of 12,000 men in twenty-nine sail-of-the-line besides smaller vessels. This great fleet sailed for Hispaniola in hopes of encountering that of Spain and France, but not finding it went on to Carthagena. This, the other great stronghold on the Main, was guarded by two powerful batteries, a boom across the entrance to the port, and four Spanish men-of-war just inside. After a long cannonading the batteries were silenced, a landing accomplished at night, and a passage made by which the fleet entered the harbour. Here, however, further progress was checked by sickness and disagreements among the commanders, with the result that the siege was raised and partial success ended in miserable failure. This was followed by another check at Santiago de Cuba, which virtually terminated all hopes of further great exploits, although attempts were made on La Guayra and Puerto Cabello. Yet with all this the Spaniards undoubtedly received a great lesson. Their men-of-war were captured from under their fortresses, and small English or colonial vessels performed such deeds of daring as had hardly been equalled since the Elizabethan age. The old spirit still existed although it might lie dormant for a time--the men were there when the hour came. In 1740 Captain Hall in a New England privateer came to an anchor under the fort of Puerto de la Plata, pretending to be a Caracas trader. He wanted to land in the night and surprise the town, but found that the inhabitants kept such a good watch that he had to give up that idea. However, the Governor was sick and sent to ask the loan of Hall's surgeon, and here was the opportunity he wanted. The surgeon, quartermaster, and an interpreter visited the Governor, and at the same time seven of Hall's crew landed and surprised the fort, dismounted the guns, marched into the town and plundered it, finally escaping with the loss of only one man. Peace was at last concluded on the 7th of October, 1748, but nothing was said in the treaty of the right of search. The _Assiento_ contract was confirmed, and one English trading ship allowed as formerly; free trade with the Indies, however, was still one of those things which could never be conceded. [Illustration] [Illustration] X. SLAVE INSURRECTIONS AND BUSH NEGROES. With war almost continuously raging at their very doors the West Indian planters not only risked their fortunes but their lives. During the seventeenth century England spent something like thirty-five years in fighting her enemies, and in the eighteenth, forty-six. As long as the quarrel was with Spain alone the colonists cared but little, but when France turned against them the struggle was much fiercer. The French were always most audacious in their assaults, and the consequences were all the more disastrous because they were such near neighbours. We have already spoken of St. Kitt's and the difficulties produced on that island by its division between the two nationalities. These were only terminated by its entire cession to England, which did not take place until the peace of Utrecht in 1713. Meanwhile, besides the two defeats of the English already mentioned, they were driven out in 1689, to return the following year and expel the enemy, retaining entire control until the peace of Ryswick gave France again her share. Then in 1702 England once more held full possession until the island was assured to her entirely. Barbados, alone among the British West Indian islands, stands in the proud position of a colony that has never fallen into the hands of another nation. It has never even been seriously attacked beyond the attempt of De Ruyter. And yet the island was poorly fortified, as compared with the great strongholds of the West Indies such as Carthagena and Curaçao. Possibly "the game was not worth the candle," for on the one hand there was little plunder to be had, and on the other a strong force of hardy Englishmen to be encountered. We have seen already how the Parliamentary fleet was kept at bay, and what an amount of trouble the islanders gave before they capitulated. Even then they were not actually conquered, although there could be no question as to the ultimate result. But not only had the colonists to stand up against the enemy from outside, but there was another danger which lay within their plantations and dwellings from which even Barbados was not free. The slaves had to be kept under subjection, and the planters must always be on the alert to anticipate riots and insurrections. For although the negro in most cases was submissive, at times he recovered that savage nature which had only been suppressed by force and discipline. When we read of flogging to death and other horrible cruelties of the planters and authorities, we are inclined to sympathise with the African and look upon his masters as worse than brutes. But to appreciate the full significance of these punishments we must judge them by the codes in existence at the time, remembering that nothing was ever done to the blacks that had not also been endured by whites for similar crimes. True, these punishments were retained for slaves after they had become obsolete for Europeans, but then the negro was undoubtedly stubborn and less amenable to persuasion than any other race. Like a mule he had to be broken in and trained, and like that stubborn animal he often gave great trouble in the process. There were differences of opinion as to various ways of teaching the negro, and it was only a long experience that ultimately led to gentle conciliation instead of flogging. [Illustration: A REBEL NEGRO (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] The slaves often ran away, and had to be hunted for and brought back. In the larger islands and on the Main they hid in the forest and swamp, where they formed communities, to which other runaways flocked until they became strong enough to hold their own. From these recesses they often came forth to pillage the plantations, murder the whites, and get the slaves to go off with them in a body. If the buccaneer was ferocious he had at least some method in his madness; the poor ignorant African, on the contrary, let his passions dominate him entirely. In revenge for fancied tyrannies he would commit the most atrocious crimes, torturing his prisoners by cutting them to pieces or even flaying while they still lived. Is it any wonder that when caught the bush negro or maroon was severely punished, and that the utmost rigour of the law was exercised? As for flogging, every one knows how common that was at the beginning of the present century. Some of us can even look back to a time when the use of the rod and whip on delicate children was a matter of course. Even fine ladies took their little ones to see executions that now horrify us to think of; in a similar way the planter's wife stood at her window to see the punishment of her house-servant. We could tell of negroes burnt to death, where a downpour of rain put out the fires and left them to linger in torment for hours, of taking pieces of flesh from the unhappy criminals with red-hot pincers, and, most horrible of all, breaking on the wheel. These punishments often took place in the middle of a town, but only on one occasion have we seen any mention of the horror of the scene, and this referred to the smell of burning flesh. Yet the criminals--for it must be remembered that they had been legally convicted and sentenced--showed a stoical indifference to pain almost incredible. As savages they gloried in showing their ability to endure torture, only craving sometimes for a pipe of tobacco to hold between their teeth until it fell. [Illustration: THE EXECUTION OF BREAKING ON THE RACK. (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] The maroons or bush negroes began to form communities on the Main and in the larger islands from very early times. In Jamaica they were the remnant of the Spanish slaves who ran away on the arrival of the English, with accessions from deserters at later periods; in Surinam some of those who had been sent into the forest to prevent their capture by French corsairs. In both places they maintained their independence, and ultimately made treaties with the colonial authorities, greatly to their own advantage. In Essequebo and Demerara they were kept down by subsidising Arawak Indian trackers, who hunted them from savannah to forest, and from forest to swamp, killing and capturing them almost as fast as they ran away. In the smaller and more settled islands the runaways were generally recaptured at once and severely punished as a warning to others. There the more daring plotted insurrections which often caused much trouble for a few days until suppressed. They did not last long, for the negroes were wanting in the power of combination, because they all wanted to be leaders. Then there was generally some faithful slave or white man's mistress to give the warning, which sometimes caused such prompt action that the outbreak did not occur at all. Yet with all that the danger was serious, and one that could hardly be coped with by forts and batteries. As early as the year 1649 a plot for a general rising in Barbados was discovered through the information of a bond-servant. All the whites were to have been murdered, but fortunately the ringleaders were arrested before the time fixed and eight of them condemned to death. Then in 1676, under the leadership of a Coromantee, it was arranged that on a certain fixed day, at a signal to be given by blowing shells, all the cane-fields should be set on fire, the white men killed, and their women retained by the negroes as their wives. This also was frustrated by information received from a house negress. Hearing two men talking of the matter, she made inquiries, and learnt of the plot in time to inform her master. Six of the prisoners were burnt alive and eleven beheaded, while five committed suicide by hanging themselves before the trial. The story was told in a pamphlet entitled, "Great Newes from the Barbados, or a true and faithful account of the great conspiracy." Yet again in 1693, after a fearful epidemic had much reduced the number of the whites, a third conspiracy was set on foot. The Governor was to have been killed, the magazine seized, and the forts surprised and taken. When the plot was nearly ripe two of the leaders were overheard conversing about it and instantly arrested. They were hung in chains for four days without food or drink, promises of pardon being made if they revealed their accomplices, which they did at the end of that time, with the result that some were executed and others cruelly tortured. We might go on to tell also of the abortive insurrection of 1702 and several others, but as there were never any very serious risings in Barbados, we must proceed to other colonies. In Jamaica several abortive attempts at general insurrections were made, some of them assisted by the maroons, who continually received accessions to their numbers from desertion. These people also made incursions on their own account, which led the Government to offer £5 a head for every one killed, the reward being payable on the production of his ears. In 1734 they destroyed several plantations and killed a hundred and fifty white men, which led to an attempt at suppressing them altogether. Captain Stoddart therefore took a detachment of soldiers into the mountains to the maroon town of Nanny. Arriving at night he planted a battery of swivel guns on a height that commanded the collection of huts, before the negroes were aware of his coming. They were rudely awakened from their sleep to find the place surrounded, and in alarm many flung themselves over precipices in their hurry to escape. Some were killed, a few captured, and the town utterly destroyed. About the same time a party of maroons from another place were so bold as to attack the barracks at Spanish Town. Two years later, under Captain Cudjo, the maroons became so formidable that two regiments of regular troops besides the island militia were employed to reduce them. The Assembly also ordered a line of block-houses or posts to be erected as near as possible to their haunts, at which packs of dogs were to be kept as part of the garrison. Then they sent to the Main for two hundred Mosquito Indians whom they engaged as trackers. This brought matters to a crisis, and Captain Cudjo was compelled to sue for peace, which was granted. A treaty was therefore made with them in 1738 at Trelawny town, by which they were to be considered as free on condition that they captured runaway slaves, assisted in repelling invasions, and allowed two white residents to remain in their towns. Thus peace was restored for a time, and the Mosquito Indians were allowed to go back to their country. However, Jamaica was not to be free from slave insurrections apart from the maroons, for in May, 1760, at St. Mary's, the slaves of General Forrest's plantation fell suddenly upon the overseer while he was at supper with some friends, and massacred the whole company. They were immediately joined by others, and commenced a career of plundering and burning all the plantations in the neighbourhood. Business in the island was at once suspended, martial law proclaimed, and every white man called out to assist in putting down the revolt. The negroes, however, tried to avoid an open conflict, trusting to hide in the forest, where, however, a large body was discovered and defeated. The maroons had been sent for, but did not arrive until this action had taken place, when they were sent in pursuit of the flying rebels. This they pretended to do, and in a few days returned with a collection of ears which they said had been taken from those whom they had slain, and for which they were paid. The story was found out afterwards to have been a falsehood, as instead of pursuing the fugitives they had simply cut off the ears of those who had been slain before they arrived. This led the authorities to think the maroons in league with the revolted slaves and afterwards to look upon them with distrust. However, by the aid of a body of free negroes, the rebels were at last captured, to be punished in the cruel manner so characteristic of the time. Some were burnt, some hung alive on gibbets, and about six hundred transported to the Bay of Honduras. Two were hung alive on the parade at Kingston, one to linger for seven days and the other for nine, during which time it was said "they behaved with a degree of hardened insolence and brutal insensibility." In the course of the whole insurrection about sixty whites and four hundred negroes were killed, and damage done to the amount of one hundred thousand pounds. In 1736 a slave revolt took place at Antigua, or rather it was discovered and anticipated. Five negroes were broken on the wheel, six hung in chains and starved to death, one of whom lived for nine days and eight nights, fifty-eight were burnt at the stake, and about a hundred and thirty imprisoned. These horrible punishments were intended as a warning to the others, and no doubt they had such an effect on that generation. Few of the early insurrections met with any success, notwithstanding that the negroes largely outnumbered the whites in every colony. At the most the blacks had a few days' liberty to murder, burn, and pillage, after which came the terrible retribution. There was, however, one conspicuous exception: poor Berbice was actually taken over, and every white man driven from the plantations. The Dutch were noted nigger drivers, and although the English were unable to boast much of their humanity, they stigmatised the Hollander as a cruel master. If a negro was obstinate, the Englishman threatened to sell him to a Dutchman or Jew, but the worst threat of all was to give him to a free negro. Whether this bad character was deserved or not is doubtful, but it is quite certain that the criminal law of the Netherlands permitted "the question" when a prisoner would not admit his guilt. This, however, was applicable to white as well as black, there being no particular slave code in the Dutch colonies. What was the immediate cause of the great rising of 1763, in Berbice, was never exactly ascertained, but vague complaints were made of ill-treatment by certain planters. It commenced on the 27th of February, on an estate in the river Canje, and from thence spread like wildfire over the whole colony. The population consisted of, besides the free Indians, 346 whites, 244 Indian slaves, and about 4,000 negro slaves. The garrison was supposed to consist of sixty soldiers besides officers, distributed at several forts and posts, but owing to sickness only about twenty were fit for duty when the rising took place. An epidemic of fever and dysentery had prevailed for two years among both whites and slaves, weakening the former in such a manner that they had no courage to contend with the revolted negroes, but mostly ran away to Fort Nassau when they heard of the rising. Almost out of their senses from fright, they urged Governor Hoogenheim to abandon the fort and colony at once. Only one of the councillors stood by the Governor, and it was as much as these two could accomplish to prevent even the soldiers from running away. As for moving against the rebels, this was impossible, for not one of the colonists would follow Councillor Abbinsetts in his attempt to do something. Their fright even affected the officials and soldiers in such a manner that the Governor could hardly escape their importunities to be allowed to leave. Four vessels lay in the river, two merchant ships and two slavers, but even their crews were sick, and the captain of one so utterly broken down that he could not attend to his duties. The Governor tried to get them to go up the river and do something, but they were almost as frightened as the colonists. Only in one place were the negroes opposed; a few whites taking refuge in the block-house at Peereboom, some distance above the fort, where their way of escape was cut off. But for want of a little assistance they were compelled to make terms with the negroes. Under the agreement the whites were to be allowed to go down to the fort in their own boats, but as soon as they began to embark the negroes fell upon them, men, women, and children, massacred some and took others prisoners, a few only managing to get across the river. Among the fugitives was a lad named Jan Abraham Charbon, whose story gives a graphic picture of the alarm and consternation produced by the insurrection, and of its results on himself. He was the son of a planter, and the alarm was brought to the estate at night by a faithful slave. The plantations below were all in the hands of the rebels, who were burning and murdering on both sides of the river. The whites from several neighbouring estates gathered together and decided to make a stand at Peereboom, hoping for assistance from Fort Nassau. They got to the block-house early in the morning, to the number of thirty whites, with a body of faithful slaves, who had not yet deserted them, although they did so later. Soon after their arrival the insurgents surrounded the house and attacked it, the whites making a successful defence until seven o'clock in the evening. Then one of Charbon's slaves came forward and asked if they wanted peace. On receiving a favourable reply the leaders on both sides came to the agreement above-mentioned. Next morning the whites were fired upon as they went to embark, and Charbon was wounded. However, he jumped into the river and swam across, hiding himself in the jungle, where he came upon another fugitive named Mittelholzer. For eight days the two wandered about the forest, losing their way and almost dying from hunger and thirst. They dared not approach the river for fear of the negroes. Once they came upon the back of a plantation and hurriedly gathered a few cobs of Indian corn, immediately afterwards running back into the bush to eat them. While lying down a negro with a sabre passed quite close without seeing them, but presently another with a gun peeped into the bushes and caught sight of them. On this Mittelholzer ran out with his drawn sabre and so furiously attacked the rebel that he cut off one of his hands, captured his gun, and put him to flight. However, this audacity did not save him, for he was captured soon afterwards, Charbon managing to escape into the forest. Alone the boy wandered about for six or seven days, until, again becoming desperate from hunger, he returned to the same plantation, to fall into the hands of the negroes. He was stripped of his clothes, put in the stocks, flogged, and threatened with death, but was finally spared on account of his youth, and because the rebel chief, "King" Coffee, wanted a secretary to write letters to Governor Hoogenheim, proposing terms. Meanwhile the poor Governor hardly knew what to do. He sent to Surinam and Demerara for assistance, but while awaiting this the military officers informed him that the fort was untenable against even a single assault. The wooden palisades were so rotten that a strong man could pull them down easily, and then the building was of wood and could easily be fired. He was ultimately obliged to destroy it and retire down the river, where he at first took possession of the lowest plantation, Dageraad, hoping to remain there until assistance arrived. But even here the rumours of an attack by the rebels made the people clamorous to be allowed to leave, and Hoogenheim had to retire to the mouth of the river, where there was a small guard-house, or signal station, near the site of what is now New Amsterdam. Thus the last hold on the plantations was given up, and the whole colony abandoned to the negroes. A month passed before the first arrival from Surinam. All that time the Governor and a few whites waited day after day, sometimes almost in despair. The vessels had, at the request of their captains, been allowed to leave, carrying with them some of the people, while others had gone off to Demerara. This desertion was almost necessary, as the food supply was very limited and of a poor quality--cowards were useless, and therefore no objection was made to their departure. Hoogenheim was at last somewhat relieved by the arrival of the English brigantine _Betsy_ with a hundred soldiers from Surinam, and with this small contingent he at once began to retrace his steps with a view to recover the colony. He went back to Dageraad, and in a day or two after was attacked by seven hundred negroes, who fought from early morning to noon, when they retired after suffering a great loss in killed and wounded. It was after this battle that young Charbon arrived with a letter bringing "greetings from Coffee, Governor of the negroes of Berbice." The rebel chief said that as the negroes did not want war, he would give His Honour half the colony, while he himself would govern the other half and go up the river with his people, who were determined never again to be slaves. No notice was taken of this, and Charbon, who had been warned to bring back an answer at his peril, was too pleased to get back to his white friends to again wish for his post of secretary. Even now the Governor's situation was not only perilous, but most pitiful. St. Eustatius sent two vessels, but almost as soon as they arrived the men were attacked by sickness, and instead of being a help they had to be nursed, even the Governor himself taking his part in the necessary attendance. At one time there were not enough healthy soldiers to relieve guard, but fortunately Coffee had no means of knowing this, or all would certainly have been over with them. It was not until December that a fleet arrived from the Netherlands, and then a horrible vengeance overtook the rebels. There was not much difficulty in subduing them, especially when a large contingent of Indians was sent overland from Demerara to drive them from the forest. In March, 1764, the trials began with a hundred ringleaders, fifty of whom were sentenced to death. Fifteen of these were burnt, sixteen broken on the wheel, and twenty-two hanged. The following month they executed in similar ways thirty-four, and later again thirty-two. The chiefs were burnt at slow fires, punishment which they bore with the utmost stoicism. One named Atta, however, told the bystanders that he only suffered what he deserved. Finally, in December a general amnesty was proclaimed, which made the negroes cry out with joy, _Dankje! Dankje!_ Berbice was of course utterly ruined for a time. The plantations were overrun with weeds, the buildings in ruins, and many of the slaves missing. Of the whites only 116 remained; the rest were dead from sickness, had been killed by the negroes, or had fled from the colony. The loss in killed was small, as the general fright prevented any show of resistance. What would have happened if the whites had fallen into the hands of the rebels was shown in one or two flagrant cases. One of the colony surgeons was said to have been flayed alive on the ground that he had poisoned the slaves by forcing them to take medicine. One poor girl who had been captured at Peereboom was compelled to submit to the embraces of King Coffee and driven mad, while another committed suicide to prevent a similar degradation. About eight hundred slaves were missing, most of whom had been killed, as very few managed to escape to the bush. [Illustration: MARCH THROUGH A SWAMP. (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] Behind the coast of Guiana is a long stretch of swamp, which in slavery times was the general resort of runaways. For miles extends a grassy plain like a meadow, the sedges entirely covering the two to four feet of water which would otherwise give it the appearance of a great lake. Except through the various streams that drain it, access is almost impossible during the rainy season, and even the Indians care little to explore its recesses beyond fishing in the canal-like creeks. However, here and there are little islands or sand reefs, and on these the runaway slaves took refuge. First, perhaps, a murderer would escape and hide himself for a time until the hue and cry had abated, returning now and again to the plantation at night for the purpose of getting provisions from his friends. Then others would follow, until a party of twenty to a hundred, with their wives, had established a little village. Towards the end of the last century a number of these communities of bush negroes had been formed in Demerara, and their depredations became so common that regular expeditions were sent against them, guided by Indian trackers. In 1795 they joined with the slaves to raise a general insurrection, but special measures were taken so that they were almost suppressed for a time. Before this they had formed a line of stations for seventy miles from the river Demerara to the Berbice. Every camp was naturally surrounded by water, and by driving pointed stakes in a circle, and leaving the entrance to wind through a double line under water, they were made almost impregnable. To reach them the attacking party had to wade up to their middles through perhaps a mile of ooze and water, to be cut with razor grass, and all the time at the mercy of the negroes. Only during the dry season was anything like success possible, and even then the negroes generally saved themselves by flight. Many of the slaves were friendly with the runaways, but they were much feared by the more timid. On one occasion a negro went to cut wood at the back of a plantation in Demerara and came suddenly upon the outpost of a camp, probably the entrance to the concealed path which led to the little sand reef. In walking along he stepped upon a bush-rope, and immediately after heard a bell ring above his head. Before he could get away a ferocious bush negro stood before him and demanded his business, but the poor slave was so frightened that he ran home and reported the occurrence to his master. Some of the slaves went so far as to enjoy hunting runaways--in fact, there was little love lost between the two parties. One of these was offered his freedom as a reward for the assistance he had given in an expedition, the Government engaging to purchase him of his owner provided they both consented. Tony, however, did not wish to leave a good master, and refused, stipulating, however, that he should retain the right to accept the kind offer at some future period. When his master ultimately left Demerara, some years afterwards, Tony claimed his promised freedom and got it. While the bush negroes in other parts of Guiana were kept within reasonable bounds, those of Surinam, like the maroons of Jamaica, had never been conquered. Treaties were agreed to by them in 1749 and 1761, but disputes continually occurred, with the result that the colonists were always more or less in fear of their raids. Then they carried off most of the slaves whenever they attacked a plantation, until their number became so great as to be a real danger. In 1773 the authorities in the Netherlands resolved to make a special effort to conquer them, and for this purpose raised a corps of all nationalities which was put under the command of Colonel Fourgeaud. That soldiers should be brought from Europe for such a service shows the utter ignorance of the Dutch authorities. If the colonists themselves could not put down the bush negroes, how could it be expected that this would be effected by fresh troops from a cold climate, who had no knowledge of the country, the mode of fighting, or the difficulties of travelling through the bush and swamp? Commissioners had visited them at different times to arrange the treaties, but there was generally something wrong with the presents (virtually blackmail), or else they were given to the wrong parties. In 1761 the chief Araby had insisted on the commissioners binding themselves by his form of oath. This was done by each party tasting the blood of the other. With a sharp knife a few drops were drawn from the arm of each person into a calabash of water with a few particles of dry earth. After pouring a small quantity of this mixture on the ground as a libation, the calabash was handed round from one to another until all the company had taken a sip. Then the gadoman (priest) took heaven and earth--exemplified by the water and clay--to witness the agreement, and invoked the curse of God upon the first who broke it, the company and crowd of negroes around calling out _Da so!_ (that is so, or amen). Yet, after all this solemnity, quarrels soon arose again. One chief with his sixteen hundred people had come to terms, but these did not bind his neighbour, who perhaps had half as many. The different chiefs were not united in any way, and it followed, therefore, that, after thousands of guilders had been spent on one, the others made incursions to get a share of the good things for themselves. To the colonists they were all bush negroes, but among themselves they were as distinct as if they had been different nations. Even when at peace, and when the chiefs had received gold-headed canes as symbols of authority, they would often call at the outlying plantations and demand rum or anything else they fancied, which the whites dared not refuse. The immediate occasion for the special corps from the mother country was an insurrection of the slaves in 1772, who, after plundering and burning some of the plantations, and murdering their owners, fled in great numbers to join the bush negroes. The whole colony was a scene of horror and consternation--the colonists expected the rising to become general, and took refuge in Paramaribo, thus leaving their plantations unprotected. However, it was soon checked, mainly by raising a body of three hundred free negroes, called rangers, who were expert bushfighters, and therefore thoroughly well fitted to cope with the rebels. One of the chiefs named Baron had settled on an island in the swamp, such as we have described, where he defied the whole colony. There were no means of communication except hidden tracks under water, and in addition to the palisades the chief had erected a battery of swivel guns which he had stolen from the plantations. Thus triply defended by water, stakes, and guns, it is no wonder if he thought his position impregnable. However, he was discovered by a party of rangers, and assaulted by them and a large body of white soldiers. Camping first on the edge of the swamp about a mile away, they could see Baron's flag waving in defiance on the little island, while they were at their wits' ends to find a means of getting at him. A great many shots were wasted by both sides before they found the distance was too great, even for the swivel guns, and then the rangers began to act. Several weeks were passed in attempting to make a causeway by sinking fascines, but when the workers had come within range, so many were killed that it had to be abandoned. In despair of ever effecting anything, they were about to retire, when some of the rangers discovered the hidden pathway under water. A feint was now made of attacking one side by one party, while another crept along the track, and thus at last the fortress was stormed. A terrible hand-to-hand fight took place, in which many were killed on both sides, but even then Baron managed to escape with a good number of his followers. This defeat made little impression, for soon afterwards the slaves on three plantations killed their white masters, and, like the others, went off to join the bush negroes. It was now felt that something must be done or the colony would have to be abandoned. The bush negroes had to be hunted from their recesses, however difficult the task might be, otherwise there would be no safety even in the town itself. The expeditions could only move in Indian file, exposed to ambushes in the most difficult parts of the track, and firing from behind trees everywhere. There was no possibility of bringing the party together if attacked; it followed, therefore, that the long string of men went forward with the utmost caution. In front came two powerful blacks with machetes or cutlasses to clear the way, and immediately behind them the vanguard. These were followed by the main body alternating with ammunition bearers, and, finally, a long line of carriers with food, medicines, utensils, and kill-devil (rum) with the rearguard. Sometimes the party would flounder through a swamp for hours, holding their firearms above their heads to keep them dry. Then drenching showers would fall, and give the greatest trouble to prevent the powder from becoming useless. Creeks had to be passed on fallen trees, or the party would be detained until a trunk was felled and trimmed to afford a passage. Exposed to malaria, mosquitoes, bush ticks, and maribuntas, they went on day after day, only to find, on reaching the village of the bush negroes, that they had gone elsewhere, to perhaps turn up at some unprotected plantation. The European troops died off in great numbers, while the enemy were in their element. It followed, therefore, that little was done, and that the old system of conciliation had to be adopted, with the same unsatisfactory results. Finally, by utilising their mutual jealousies, about 1793 they were driven so far away from the settlements as to become almost harmless. Their descendants still exist almost as savages, with curious manners and customs, partly inherited from their African forefathers, and partly adopted from their neighbours the Indians. [Illustration: TRELAWNY TOWN. (_From Edwards' "West Indies."_)] We must now return to the maroons of Jamaica, who had not been conquered, although a nominal treaty existed, and the white residents remained at their posts. In July, 1795, two of them were flogged for pig-stealing, and this was considered a disgrace on the whole community. On the return of the pig-stealers to Trelawny they raised a great outcry, and the resident was at once ordered to leave on pain of death. Efforts were made to pacify them, but they sent a written defiance to the magistrates who had ordered the flogging and declared their intention to attack Montego Bay. The militia were called out and soldiers applied for, but before the preparations were completed, a body of maroons appeared and asked for an interview with four gentlemen whom they named. Hoping the matter might be prevented from going farther, these and several other whites went to the rendezvous, where they were received by three hundred armed men. The maroons complained of the disgrace on the whole body, through the flogging having been performed by a negro overseer in the presence of felons, and demanded reparation. They wanted, first, an addition to their lands, and, second, a dismissal of the then resident in favour of one they had formerly. Promising to forward their requests to the Governor, the gentlemen left, the maroons appearing as if pacified. However, this interview was only applied for to gain time, and especially to allow the departure of the British fleet which was then on the point of leaving, and might be detained if they moved too quickly. On the report that there was a probability of a settlement of the matter the fleet left, when the maroons immediately began to plot with the slaves for a general rising. Reports of this had been received by the Governor before, but just after the men-of-war had departed more definite news arrived, which induced him to send a fast-sailing boat to bring them back. Fortunately this was successfully accomplished, and at once confidence drove out the fear of murders, fires, and plundering which had alarmed the inhabitants. The slaves were correspondingly disheartened and left the maroons to fight alone. But even the maroons themselves became divided in opinion on the return of the military and naval force. The Governor taking advantage of this, issued a proclamation calling upon them to submit, but only thirty-eight old men came forward, the others being determined to fight. They set fire to their own town and commenced hostilities by attacking the outposts. This led to a pursuit in which the whites fell into an ambuscade, many being killed, without as far as was known doing any harm whatever to the enemy. Now commenced a series of raids on the plantations, in which even infants at the breast were massacred. [Illustration: PACIFICATION OF THE MAROONS. (_From Edwards' "West Indies."_)] The matter becoming serious, the General Assembly resolved to hunt the rebels with dogs, as had been intended before the treaty. They accordingly sent over to Cuba for huntsmen with their powerful blood-hounds, the descendants of those which had once worried the poor Indians, and afterwards assisted the buccaneers. Times had changed however, and a feeling grew up that hunting men with savage beasts was not quite the thing. This led to some expressions of opinion adverse to the action of the executive, but they excused themselves on the ground that the safety of the island demanded extreme measures. If war was justifiable at all, any and every means, they said, was allowable; in fact, "all was fair in war." Meanwhile the maroons had been driven to their strongholds in the mountains, where they had little to eat, and were virtually compelled to ravage the plantations for food. On the arrival of forty _chasseurs_ with their hundred dogs, however, they became alarmed, and began to sue for mercy. It does not appear that there was any real necessity for using the animals, their presence being enough for the purpose. They were led _behind_ the troops, and on their appearance the maroons surrendered in great numbers, this putting an end to the insurrection. Now came the question of what was to be done with them. It was argued that no country could suffer people to live in it unless they could be controlled by law, and that obedience could not be expected from these people. To expect it was entirely out of the question; it was therefore resolved to transport them from the island. Accordingly, in June, 1796, six hundred were sent to Halifax, Nova Scotia, where lands were granted them and a subsistence allowed until crops could be raised. Not liking the climate, they were ultimately established in Sierra Leone, where they became the nucleus of the present colony. Those who had submitted remained in Jamaica, where their descendants are still well known. [Illustration] [Illustration] XI. THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE SEAS. By the middle of the eighteenth century Spain had fallen behind, and even Holland had lost her prestige. It followed, therefore, that the only Power that could rival Great Britain was France, and she was an enemy that could never be despised. The struggle in the West Indies between these two Powers now became, if possible, more intense; and if the result gave the sovereignty of the seas to Britons, they have mainly to ascribe it to their naval training in this part of the world. The mistakes of Admiral Vernon were lessons which, being borne in mind by later admirals, tended to prevent similar disasters in the future. There was a short intermission in the struggle between 1748 and 1756, when the "Seven Years' War" commenced; but before the actual declaration hostilities had commenced between the two rivals in India and North America. Now arose one of England's great admirals, Rodney, who gained his laurels in the Caribbean Sea, and was mainly instrumental in putting France in the background as a naval power. He first came to the front in 1759, when he bombarded Havre, and later, with that other great seaman, Sir Samuel Hood, he became a "household word" in the West Indies. Before they appeared, however, the British captured Guadeloupe, and commenced a general raid upon the French shipping. But, as usual, our gallant foes were by no means despicable, for in 1760 they claimed to have taken 2,539 English vessels, against a loss of only 944. On the 5th of January, 1762, Rodney sailed from Barbados for Martinique, in command of eighteen ships of the line, and on the 4th of the following month the island capitulated. Then Grenada was taken, to be followed by Dominica, Tobago, St. Vincent, and St. Lucia, thus giving the whole of the French Caribbees into the possession of Great Britain. Spain being also involved, Admiral Pococke attacked Havana in May, and, after a siege of twenty-nine days, took the Morro Castle, a fort hitherto considered impregnable. A fortnight later the Governor of Cuba was compelled to capitulate, thus giving the town also into the hands of the British. These exploits made France and Spain sue for peace, which was signed at Paris in February, 1763, when Grenada, St. Vincent, Dominica, and Tobago were ceded to Great Britain, the other captures being restored. After this war positive orders were sent to the British West Indies to break off all trade and intercourse with the French and Spanish settlements, with the result that contraband and other traffic was thrown into the hands of the Dutch and Danes. Then the Dutch islands of Curaçao and St. Eustatius began to flourish more and more, and those of the Danes, St. Thomas and St. John, became free ports. During the wars these islands rose to a pitch of prosperity hardly possible to any of those belonging to the combatants, on account of their neutrality. Naturally they were almost barren and of little account as plantations; but as _entrepôts_ they were exceedingly useful, not only to their owners, but to the belligerents as well. Here alone could French, Spanish, and British ships meet without fighting, and for them they could run when pursued by the enemy. The island of St. Thomas was first colonised in 1666, but for a long time it made little progress. It became useful to the pirates, however, mainly from its being a safe place at which to dispose of their captures. Then merchant vessels found it sometimes convenient to go in to escape these rovers, perhaps to be followed by them, and yet remain safe until an opportunity occurred for escaping their vigilance. Prizes were brought here and sold, the prospect of good bargains leading to the settlement of a number of rich merchants, and especially Jews. What with all this, and a little contraband traffic, the people of St. Thomas did very well, and soon the harbour became one of the busiest in the West Indies. And here we must mention that the Jews were a very important factor in the development of the early settlements. It will be remembered that large numbers of these people were driven from Spain after the conquest of Granada, and how they went to Portugal and the Netherlands. A large number also went to Brazil, where at first they had a measure of freedom in the exercise of their religion not granted in the mother country. When the Dutch captured Brazil, perfect freedom followed; but after Portugal took her own again, this was withdrawn, and in consequence many left for Surinam and the West Indian islands. Here they were joined by some of their co-religionists from Holland, and in time became a powerful body of planters, but more especially traders. To them were due many improvements in the manufacture of sugar, and even the introduction of the cane into some places. In every colony there was a small community, often with a synagogue, and their connection one with another, as well as their virtual neutrality, made their transactions more safe than those of other traders. As may be supposed, they had no love for the Spaniard, and consequently were the main financiers, not only of privateers, but even pirates. St. Thomas, Curaçao, and St. Eustatius lived by the misfortunes of others. No longer could the jolly buccaneer sell his prizes and booty at Jamaica; he must go elsewhere, and let other places reap the advantage of his free and easy bargains. For it was "easy come, easy go" with him, and the fortune he made was soon wasted in riotous living. This was all to the advantage of the wily Jew, who first haggled about the price of a cargo, and then got his money back by charging enormous profits on the supplies. The rover was as careless as the proverbial "Jack ashore," and could easily be induced to spend his last piece of eight on the luxuries so temptingly laid before him, utterly regardless of the consequences. He had only to go out and capture another vessel to be able to return and renew his jollification. In war time these harbours were crowded with the shipping of all nations, and many a fortune was made that enabled the merchant to go to Europe as a West Indian nabob. Then there was a great demand for neutral vessels, in which goods could be transhipped for conveyance to colonies where the belligerent flag might bring a crowd of privateers before the vessel got safely into harbour. Even physicians and surgeons made their piles, for there was always more or less sickness on board the vessels, and a hundred dollars a visit was a common fee. In 1774 began the dispute with the American colonies of Great Britain, and four years later France joined them, thus bringing trouble again upon the West Indies. The first important move was made by the French, who, in September, 1778, took Dominica, on which the English retaliated by capturing St. Lucia. Then a fleet was sent out from England under Admiral Byron, and another from France under Count de Grasse. The French took St. Vincent and Grenada, and every island of either nation was in a state of alarm and consternation. In July, 1779, Spain joined the others against England, on the ground that her flag had been insulted. To this it was replied that she harboured American privateers, and furnished them with false documents, under which they carried Spanish colours. Thus England had her hands full, for the Yankees alone gave her quite enough work, without the addition of these old rivals. As yet Rodney had not come out, but in the years 1778 and 1779 he pressed his claim on the Government to have a command in the West Indies. The seas were well known to him, and he had his views as to the proper mode of carrying out operations; but for some time his application was refused. Finally, however, in October, 1779, he was appointed to replace Admiral Byron, with supreme control over the operations in the Caribbean Sea, as well as freedom to intervene if necessary on the American coast. Rodney was at last satisfied, and he left in December with a convoy, the whole fleet numbering three hundred. In the centre were transports and merchant vessels, and on either side men-of-war. Off Cape Finisterre he captured a convoy of sixteen Spanish vessels, and beyond Cape St. Vincent fought with another squadron, and captured four men-of-war, including the admiral. On then to the relief of Gibraltar, from whence he sent part of the fleet into the Mediterranean, and where he remained until February 13, 1780, when he sailed for the West Indies. Arriving off St. Lucia on the 28th of March, he came upon the French fleet under De Guichen, which he attempted to engage, but was prevented from the want of skill in his captains. The result was that both fleets sailed away from each other without much damage to either, both stating that the other refused to fight. As, however, the French had thirty vessels to the English seventeen, they could have compelled an action; so that, although the affair was not creditable to either, it was perhaps a little more disgraceful to the larger fleet. Rodney was in a great rage. He attributed his failure to the incompetency of his subordinates, who had not been properly trained to make combined naval evolutions. Every captain, he said, thought himself fit to be Prime Minister of Britain. However, he continued his cruise, barring the way of the French, and driving De Guichen to St. Eustatius to refit. Now he began to teach his captains those naval manoeuvres in which he considered them so much wanting, which his assistant admiral, Sir Hyde Parker, did not altogether like. Rodney, it appears, treated all his subordinates as if they were raw recruits, and, while he gained obedience, created a great deal of ill-feeling. But, with all their training, they could not bring De Guichen to fight, even when they encountered him a second time; yet we may presume that the training was by no means wasted. As if Great Britain had not enough enemies, in December, 1780, she declared war with the Dutch, on the ground that they assisted the American colonies. What a formidable array--the Colonies, France, Spain, and Holland! Yet, somehow or other, she managed to cope with the whole. St. Eustatius was the great offender among the Dutch colonies. Notwithstanding that the home Government had sent out strict orders to all her settlements not to honour the flag of the revolted British colonies, or to supply them with contraband of war, there is no doubt that they were very loose in inquiring into such transactions. As we have said already, this and other islands were very useful to the belligerents; and, as we have just stated, De Guichen went to St. Eustatius to escape Rodney and refit. This was no doubt a sore point with the British admiral, who barred the enemy's passage to his own islands only to see him get what he needed from the Dutch. When the news of the declaration of war came out, Rodney was ready at once to pounce upon the offender; and on the 3rd of February, 1781, before the authorities of St. Eustatius had heard the news, he appeared in the harbour. The Governor could hardly believe his ears when an officer appeared to demand the surrender of the island to His Majesty of Great Britain, but being entirely unprepared, and quite unfitted to cope with such a force, he was obliged to surrender at discretion. Here was the opportunity for revenge, and Rodney embraced it. Even his best friends could hardly excuse the arbitrary doings which followed, and which were stigmatised as unworthy and almost dishonourable to a British admiral. Being determined to root out this nest of contrabandists, he confiscated all the property of the inhabitants, and ordered them to quit the island. The harbour was filled with shipping, and the stores with goods, the vessels numbering two hundred and fifty, and the contents of the stores worth about three million pounds. Here was indeed a disaster to the Jews, not only of St. Eustatius, but even of British islands, for they were all in correspondence. Rodney went so far as to say that many of the English merchants ought to have been hanged, for it was through their means, and the help of this neutral port, that the enemy were able to carry on the war. The people were astonished at such unheard-of treatment. Never before had such a thing happened, except in the raids of buccaneers and pirates. The Jews petitioned Rodney and General Vaughan to rescind their decision. They had received orders to give up the keys of their stores and inventories of the goods in them, as well as household furniture and plate; then they were to prepare themselves to quit the island. Such orders from British commanders, whose principal characteristics were mercy and humanity, had distressed them in the extreme, so that their families were absolutely in despair. This appeal had no effect, even when it was supported by some of the British officers, and such an auction now began as was never known before. The news reached Barbados and the other islands, and down came a horde of speculators, prepared to make their fortunes at once if possible. Such a haul did not occur every day, and they intended to take advantage of it. Thousands of bales of goods were brought out and sold, without either seller or buyer knowing anything of their contents. They might contain rich silks and velvets or the cheapest slave clothing. It was a grand lottery in which every bidder got a prize, although they were in some cases of little value. No one needed to despair of a bargain, however, for there was so much to sell as compared with the number of purchasers, that everything went cheap. Some few got bitten, but in the end hardly a tithe of the value of the goods was obtained. While this was going on at St. Eustatius, some Bristol privateers got information of the outbreak of hostilities, and pounced upon Demerara and Berbice, where they levied blackmail and captured most of the shipping. As usual with these plunderers, they had no authority to capture the colony, nor had they in this case even commissions against the Dutch. However, they put the inhabitants in a state of consternation, until, a few days later, two men-of-war arrived from Barbados to receive the capitulation, which was demanded on the same terms as that of St Eustatius, although neither party knew what these terms were. Nothing was left but submission, although the authorities protested against such an unheard-of manner of dictating unknown terms. The Governor of Barbados had heard from one of the inhabitants of that island that the Directeur-General of Demerara had expressed, at his dinner-table, his fears that in case of a war the river would be plundered by privateers, and of his preferring to surrender to one of the king's ships: for this reason he had sent the men-of-war. This was considered a bit of "sharp practice" by the Demerarians, but perhaps turned out for the best. Two commissioners were appointed by the colony to go in one of the English vessels to St. Eustatius and arrange the articles of capitulation, which were fortunately on altogether different lines from those of that island. Surinam, St. Martin's, Saba, and St. Bartholomew's also surrendered on the same unknown terms, but the admiral said that he and General Vaughan thought they ought to be put on a different footing. They would not treat them like the other, whose inhabitants, belonging to a State bound by treaty to assist Great Britain, had yet nevertheless assisted her public enemies and the rebels to her State, with every necessary and implement of war as well as provisions, thus perfidiously breaking the very treaties they had sworn to maintain. The treatment of St. Eustatius caused a great stir, not only in the West Indies, but in England as well. A remonstrance was sent to Rodney by the merchants of St. Kitt's, who claimed that a large quantity of their goods had been seized. Some of these were insured in England, and they considered their Excellencies responsible for their losses, for which they would seek redress by all the means in their power. It was impossible, they said, for many of them to be more utterly ruined than they then were, and they asked that certificates in reference to their property should be sent to England, in demanding which they were claiming a right rather than a favour. In reply, Rodney said he was surprised that gentlemen who called themselves subjects and merchants of Great Britain, should, when it was in their power to lodge their effects in the British islands to windward, under the protection of British laws, send them to leeward to St. Eustatius, where, in the eyes of reason and common sense, they could only be lodged to supply their king's and country's enemies. The island, he continued, was Dutch--everything in it was Dutch--all was under the Dutch flag. As Dutch it should be treated, and this was his firm resolution as a British admiral, who had no view whatever but to do his duty to his king and country. Two merchants from St. Eustatius went to London, where they were examined by the Attorney and Solicitor-Generals. They clamoured for justice, and got it, for one of them was committed on a charge of high treason for corresponding with the American agent at Amsterdam, and for furnishing the Americans with military stores and ammunition. Several attempts were made to injure Rodney with the king, but the blow on the enemy was so severe that His Majesty would not listen to the detractors. It is said that a cry of rage went up from the French and American colonies, and that Rodney gloried in his triumph. He was undoubtedly inclined to ride rough-shod over everybody and everything, but as long as he was successful, only the enemy complained. But the trouble was not yet over, for the merchants of St. Kitt's sent lawyers to file their claims in the Admiralty Courts. Then St. Eustatius was recaptured for Holland by the French, and the tide turned against the admiral. Now was the time to attack him, and his enemies took advantage of it. The mob that threw up their caps and shouted for joy at the glorious news of the capture, now lifted their hands in horror at Rodney's misdeeds. Even his friend Hood was guilty of the meanness of charging his comrade with carrying off vast sums of money, and never accounting for them. Rodney was recalled to England, where he arrived on the 19th of September, 1781, in ill-health, and rather downspirited. In December Burke moved the House of Commons for a committee to inquire into the affair, but although he pressed the motion with all his powers of oratory it was rejected. Meanwhile the French were turning the tables upon the late victors and having their revenge for the disasters which had fallen upon them. This led to Rodney being again consulted, with the result that on the 19th of February, 1782, he arrived in Barbados with twelve ships of the line. This was the most critical period during the whole war. On the 19th of October previous, Lord Cornwallis had surrendered to the Americans at Yorktown, and this disaster was followed not only by the loss of the West Indian captures, but of the British colonies of St. Kitt's, Nevis, Montserrat, Dominica, and St. Vincent. It was by the special request of the king that Rodney had been again sent out, and before his departure he declared that either the French admiral or himself should be captured. Lord Sandwich, to impress him the more, on the eve of his departure said: "The fate of this Empire is in your hands, and I have no wish that it should be in those of any other." Meanwhile the Count de Grasse was at Martinique, preparing a large fleet for the final reduction of the British by conquering Jamaica. He was expecting large reinforcements of French vessels and troops, which Rodney tried unsuccessfully to cut off. On the 8th of April the French were reported as having sailed for Hispaniola, where they were to be joined by a Spanish contingent, and Rodney at once sailed in pursuit. The result was that, at last, on the 12th, a decisive victory was gained off Dominica. Admiral de Grasse was captured, many of his fleet destroyed, and the whole expedition broken up. The British West Indies were thus saved, and the people of Jamaica erected a statue to the gallant admiral. Rodney, in concluding his despatch giving the account, said it was his most ardent wish that the British flag should for ever float in every part of the globe, and there is no doubt that this triumph conduced to such an end. It stands prominently forth as the greatest sea fight of the age, and was only eclipsed by those of Nelson, who we may state received much of his naval training in the West Indies. In January, 1783, peace was again restored. Great Britain lost her American colonies, restored those she had taken from France and Holland, and got back her own, except the island of Tobago, which was ceded to France. From Spain she got the right to cut logwood between the rivers Hondo and Belize, on the understanding that all other places on the coasts of Central America should be abandoned, and that no forts be erected on the concession. For ten years there was peace, and during that time the planting colonies were developed to a wonderful extent, while those dependent on the contraband traffic became much depressed. The English settlements increased in value so much, that in 1788 they were calculated to have under cultivation two million and a half acres, with five hundred and sixty thousand slaves. These were the palmy days of the slave-trade, when the importations leapt up year after year, with a corresponding increase in the export of produce. The property was valued at over eighty-six millions sterling, Jamaica coming first, but nearly every other island flourishing to an extent hardly credible to those who have only seen them after their downfall. What Jamaica was to the English, the western portion of Hispaniola became to the French, and even Spain increased her productions, now that things had become settled, and treasure seeking less remunerative. Altogether, the period from this time, to the end of the century, may be considered as the planter's best days, and the "good old times" of which we hear so much but find it so difficult to precisely indicate. On the 1st of February, 1793, peace was again broken by the French Convention, the declaration of war being made against England and Holland. Thus began that struggle which seemed interminable at the time, and which actually lasted twenty-two years. As usual the West Indies suffered, but this time they were not quite so much the scene of contention as they had been formerly. Tobago was captured from the French on the 15th of April, but during the remainder of the year little was done. In January, 1794, however, Admiral Sir John Jervis arrived at Barbados, and in the following month took Martinique after a severe struggle. Then he went on to St. Lucia, which also surrendered, and before the end of April Guadeloupe fell. Then came reverses; a French fleet arrived, and all were recaptured. Meanwhile France had invaded Holland, and established a sister republic on her own lines, rendering it necessary for the Stadtholder, the Prince of Orange, to fly off to England. From Kew, where the king had given him a residence, he wrote letters to all the Dutch colonies, asking the authorities to place them in the hands of the British, and treat people of that nationality as friends and allies. With these despatches British fleets were sent to all the possessions of Holland, but only one or two obeyed the command, the result being that the others had to be taken by force, until hardly a Dutch colony existed in any part of the world. In October, 1796, Spain joined France on the ground that the British, in their operations against the enemy, had injured her in several ways. One of the reasons given was so absurd that we can hardly conceive it to have been put forth seriously. Great Britain had captured Demerara, and this put her in a situation to possess positions of greater importance. Spain, however, got nothing by her taking up the quarrel, for her trade was absolutely swept from the seas, and communication with America almost cut off. This state of things became so troublesome that for the first time in her history neutral vessels were permitted to trade in her American colonies. She also lost the island of Trinidad, which had remained in her possession since the days of Ralegh. Soon the whole of the West Indies and Spanish Main were virtually under the control of Great Britain, little opportunity being given to her enemies of crossing the Atlantic. No longer could the Caribbean Sea be the scene of the great struggle--the forces of the combatants were wanted nearer home. Now again came the harvest of the little island of St. Thomas, until Denmark was also numbered among the enemies of the "Queen of the Seas." Then the United States came to get her pickings as a neutral, which gave such an impetus to her ship-building and commerce, that later the seamen trained under such auspices became formidable rivals to the British. The colonists did not altogether dislike this great war. True, freights and insurances were very high, but then the prices of produce were high also. There was a spice of danger in every voyage, but after all the risk was not so very great until the vessels came into the Channel. Then there was a convoy to protect them, and they might even get prize money by capturing traders of the enemy. Every vessel went armed, and many a privateer of the enemy got severely beaten by a gallant body of merchant seamen and passengers. This was a glorious time for the British navy, but the fleets in the West Indies had little to do after the beginning of the war. There was a great disturbance on the island of Hispaniola, a riot in Grenada, troubles in the French islands, and a few skirmishes here and there, but nothing of much consequence to the British. There were many small difficulties of course, and the navigation laws had to be relaxed generally in favour of neutrals, as otherwise provisions would have been scarce. The Dutch were not altogether displeased with British rule, for Curaçao, which had not been conquered, was captured from its French garrison in 1800, at the request of the inhabitants, whose trade had been entirely stopped. Then the Spanish colonies came to an arrangement by which much of their produce went through British hands, and this prevented the neutrals from getting everything. In 1802 the peace of Amiens gave France a rest for about ten months, when she got back her own and the Dutch colonies, leaving Trinidad as an addition to those of Great Britain. Hardly, however, had they taken possession, when the treaty was broken, and the British were again in their midst. A great deal of the work which had been undone by the peace had now to be undertaken afresh, but it was ultimately accomplished, so that things went on much the same as before. The year 1805 was notable for Nelson's trip across the Atlantic in search of the French fleet, which however fled before him and got back to Europe. The same year also saw the heroic defence of "H.M.S." Diamond Rock, which however was not a ship, but an improvised fortress, which after a long struggle was obliged to capitulate. Hundreds of gallant exploits were performed in the West Indies by both English and French, and thus the war went on year after year, until it became something to be calculated for in commercial transactions. People began to look upon it almost as a natural state of things, and fathers told their children that they had peace on one occasion long ago for as many as ten years. The British had undoubtedly become very arrogant. Their position on the sea was so supreme that they did much as they pleased with the few neutrals. This sort of thing did not suit the North American traders, who were Englishmen also, and like their forefathers resented any interference whatever. It resulted, therefore, that the United States declared war in January, 1813, and made the planters understand what took place "when Greek met Greek." Almost immediately every colony was pestered and worried by a number of fast-sailing schooners, as dangerous in a sense as had once been the fly-boats of the buccaneers. The heavy sugar boats going from plantation to port were captured in great numbers, and some of the harbours actually blockaded by the "Saucy Jack," the "Hornet," and other audacious Yankee craft with names as suggestive of their characters. Then, indeed, the West Indies were roused from their apathy--war was actually at their doors. However, peace came at last, and after 1815 it might be expected that the islands would go on prospering and to prosper. Such, however, was not the case. In 1807 a great difficulty had come upon them by the abolition of the slave-trade, which at once put a stop to all extensions, either in the way of new plantations or of the acreage under cultivation. This was the first great check, and with the fall in prices, which ensued when Britain became the consignee of almost every settlement, caused a cry of "Ruin!" to arise, which has continued with short intermissions down to the present day. [Illustration] XII. DOWNFALL OF HISPANIOLA. Before the abolition of the slave-trade had affected the British islands the French colonies were distracted by the results of their great revolution. Hispaniola, or rather that portion now known as Hayti, had become, as we before said, the most important colony; we must now give the story of its downfall. If this had happened by the fortune of war it would perhaps not have been so deplorable, but to be utterly ruined as it was, until even now, after the lapse of a century, it is behind its neighbours, is very sad. But, in the struggle for existence the straining after liberty has to be reckoned with, and although the process causes intense suffering to both lord and serf--master and slave--the fight is sure to come at some time or other. Miss Martineau uses the title, "The hour and the man," for her romance of the liberation of this once flourishing island. The hour had come, but we are afraid _the man_ has not yet appeared on Hispaniola. When the French people took the government from the hands of their king and summoned the States General, revolutionary ideas had already come to a head, and the matter of slavery received much consideration. In all the colonies were numbers of free coloured persons, who had been manumitted by their fathers, and in many cases sent to Europe for their education. In Paris they were brought into communication with a kind of anti-slavery society, called _L'Amis des noirs_, before which they had opportunities of ventilating their grievances. These consisted of civil disabilities which kept mulattoes in the background, and prevented their taking what they believed to be their proper positions in society. The time was fitted for such an agitation, the people were there, and it was only to be expected that their complaints would come in the long catalogue of charges against the aristocrats, among whom were included the West Indian planters. However, although there was little sympathy with the colonists, nothing particular was done as yet, except the issue of the celebrated declaration that all men were born, and continued to be, free and equal as to their political rights. It might be said, perhaps, that this alone gave freedom to the slave and civil equality to the mulatto, but as it did not specially apply to them, little trouble ensued. The planters, however, were sufficiently acute to see the logical outcome of the declaration, and were correspondingly troubled, as they felt that if published among the negroes it might convert them into implacable enemies, and bring on dangerous insurrections. They were soon pacified, however, by orders to convene provincial assemblies, and send representatives to Paris: this they thought would prevent mischief, as their interests could be made known and promoted in France. [Illustration: VIEW OF PART OF HISPANIOLA. (_From Andrews' "West Indies."_)] The free coloured people soon heard the news, and at once began to claim their rights as citizens, which the planters were by no means prepared to grant. On this refusal they began to arm themselves, and make demonstrations in various parts of Hayti, but at first were easily put down by the authorities. As yet there was little ill-feeling; the demonstrations were only alarming from their significance and their possible consequences. It followed, therefore, that little was done beyond a demand for submission, the mulattoes being allowed to disperse on promising to keep the peace. A few whites, however, who had been leaders in the agitation, were severely punished, and when a certain Mons. Dubois not only advocated the claims of the coloured people, but the slaves as well, he was banished from the colony. Mons. de Beaudierre, a _ci-devant_ magistrate, also helped to add to the trouble. He was enamoured of a coloured woman, who owned a valuable plantation, and wanted to marry her, but at the same time wished to see her free from all civil disabilities. Accordingly he drew up a memorial to the committee of his section, claiming for the mulattoes the full benefit of the national declaration of rights. This roused the authorities, who at once arrested him, but so strong was the feeling of the whites that they took the prisoner from gaol and put him to death. The agitation in Hayti as well as in Martinique led to petitions and remonstrances to the National Assembly, and on the 8th of March, 1790, the majority voted that it was never intended to comprehend the internal government of the colonies in the constitution of the mother country, or to subject them to laws incompatible with their local conditions. They therefore authorised the inhabitants of each colony to signify their wishes, and promised that, as long as the plans suggested were conformable to the mutual interests of the colonies and the metropolis, they would not cause any innovations. This of course raised a clamour among the friends of the blacks and mulattoes, who considered it as sanctioning the slave-trade, which they wanted to put down. In Hayti the General Assembly met and made some radical changes, which were opposed by many of the old colonists, and this brought discord among the whites. The Governor dissolved the Assembly, but this only brought more trouble, for the subordinate Western body took the part of the General Assembly, and went so far that the Governor tried to suppress it by force. But the members put themselves under the protection of the national guard who resisted the troops sent against them, and after a short skirmish drove them off. Thus all authority was put at defiance by the whites, when if they wanted to keep down the coloured and black people, it was of the greatest consequence that union should exist. The General Convention called the colony to arms, but, before actually commencing hostilities, they resolved to proceed to France, and lay the whole matter before the Convention. Accordingly to the number of eighty-five they sailed on the 8th of August, 1790, the authorities also agreeing to await the result. Among the coloured residents in France was a young man named James Ogé, the son of a mulatto woman by a white man, whose mother owned a coffee plantation. He was a regular attendant at the meetings of the friends of the blacks, where, under such men as Lafayette and Robespierre, he had been initiated into the doctrine of the equal rights of men. On hearing of the vote of non-interference with the colonies, Ogé, maddened by the thought that the civil disabilities of people of his colour would be continued, resolved to go himself to Hayti. He was confident that the people there would join him, and going out by way of the United States he obtained there a good supply of arms, with which he arrived in October of the same year. Six weeks after his arrival he wrote to the Governor, demanding that all the privileges of the whites should be extended to every other person, without distinction. As representing the coloured people he made this request, and if their wrongs were not at once redressed, he said, they were prepared to take up arms. He had already been joined by his two brothers, and they were busy calling upon their friends to insist, assuring them that France approved of their claim. But with all his efforts he could get but few followers, the same difficulty cropping up here as in most of the slave insurrections--a want of the power of combination under one of their own race. However, he at last got together two hundred, and, receiving no answer from the Governor, they commenced a series of raids on the plantations. Ogé cautioned them against bloodshed, but the first white man that fell into their hands was murdered, and others soon met with the same fate. Even mulattoes, who refused to join the insurgents, were treated the same way; one man who pointed to his wife and six children, as a reason for his refusal, being murdered with them. The Governor now sent out a body of troops and militia to suppress the revolt, with the result that Ogé was defeated, and obliged to take refuge with the remnant of his followers in the Spanish colony of St. Domingo. The whites were now roused, and began to cry out for vengeance upon the coloured people in general, whether they had sympathised with Ogé or not. In self-defence they had to take up arms in several places, but by conciliation on the part of the authorities a general insurrection was averted for the time. A new Governor now arrived, and one of his first acts was to demand the extradition of Ogé by the Spaniards, which, being done, he was executed by breaking alive upon the wheel. In his last confession he is said to have stated that a plot was then hatching for the destruction of all the whites, but little notice was taken of this information. The whites believed that now the leader was dead things would go on in the old way, but, unfortunately for them, they were mistaken. Meanwhile the delegates had arrived in France, where they were honourably received. After an interview with a Committee of the Convention, however, they were informed that their decrees were reversed, the Haytian Assembly dissolved, and they themselves under arrest. This, when the news reached the colony, put the whites into a state of consternation, and for awhile it appeared as if Hayti would be the scene of a civil war. Captain Mauduit, who had led the force against the assembly, was murdered by his own troops, and preparations were made to resist the authorities. The planters thought these arbitrary measures of France very oppressive, but they had yet to learn how far the revolutionists might go. In May, 1791, the matter of equal rights for the coloured people came up before the National Convention, and their claim was strongly advocated by Robespierre and others. It was now that the words, "Perish the colonies rather than sacrifice one of our principles," were uttered by that bloodthirsty revolutionist, to afterwards become a stock quotation of the extremist in every country. The result of the discussion was the decree of May the 15th, that the people of colour resident in the French colonies, and born of free parents, should be allowed all the privileges of French citizens; to have votes, and be eligible for election to the parochial and colonial assemblies. This brought on a crisis in Hayti. The coloured people were determined to obtain their rights, and the planters equally resolved that they should remain as before. The Governor was so much alarmed that he at once sent to France for further assistance, at the same time asking for the suspension of the obnoxious decree. Hearing of this, the mulattoes began to assemble and take up arms, and the Governor hardly dared to take action pending the result of his application. On the morning of the 23rd of August, 1791, the people of Cape François were alarmed by reports that the slaves in the neighbourhood were in open revolt, plundering the plantations and murdering the whites. The disturbance had commenced with the hewing in pieces of a young white apprentice on Pin. Noé, which murder was followed by a general massacre of every white man, except the surgeon, who was spared that he might become useful. From one estate to another the revolt spread, until the whole neighbourhood was a scene of murder, fire, and rapine. The white townspeople put their women and children on board the ships, and then united for a stubborn defence, but the coloured men wanted to remain neutral. This roused such a strong feeling that even at that critical time the whites had to be prevented by the authorities from murdering the mulattoes. By thus protecting the mulattoes their good-will was gained, and they volunteered to go out against the rebels. Amidst the glare of a hundred conflagrations a strong body of men was collected and sent against the negroes. They defeated one body of four hundred, but accessions were continually made to the side of the rebels, until their overpowering numbers compelled the whites to retreat, and do their best to save the town. The revolt had been continually spreading, and now extended over the whole country, coloured people joining the negroes in their work of destruction. One planter was nailed to a gate, and then had his limbs cut off, one after another; a carpenter was sawn asunder, on the ground that this mode of execution suited his trade; and two mulatto sons killed their white father, notwithstanding his prayers and promises. White, and even coloured children, were killed without mercy at the breasts of their mothers, and young women were violated before the eyes of their parents. Here and there the horror was relieved by kind actions on the part of faithful slaves, who, while joining in the revolt for their own safety, saved their masters and mistresses. The inhabitants of the town did all they could by sorties, but this was very little. The rebels would run away at the first onset, but only to return in overpowering numbers. A few were taken and broken on the wheel, others fell in the skirmishes, but the insurrection still went on. It spread to the neighbourhood of Port au Prince, but, on the inhabitants of that town agreeing to enforce the obnoxious decree, the rebels retired. This action was at last followed by those of Cape François, and a partial truce ensued. In two months, it was said, a thousand plantations were destroyed, and ten thousand blacks and two thousand whites killed. The news of this great disaster caused a revulsion of feeling in Paris, and the decree which had caused so much trouble was annulled on the 24th of September, before the results of the insurrection and the truces were known. The arrangement had been come to at Port au Prince on the 11th of the same month, and on the 20th at Cape François. Thus almost at the time when it was being repealed the colonists were promising to see it enforced. It is hardly necessary to say what could be the only result of the arrival of this revocation. The struggle was renewed, and all hopes of reconciliation were at an end. The coloured party charged the whites with treachery and duplicity; now they would fight until one or the other was exterminated. They captured Port St. Louis, but got a severe repulse from Port au Prince. Both sides were desperate, and although there were fewer massacres in cold blood the rebels fell in thousands. But as they were so numerous this slaughter made little impression. Even when the prisoners were tortured with a refinement of cruelty hardly credible, no good resulted from such examples. The time for all that had passed, yet the whites nailed one poor mulatto by the feet in a cart, and had him driven round the neighbourhood as a spectacle, before breaking him on the wheel. In January, 1792, three commissioners arrived from France to attempt a reconciliation, which they commenced by publishing the decree revoking the rights of the coloured people. Then they proclaimed a general amnesty for all who should surrender within a given time. Such utter ignorance as was thus shown has hardly been equalled in any age; we can only ascribe it to the fact that the scum had risen to the top. The mulattoes were roused to fury, and the whites equally exasperated. At Petit Goave the rebels held thirty-four white prisoners, and at once they were brought forth to be broken on the wheel, previous to which the proclamation of amnesty was read to them, their executioners mockingly claiming it as a pardon for the cruelties they were exercising. This sort of thing, however, could not go on very long. Most of the plantations and provision grounds had been destroyed, and both parties felt the want of food. Unless something were done they would all be starved; for without means of buying supplies even the whites could hardly exist, while the blacks did nothing to raise further crops in place of those they had eaten or destroyed. France again made an attempt to put matters straight by declaring, on the 4th of April, 1792, that the people of colour and free negroes ought to enjoy equal political rights with other citizens. New assemblies were to be called, in the election of which they should be allowed to vote; a new Governor of Hayti was appointed, and new commissioners sent out to inquire into the whole matter. The Governor and the commission arrived at Cape François on the 13th of September, and finding everything in confusion, they sent the late administrator to France as a prisoner, and called a new assembly. Then the commissioners put themselves in communication with the rebels, which made the whites think them about to emancipate the slaves. This was followed by a dispute between them and the Governor, and the appointment of yet another head, who arrived in May, 1793. He refused to recognise the commissioners, but they were not so easily set aside, for having the whole power of the colony under control, they took possession of Port au Prince, Jacmel, and Cape François, afterwards ordering the Governor to leave. This led to another war, in which the coloured rebels and even negroes were utilised by the commissioners, who thus, in a way, sanctioned the revolt. Similar atrocities to those formerly enacted were renewed, and again the colony was distracted in every part. The ruined planters now lost all hope, and began to leave for the United States, Jamaica, and other colonies. Some went to England, especially those Royalists who attributed all their disasters to the revolution. Here they began to urge the British to conquer Hayti, although as yet war had not been declared with France. In September, 1793, an expedition was sent from Jamaica, and on its arrival at Jeremie the British were apparently welcomed by the whites. But the colony was so utterly distracted that little could be done, and although they took Port au Prince they were repulsed at Cape Tiberon. Then sickness fell upon them--"Yellow Jack"--and this, with the delay of reinforcements, made all prospects of success quite hopeless. With a foreign enemy at hand the commissioners did all they could to reconcile the parties, and to this end, just before the landing of the British, proclaimed complete emancipation of all the slaves, which was ratified in Paris on the 4th of February, 1794. This brought the whole body of rebels together, and the position of the enemy became untenable. Finally came the cession of the Spanish part of the island to France, and now it might be supposed that something could be done to restore peace. This repulse of the British was greatly due to the influence of a very remarkable personage, Toussaint L'Ouverture, a pure negro, and lately a slave. He had joined the revolt from its commencement, and had succeeded in gaining such an influence over his race as had hitherto been unknown in any slave insurrection. As soon as the general emancipation had been declared, he was so grateful that he joined the French, heart and soul, drove out the British, put down the mulattoes, and was appointed Commander-in-chief of the united forces. In 1801 he became virtually Dictator of the whole island, and was made President for life, with the result that many plantations were re-established, and the colony was making slow progress towards recovery. Napoleon Buonaparte has been much lauded for his diplomacy, but he certainly knew nothing of the West Indies. After the peace of Amiens he had a little time to look after the colonies, and Hayti was among the first to receive attention. Toussaint was then almost at the height of his power, and had prepared a Constitution which was laid before Napoleon, on reading which the First Consul said it was an outrage on the honour of France, and the work of a revolted slave, whom they must punish. It was true that the black President was virtually independent. He lived in the palace at St. Domingo, and, with his councillors of all colours, enacted the part of a little sovereign. To crown his audacity, he, in July, 1801, proclaimed the independence of the island, and himself as supreme chief. This roused the anger of Napoleon, who retaliated by a proclamation re-establishing slavery in the island--a measure so foolish that even the planters themselves saw the impossibility of carrying it out. To reduce the negroes again to servitude was utterly impossible, even with all the power France could then bring into the island. However, it was attempted with a force of thirty thousand men and sixty-six ships of war. When this immense fleet arrived at Cape François the town was commanded by the negro Christophe, who, finding himself unable to cope with such a force, burnt the palace and withdrew. The French landed and sent two sons of Toussaint, who had been sent to France for their education, and to whom they had given a passage to their father, bearing a letter from Napoleon, offering him great honours if he would declare his allegiance. All that Toussaint said in reply was that he would be faithful to his brethren and his God, and with that he allowed his sons to return. As yet the declaration that slavery was to be re-established had not been published, and the negroes were working the plantations on a share of the crop, with penalties for idleness. The French tried to put the negroes against Toussaint, in which they succeeded to some extent, the result being that civil war was renewed, and that the power of the black chieftain was broken. Then the general thought it time to issue the proclamation, which fell upon his negro allies like a thunder-clap, and made them again rally round Toussaint. Thus almost everything which had been gained was utterly and for ever lost. Now the French tried a little double-dealing. The general stated in a new proclamation that ignorance had led him hastily to fall into error, and that to prevent anything of the same kind, and to provide for the future welfare and liberty of all, he convened an assembly of representatives of all the inhabitants, regardless of colour. This won over the leaders, and finally peace was concluded with Toussaint. The fallen president wished to retire to his estate and into private life, but having been cordially invited to meet the general to discuss with him the welfare of the colony, he was seized at the interview and put on board a French frigate, which immediately sailed for France. Here he was imprisoned for life without trial, and finally allowed to starve by withholding food and water for four days. The negroes again rose, and the soldiers were by this time so weakened by yellow fever, which even carried off the Governor, that little could be done against the rebels. Yet everything possible was attempted. Bloodhounds were brought from Cuba to worry the rebels to death; they were shot and taken into the sea to be drowned in strings. Dessalines had now become their leader, and on the 29th of November, 1803, he with Christophe and Clervaux, the other rebel chiefs, issued the St. Domingo declaration of independence. Restored to their primitive dignity the black and coloured people proclaimed their rights, and swore never to yield them to any power on earth. "The frightful veil of prejudice is torn to pieces, and is so for ever; woe be to whomsoever would dare again to put together its bloody tatters." The landholders were not forbidden to return if they renounced their old errors and acknowledged the justice of the cause for which the blacks had been spilling their blood for twelve years. As for those who affected to believe themselves destined by Heaven to be masters and tyrants, if they came it would be to meet chains or to be quickly expelled. They had sworn not to listen to clemency for those who dared to speak of the restoration of slavery. Nothing was too costly a sacrifice for liberty, and every means was lawful to employ against those who wished to suppress it. Were they to cause rivers and torrents of blood to flow--were they to fire half the globe to maintain it--they would be innocent before the tribunal of Providence. This declaration was followed on the 30th of March, 1804, by an address of Dessalines, in which he said that everything that reminded them of France also reminded them of the cruelties of Frenchmen. There still remained, he said, Frenchmen on their island--creatures, alas! of their indulgence; when would they be tired of breathing the same air? Their cruelty, when compared with the patient moderation of the blacks--their difference in colour--everything said that they were not brothers, and would never become so. If they continued to find an asylum, troubles and dissensions would be sure to continue. "Citizens, inhabitants of Hayti, men, women, girls, children, cast your eyes upon each point of the island! Seek in it, you, your wives; you, your husbands; you, your sisters!" Their ashes were in the grave, and they had not avenged their deaths. Let the blacks learn that they had done nothing if they did not give the nations a terrible but just example of the vengeance of a brave people, who had recovered liberty, and were jealous to maintain it. They were again roused, and from the 29th of April to the 14th of May an indiscriminate massacre of the whites took place, as many as 2,500 being killed during the fifteen days. On the 28th of April Dessalines issued a manifesto congratulating them on their success. At length, he said, the hour of vengeance had arrived, and the implacable enemies of the rights of man had suffered the punishment due to their crimes. His arm had too long delayed to strike, but at the signal, which the justice of God had urged, they had brought the axe to bear upon the ancient tree of slavery and prejudice. In vain had time and the infernal politics of Europe surrounded it with triple brass. They had become, like their natural enemies, cruel and merciless. Like a mighty torrent their vengeful fury had carried away everything in its impetuous course. "Thus perish all tyrants over innocence and all oppressors of mankind!" Where was that evil and unworthy Haytian who thought he had not accomplished the decrees of the Eternal by exterminating those bloodthirsty tigers? "If there be one, let him fly--indignant nature discards him from our bosom--let him hide his shame far from hence! The air we breathe is not suited to his gross organs--it is the pure air of liberty, august and triumphant." Yes, they had rendered war for war, crime for crime, outrage for outrage. He had saved his country--he had avenged America. He made this avowal in the face of earth and heaven--it was his pride and glory. Black and yellow, whom the duplicity of Europeans had endeavoured to divide, now made but one family--he advised them to maintain that precious concord and happy harmony. In order to strengthen the tie let them call to remembrance the catalogue of atrocities--the abominable project of massacring the whole population, unblushingly proposed to him by the French authorities. Let that nation which was mad enough to attack him, come--let them bring their cohorts of homicides. He would allow them to land, but woe to those who approached the mountains! "Never again shall a colonist or a European set his foot upon this territory with the title of master or proprietor." On the 8th of October the writer of these bloodthirsty addresses was crowned as Jacques the First, Emperor of Hayti. In 1808 an attempt was made on the part of Spain to regain her old colony on the eastern part of the island, where France still maintained a nominal supremacy. Spain was now an ally of Great Britain, and, with the aid of British troops, she took St. Domingo and retained this part of the island until 1821, when a revolution took place and it became independent, to be almost immediately united with its sister republic. Meanwhile the Emperor Jacques did not long enjoy his throne in peace, for he was murdered by his coloured soldiers on the 17th of October, 1806. A republic followed, under the presidency of General Petion, who was at the head of the mulattoes, but did not agree with the blacks. This led to a division, the north, with Cape François as the capital, coming into the hands of the negro Christophe, who got himself crowned as the Emperor Henry the First; the southern district, with Port au Prince, forming a republic under President Petion. Henry was a man of good common sense, but like most negroes, much inclined to ape the whites. One of his toasts at a dinner was characteristic: "My brother, the king of Great Britain, and may he be successful against Buonaparte, and continue the barrier between that tyrant and this kingdom." He created a legion of honour, called the Order of St. Henry, built a palace, and began to acquire a fleet; he gave balls and encouraged operas, had a great seal, gave titles of nobility, and procured a set of regalia and jewels, with velvet robes and all other appendages of royalty. Under his rule the country flourished, for he would have no idlers. Yet he was a tyrant, and at last, in 1820, he was attacked by his own guard, and committed suicide to prevent falling into their hands. President Boyer, who had succeeded Petion, now took advantage of the confusion to incorporate the two districts, and two years later he added the revolted Spanish portion, thus bringing the whole island under one rule, the presidency of which he held for twenty-two years. [Illustration] [Illustration] XIII. EMANCIPATION OF THE SPANISH MAIN. The influence of the French Revolution was felt in most of the other islands, but nowhere did it lead to such disasters as befel Hispaniola. In 1795 there was an insurrection in the island of Grenada, where the coloured people, under French influence, nearly drove the English out of the colony. Even when defeated they held their own in the mountains for about a year, committing many atrocities on the whites who fell into their hands. In most of the French islands there were insurrections more or less dangerous, some of which were put down by the British conquerors, who thus helped to keep the peace. It could not be expected, however, that small places like Martinique and Guadeloupe would ever have made such stubborn resistance as the great island of Hispaniola. A very great impression was made on the Spanish colonies, who during the war, owing to the distracted condition of the mother country, attained to a degree of freedom hitherto beyond their reach. This led to unfavourable comparisons between past and present, and the feeling that grew up was fomented by the British, who now had many opportunities from the measure of free trade which resulted from the peculiar circumstances of that period. Secret societies were then common all over Europe, and in Spain they were not wanting. In the early years of this century one of the most energetic members was Francisco Miranda, a native of Caracas, who had been a soldier under Washington, and had distinguished himself by his prominence in many of the revolutionary projects of the time. He was the prime organiser of the Creoles of South America, and under his auspices the "Gran Reunion Americana" was founded in London. Bolivar and San Martin were initiated into this society, and took its oath to fight for the emancipation of South America. Miranda did his best to ensure the co-operation of Great Britain and the United States, but failing in this, determined to get up one or more insurrections without their assistance. On the 27th of March, 1806, he sailed with three vessels and two hundred men from Jacmel, Hayti, and on the 11th of April arrived at the Dutch island of Aruba, from whence the little company proceeded to Puerto Cabello. The demonstration, however, was nipped in the bud, for two of his vessels being almost immediately captured by the Spaniards, Miranda was obliged to fly in the other to Barbados. Here he met Admiral Cochrane, with whom he entered into an arrangement for British assistance. Conceiving that it might be mutually advantageous to Great Britain and the Spanish provinces that the latter should be freed from the yoke of Spain, the admiral agreed to support him in a descent on Venezuela, between the coasts opposite Trinidad and Aruba. The only stipulation was for free trade with Great Britain as against her enemies, and with that Miranda went off to Trinidad. Here he hoped to gain recruits from among the Spanish people of the island, to whom he issued an address. The glorious opportunity, he said, presented itself of relieving from oppression and arbitrary government a people who were worthy of a better fate, but who were shackled by a despotism too cruel for human nature longer to endure. Groaning under their afflictions they hailed with extended arms the noble cause of freedom and independence, and called upon them to share the God-like action of relieving them. This stirring address made little impression, and consequently few followers were enrolled. However, he got eight armed vessels and two traders, and sailed from Trinidad on the 25th of July, 1806, for Coro on the Main. The fort and city were taken, but the people, instead of joyfully welcoming their deliverers, ran away and could not be induced to return. Miranda, finding the place untenable, went over to Aruba, of which he took possession as a basis for further operations. But the British authorities looked upon his scheme as impracticable, especially as it tended to injure their trade, and in November Miranda was compelled to disband his little company of less than three hundred at Trinidad. The time for a revolution had not yet arrived, but it was fast approaching. It could not be expected that Great Britain would assist filibustering against her ally, which Spain now became, and without some outside assistance Miranda found it impossible to do anything. However, the people themselves were at last aroused, and on the 19th of April, 1810, the city of Caracas deposed the captain-general and appointed a Junta to rule in the name of the king. This body invited the other provinces to join and form a league for mutual protection against the French, who now had virtual possession of the mother country. Other provinces took the Government side and prepared to suppress the revolt, which led Caracas to ask the assistance of Great Britain and the United States. Among the Venezuelans was Simon Bolivar, who afterwards became the most important personage in the struggle for independence. Like Miranda, he was a native of South America, and like him had imbibed revolutionary ideas in Paris. He was a planter, and had taken no part in the overthrow of the captain-general, but from his principles being well known, he was appointed with others to proceed to London in the interests of the Junta. On their arrival they were answered cautiously, the authorities not wishing to commit themselves under the circumstances. Here Bolivar met Miranda, and took the oath of the "Gran Reunion," promising to work for the independence of South America, notwithstanding his nominal position as an advocate of the king of Spain against Napoleon. Meanwhile the Spanish Regency had proclaimed the leaders of the movement to be rebels, declaring war against them and blockading their ports. The Central Junta responded by raising an army, which was defeated with considerable loss at Coro and had to retire on Caracas. This caused some discouragement, but Miranda now arrived, was welcomed with an ovation, and appointed lieutenant-general of the army. He was also asked to draw up a constitution and to become one of the deputies at the first congress of Venezuela to be held in March, 1811. [Illustration: LA GUAYRA ON THE MAIN. (_From Andrews' "West Indies."_)] No longer was there any question of the French, the struggle was for entire independence. A civil war began, which raged with varying fortunes for twelve years, in the course of which were enacted scenes more worthy of the days of buccaneers than the beginning of the nineteenth century. In 1812 Caracas was destroyed by an earthquake, and in another locality perished the greater portion of a thousand men, marching against the Spaniards. It was reported that those provinces where the revolution had most influence suffered greatest, while those more loyal almost escaped. This was due to the fact that the mountainous region, in which Caracas is situated, felt the full effect of the earthquake, but the priests, who were mostly loyalists, told the ignorant peasantry that it was a judgment on the Patriots. The result was that large bodies deserted, until the whole Patriot army became disorganised. Miranda was captured and sent to Spain, where he died in prison in 1816, but Bolivar managed to escape. New Granada had revolted before Venezuela and was more successful. It was to this province that Bolivar retired after the downfall of the Patriot cause in Venezuela. Then the Spanish captain-general, Monteverde, who was called "the Pacificator," commenced his work by imprisoning so many Patriots that the gaols were choked, and many died of hunger and suffocation. In the country districts he let his troops ravage and plunder like hordes of banditti. Even his superiors were at length compelled to recall him on account of the numerous complaints and petitions. At last the people were again fairly roused, until there came a war of extermination, in which both parties tried to outvie the other in murder and rapine. Off the peninsula of Paria lay the small island of Chacachacare, and on it forty-five fugitives took refuge, where they consulted as to the renewal of the war. With only six muskets and some pistols, they landed on the coast on the 13th of March, 1813, surprised the guard of Güiria, took their arms and marched into the town, where they were joined by the garrison, making their number two hundred. Thus began the second war, in which the Patriots, assisted by the return of Bolivar and a body of troops from New Granada, again took possession of a large part of the province. On the 15th of June Bolivar proclaimed extermination to the Royalists, and named the year, the third of independence and first of the war to the death. This severity created many enemies in Venezuela, as well as in other countries, and even Bolivar himself afterwards said that the proclamation had been issued in a delirium. However, the result was that both sides became more ferocious than ever, especially when the Indians were induced to join the Patriots. On the 6th of August Bolivar entered Caracas in triumph. The bells rang, cannons roared, and the people cheered him as their liberator. His path was strewn with flowers, blessings were called down upon his head, and beautiful girls, dressed in white and the national colours, led his horse and crowned him with laurel. The prison doors were opened, the Patriots set free, and, in spite of his proclamation, no act of retaliation sullied his triumph. Two days later he re-established the republic and proclaimed himself Dictator as well as liberator. There were now two Dictators in Venezuela, Marino in the east and Bolivar in the west, but the Spaniards were by no means conquered. Bolivar published another decree on the 6th of September, that all Americans who were even suspected of being Royalists were traitors to their country, and should be treated as such. Ten days later twelve thousand men arrived from Spain, and Bolivar, who had been besieging Puerto Cabello, was forced to retire. This encouraged the Royalists, who got the llaneros of the Orinoco on their side by promises of freedom to kill and plunder in the cause of the king, and threats of punishing by death all who disregarded the call to arms. Bolivar was captain-general, but he shared his power with Marino, the rights of both resting on force alone. To put an end to this, an assembly of notables was convened at Caracas, to whom he resigned his office, and then accepted it again at their request. But the Patriots, even when united, were as yet unable to stand before the Spanish army, and very shortly afterwards their flag was only visible on the island of Margarita. Bolivar again took refuge in New Granada, where he was elected captain-general, and entitled Liberator and Illustrious Pacificator. He, however, quarrelled with the Governor of Carthagena, and was forced to fly to Jamaica, saying before his departure that Carthagena preferred her own destruction to obedience to the federal government. In 1815, after the great peace, Marshal Morillo came out with 10,600 men selected from the army that had fought against Napoleon. He was to reduce the whole of the Main from Spanish Guiana to Darien, dealing first with Margarita. In the course of a year he did this, committing such atrocities as made his name a byword over the whole of South America. In the siege of Carthagena, which lasted about three months, the Patriots suffered greatly, hundreds dying of starvation; but at last, on the 6th of December, 1815, it was captured. An amnesty was proclaimed, but in spite of that four hundred old men, women, and children who surrendered were all killed, while most of the stronger men who survived managed to escape. The remnant of the Patriots was now scattered over the country as guerillas, and while Morillo was subduing New Granada a fresh signal for a general revolt was given. The Royalist Governor, in November, 1815, ordered the arrest of Arismendi, who had been pardoned, and at once the Margaritans rose, took possession of a part of the island, captured the fort, and killed the whole garrison. At the same time the guerillas united under Paez, who now came to the front as a llanero and leader of his class. Thus the struggle was resumed with all its former virulence. Bolivar, when he heard of the fall of Carthagena, went over to Hispaniola to meet President Petion, who was an ardent supporter of the revolution. Here he received assistance of arms and money, with which he began to fit out an expedition to recover his lost position. There were many refugees from the Main on that island, but they were not altogether friendly with the late Dictator, however Petion managed to secure their co-operation. It followed, therefore, that on the 16th of March, 1816, three hundred Patriots left for Margarita, where they captured two Spanish vessels and united with their fellow-countrymen under Arismendi. Going over to the Main they soon got together a powerful force which overran the whole country and ultimately achieved its independence. But before this happened the Patriots met with many reverses. Sometimes it appeared as if they would be utterly exterminated; then the tide turned in their favour and they were again successful. The country was devastated by both parties, until cultivation was abandoned in many districts. Provisions for the armies were often unattainable, and this drove the soldiers to plunder wherever there was an opportunity, no matter that the sufferers were of their own party. The struggle was watched with sympathy by the people of England, and Canning went so far as to make a declaration of neutrality favourable to the Patriots. Then came a systematic attempt to raise British volunteers, and, as there were many officers and men who had been disbanded since the great peace, a considerable force was raised. Carried away by enthusiasm they would hear nothing of the difficulties and dangers they had to encounter, but rushed to fight in the ranks of a people striving to liberate themselves from the grossest oppression. The country was represented as a perfect paradise, and the officers were promised grants of land in this delightful Eden, while the men had offers of double the pay of the British army. A similar call was also made in Germany with good results, and it was expected that what with the British Legion and this other contingent the result would be no longer doubtful. On their arrival at Margarita, however, they at once began to perceive that poverty reigned everywhere, and that no provision whatever had been made for them. The Patriots foraged for themselves, and anything like a commissariat was virtually unknown; but British soldiers were not accustomed to such a state of things. Then the food supply was at the best only live cattle, which they had to kill for themselves, cassava bread, and a few roots such as yams. The rations were so irregular, that one or two days would pass without any supply whatever, and this ultimately led to complaints and something like a mutiny, which was put down with the "cat." After some delay the British Legion was sent on to the Main, where they were worse off than in Margarita. Instead of welcoming them, the Patriots seemed to be jealous, and did not even give them the opportunity of fighting as they wished. When posted before Cumaná they were exposed to the burning sun and drenching rains, without tents or any other shelter; their drinking water was stagnant and brackish, and for rations had only a pound of beef per day for each man, from oxen which they had to butcher. They were also greatly shocked at the enormities of the Patriots, who carried on the struggle in a manner suggestive of the Middle Ages rather than modern days. Prisoners were indiscriminately massacred, their murderers enjoying the work as if it were a recreation. It is true that in the then condition of the country large bodies of prisoners could neither be fed nor guarded; still the British could not but feel that the cause they had joined was not altogether what it had been represented. Want of proper food led to sickness, and soon they became quite broken down. Many died of fever and dysentery, some deserted and got away as best they could, the general result being that little benefit was derived from the British Legion by Venezuela. If such was the experience of the foreigners, what must have been that of the Patriots? They were certainly more used to the country and its food, and therefore suffered less from sickness; but this advantage was lost when it came to actual starvation. With the men engaged in the struggle, only the women and children were left to cultivate enough cassava to keep body and soul together. Even this little was often stolen by a foraging party, who did not hesitate to murder the whole family if any objection was made. Fugitives, if not cut off, made their way in canoes to Trinidad and Demerara, often arriving almost dead from the privations they had endured. Delicate Spanish ladies and little children sometimes arrived--their pitiable condition causing an outflow of sympathy from the planters, and a feeling of detestation for their persecutors. At the commencement of the year 1820 the Columbian Republic had become an accomplished fact, and on the 25th of November an armistice was concluded between Morillo and Bolivar, which virtually ended the struggle. The United States had looked upon it with favour, and Lafayette in France said that opposition to the independence of the New World would only cause suffering, but not imperil the idea. In 1823 the celebrated Monroe doctrine was formulated, and Canning said in the same year that the battle was won and Spanish America was free. Central America had not suffered like Venezuela and New Granada. From Mexico to Panama was the old captain-generalship of Guatemala, but little interest was taken in the province, Spain leaving it almost entirely in the hands of the Catholic Missions. It was not until Columbia had gained her independence that Guatemala moved in the same direction, although there were slight disturbances in Costa Rica and Nicaragua from 1813 to 1815. At first there was a project to found a kingdom, but this gave way to the proposal for union with Mexico under the Emperor Iturbide, which was carried out, but did not last long. In 1823 Central America established a Federal Republic, and at once abolished slavery and declared the slave-trade to be piracy--a decision to which the other revolted colonies came about the same time. [Illustration] XIV. ABOLITION OF SLAVERY. Negro slavery, although it formed the sinews and backbone of the plantations, was, as we have seen, considered unjust by the French republicans and immoral by a large section of the benevolent in Great Britain and the United States. In both countries the Society of Friends, or Quakers, commenced to influence public opinion against its continuance as early as about 1770, and had it not been for the French Revolution it is probable that emancipation would have taken place early in this century. The premature and inconsiderate action of the French in Hayti lost to France her most valuable plantation, for some years giving such an example of what might happen were emancipation to be granted elsewhere, that those in favour of the system could always point to it with the finger of warning. Yet with all that the friends of the slave were undaunted; and as a beginning, in 1807, they procured the abolition of the slave-trade as far as Great Britain and her colonies were concerned, and then went on to get the traffic prohibited by other nations. Denmark had led the van by declaring it unlawful as early as 1792, but little impression was made until the nation most concerned took action. This was a great blow to the British West Indies. The labour question had always been of the first importance, and to put a sudden stop to the supply meant a check to all progress. For twenty years before a great impetus had been given to planting, which was much assisted by the downfall of Hayti and consequent reduction of her produce to such an extent that she no longer affected the market. Now that the planters could get no more negroes, anything like enlargement of the acreage under cultivation was impossible. Latterly, also, produce had diminished in price, which made cheap labour all the more important. They had great difficulty in making their estates pay, and when sugar fell to half its former value a cry of "Ruin!" went forth all over the West Indies. It is interesting to note that the panacea which they expected would save them was free trade. At that time the British warehouses were filled with sugar and other tropical produce, while every continental port was closed by Napoleon, and the United States by the navigation laws. Not only did Great Britain store the produce of her own colonies, but that from those of the French and Dutch as well. In 1812 it was stated that the sugar consumption of Great Britain amounted to 225,000 hogsheads, while the production of her colonies was 150,000 in excess of this. The Southern States had just taken up cotton cultivation, and brought the price of that article too low for the West Indian planter, and, as if that were not enough, coffee also fell in price to an alarming extent. Sugar paid best, and was therefore fostered to the exclusion of the other products; and now began the plantation system which became so obnoxious to the anti-slavery party. Hitherto, with a full supply of labour, the negroes did little work as compared with their capabilities--now something like the factory system of the mother country was introduced. The old methods would no longer enable the planter to get a profit, and he must make the best of his labour supply. Great administrative ability, more careful management, attention to economy, and concentration, were all necessary to prevent losses, and that these were not wanting can easily be seen from the results. The slaves were driven into the field in gangs, and kept at work by the threat of the driver's whip, while the overseers and manager gave most careful attention to the whole system. Not only did the negroes work, but the whites also; in fact, on the part of the latter there was a continual strain after a fortune on which to retire from this tiresome and harassing work of nigger-driving. Where one succeeded, ten failed; many died of the exposure and of the _anti-malarial_ drinks they imbibed so plentifully. So great was the mortality that the colonies became proverbial for their number of widows, some of whom, however, were not above managing their own plantations. It was a race for wealth, to which everything else was secondary. The slaves diminished every year in the absence of additions from outside, as the whites would have done under similar circumstances. That there was no natural increase was mainly due to the fact that the sexes were unequal, and then, again, maternal affection was sadly wanting in the women, who seemed to care less for their children than some domestic animals. This state of things was mainly the outcome of the system, which was undoubtedly immoral, but the mental disabilities of the race must also be taken into consideration. The anti-slavery party considered that environment was everything; if they could only free the negro from compulsory servitude he would at once become an industrious labourer. Yes, in their opinion, if he had the incentive of wages, it would make him a credit to himself and his community. The slaves, they said, were worked to death, yet as free men they would do more and perform their tasks better. Their experience with free workmen led to these conclusions, but this could not apply to the West Indies nor to the negro race. The anti-slavery party was very strong, and although it is not stated that they took "Perish the colonies!" for their motto, it is very certain that they cared little about the future of either white or black as long as they carried their object. To this end every possible case of oppression and ill-treatment was exaggerated, and spoken of as if it were common, notwithstanding that the case only came to their notice through the trial and punishment of the offender. The fact was the planter could not afford to ill-treat his slave--no other animal of his live stock was of so much value. If a valuable horse were killed another could be obtained to replace him, but this was almost impossible in the case of the negro. Formerly, when he cost about £20, it might have paid to work him to death; now that his price was five or six times as much, self-interest alone prevented ill-treatment. There was a strong public opinion in every colony which prevented cruelty, and there were societies in some which gave prizes to those in charge of estates who raised the greatest number of children in proportion to their negroes. This breeding of negroes was necessarily very slow work, and did little to make up for the stoppage of importation. It followed, therefore, that every year the amount of available labour became less. In 1815 the anti-slavery party commenced a further agitation in favour of the negro, with the result that a Registrar of slaves was appointed for each colony, and ultimately a Protector. By obtaining an annual census they hoped to have some check on the decrease, and at the same time see if any Africans were surreptitiously imported. In some places there was already a slave registration for the purpose of adjusting the head-tax; here the planters did not oppose the measure, although they resented interference. Others, like Barbados, protested against the innovation as something quite unnecessary, or even if desirable, not to be imposed upon them from outside. This led to a great deal of discussion at the planters' tables, where the slave waiters listened to what was said, and from thence carried garbled reports to the others. In every colony were numbers of free negroes and coloured people, some of whom were loafers and spongers on the slaves, while others went about the country peddling. Having nothing to do, they became the news-carriers and circulators of garbled reports. In 1815 there lived in Barbados a free coloured man named Washington Franklin, who, like many negroes, was possessed of a good memory and a great power of declamation. Getting hold of the English and colonial newspapers, he would read the speeches of Wilberforce and others, and after putting his own construction on them, retail them in language tending to rouse the slaves. To him was due an impression that prevailed in Barbados, probably from a misunderstanding of the Registry Bill, that they were all to be free at the beginning of the year 1816. When New Year's Day had passed they became dissatisfied, believing that their masters had received orders to set them free, but would not execute them. They had heard of the successful rising in Hayti, and were determined to attempt a similar revolt in Barbados. After waiting for the expected freedom until the 14th of April, they determined on that day to have a general rising, which was signalled by burning heaps of cane-trash in the parish of St. Philip. Soon the fields were set on fire, and frenzied mobs, continually increasing in numbers, went from one plantation to another seeking arms. This went on for two days, but on the arrival of the militia they dispersed, leaving a waste behind. As usual a great many of the negroes were executed, although it does not appear that any whites got killed in the revolt. However, the Registry Act was delayed for two years, to be ultimately passed in January, 1817. Towards the end of the last century a new class of men appeared in the West Indies--the Protestant missionaries. Catholic missions had been established in the Spanish possessions since the time of Columbus, but hitherto, with the exception of a few Moravians, no other Church had done anything to convert the slaves in the British colonies. Between 1780 and 1790, Methodist societies were established in most of the islands, notwithstanding the opposition of the planters, who in some cases appear to have thought that baptized Christians could no longer be held in slavery. This vulgar error, however, was not the real cause of the antagonism to these teachers, but rather the feeling natural to a master which makes him resent any outside interference between himself and his servants. The best and kindest were the first to feel this. The slaves were their children, and to them they applied, in all their troubles and difficulties, as to a great father. It followed, therefore, that when the missionaries came and proclaimed themselves friends to the slaves, giving them advice in secular as well as religious matters, the cordial feeling was broken. "Massa" was much put out, for he liked to hold the position of a little god to these poor ignorant creatures over whom he held such power. The slaves were sometimes whipped as bad children when they did wrong, and as children they cared little for a flogging. It is easily conceivable that a humane missionary might feel more pain at witnessing such a punishment than the culprit himself, but it is a fact that cruel punishment was never mentioned by the slaves as an excuse for a revolt. The missionaries were shocked at the apparent nakedness and destitution of the negroes, as a visitor to the West Indies will be even now. They did not remember that their clothing and houses were well suited to the climate, and that a home in the English sense of the word would not have been appreciated by them. These things were reported to the societies at home, the members of which knew no more about the tropics than the merchant who once sent a consignment of warming-pans to Barbados. Those who wanted to raise a cry of cruelty to the poor slave, circulated these facts, and put their own construction upon them, one going so far as to state that there were no chimneys to the houses, as if this omission were a slave disability or oppression, although any visitor to the colonies could have told him that these conveniences were hardly found anywhere. The negro willingly listened to his friend the missionary, and felt eager to perform the rites and ceremonies of the little congregation. The Established Church was that of England, and although in some places there were special services for the blacks, in others "slaves and dogs" were refused admission. This exclusiveness threw the slaves into the hands of the Moravians, Baptists, Methodists, and the agents of the London Missionary Society. The Church government of some of these was in the hands of the congregation, and as this was a sort of playing at "Massa," the slave took to them all the more readily. No doubt these ministers were very good men, and animated by a great love for the negroes, but this did not prevent their being misunderstood by both master and slave. Then many of them were connected with the anti-slavery society, and however careful they might be not to offend local prejudices, by speaking against the obnoxious system, as conscientious men they could not help showing their bias. The established clergymen, on the contrary, when they preached to the slaves, told them to "be subject to the powers that be," and to remain content in the condition where Providence had placed them. At first most of the planters only sneered at these attempts to convert the slaves, but when they saw what an attraction the chapels became, they opposed them openly. Gangs of young fellows would attend, and sometimes break up the meetings by jeering at the preacher. In 1807 an ordinance was passed in Jamaica "for preventing the profanation of religious rites and false worshipping of God, under the pretence of preaching and teaching, by illiterate, ignorant, and ill-disposed persons, and of the mischief consequent thereupon." Considering it the first duty of all magistrates to encourage the solemn exercise of religion, and whereas nothing tended more to bring it into disrepute than the pretended preaching and expounding of the Word of God by ignorant persons and false enthusiasts, to persons of colour and slaves, it was enacted that, after the 1st of July, no unauthorised person should presume to teach, preach, offer public prayer, or sing psalms to any assembly of these people, on pain of a fine of a hundred pounds, imprisonment for six months, or whipping. Similar punishments were also to be inflicted on any one preaching in an unlicensed building, as well as on the owner of a house or yard in which it had been permitted. Another way of stopping the assembly of slaves was to pass a law against their meeting at night, and punish them if they left the estate without a written permission. There were always excuses for this apparent harshness, as plots had been arranged at nocturnal meetings, some of which had given a great deal of trouble. Even if a pass were granted to attend chapel, the estate's authorities could hardly be expected to follow and see that the slave did not go elsewhere. The missionaries took it that all this was done to hamper their work, but such was not the case altogether. The anti-slavery party became very strong about the year 1820, and every obnoxious regulation was a text for discourses on the infamy of the whole system. If a planter were punished, the case was trumpeted over the country to promote a greater antagonism. How absurd this really was could only be seen by the West Indians themselves, and if they attempted to say anything they were put down as liars, becaused they were biassed in favour of the other side. One writer pertinently remarked that, among the hundreds of military and naval officers stationed in the West Indies, not one had borne out the statements of the missionaries, and we may call attention to the curious fact that Captain Marryat, who was well acquainted with every colony, speaks always of the negro as a happy fellow. The genial novelist does not mince matters when he speaks of oppression on board ship, and it is not to be supposed that he would go out of his way to screen the planters. Some of the colonies passed laws against indiscriminate manumissions, and these were declaimed against as tyranny. Yet their wisdom was so patent that, under the system, they could only be heartily approved by every one competent to judge. There is one little fact that stands out most prominently as a redeeming point, if such a thing be possible--under slavery there was no poverty--there were no tramps nor beggars. The owner of the plantation had to feed his people in sickness and in health, in childhood and old age. If manumissions could be given by the mere stroke of a pen, many a poor sick or broken-down creature would have been cast adrift to become a burden upon the community. Now and again we yet hear some old woman complain that if this were slavery time, she would not be half-starved as she is to-day, notwithstanding the poor relief. It may perhaps be thought that we are attempting the defence of slavery; we only wish to show that it was not quite so black as it has been painted. It had its dark side; but, on the other hand, many a bright gleam can be perceived by those who have seen some who were born into servitude and heard their stories. They were well fed, had as much clothing as they really required, were as a matter of policy well treated as a rule, and were quite as happy as they are to-day. Magistrates, policemen, and gaols were almost unknown; the planter gave the negro a slight flogging now and then, and this ended the tale of his misdemeanours. A bad master might be cruel as a bad husband may be also, but we should not condemn marriage on account of its abuses. The great argument against slavery was the degradation it produced on the minds of both parties. However, we are not writing the history of slavery, but the story of the West Indies, and must apologise for the digression. In 1823 the House of Commons, on a motion of Fowell Buxton, "that the state of slavery is repugnant to the principles of the British Constitution, and of the Christian religion," resolved to ameliorate the condition of the slave by giving him civil rights and privileges. As a result of this, orders were sent out to abolish the flogging of women, and discontinue the use of the whip in the field. Already the West Indian planters were alarmed at the interference of the British Government, and the overriding of colonial laws by Orders in Council. In 1819 they had petitioned against being compelled to manumit their slaves in cases where they wished to buy their freedom, but their protests went for nothing. Now also they had to submit, although they did so with a bad grace. The British Government left the carrying out of the provisions of the resolutions to the colonial legislatures, but at the same time giving them to understand that there was no option. In 1811, when the Governor and Court of Policy of Demerara neglected to issue a proclamation allowing negroes to attend chapel in the evening, they received a sharp reprimand, and the Governor was superseded; now they knew that nothing was left but to obey orders. When, therefore, the despatch containing these resolutions arrived in Demerara, a meeting of the legislature was at once convened to prepare the necessary ordinance. There was no attempt to evade this duty or delay compliance, but such a radical change required great consideration, especially in regard to the control of females without the use of the whip. Negresses were, as a rule, less amenable to discipline than the men, and it was thought that something must be done to prevent insubordination. Several meetings took place from the 21st of July, 1823, to early in August, at which the ordinance was prepared and passed, but up to the 18th of the latter month it had not been published. Such a delay, however, did not imply any intention of evading the duty, for three or four weeks often elapse from the time of passing to the publication of a Bill. Meanwhile the negroes got an idea that something had been done in England for their benefit. Like the slaves in Barbados and other colonies, they heard discussions at their masters' tables, and supposed that the something which had taken place meant their total emancipation. "The king had freed them, but the planters refused to carry out the order." On the East Coast of Demerara there was then a small chapel belonging to the London Missionary Society, under the charge of the Rev. John Smith. This chapel was a rendezvous for the negroes of the neighbouring plantations, who not only came to service, but met afterwards for a little gossip. Some who could read gave their ideas of what they had gleaned from their masters' newspapers, while others told what had been said at the dinner-tables. It does not appear that Mr. Smith had told them anything of the new resolutions, nor is there evidence that the deacons of the chapel knew of them. It followed, therefore, that all the information they had was these garbled reports of their own people. On Sunday, the 17th of August, a number of the bolder spirits met after service and discussed a plot which had been already under consideration, for a general rising at eight o'clock next evening. Their idea was to put their masters in the stocks, arm themselves, and, when the Governor came, demand their supposed rights. On Monday morning a coloured servant informed his master of the plot, on which he at once rode off to Georgetown and interviewed the Governor. Warnings were sent to most of the planters, and preparations made to suppress the revolt if it took place, but such reports were not uncommon, and although the whites looked after their weapons they did not feel much alarm. As a matter of policy it was better to assume indifference, as anything like desertion of the estates, even so far as the sending away of women and children, would have encouraged the negroes. The signal was given by a fire near the chapel, on which the slaves assembled in great mobs, over-powered their masters, put them in the stocks, and took all the firearms and other weapons they could find. The Governor was already in the neighbourhood with a small party of cavalry, and on seeing the signal proceeded to inquire into its meaning. On the way he was met by an armed mob, who, on being asked what they wanted, answered, "Our right!" He told them of the new law, and promised a full explanation on the morrow if they would disperse and come to him at a neighbouring plantation. There was a slight hesitation for a few moments, but presently, with cries of "No! no!" and the blowing of shells, they drowned his voice. Then some of the more moderate advised him to go away, which he was obliged to do, as his whole company numbered hardly a dozen. Bearing in mind the disasters of the Berbice insurrection, the people of Georgetown were much alarmed. Placing their women and children on board vessels in the river, the men prepared to resist to the death. Martial law was proclaimed, and every person, without distinction, called upon to enrol at once in the militia, all exemptions being cancelled. They responded heartily, and soon the town put on an appearance as if deserted, except at those places where guards were stationed. The stores were closed, the slaves kept indoors, and, save for the arrival and departure of mounted orderlies, not a sound could be heard. Even the negroes themselves, in their kitchens and outbuildings, were overawed, and hardly spoke above a whisper. The Methodist ministers came forward and enrolled themselves in the militia, but they were not called upon to perform any duty. The Rev. John Smith, however, took no notice of the proclamation, although he admitted having seen it. On the evening of the revolt he went for a walk with his wife, and on his return found that the manager's house was being attacked by a mob of slaves. He succeeded by expostulation in preventing their doing much injury, and even rescued the manager from their hands, but instead of sending notice of the rising to the neighbouring estates he went quietly home. As far as he knew no one had been warned of the revolt, and he was certainly remiss in his duty when he did nothing whatever. When, on the following day, he was visited by a militia officer, and ordered to enrol himself in accordance with the Governor's proclamation, he refused on the ground of his exemption, although he knew that all exemptions had been cancelled. As usual the rebels had no proper leaders, and for some reason or other--the missionaries ascribed it to religious teaching--they did not burn the houses or destroy the crops. One or two whites who resisted were wounded, one at least fatally, but here again the insurgents were forbearing. Fortunately they were soon suppressed, and this no doubt prevented such atrocities as had been committed elsewhere. What with the soldiers, the militia, and crews of vessels in the river, the force brought against them was overwhelming. Only one attempt was made to fight, but the first volley of the troops sent the rioters scattering into a cotton field. In about two days the insurrection was over, and then came the hunt for fugitives, who as usual took to the swamp at the back of the estates. A large body of Indians was employed, and in the end most of them were captured, some to be hanged at once and others after sentence by court-martial. Mr. Smith's behaviour was considered as something more than suspicious--he was believed to have had knowledge of the plot, and charged with an intention to side with the negroes if he saw any prospect of their success. On his refusal to take part in the defence of the colony he was taken prisoner, and after the negroes had been tried and sentenced, his case was brought before a court-martial. He was charged with promoting discontent among the slaves, conspiring to bring about a revolt, knowing of the plot the day before and not reporting it, and holding communication with one of the leaders after it had broken out without attempting to capture him. The case created a great stir, public opinion being universal that he was the prime mover in the whole affair. His trial lasted over a month, at the end of which he was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. This sentence, however, seems to have been given to satisfy the people; it was not published, nor was it intended to be executed without reference to the home Government. This is proved by the report in the "Royal Gazette" of the colony, which stated that the trial was over, but the nature of the proceedings was such as to render it imperative on the Governor to transmit them for His Majesty's consideration. The public were not informed of the verdict, but it is not to be supposed that they were ignorant of the result of the trial; on the contrary, the sentence met with their approval, and they complained of the delay in carrying it out, as compared with the hasty executions of the negroes. Mr. Smith was ultimately reprieved, on the understanding that he removed himself from the West Indies, and engaged never to come back to Guiana or go to any of the islands. But the poor missionary was sick, and under treatment before the insurrection, and it may be presumed that the worry of the trial hastened his end. He died in prison before the king's answer arrived, and was buried at night to prevent a hostile demonstration. We have been thus particular in giving the facts of the Demerara East Coast Insurrection, because it made such an impression in England. The anti-slavery party used the case of the "Martyr" Smith as a watchword, and it was a prime factor in hurrying on emancipation. The immediate result was an Order in Council to enable slaves to contract legal marriage, to hold property, to buy their freedom on a valuation by disinterested parties, and to put them under a Protector, whose duty was to see that their rights were not infringed. They were now citizens, their only civil disabilities being compulsory labour and a tie to the plantation or their masters. This, however, did not satisfy the anti-slavery party, and they went on with their struggle for total emancipation, in which they at last succeeded. In 1833 an Act of Parliament was passed, by which, after the 1st of August, 1834, slavery was to give place to an apprenticeship of four or six years, according to the status of the slave, the former term for house-servants and the latter for labourers on the plantations, or "predials." Every child born after that date was to be entirely free, and here came in one of the greatest blemishes of the law. These poor infants belonged to nobody; their mothers cared little for them, and it could not be expected that the planters would pay to keep up the old system of superintendence. Even those who had been instrumental in getting the law passed now began to make comparisons between the position of the child-bearing woman under the old and new systems. Hitherto they were unable to find words harsh enough to use in condemning slavery--now they began to find that it had its good points. Then the new system required new administrators, and, to prevent any suspicion of bias, magistrates were brought from England. Yet these very same unbiassed gentlemen ordered flogging for the men and the treadmill and dark cell for the women. The Quaker delegates sent out to inspect the result of their work were horrified. They said that the cat was worse than the old whip, and that the apprenticeship system caused ten times more suffering than slavery. And such was really the case. The negroes could no longer be kept under subordination--they even claimed entire freedom at once. Several disturbances took place before they could be made to understand that they had to work seven and a half hours every day, to pay for their homes, provision grounds, and other allowances. In Demerara the Governor addressed them as erring children, telling them that they could not all be masters, and that every one must work. They had never seen a white man handle the shovel or the hoe--he was free--now they had attained to the same condition, the same coveted freedom from hard labour must be theirs also. True, there were free negroes, some of whom had learnt trades, but even they were above working in the field. Why should free negroes work? Certainly not for their wives and children. The women got their allowances, and the planter had hitherto looked after the children. The negro had no house rent to pay, his two suits of clothing came regularly every year, and if he was sick the doctor attended to him. Except to deck himself with finery, he had no use for money; a few would work overtime when they wanted something of that sort, but the majority did as little as possible. [Illustration: THE FIRST OF AUGUST. (_From Madden's "West Indies."_)] In 1838, when the house servants were to be freed, while the predials must serve two years longer, the difficulties of such an arrangement became insurmountable. A daughter or wife might be entirely free, and the father or husband an "apprentice." Then came the difficulty of classification, which the commissioners appointed to arrange the divisions necessarily decided against the opinion of one or the other disputant, driving him to appeal. All this rendered a continuance of the system impossible, and slavery was terminated altogether on the 1st of August, 1838, the planters receiving from the British people twenty millions sterling as compensation, being about one-third of the estimated value of the slaves. The French had received such a lesson from the revolt of Hayti that they did little for their negroes. However, after the downfall of Louis Philippe in 1848, the revolutionary Government abolished slavery throughout the colonies, without compensation. [Illustration: A RELIC OF THE SLAVERY DAYS--OLD SLAVE BUYING FISH.] After freedom had been secured in the British colonies the slaves in neighbouring places naturally became discontented. There were not many desertions from the islands, but in Guiana, where the Dutch negroes were slaves on one side of the river Corentyne, and the British free on the other, the runaways from the former caused a great deal of trouble to the Dutch. Whenever an opportunity occurred, a party of slaves stole a boat and made off to the British side, until the Surinam planters became much alarmed. Ultimately a Dutch gunboat was stationed at the boundary river, and this put an end to the migration. Some of the islands were much affected, especially those of the Danes, which were frequented by British vessels, and were largely English in their sympathies. Here the negroes soon learnt what had happened, and began to express dissatisfaction with their own position. However, Denmark saw that something had to be done, and in 1847 enacted laws for gradual emancipation in her islands. From the 28th of July of that year all children born of slaves were to be free, and at the end of twelve years from that time slavery was to cease altogether. This did not satisfy the negroes, who became more discontented, and in 1848 an insurrection took place on the island of St. Croix. On the 2nd of July it was rumoured that the slaves would refuse to work next day, and in the evening the whites were alarmed by the ringing of bells and blowing of conch shells. At first it was considered as an alarm of fire, but on inquiry the whites found that the negroes had revolted, and were demanding their freedom. Later, people came in from the country districts with the news that there were noisy demonstrations, but that as yet no actual violence had been committed. So little alarm was as yet felt that no precautions were taken, although some persons became uneasy. Next morning the negroes streamed into Christiansted in great numbers, and commenced to demolish the police office. An officer coming into town was attacked by a woman with an axe, which fortunately missed him, but the crowd was so good-humoured that, on his treating the matter coolly he was allowed to pass: this apparent good feeling made the authorities hesitate in taking extreme measures, even when the mob came round the fort, shouting and calling for freedom. Now, however, they began to collect trash for the purpose of setting fire to a house, and the Stadthauptman and a Roman Catholic priest went among them to try remonstrances. All the answer they got was that the slaves could not fight the soldiers, but they intended to burn and destroy everything if freedom were not given them. One of the mob carried a British flag as an emblem of liberty, and several English sailors were reported as forming part of the crowd. Soon all their good-humour was gone, and they commenced plundering the stores, the whites running away to vessels in the harbour. About three o'clock in the afternoon the Governor arrived from St. Thomas, and went among the crowd telling them that they were free, at the same time ordering them to disperse quietly. For a few hours there was a lull, but next morning they reassembled in the country districts as if in doubt whether the Governor really meant what he had said. Some planters now brought their families to town, leaving their houses to be plundered. Parties of soldiers were sent out, and hundreds of prisoners were taken, the mobs, which in some cases numbered two or three thousand, dispersing at their appearance. Martial law was declared, Porto Rico sent six hundred Spanish troops, the insurrection was at last quelled, and peace restored. The Governor stood his trial in Denmark, to be acquitted, and to have his declaration of complete emancipation confirmed. Slavery still continued in the Dutch possessions until 1863, and even then it was only replaced by compulsory labour for ten years, leaving the final emancipation until 1873. Yet with all that there were no disturbances to hurry on the process or cause trouble. In Cuba a law was passed in 1870 to give freedom to all above the age of sixty, as well as to children born after the passing of the Act. This, however, was not enforced on account of internal dissensions, and although Porto Rico gave her slaves their liberty on the 23rd of March, 1873, the Cuban Emancipation Bill was not passed by the Spanish Senate until February, 1880, and under that law slavery only came to an end on the 6th of October, 1886. [Illustration] [Illustration] XV. RESULTS OF EMANCIPATION. The slave emancipation was a terrible blow to the West Indies, and one from which many of the islands have not yet recovered. It was, the planters said, the second attempt to ruin them, the first having been the abolition of the slave-trade. The party who brought it about looked to see their _protégées_ become a contented, hard-working peasantry, in place of driven cattle, as they called them. The planters, on the contrary, were morally certain that as free men they would not work, and without a labour supply their estates would be utterly ruined. The British taxpayer grumbled at having to pay twenty millions, but this was a mere sop for the estate owners. With the loss of their human chattels the plantations in many cases became utterly valueless; for the negroes congregated round certain centres, leaving most of the outlying places without enough people to keep up the cultivation. Labour had been degraded by the system, and now the full effects of such influence began to be felt. [Illustration: NEGRESS, GUIANA.] [Illustration: NEGRESS FISH-SELLERS, GUIANA.] The compensation money, in many cases, went towards paying off mortgages and other claims, the holders of which saw the impending ruin and hastened to save themselves as far as possible. But it was not enough even for that, for many plantations had liens of half the appraised value of the land, buildings, and slaves. The last security being entirely gone the others became worthless, and, as no one cared to advance money on such risks, the nominal owners could not even get as much as to pay wages. A plantation valued at perhaps £60,000 a few years before, and easily mortgaged for half that amount, received £16,000 for compensation with which to pay off the claim, and then wanted cash to carry on as well. Banks were established, but only solvent estates could get help from them, and consequently hundreds were abandoned in the larger colonies, and hardly one, with the exception of those in Barbados, could produce as much sugar as formerly. West Indian Nabobs, who had been getting their ten thousand a year and living in England, went out to see what could be done. Their incomes were entirely gone, and with them all hopes for the future. Widows and children lost their only means of support, and ruin fell on hundreds of families in England as well as in the West Indies. But not only did this downfall affect the owners and their relations, but merchants as well. Old firms shook to their very foundations, while many became bankrupt, to bring suffering to the homes of thousands who had hardly known of the sugar colonies beyond the invectives of the anti-slavery society. Many who had been strong advocates of emancipation now wished they had never said anything about it, but the die was cast, and there could never again be anything like the shilly-shallying of the French at Hayti. [Illustration: CHINESE WOOD-CARRIER.] [Illustration: EAST INDIAN COOLIE.] The negroes would not work, and there were no means of forcing them to do so. The anti-slavery party still had their delegates in the West Indies to see that the "poor negro" was not oppressed in any way, and their representatives in Parliament to call the Government to account if they allowed any vagrancy laws, or even the shadow of a coercive measure in the colonies. One ordinance after another for this purpose was disallowed, until every planter was in despair. [Illustration: EAST INDIAN COOLIE FAMILY.] [Illustration: COOLIE BARBER.] To retain their labourers was a matter of life or death. Some continued the old slave allowances to put them in good humour, but as these made the negroes independent of wages, the privilege was abused. They took everything and did nothing in return. Some went so far as to say that the Queen had promised that their late masters should supply them as usual, entirely regardless of the amount of work they did. This made the planters sore. What with one trouble and another the few who survived the wreck hardly knew how to act. They must not do anything to drive their people away, for there were many inducements offered by others in the same predicament. The negro was master, and he knew it. So much depended on him that he was enticed to labour, by high wages and greater privileges, until this bidding of one against another produced the very result which it was intended to avoid. [Illustration: EAST INDIAN COOLIE GIRL.] [Illustration: COOLIE WOMEN, BRITISH GUIANA.] Something had to be done. First, the allowances of those who would not work were stopped; then their houses and provision grounds were taken away. Thousands of fruit-trees were destroyed to prevent their living on mangoes and bananas during the season. Then the planters attempted to combine to bring wages to a paying level, and this led to strikes of the negroes. Everything tended to further estrangement until employer and labourer drifted far apart. In British Guiana the negroes bought some of the abandoned plantations and established villages; in some cases they even attempted to carry them on as sugar estates, but as all wanted to be masters they in every case failed. [Illustration: COOLIE VEGETABLE SELLERS, BRITISH GUIANA.] [Illustration: EAST INDIAN COOLIES, TRINIDAD.] As if this were not enough, the British Government went in for free trade, and allowed foreign slave-grown sugar to compete with that of the colonies. It seemed as if the French revolutionary cry of "Perish the colonies!" had now been introduced into the British Parliament. From one point of view the planters had been amply paid with the compensation money. Some went so far as to say that twenty millions could have bought all the estates in the West Indies, implying that the colonists had no further claim upon them. Even the anti-slavery party would not see that they were encouraging the slave system in other countries by opening their markets. This completed the ruin begun by emancipation, but as long as the principles were adhered to it did not matter. [Illustration: EAST INDIAN COOLIE, TRINIDAD.] Most of the remaining plantations now fell into the hands of those who had liens upon them, and they, not liking to lose their money altogether, commenced the uphill work of again bringing them into cultivation. Even a few colonists continued the struggle in hopes of better times. In Demerara there were two cases where eminent lawyers--the legal profession, by the bye, doing well when everything else was on the verge of ruin--spent all their profits in keeping their sugar estates from utter abandonment. One of these got so heavily in debt that at one time he could not pay his house rent, and as the landlord dared not sue him, he had metaphorically to go on his knees and beg him to quit. [Illustration: TRINIDAD COOLIES.] However, the sturdy English spirit survived in a few, and they set to work to obtain labourers from other parts of the world. At first they thought of Africa, but the anti-slavery party would not hear of immigration from the "dark continent," for fear of abuses. Then India was tried, with the result that a few coolies were brought over by private parties, notably to Demerara by John Gladstone. But again the cry of slavery went forth, due to the managers leaving the new-comers in the hands of their headmen or sirdars. It was charged against them that they beat their underlings, and of course the planters had to bear the responsibility. The result was that East Indian immigration was prohibited for a time. After a hard struggle on the part of the planters it was renewed, and in the end prevented Trinidad and British Guiana from utter abandonment. Besides Hindoo coolies, Chinese were also imported, as well as Maltese, Madeirans, and a few Germans. At first the negro thought little of this competition, but when he gradually dropped into the background, with his missionary friends, he commenced to protest against it. His friends said, and it was the truth, that there was enough labour in the colonies to carry on the estates, but the difficulty was that it could not be depended upon. Then the wages demanded by the negroes was entirely beyond the means of the planters--the price of sugar would not admit of them. It was a case of cheap labour or the alternative of giving up the struggle, and with the East Indians, British Guiana, and Trinidad recovered from the brink of ruin to become more flourishing in some respects than in the years immediately preceding emancipation. Jamaica, the greatest of the British colonies, suffered the most as she got but few immigrants, and it is only during the last decade that she has again begun to hold up her head. Without healthy competition with other races, the negroes sunk back, until they became even more degraded than those of British Guiana and Trinidad. In Barbados, on the contrary, the population was so dense that the freedman must either work or starve. There were no waste lands and few absentee proprietors, nor were any of the estates abandoned. Labour was plentiful and cheap; it followed, therefore, that the island soon recovered from the check and went on prospering. The compulsion of the whip gave way to the force of circumstances, and the struggle for existence which ensued has made the Barbadian negro the most industrious in the West Indies. Not only is he this, but he is, like his former masters, intensely loyal to Great Britain and "Little England." All the black, coloured, and white people in the other islands call themselves Creoles, but he is "neither Crab (Carib) nor Creole, but true Barbadian born." In the French, Danish, and Dutch colonies labour laws were enforced after emancipation, and generally with good results. They felt the change, but not to such an extent as their neighbours, and recovered all the sooner. Then they were not utterly disheartened by the unhealthy competition of slave-grown products like the English. Possibly, however, the British freedman would not have borne coercion, for even the Danes resented it. We have seen already that the negroes of the island of St. Croix were by no means willing to submit to what they considered injustice, and how they forced on their own emancipation. However, down to 1878 they were bound to the soil as it were under annual engagements, from which they were not released without proper notice, even after the term had expired. They had houses, provision grounds, allowances, and very low wages, and were bound to work five days a week. The engagement expired annually on the 1st of October, and on that day those who did not renew their contract assembled in the two towns of the island for a jollification, where something like the old "mop" or hiring fair of England took place. In 1878 they somehow got the impression that the labour law was about to be relaxed, but there does not seem to have been any combination among them to obtain such an end; they were dissatisfied, and that was all. About the same time the Government were so assured of their peaceable disposition that they reduced the garrison of Christiansted, the capital, to sixty men. When the 1st of October arrived the negroes assembled as usual in Frederiksted, round the rum shops, appearing good-humoured, although noisy, as such a crowd always must be. Nothing particular happened until, at about three o'clock in the afternoon, a cry went up that one of their number had been beaten by a policeman, on which they attacked the peace officers, and drove them into the fort, which was police-station and barracks. Some of the principal whites came out and remonstrated with them, and at first they seemed as if they would disperse, but just then the police-master, his assistant, and two soldiers rode into their midst, brandishing swords and ordering them to move off at once. Infuriated by this, the mob attacked the horsemen with stones, and drove them back into the fort, which they now stormed. The British Vice-Consul then went among them, and, after a little parleying, induced them to go with him to the outskirts of the town. Here he got a statement of their grievances, which were--first, that their wages were too low (only ten cents a day); second, that the annual contract was slavery; third, that the manager of the estate could fine them at will; and fourth, that if they wanted to leave the island they were obstructed. Having promised to do all he could for them, the Vice-Consul begged them to disperse. [Illustration: BARBADOS. (_From Andrews' "West Indies."_)] [Illustration: ST. LUCIA. (_From Andrews' "West Indies."_)] They were apparently leaving the town, when a woman came running up with the report that the man who had been beaten by the police had just died in the hospital. This made them furious, and all further hopes of their pacification had to be given up. They invaded the hospital, knocked down the sick-nurse and a patient who inquired their business, and demanded to see the murdered man. They were informed that he was not dead but only dead drunk, and would soon recover if left alone. On being convinced of this, they again went off and attacked the fort. The defenders, when assailed with stones, fired over their heads, but this only made them all the more violent. The outer gate was broken down and some of the negroes were shot. Just at that moment a planter came up, intending to enter the fort, and at once they beat him with sticks until he was nearly killed. However, the bullets checked them, but only to throw the attack on other parts of the town. Stores were pillaged and set fire to, until a great portion of the town was in flames. From some of the stores they took weapons in the shape of cane-bills, and in one were alarmed for a few moments by an explosion of gunpowder. The whole of Bay Street was soon in flames, and like troops of fiends the negroes went dancing round the fires, in some places pouring on them cans of petroleum if the houses did not blaze up fast enough. Then the rum casks began to burst, and streams of burning spirit ran down the gutters, adding to the horror of the scene. The women were always the most reckless--they danced and howled with mingled joy and rage. The men added to the din by clashing their sticks together or against the burning stores, some blowing shells as a sort of rallying signal. "Our side!" was the watchword, and all who could not or would not repeat it were severely beaten. Most of the whites, however, had fled, leaving them entirely unchecked in their destructive work. Meanwhile the police-master had sent to Christiansted for assistance, and while he waited the mob again assailed the fort and again without success. All through the night the disturbance continued, and it was not until six o'clock in the morning that a small band of twenty soldiers arrived. At their first volley the mob dispersed, flying precipitately from the town to carry the riot all over the island. Two soldiers left in charge of a waggon were killed; and on learning this the soldiers were roused to a state of fury almost as great as that of the rioters. They hunted them from one plantation to another, invaded their huts, stabbed through the mattresses, and killed every negro who came in their way, without taking the trouble to inquire whether they had been concerned in the affair or not. Three hundred prisoners were taken, and on the 5th of October a proclamation was issued calling on all the negroes to return to their houses or be treated as rebels, after which the disturbance was quelled. Twelve hundred were sentenced to death, and a Commission of Inquiry was sent out from Denmark, the result of their report being that the obnoxious labour law was repealed. We have been thus particular in our account of this riot, because it exemplifies the character of the negro and is a type of such disturbances in other colonies. There is generally some ill-feeling at the bottom, but as a rule no conspiracy beforehand. When the dissatisfaction reaches a certain point, little is required to raise the passions of the black man, and that little thing is almost sure to occur. Unlike the European, he does not proclaim his grievances, except in a general way, among his own people--he has not yet arrived at that stage where civilised man uses the platform and press. It follows, therefore, that his passions smoulder for weeks and months, until some trifle--often a misunderstanding--brings them to the surface. At St. Croix there does not appear to have been anything like race prejudice, or that envious feeling which makes the negro think himself down-trodden by his rivals; but that is a characteristic of most riots, and is strikingly exemplified in two that have taken place in Demerara. After the emancipation the negro in British Guiana became of less and less importance as more and more immigrants arrived, until he grew quite sore. No longer could he demand extortionate wages, for the labour market was virtually governed by the current rates paid to the coolies. These people, however, were quite able to hold their own, and the negro knew this; it followed, therefore, that he vented his spite upon the most inoffensive people in the colony. The Portuguese from Madeira came to British Guiana absolutely destitute just after the failure of the vines on their island. They found the negro more prosperous than perhaps he has ever been since, for this was the time when, if he worked, he could always save money if he chose. In fact, many did so, and bought land which is still in the hands of some of their descendants, on which houses much superior to those now in existence were erected. The Portuguese could not endure the hard labour of sugar-planting, but soon found openings as small shopkeepers or pedlars. Hitherto there was little competition in these businesses, but the few who carried them on were negroes or coloured persons. These were soon ousted out, and the Portuguese became almost the only small trader in the colony. This was a grievance to the negro, who could not see that he himself reaped the benefit--certainly he took advantage of the reduced prices while abusing the sellers. At the beginning of the year 1856 the negroes of Georgetown were excited by the arrival of an anti-Popery agitator, who had become notorious in England, Scotland, and the United States. John Sayers Orr, known as "the Angel Gabriel," because he blew a trumpet to call the people together, was a native of Demerara, and soon found out what a strong antipathy to the Portuguese existed among the people. This suited his ideas exactly, for were they not Roman Catholics--the very body which he had been declaiming everywhere against? Soon his horn-blowing brought crowds into the market square every Sunday, where his harangues roused his hearers to such a pitch of fury that the authorities became alarmed. He was therefore arrested, brought before a magistrate, charged with convening an illegal assembly, and committed for trial. This committal of the popular hero was the spark which set all the negroes' passions in a blaze, but, strange to say, they did not attack the authorities. Their spite was against the Portuguese, and soon almost the whole colony was the scene of a general raid upon their shops. Hardly any escaped, but one after another was broken open and the goods either carried away or destroyed. Some went so far as to use the Governor's name, as if he had authorised the raid, and in this way got ignorant people in the country districts to help them to seize boats, provisions, and even the produce of the farms of the obnoxious Portuguese. The riot was ultimately quelled, but not before the damage amounted to over a quarter of a million dollars. Hundreds of prisoners were captured, but beyond the shooting of one policeman there does not appear to have been any serious casualties, neither were there any executions. It is interesting to note that the idea of poisoning, which is connected with Obeah superstition, was conspicuous here as in the Berbice slave insurrection. One black man charged a Portuguese with threatening to poison his customers with the provisions he sold them; but all the satisfaction the negro got was a reprimand from the magistrate. The second great riot in Georgetown is notable for its similarity to that at St. Croix. The feeling of antipathy to the Portuguese still continued, and the negro had a special grievance on account of the reprieve of a murderer of that nationality. If he had been black he would have been hanged, they said--it was colour prejudice. However, no disturbance took place for several months, and even then it only came about through a misunderstanding. A black boy buying a cent roll of bread in the market, snatched one of the penny rolls instead, when the Portuguese stall-keeper struck him down with a stick. The boy was taken up senseless and carried to the hospital, while his assailant through some misunderstanding was not arrested. At once there was a cry of "Portugee kill black man; Binney (the clerk of the market) let he go," and they began to assail the clerk with sticks and stones. The police arrived, dispersed the mob, and shut up the market, but this only led to their scattering throughout the city. The report that the black boy was dead was carried into every yard, and at once swarms of women and boys, with comparatively few men, began to smash the Portuguese shops. The authorities did next to nothing, beyond sending out a few special constables, armed only with sticks, to fight against overpowering crowds better provided with weapons than themselves. The consequence was that for two days Georgetown was in the power of thousands of negroes, and damage resulted to the amount of nearly fifty thousand dollars. The disturbance was finally checked by arming the police, and issuing a proclamation that they were authorised to fire on the rioters. Not a single shot was fired, however; the threat was quite sufficient for the purpose. It will be seen from these cases that of late years the negroes have not perpetrated such massacres as once characterised their insurrections, but the insurrection at St. Thomas-in-the-East in Jamaica seems to show that the old spirit was not dead in 1865. For several years previous Jamaica had been much depressed--in fact, she had hardly begun to recover from the ruin which followed emancipation. Then came a two years' drought, which caused some distress among the people, who had no other means of support than what was derived from their small provision fields. The Baptist connexion was very strong in the island, and Dr. Underhill, the Secretary of its Missionary Society, went out, and on his return published reports blaming the Government for the distress, which he appears to have highly exaggerated. This tended to produce more dissatisfaction and to give the negroes an object on which they could vent their feelings. In one of Dr. Underhill's letters he said the people seemed to be overwhelmed with discouragement, and that he feared they were giving up their long struggle with injustice and fraud in despair. Thus a feeling was produced which only required some little incident to bring on a serious disturbance. On the 7th of October a black man was brought up for trial before the Custos of St. Thomas-in-the-East, when a somewhat orderly mob marched into the town to, if possible, release the prisoner. They crowded round the court-house and made such a disturbance that one of them was taken in charge, only, however, to be rescued at once by his friends. Nothing more was done on that day, but warrants having been issued for the arrest of the leaders, their execution was forcibly resisted. The negroes now seem to have planned a general rising and issued notices calling their people to arms. "Blow your shells, roll your drums; house to house take out every man! War is at us; my black skin, war is at hand. Every black man must turn at once, for the oppression is too great." They were, they said, ground down by an overbearing and oppressive foreigner, and if they did not get justice would burn and kill. On the 11th of October a mob assembled at the same court-house, and being resisted by a small body of volunteers, they killed the Custos, and every white man who opposed them, to the number of twenty-eight, released all the prisoners and burnt the building. Immediately afterwards there was a general rising in the district, which spread for about fifty miles. Governor Eyre, when he heard the news, at once determined to suppress the insurrection before it affected the whole island. Martial law was declared, a body of maroons employed, and within a few days the riots were suppressed. Many of the negroes were shot as they tried to escape, others taken and hanged at once, their villages burnt to the ground, and altogether they received such a lesson as effectually put a stop to anything of the kind in the future. It was stated that 439 people were killed and 600 flogged; a thousand houses were burnt and a great deal of property destroyed by both parties. The severity of Governor Eyre caused a great outcry in England, especially among the Baptists. Among those who were executed was Mr. Gordon, a member of the Assembly, who no doubt fell a victim to the feeling aroused among the whites. He was charged with being a prime instigator of the revolt, but it does not appear that he went beyond what is generally allowed to a political agitator. Such agitation, however, amongst ignorant people, who are easily excited, is particularly dangerous, and likely to recoil on the heads of those who initiate it, who must be prepared to risk the consequences. Governor Eyre was recalled, and prosecuted without success. He undoubtedly saved the island, and, although such executions as were committed can hardly be excused, yet when we consider the alarm and excitement, we must make some allowances. And, after all, it must be remembered that the loss of life would probably have been much greater had not the insurrection been nipped in the bud. Barbados is unique in several respects, and as may be supposed there is something remarkable even about her riots. The patriotism of the inhabitants, both black and white, is proverbial all over the West Indies. There is no place in the world to equal Barbados--no colony but what has been conquered by the enemy at some time or other. "Little England" was said to have offered an asylum to King George the Third when Buonaparte intended to invade England, and no doubt if such an offer was ever made it was done in all sincerity. Barbadians are proud of their constitution, and jealous of its infringement in the slightest degree. This feeling led to a disturbance in 1876, which was the nearest approach to an insurrection on that island in late years. It has often been suggested that a confederation of the British West Indies would be advantageous in many ways, and in 1876 the Secretary of State was of opinion that a closer union of Barbados and the other Windward Islands was desirable. The Governor of all the islands was then Mr. Pope Hennessy, who had lately been appointed, and who had been directed to obtain the consent of Barbados to a partial union. The measures proposed were of little importance, consisting only of the amalgamation of the prisons, lunatic asylums, and lazarettos, and the extension of the powers of the Chief Justice, Auditor-General, and the police force to cover the whole of the islands. An outsider would suppose that there was nothing offensive in these changes, but that, on the contrary, they would be beneficial in many ways, but most of the Barbadians opposed them strongly. Barbados, they said, was solvent, while some of the islands were on the verge of bankruptcy--their island should not be taxed to support paupers. They held meetings at which six points were agreed to, and on which the leaders harangued crowds throughout the island. These were, first, that their Court of Appeal would be abolished; second, that all the mad people from other islands would have to be supported by them; third, that all the lepers would come there; fourth, that the officials of other islands would live on them; fifth, that the power would be taken from the people and given to the Governor; and sixth, that as the House of Assembly had always been faithful they resented any interference with it. The Governor was desirous of carrying his project, and possibly went farther than was consistent with his instructions, which were to bring about the arrangement in an amicable manner. He did all he could to create a party in its favour, and was charged by the other side with using underhand means to this end. The main point, however, on which he laid stress, and which seems to have caused the trouble, was the advantage to the Barbadians of having the other islands so close as to become virtually like their own parishes, so that the surplus population would be able to take up lands that were then useless, and lying waste. Barbados is densely populated. All the lands are occupied, and it is very difficult to procure even a small lot--this makes the people all the more eager to get possession of a little freehold. Yet, with all this, they will not settle in other islands, where they can get a piece of ground for next to nothing. Somehow or other the more ignorant people seem to have got the notion that the Governor was promising them land in Barbados, and this made them enthusiastic for his project. Something like communism would, they thought, follow if the Confederation Act were passed, and this was the reason in their opinion why the other party fought against it. The planters spoke as if Mr. Hennessy had laid himself open to such a misunderstanding, and that made them all the more virulent against him. The anti-Confederation party said that it had always been the pride and glory of Barbados to have a separate political existence, and if under their own institutions they had achieved a success which made them the envy of their neighbours, why should they change? The majority of the House of Assembly were on their side, and it is difficult to understand why the Governor pressed the matter in the way he did. The opposition was no doubt foolish, but still, if the people chose to be silly, he could not overcome their prejudices. Party feeling ran high, only the mob shouting for Hennessy and Confederation. Those on one side would hiss him as he appeared--the others took the horses from his carriage and drew him along in triumph. It was reported that he never went out without a guard, and that even his wife lived in continual fear. She had been threatened with the abduction of her child, and one ruffian went so far as to pelt the little one as he was driven along the street, for which he was prosecuted. At last, on the 18th of April, 1876, when the party feeling had existed over six weeks, matters came to a crisis. A man went into the yard of Byde Mill plantation, flourishing a cane-cutter, and bearing a red flag. He was, he said, a Confederation man, had just come from the Governor, and wanted some liquor (cane juice). Getting nothing he went out and brought his brother who bore a sword, and the two quarrelled with the man in the boiling-house, the one with the sword attempting to stab him. They defied a constable who came to arrest them, and one blew a shell which brought a mob of women and children, who went into a field of sweet-potatoes and began to carry them off. Three mounted police arrived, but they were pelted with stones, and one who attempted to arrest the man with the sword got wounded. A magistrate then came and read the Riot Act, but the mob refused to disperse. As usual there were grievances, some complained that their pay had been stopped, which the manager said was because they could not work the mill full time for want of wind. Two cane-fields were now set on fire, and the disturbance spread, its great characteristic being raids upon the potato fields. In several places live stock were killed, dwellings broken into, and everything chopped or broken to pieces. A few shots were exchanged, but no one appears to have been killed, although many got wounds and bruises from sticks and stones. Everywhere the mob declared they had the authority of the Governor for what they were doing, and the sufferers from their depredations charged Mr. Hennessy with delay in putting down the disturbance. This, however, was probably due to the effect of the persecution of Governor Eyre, which has made every West Indian Governor hesitate before going to extremes. However, when the people from the country districts began to fly to Bridgetown he sent out a few soldiers who very quickly dispersed the mobs. A sensational telegram to London stated that five hundred prisoners had been taken, forty people killed and wounded, rioting was suspended, but their position was threatened, and that confidence in the Government had entirely gone. This was highly exaggerated, but a great deal of property was destroyed or injured, fifty estates pillaged, and probably over fifty persons received more or less serious blows. Quite a storm fell upon Hennessy, who on the 26th of April had to issue a proclamation threatening to direct the law officers to take prompt measures against those who libelled him, by saying that he had sent emissaries through the island to mislead the people, and that he countenanced and abetted the disgraceful and lawless acts of the marauders. [Illustration] [Illustration] XVI. THE ISTHMUS TRANSIT SCHEMES. By the second half of the last century the supply of gold and silver from Peru had much diminished, and the road across the isthmus almost fell into disuse. In 1780, during the great war, the British appear to have had some vague notion that it would be good policy to secure the track across Nicaragua, for which purpose an expedition was fitted out. Early in that year Nelson sailed from Jamaica with five hundred men, and after getting a number of Indians from the Mosquito shore and a reinforcement of British troops, the party made the difficult ascent of the San Juan river, and captured the fort of the same name. But, through ignorance, the whole affair proved disastrous--the fort was useless, and the losses through sickness very great. Of eighteen hundred men only three hundred and eighty survived, and Nelson himself nearly lost his life. He was obliged to go home to recruit, and it was only after spending two or three months at Bath that he recovered to continue that glorious career which made him so famous. However, it was not long afterwards that a project for utilising the isthmus was brought under the consideration of the British Government by General Miranda, of whom we have spoken in another chapter. He wanted Pitt to assist him in his projects for the emancipation of the Spanish colonies, and, as a means to this end, in 1790, proposed that the British should take possession of Darien, and thus further their commerce in the Pacific. Nothing was done at that time, and a few years later Miranda made a second proposition that the United States should join with Great Britain, and open roads and canals for both nations. Mr. Pitt seems to have agreed to this, and was only prevented from attempting to carry it out by the delay of President Adams. The United States were to furnish ten thousand men, and Great Britain money and ships. In 1801, under Lord Sidmouth, an expedition was actually set on foot, only to collapse at the Peace of Amiens. Again, in 1804, Pitt tried to carry out the project with Miranda, but the condition of Europe stood in the way of expeditions to the Spanish Main. [Illustration: ATLANTIC ENTRANCE TO DARIEN CANAL. (_From Cullen's "Darien Canal."_)] In enumerating the advantages likely to accrue from the emancipation of South America, a writer in the _Edinburgh Review_ of January, 1809, laid great stress upon a passage across the isthmus. It was the most important to the peaceful intercourse of nations of anything that presented itself to the enterprise of man. So far from being a romantic and chimerical project, it was not only practicable, but easy. The river Chagré, about eighteen leagues westward of Porto Bello, was navigable as far as Cruzes, within five leagues of Panama. But there was even a better route; at about five leagues from its mouth the Chagré received the river Trinidad, which was navigable to Embarcadero, from which Panama was only distant thirty miles through a level country. The ground had been surveyed, and not the practicability only, but the facility of the work _completely ascertained_. Further north was the grand lake of Nicaragua, which by itself almost extended the navigation from sea to sea. The Governor of St. John's Castle (Fort San Juan) had been instructed by the king of Spain to refuse permission to any British subject desirous of passing up or down this lake, "for if ever the English came to a knowledge of its importance and value they would soon make themselves masters of this part of the country." But not only had the best places for a canal been selected at this early time, but the many advantages to be derived from its construction had been well considered. The same writer went on to say that from this splendid and not difficult enterprise, not merely the commerce of the western shores of America would be brought, as it were, to their doors, but that of the South Sea whalers, who would be saved the tedious and dangerous voyage round Cape Horn. Then the whole of the vast interests of Asia would increase in value to a degree that was then difficult to conceive, by having a direct route across the Pacific. It would be as if, by some great revolution of the globe, they were brought nearer. Immense would be the traffic which immediately would begin to cover the ocean--all the riches of India and China moving towards America. Then also the commodities of Europe and America would be carried towards Asia. As a result of this, vast depôts would be formed at the two extremities of the canal, to soon develop into great commercial cities. Never before had such an opportunity been offered to a nation as Great Britain had then before her, owing to a wonderful combination of circumstances. Mr. Robinson, a United States merchant, in 1821, said that the most ardent imagination would fail in an attempt to portray all the important and beneficial consequences of such a work, the magnitude and grandeur of which were worthy the profound attention of every commercial nation. The powers of the old and new world should discard all selfish considerations, and unite to execute it on a magnificent scale, so that when completed it might become, like the ocean, a highway of nations, the enjoyment of which should be guaranteed by all, and be exempt from the caprice or regulation of any one kingdom or state. Such were the views promulgated at the beginning of this century, but nothing was done until about 1850, when the pressure of circumstances again brought the isthmus into note. Darien and Panama are in the Republic of New Granada, but north of these come the small states of Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, San Salvador, and Guatemala. All of these are inhabited by true Americans--native races who have to a considerable extent absorbed the slight admixture of European blood introduced by their conquerors. Some places are so inaccessible as to be virtually outside the pale of civilisation. The roads are nothing but mule tracks, full of quagmires where the animals have to wade up to their girths in mud--in fact, little better than the paths so well described by Lionel Wafer. The rivers are numerous, and, on account of the heavy rainfall, their currents are very strong, and all the more dangerous from the numerous sandbanks and rapids which obstruct their course. Since the states gained their independence they have passed through so many changes of government that at the beginning hardly a month passed without a revolution in one or the other. This went on until 1848 without interference from outside, but with the discovery of gold in California came an invasion of ruffians of all nations. The old freebooters almost seemed to have come to life again. Hardy adventurers from all parts of the world rushed off to the new "El Dorado," woke the sleepy Nicaraguans on the San Juan river, and roused the people of Chagres. Over the isthmus of Panama or through the Nicaragua lake they flocked by thousands, necessitating the establishment of Transit Companies to provide them with mules, boats, and steamers. The easiest, although longest, route was through Nicaragua, which was controlled by the Vanderbilt Company, and during the time the "rush" lasted they took over two or three thousand per month. The Company had steamers on the lake to meet the throng of diggers as they arrived, and they passed through at regular intervals like a tide. The overland part of the route presented a strange spectacle, with their pack mules and horses. Men of all nationalities, armed with pistols and knives, which they were prepared to use on the Greasers (natives) at the slightest provocation, put these altogether in the background. A traveller has spoken of them as a string of romantic figures that could not be matched in any other part of the world. Some glowed with fervent passion, as if on fire, others were hard, cold, and rugged as the rocky passes they traversed, while a few were worn, old, and decaying, under the effects of the hardships and reverses of their stormy existence. Every line in their faces had a meaning, if it could only have been interpreted, telling of sin and suffering--of adventures more terrible than were ever portrayed by the pen of the romantic writer, and of experiences as fascinating as they had been dangerous. Among the results of this rush through Nicaragua was the expedition of William Walker, the great filibuster of this century. With fifty-five men he went forth from California to conquer Central America, and in the end nearly succeeded. He got himself elected President of Nicaragua, but ultimately raised such a storm that he was brought to bay by some forces from Honduras and Costa Rica, and had to surrender to the captain of a British man-of-war, by whom he was handed over to his enemies to be shot. With this wonderful traffic across the isthmus arose the old canal schemes, as well as a new one for a railway. Easy and rapid transit must be obtained in some way or other, and this time being in the age of steam, it naturally followed that the project for a railway gained immediate support. It was commenced in 1850, at which time the terminus on the Gulf side was settled, and the foundations of the new town of Aspinwall or Colon laid a few miles east of Chagres. The difficulties were enormous, on account of the marshy ground and the number of rivers to be crossed. The wooden bridges were almost immediately attacked by wood ants, floods carried away the timbers, but more distressing than all was the loss of life through sickness. Chinese labourers were imported in great numbers, only to fall victims to the same deadly climate which had given Porto Bello and the isthmus generally their evil reputation. However, the railway was completed in 1864, at the enormous cost of $7,500,000, although its length is only 47-1/2 miles. Thus one part of the great project was carried out, and a good road provided for passengers and light goods, the annual value of which latter is now about £15,000,000. But those in favour of a canal were not sleeping all this time. The old routes were again mooted, that through Lake Nicaragua being put down at 194 miles in length, while the other, since known as the Panama, was only 51. Dr. Edward Cullen, however, in 1850 went out and made some surveys, with the result that he advocated the old Darien line as the shortest and most practicable. He would start from the same Port de Escoces that witnessed the downfall of William Paterson's scheme, and which he said was a most commodious harbour for the terminus of a canal. The isthmus was here only 39 miles across, and free from many of the difficulties which beset the other routes. As a result of Dr. Cullen's reports, in 1852 it was proposed to establish "The Atlantic and Pacific Junction Company," with a capital of fifteen millions sterling. The prospectus stated that the period had arrived when the spread of commerce and the flow of emigration to the western shores of America, Australasia, and China, demanded a passage more direct than those by way of the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn. Various projects had been formed for uniting the two oceans, but all these were open to the objection that they fell short of supplying a continuous channel from sea to sea, for vessels of all dimensions, by which alone transhipment could be obviated. Sir Charles Fox, Mr. John Henderson, Mr. Thomas Brassey, and Dr. Cullen had received a concession of territory from New Ganada to the extent of 200,000 acres, on condition that a deposit of £24,000 be made within twelve months. It was believed that the work could be completed for twelve millions. The _Times_ spoke disparagingly of the new Company, and this probably prevented its acceptance by the financial world. The line, it said, had not been actually surveyed, but only superficially examined, and, after all, if it were finished, it could only come into competition with the Nicaragua Canal, every foot of which had been the subject of precise estimates, and which would only cost _four millions_. Several letters from the projectors and supporters of the Company followed, with other leaders, the result being that the Darien Canal never went beyond a project. Presently also the rush for California abated, and the railway met the wants of the passengers; all the canal schemes were therefore again shelved for a time. Then came an almost Utopian project for a ship railway, the cars of which would run down into the water, take up the largest vessel, and carry it over without trouble or difficulty. This met with little encouragement, and was soon dropped. In 1879 Ferdinand de Lesseps, who had achieved such a glorious success with the Suez Canal, took up the matter of a canal between the two oceans, and summoned a congress of savants, engineers and seamen, to inquire into and discuss the questions of its possibility, and of the most suitable place for its excavation. A number of projects were considered, among them that of Dr. Cullen, brought forward by M. de Puydt, which, however, did not receive much attention, as there was a difference of opinion as to the reliability of the figures. The schemes were ultimately reduced to two--those for the Nicaragua and Panama routes. The position of the great lake caused the former to be thoroughly discussed; but there were several almost insurmountable difficulties in the way of its adoption. To clear the San Juan river, and make it into a great canal, would entail great labour and expense, and then seven or eight locks would be required. On the Pacific side locks would also be required for the Rivas, while the harbours of Greytown on the Gulf side, and Brito on the Pacific, were quite unsuited as termini for a canal. The total length would be 182-1/2 miles, and the time occupied in the passage four and a half days. There was also another great draw-back: Nicaragua was and is subject to earthquakes, which would be likely at times to interfere greatly with such heavy works as were required. It followed, therefore, that notwithstanding the powerful support of the Americans, this line was abandoned in favour of that from Port Simon to Panama, not far from the railway. Two French officers, MM. Wyse and Reclus, had explored the country, and proposed to carry the canal through the Chagres river, and thence, by means of a great tunnel, into the valley of the Rio Grande; but, on consideration, the tunnel was abandoned in favour of a deep cutting, which would not exceed 290 feet. The great objection to this was the floods of the Chagres river, which sometimes rose twenty-five feet in a single night; but this was got over by arranging for a separate bed for the canal. There were a few other difficulties, but propositions were made to obviate them; and at last the sub-commission reported that "the Panama Canal on the level technically presents itself under the most satisfactory conditions, and ensures every facility, as it gives every security, for the transit of vessels from one sea to another." Now came the question of cost. The Nicaragua Canal was estimated at £32,000,000, and that at Panama £40,000,000. (The reader will compare these with former estimates, especially that of Nicaragua as stated by the _Times_.) The former was rejected absolutely, on account of the necessity for locks, and all further discussion was concerned with the latter. It was then calculated that, with transit dues of fifteen francs per ton, the net annual profit would be £1,680,000. M. de Lesseps was elected to the Academy in 1885, when M. Renan said he had been born to pierce isthmuses, and that antiquity would have made him a god. Carried away by enthusiasm, the great projector saw no difficulties; he had already completed a work which had been declared almost impossible, now he would carry out a project similar to that proposed by William Paterson. However, Panama was not Suez, a rainless desert, but a place where floods, marshes, and quagmires took the place of almost level sands. M. Wyse had vainly tried to start a Company; but when Lesseps, with all the prestige of his Suez Canal, joined him, there was comparatively little difficulty. Personally, Lesseps seems to have known little of Panama--all his knowledge was gained at second hand. The first public subscription was invited in July, 1879, the capital being 400,000,000 francs (£16,000,000), in 800,000 shares at 500 francs each. This large sum, however, was not obtained at once, only £3,200,000 being applied for. However, Lesseps was not discouraged, but determined to go on with the work, trusting that money would flow in as it was wanted, which ultimately proved to be the case, until the project appeared hopeless. He visited the isthmus, and made a triumphal progress over the line; he even witnessed one of the great floods of the Chagres river, which rose forty feet and covered the railway. Undaunted by this, he went over to Panama, and on the 5th of January, 1880, inaugurated the great canal with a ceremony and _fête_. He then stated that success was assured, and declared, upon his word of honour, that the work would be much easier on the isthmus than in the desert of Suez. In March following he visited New York, where he was but coldly received, on account of American jealousy of European influence. The President said that the capital invested in such an enterprise by corporations or citizens of other countries must be protected by one or more of the great Powers, but no European Power could intervene for such protection without adopting means which the United States would deem inadmissible. This did not damp his enthusiasm; if other countries would not assist, all the credit would go to France. The Company had a concession from the Columbian Republic for twelve years, and the United States would not be likely to interfere. It will be interesting here to compare the estimates for the canal by different persons and at different times within two years:-- M. Wyse, 1879 £17,080,000 The Paris Congress, 1879 41,760,000 The Lesseps Commission, February, 1880 33,720,000 M. de Lesseps himself, " " 26,320,000 Rectified estimate, September, 1880 21,200,000 Lesseps said he had an offer from a contractor to complete the work for twenty millions. Backed by the press and the deputies, the Company's shares sold freely, and on the 3rd of March, 1881, it was fully established. It was promised that in the course of that year the line of the canal should be cleared, and dredging commenced. Lesseps expected to finish in 1887, but in 1884 and the two following years he was obliged to advance the time to 1890. The canal was to be 47 miles long, 70 feet wide at the bottom, and 29 feet deep. Little was done in 1881, but the work was divided into five sections, and in the following year dredging and excavating were commenced. But, even thus early, it was found to be more difficult than had been expected. Up to March, 1883, only 659,703 metres had been excavated, which was reckoned to be about 1/130th of the whole. This would not do, as it meant that over a century would pass before its completion. About seven thousand labourers, mostly Jamaica negroes, were employed at that time, and this number was increased until, in 1888, there were 11,500. In 1884 the average amount excavated was 600,000 metres per month, against Lesseps' estimate of two millions. Yet, with all that, it was calculated that in this year only 1/180th of the material had been taken out. The difficulties were enormous. First, there was trouble to find dumping places, where the earth would not be again washed into the excavations by heavy floods. Then came the rank vegetation, which was continually stretching from either side to choke the clearing. Weeds grew six to eight feet high in a rainy season, and these, with the straggling vines, kept a little army at work to clear them away from the embankments and tracks. The workmen suffered greatly from yellow and other fevers, and £600,000 was spent on hospitals and their appurtenances. Money was spent profusely on such things as grand offices and a magnificent house to lodge the President, if he should ever come to inspect the works. All along the route were ornamental bungalows, and the director-general at Panama had a salary of £20,000, besides a house and other allowances. Even he suffered from fever, and his wife and daughter died of it. Up to 1888 about fifty millions sterling had been spent, and hardly a fifth of the work was finished. Then financial difficulties led to an arrangement for merging it in a new Company, which proposed to complete the canal on a new plan. Notwithstanding all the objections to locks, it was now proposed to save such an immense work of excavation by erecting four on either side, thus bringing the highest water level to 123 feet. Eighteen and a half miles were said to have been completed, of which five were on the Pacific side and the remainder on the Gulf. To carry out the new plan, £36,000,000 more were required, but, as a matter of fact, only a third of the work necessary for this revised scheme had been done. Then came the downfall, which has been compared to that of the South Sea Bubble. When the Company went into liquidation, scores of shady transactions came to light. Editors of newspapers and deputies had been bribed to gain their support, and money had been wasted in almost every possible manner. In February, 1893, M. Ferdinand de Lesseps and four other directors were prosecuted, with the result that he, MM. C. de Lesseps, Fontaine, and Cottin, were convicted of breach of trust and swindling, the two former being sentenced to five years' imprisonment and 3,000 francs fines each, and the latter two years and 20,000 francs fines. M. Eiffel, the architect of the great tower of Paris, was found guilty of breach of trust, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment and a fine of 20,000 francs. Nine persons were then charged with receiving bribes, one of whom, M. Baïhaut, admitted that he got 375,000 francs. Three were found guilty, sentenced to imprisonment, fines, and to pay the liquidators of the company the amount of M. Baïhaut's bribe. Charles de Lesseps appealed against the charges of swindling, and these were quashed on the ground that the transactions had occurred more than five years before, thus getting the longer terms of imprisonment and fines of the three principals reduced. Ferdinand de Lesseps hardly knew what was going on; he was old, feeble, and in a state of apathy and stupor. Pity for his condition prevented the carrying out of the sentence as far as he was concerned, and he died on the 7th of December, 1894. The _Times_, in noticing his death, said the story was a most pitiful one. The blame of the Panama affair must be laid upon the people and the public temper. Bribery and corruption were symptoms of a thoroughly unhealthy state of things. An infatuated public provided enormous sums; when these were spent, more went the same way, and to get these contributions everything possible was done. Lesseps was no engineer, but a diplomatist, planning great schemes and the means of carrying them out. He was the man of the moment in France. He was neither a financier nor an engineer, neither an impostor nor a swindler. He was a man of great originality, of indomitable perseverance, of boundless faith in himself, and of singular powers of fascination over others. Meanwhile several attempts had been made to get money to carry on the work, one of which was by means of a lottery. But the French people were discouraged, and were no longer prepared to throw good money after bad. It followed, therefore, that although in 1894 a new company, with a capital of sixty-five million francs, was proposed, and that it was announced in August that eight hundred workmen were engaged, it does not appear that anything is being done. If, as has been stated, only a third of the work has been accomplished for, say, thirty millions, allowing for waste of money, it can hardly be expected that double this amount will ever be obtained. What with the heavy floods and rank vegetation, a great deal will have to be done to recover lost ground; in fact, some of the excavations must be filled up by this time. Those who know the country can easily understand that the handsome bungalows, hospitals, and workmen's houses must be overrun by wood-ants, and that the machinery is mostly spoilt by rust. Even if the canal is ever finished with locks, it is doubtful whether it could pay a dividend, as the work of keeping it open by dredging would be very expensive. No doubt it would be a boon to the world if it were finished, but capitalists expect profit, and will hardly be inclined to assist without such expectations. [Illustration: EUROPE SUPPORTED BY AFRICA AND AMERICA. (_From Stedman's "Surinam."_)] The Nicaragua canal has been in course of excavation for several years past by an American Company. As finally adopted, it is to have a total length of 169.4 miles, of which 56-1/2 will be through the lake, and 64½ through the San Juan river. There are to be three locks on either side, which may cause trouble in case of a violent earthquake; and then, again, the length of the journey will be against it as compared with that of Panama. It has been attempted in the United States to make it a national work, and the sum of a hundred million dollars is asked from the American Government, or at least a guarantee on the issue of bonds to that amount. We believe that very little enthusiasm for the project has been shown. In August, 1893, the Company was unable to meet its obligations, and a receiver was appointed, since which time we believe the work is being continued, and that it has been decided to complete it as soon as possible. M. de Varigny, in _L'Illustration_ of June the 1st, 1895, gives the following opinion on the work and its political importance:-- "That the Washington statesmen take account of the fact that the cutting of the isthmus is difficult, costly, and, in case of a rupture with England, dangerous, we cannot doubt. But such is the fascination of great enterprises, of grand words and grand theories, that senators and representatives hesitate to oppose the current of opinion that is bearing along the masses. "The work has begun, and we can only hope that it will succeed. There cannot be too many gates of communication between different peoples. The United States undertake to open this. Can they do it, and doing it, will they give up the advantages they will thereby acquire? The future will show." [Illustration] INDEX. Acosta, Pedro de, explorer of the Orinoco, 43 African slavery, 157 Aguirre the Tyrant, 38 Alfinger, Ambrosio de, searches for "El Dorado," 34 Altienza, Donna Inez de, murdered by Aguirre, 39 Amazon Company, 83 Amazon, expedition of Ursua and Aguirre, 38 American Indian, his character, 1 _Amis des Noirs_, 257 "Angel Gabriel," John Sayers Orr, rouses the negroes of Demerara, 335 Antigua, 165 Anti-slavery party, 289, 298 Apprenticeship, negro, 306 Araby, a leader of bush negroes, 227 Arawaks, their character, 2; Columbus tries to enslave them, 9; the Spanish sovereign's good feeling for them, 9; their treatment by the first colonists, 11; did not lay up provisions, 12; thinks Spaniards gods, 12; refuse to be slaves, 18; die off in great numbers, 18; in Guiana, 23, 75 Araya, Dutch at, 75 Armada, Spanish, 63, 64 Aruba, 277 Aspinwall, 352 _Assiento_ contract to supply slaves, 196 Ayscue, Sir George, reduces Barbados for the Parliament, 124 Bahamas, natives kidnapped, 19; settled by English, 86; resort of buccaneers, 96; captured by Spaniards, 117 Baïhaut, M., bribed by Panama Canal Company, 361 Bannister, Major, English Governor of Surinam, 169 Barbados, first colonised, 85; protests against grant to Earl of Carlisle, 117; result of the English revolution, 117; Charles II. proclaimed king, 122; Sir George Ayscue arrives to subdue the island, 124; attack on Hole Town, 126; the island surrenders, 128; sufferings of a bond-servant in, 151; De Ruyter driven off from, 161; its unique position, 208; negro plots, 213; anti-slavery insurrection, 293; result of emancipation, 328; confederation disturbances, 341 Barker, Andrew, a rover, 62 Baron, a bush negro chief, 229 Basco, Michael de, a buccaneer, 99, 102 Baskerville, Sir Thomas, a companion of Drake, 65 Beaudierre, Mons. de, a sympathiser with the coloured people of Hayti, 259 Berbice, supplies cut off during war, 170; captured by French corsairs, 178, 179; great slave insurrection, 218 Belize, 250 Berrie, one of Ralegh's captains, 74 Berrio, Antonio de, Spanish Governor of Trinidad, 69 Bolivar, Simon, Liberator of Venezuela, 279 Bond-servants, 149 Boyer, President of Hayti, 275 Brethren of the coast, 93 British Guiana, 328, 334 British Legion in Venezuela, 286 Bull of Partition, its terms, 48; disputed, 49; practically revoked, 134 Bush negroes, 225 Buxton, Fowell, 300 Byam, Major, Governor of Surinam, 128 Byron, Admiral, 241, 242 Caciques of the Indians, their position, 4 California rush, 351 Campeachy, Bay of, 96, 200 Cannibals, 20, 31 Canning's declaration of neutrality, 285 Caribana, 75 Caribbee Islands, 20, 85 Caribs, their character, 6; cannibalism, 20, 31; hatred of Spaniards, 20; in Guiana, 23, 75; in St. Kitt's, 88 Carlisle, Earl of, Grantee of Caribbee Islands, 85, 122 Carthagena, taken by French, 178; great fair, 184; attacked by Admiral Vernon, 205 Cary, Colonel, favours the buccaneers, 165 Casas, Las, 46 Cassard, Jacques, the corsair, 179; captures St. Eustatius, 180; Curaçao, 181 Cattle, wild, 21 "Cavaliers" and "Roundheads" in Barbados, 119 Central American Republics, 288 Chagres, 352 Charbon, Jan Abraham, 219 Charles I. and the Colonies, 114 Charles II. declared king in the Bermudas and Virginia, 117; Barbados, 122; his interest in the plantations, 135 Chinese labourers introduced, 327 Christianity forced on the natives, 8, 27 Christophe, a Haytian leader, 269, 274 Clervaux, a Haytian leader, 271 Clifford, Jeronomy, case of, 173 Cochrane, Admiral, 277 Codrington, Colonel, 119 Coffee, 143 Coffee, leader of rebel slaves in Berbice, 221, 223 Coke, John, 84 Colon, 352 Colonies, Spanish, in Hispaniola, 11, 14 Coloured people in Hayti, 257 Columbian Republic, 288 Columbus' opinion of the natives, 6 Confederation in Barbados, 341 Contraband trade with Spanish colonies, 53, 57, 201 Convict labour, 147 Coolies, East Indian, 327 Cooper, Anthony Ashley, 147 Corsairs, 49, 177 Corteso, Juan, an "El Dorado" seeker, 45 Costa Rica, 288 Cottin, M., 360 Cotton, 15, 18, 141 Council for Plantations, 135, 146 Cromwell and the West Indies, 129 Cudjo, a maroon chief, 215 Cuba, 20 Cullen, Dr. E., projector of the Darien Canal, 353 Curaçao, 115, 152, 165, 180, 238 Darbey, John, an English prisoner in Cuba, 171 Darien Canal, 353 Darien scheme, 188 Delgado, Augustine, an "El Dorado" seeker, 46 Demerara, 213, 246, 252, 301 Dessalines, a chief in the Haytian insurrection, 271; crowned emperor, 274 Dogs, hunt Indians, 16; run wild, 22; hunt maroons, 235; hunt rebel negroes, 271 Dominica, 91, 116, 238, 241, 249 _Dominus Vobiscum_, one of the first English vessels in the West Indies, 49 D'Oyley, Governor of Jamaica, 134 Drake, Sir Francis, voyage with Hawkins, 57; raid on Nombre de Dios, 59; great expedition to the West Indies, 63; captures St. Domingo, 64; last voyage, 65; death, 65 Drax, Colonel, 120 Du Casse, a French corsair, 177 Dudley, Sir Robert, 66 Dutch, 67, 75, 84, 86, 115, 129, 166 Edwards, Bryan, 157 Eiffel, M., 360 "El Dorado," the quest for, 23; dangers, 24; germ of the story, 32; Martinez' report, 44 Elizabeth, Queen, 67 Emancipation, Great Britain, 289; France, 310; Denmark, 312; Holland, 313; Spain, 313 Enambuc, M. d', first French settler, 87-8, 116 Enciso, Bachelor, 29 English and Dutch, 67, 68, 114 Essequebo, 213 Everson, a Dutch pirate, 177 Eyre, Governor of Jamaica, 339 Fedreman, Nicholas, an "El Dorado" seeker, 35 Ferdinand and Isabella, kind feelings towards the Indians, 10; grant from the Pope, 48 Fontaine, Father, a Catholic missionary, 134 Fontaine, M., a Panama defaulter, 360 Fourgeaud, Colonel, 227 Franklin, Washington, 294 Free trade, 324 French, in the West Indies, 49-51, 87; company for settling the islands, 116; character of, 167; revolution, its influence on Hayti, effect on the Spanish Main, 276 George of Spires, an "El Dorado" seeker, 35 German knights in Venezuela, 33 Gold-hunting, 11, 15, 23, 29, 73 Gordon, Mr., a Member of the Jamaica Assembly, executed, 340 Grasse, Count de, 241, 249 Grenada, 238 Groenwegel, Commander of Essequebo, 86 Guadeloupe, 238, 251 _Guanin_, 23 Guatavita, Lake of, 32 Guatemala, 288 Guiana, 23, 69 Guianians, 44 Guichen, Admiral de, 241, 249 Güiria, 282 Guzman, Fernando de, 38 Haïti, Hayti, or Hispaniola, its inhabitants, 3; colonised, 11; gold found, 11; almost ruined by becoming depopulated, 21; a resort of buccaneers, 91; under the French, 251; downfall, 257; British invasion, 268; republics and empires, 274 Hall, Captain, exploit of, 206 Harcourt, Robert, in Guiana, 76 Harry, a Guiana Indian, in London, 77, 78 Hartop, Job, a prisoner in Mexico, 58 Havana, ransomed, 50; sacked and burnt, 51 Hawkins, Sir John, first voyage, 53; second, 54; third, 57; final trip with Drake, and death, 65 Hawkins, William, voyage to Brazil, 52 Hennessy, Governor John Pope, of Barbados, 341, 345 Henri I. (Christophe), Emperor of Hayti, 274 Henry VIII. of England sends an expedition to the West Indies, 49 Herera, Alonzo de, 45 Hogs naturalised in Hispaniola, see Haïti Hondo river, 250 Hood, Sir Samuel, 238 Hoogenheim, Wolfert Simon van, Governor of Berbice, 218 Huten, Philip von, an "El Dorado" seeker, 36 Iala, Father, an "El Dorado" seeker, 45 Indian, character of, 1 Jackson, Colonel, captures Santiago de la Vega, 116 Jacques I. (Dessalines), Emperor of Hayti, 274 Jamaica, Valdivia wrecked off the coast, 30; attacked by Colonel Jackson, 116; captured by English, 131; Spanish attempt to recapture, 133; the first real British colony, 136; progress of, 155; authorities refuse help to the Darien colony, 193; slave revolts, 214; serious negro insurrection, 338 James I., friendship for Spain, 82, 114; dispute with Spain about the West Indies and Virginia, 113 Jeffreys, Judge, sends prisoners to Barbados, 150 Jenkins, Captain, and his ear, 202 Jervis, Admiral Sir John, 251 Jews in the West Indies, 239, 245 Keymis, Captain, a follower of Ralegh, 74, 77-9, 81 Kyk-over-al, Dutch fort in Essequebo, 76 Labour difficulties, 14, 137, 321 Lafayette, 260 Lawrence, Captain, an English pirate, 99 Legrand, Pierre, a French pirate, 99 Leigh, Charles, first English settler in Guiana, 76 Lesseps, Ferdinand de, and his Panama scheme, 356 Lolonois, the great pirate, 101 Macatoa, reported a very rich city, 36 Madeirans imported into British Guiana, 327 Maltese imported into British Guiana, 327 Manoa, city of, fabulous residence of "El Dorado," 44 Margarita, 114, 152 Marino, Dictator of Venezuela, 283 Maroons or Simarons, 59, 211, 232 Martinez, Juan de, his report of "El Dorado," 43 Martinique, 116, 182, 238, 251, 259 Mauduit, Captain, murdered in the Haytian revolt, 262 Merrifield, Ralph, one of the first settlers in St. Kitt's, 85 Methodists, 295 Miranda, Francisco, leader of the revolution in Venezuela, 277, 347 Missionaries, Protestant, 295, 327 Montbar, the French pirate, 100 Montserrat, 161, 165, 249 Morgan, Captain (afterwards Sir Henry), the English buccaneer, 102, 177 Morgan, Colonel, 162 Morillo, Marshal, Spanish leader in Venezuela, 284 _Navio de permisso_, 199 Negro slavery, 52, 59, 139, 156, 210 Negroes, free, difficulties with, 329 Nelson, Lord, flying trip to the West Indies, 254; his expedition to Nicaragua, 346 Nevis, 161, 249 New Edinburgh, 192 New Granada, 32, 33, 281, 288 New World, 1 Nicaragua and the canal scheme, 288, 346, 351, 355, 362 North, Roger, a settler in Guiana, 83, 85 _Nueva Dorado_, 70 Ojeda, Alonzo de, 27 Omaguas, reported a rich nation, 36 Ophir, 15, 23 Ordas, Diego de, explores the Orinoco, 43 Orders in Council, 300 Orr, John Sayers, "the Angel Gabriel," creates a disturbance in Demerara, 335 Ouverture, Toussaint L', leader of the Haytian negroes, 268 Oxenham or Oxnam, John, crosses the Isthmus, 61 Oyapok, English colonies in the, 76, 83 Panama, 186, 347, 350 Panama Canal, 347, 353, 355 Panama Railway, 352 Parima Lake, 33 Paterson, William, and the Darien scheme, 188 Penn and Venables, Generals, expedition to the West Indies, 130 Perez, Diego, a gallant Spaniard, 50 Petion, President of Hayti, 274, 285 Philips, Miles, an English prisoner in Mexico, 58 Pirates in the West Indies, 49, 90 Pitman, Henry, a bond-servant, 150 Pitt, in favour of a Panama Canal, 347 Plantations, 143, 154, 291 Pointis, de, a leader of buccaneers, 178 Pomeroon, 75, 161 Pope, The, issues Bull of Partition, 48; acknowledges French rights in the West Indies, 134 Popham, Captain, captures Spanish letters, 69 Porto Bello, its fair, 185; captured by Vernon, 204 Porto Rico, 20, 49 Prince of Orange in England, 252 Privateers, 96, 98 Proclamations to the Indians, 27, 30 Providence Island, 86 Puerto Cabello, 277 Quesada, Herman de, an "El Dorado" seeker, 36 Ralegh Sir Walter, at Trinidad, 66; his "Letters Patent," 68; his interest in Guiana, 69; captures Trinidad, 70; searches for "El Dorado," 72; sent to the Tower, 76; liberated, 77; goes again to Guiana, 78; capture of St. Thome, 79; his execution, 82 Reclus, M., a Panama Canal projector, 356 Regapo, Leonard, a Guiana Indian, in London, 77 _Repartimientos_, 15 Robespierre, 260 Rodney, Admiral, 237, 242 Rossy, Sieur du, 116 Route of Spanish trade, 49 Rovers to the Main, 49, 66 Royal African Company for introducing slaves, 149 Rupert, Prince, 124 Ruyter, Admiral de, attacks Barbados, 161 St. Christopher's, or St. Kitt's, settled by Thomas Warner, 84; granted to the Earl of Carlisle, 85; d'Enambuc arrives, 87; divided between English and French, 88; attacked by Spaniards, 114; granted to a French Company, 116; bond-servants in, 153; quarrels between English and French, 162, 177, 207; captured by French, 249 St. Croix or Santa Cruz, riots in, 311, 329 St. Domingo, captured by Drake, 64; attempted by Penn and Venables, 131 St. Eustatius, 86, 161, 181, 238, 243 St. Lucia, 238, 241, 251 St. Martin's, 115, 116 St. Thomas, 239 St. Vincent, 238 Salle, General de la, French Governor of St. Kitt's, 162 San Juan river, 346 Santa Martha, captured by French pirates, 51 Santiago de Cuba, gallant fight at, 50 Santiago de la Vega captured by English, 116 Savile, Henry, his "Libel of Spanish Lies," 66 Sedenno, Antonio, an "El Dorado" seeker, 45 Serfdom, 137, 145 Shelley, Colonel, a "Cavalier" in Barbados, 121 Simarons, _see_ Maroons Slaves, Indian, 19; negro, 52, 59, 139, 156, 210, 289; white (bond-servants), 146; insurrections, 213, 294, 302; abolition of the African trade, 255, 289; runaways, 210; Registrar and Protector of, 293; emancipation of, 309; reviews of slavery, 289 Smith, Rev. John, a missionary sentenced to death in connection with a slave revolt, 303-6 South Sea Bubble, 187, 196 Spain, character of her people, 9; introducing Christianity, 9; wanton cruelty to the natives, 18; hardiness of Spaniards, 25; their audacity, 30; Spanish claim to supremacy, 114; interference with their trade, 133; Spanish cruelty to prisoners of war, 171 "Spiriting" or kidnapping white servants, 146; made felony 147 Sugar cane, 19, 141 Suicides, 18 Surinam, 161, 165, 167, 171, 179 Sylva, Gaspar de, an "El Dorado" seeker, 45 Tison, Thomas, first English trader to West Indies, 49 Tobacco, 141 Tobago, 115, 238, 251 Toledo, Don Frederic de, captures St. Kitt's, 114 Tortuga, the great rendezvous of the buccaneers, 95, 102, 165 Trade forced upon the Spanish settlers, 53, 57 Transported convicts, 147 Treasure seeking, 23 Trelawny Town, 232 Tribute imposed on natives, 15 Trinidad, 70, 328 Ursua, Pedro de, murdered by the tyrant Aguirre, 38 Utrecht, treaty of, 196 Valdivia, his shipwreck, 30 Van Horn the pirate, 103 Vanderbilt Transit Company, 351 Venables and Penn, Generals, their expedition, 130 Venezuela, the treasure seekers in, 23; her struggle for independence, 277 Vernon, Admiral, 204, 205, 337 Virgin Islands, 96 Virginia, 113 Wafer, Lionel, his journey across the Isthmus, 105 Walker, William, the modern filibuster, 352 Walrond, Colonel, a "Cavalier" in Barbados, 121 Warner, Thomas, founder of the colony of St. Kitt's, 84, 85, 88 Wars, England and Spain, 63, 114, 130; Holland and Spain, 87, 114; France and Spain, 116; England and Holland, 129, 160; England and France against Holland and Spain, 170; France against England and Holland, 177; Spain, England, and Holland against France, 178; England and Holland against France and Spain, 195; England and Spain, 203; England and her revolted colonies, 241; France, Spain, and Holland join in the quarrel, 243; commencement of the great French war, 251; England and the United States, 255 Watts, Governor, of St. Kitt's, 162 Welsers of Augsburg, 33 West India Company of Holland, 87 William III. and the Darien scheme, 194 Willoughby, Lord, Governor of Barbados, 122, 124-8, 164 Wyse, M., a Panama Canal projector, 356 [Illustration] The Gresham Press, UNWIN BROTHERS, WOKING AND LONDON. 
38633	----	public domain material generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com/) Note: Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work. Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38631 Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38632 Images of the original pages are available through the the Google Books Library Project. See http://books.google.com/books?vid=FyYCAAAAYAAJ&id THE MONARCHS OF THE MAIN; Or, Adventures of the Buccaneers. by GEORGE W. THORNBURY, ESQ. "One foot on sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never." MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. In Three Volumes. VOL. III. London: Hurst and Blackett, Publishers, Successors to Henry Colburn, 13, Great Marlborough Street. 1855. London: Sercombe and Jack, 16 Great Windmill Street. CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER I.--RAVENAU DE LUSSAN. As a young French Officer joins De Graff, at St. Domingo--Cruises round Carthagena--Crosses the Isthmus--Hardships--Joins the Buccaneer Fleet--Grogniet, the French Captain--Previous history of his Life--Fight with Greek mercenaries on the island--Take La Seppa--Engagement off Panama--Take Puebla Nueva--Separate from English--Capture Leon--Sack Chiriquita--Burn Granada--Storm Villia--Surprised by river ambuscade--Treachery of Greek spy--Capture vessels--Behead Spanish prisoners--Letter of Spanish President--Burning of the Savannahs--Quarrel between French and English--Attack on Quayaquilla--Love adventure of De Lussan--Retreat of French Buccaneers by land over the Isthmus of Darien--Passage from North to South Pacific--Great danger--Pass between the mountains--Daring stratagem of De Lussan--Escape--The river of the torrents--Rafts--Arrives at St. Domingo 1 CHAPTER II.--THE LAST OF THE BROTHERHOOD. Sieur de Montauban--Cruises on the coast of Guinea--Captures English man-of-war--Escape from explosion--Life with the negro king--Laurence de Graff--His victories--Enters the French service--Treachery--Buccaneers join in French expedition and take Carthagena--Buccaneer marksmen--Robbed of spoil--Return and retake the city--Capture by English and Dutch fleets, 1698--Buccaneers wrecked with D'Estrees--Grammont takes Santiago--Captures Maracaibo, Gibraltar, and Torilla--Lands at Cumana--Enters the French service--Lost in a farewell cruise 105 CHAPTER III.--DESTRUCTION OF THE FLOATING EMPIRE. Peace of Ryswick--Attempts to settle the Buccaneers as planters--They turn pirates--Blackbeard and Paul Jones--Last expedition to the Darien mines, 1702 157 CHAPTER IV.--THE PIRATES OF NEW PROVIDENCE AND THE KINGS OF MADAGASCAR. Laws and dress--Government--Blackbeard--His enormities--Captain Avery and the great Mogul--Davis--Lowther--Low--Roberts--Major Bonnet--Captain Gow--The Guinea coast--Narratives of pirate prisoners--Sequel 163 List of Authorities. Buccaneer Chiefs. MONARCHS OF THE MAIN. CHAPTER I. RAVENAU DE LUSSAN. Joins De Graff--Cruises round Carthagena--Crosses the Isthmus--Hardships--Joins Buccaneer fleet--Grogniet--Previous history of the vessels--Fight with Greek mercenaries--Take La Seppa--Engagement off Panama--Take Puebla Nueva--Separate from English--Take Leon--Take Chiriquita--Take Granada--Capture Villia--Surprised by ambuscade--Treachery of Greek spy--Capture vessels--Behead prisoners--Burn the savannahs--Quarrel between French and English--Take Guayaquil--Love adventure of De Lussan--Retreat by land from North to South Pacific--Daring stratagem of De Lussan--Escape--River and torrents--Rafts--Arrive at St. Domingo. For the cruises of Grogniet we are indebted to the pages of Ravenau de Lussan, a young soldier, as brave and as sagacious as Xenophon. On the 22nd of November, 1684, Ravenau de Lussan departed from Petit Guaves with a crew of 120 adventurers, on board of a prize lately taken near Carthagena by Captain Laurence de Graff. Their intention was to join themselves to a Buccaneer fleet then cruising near Havannah. They had hitherto acted as convoy to the Lieutenant-General and the Intendant of the French colonies, who were afraid of being attacked by the Spanish piraguas. Soon after descrying the mainland, they were hailed by a French tartane, who, not believing that they were of his own nation, or had a commission from the Count of Tholouse, the Lord High Admiral of France, gave them two guns and commanded them to strike. The Buccaneers, thinking they had met a Spaniard, knocked out the head of two barrels of powder, intending to burn themselves and blow up the vessel, rather than be cruelly tortured and hung at the yard-arm with their commissions round their necks. A signal, however, discovered the mistake, and they were soon after joined by the vessels they sought. One of these was the _Mutinous_, formerly the _Peace_, commanded by Captain Michael Landresson, and carried fifty guns. The other was the _Neptune_, formerly the _St. Francis_, and carried forty-four guns. They had both been Spanish armadillas, had sallied out of Carthagena to take Captain De Graff, Michael, Quet, and Le Sage, and were themselves captured before the very walls. The four other boats belonged to Rose Vigneron, La Garde, and an "English traitor from Jamaica." They were then watching for the patache of Margarita, and a squadron of Spanish ships. At Curaçoa they sent a boat ashore to ask leave to land and remast Laurence de Graff's vessel that had suffered in a hurricane, but were refused, although they showed their commission, and the men who landed were required to leave their swords at the gate. At Santa Cruz they saluted the fort, and the governor, finding 200 of them roaming about the town, commanded them by drum-beat to return to their ships, offering them two shallops for two pieces of eight a man to take them to their ships, but refusing to let them walk through the island. They found the reason of this was that Michael and Laurence's ships had lately taken 200,000 pieces of eight in two Dutch ships near the Havannah. This the freebooters did not touch, being at peace with Holland, but the sailors had stolen it and laid it to the French. Arriving at Cape La Vella, they placed fifteen sentinels to watch for the patache, and sent a boat to the La Hache river to obtain prisoners, but, in spite of various stratagems, failed in the attempt. A dispute now arose among the crews, who were weary of waiting for the patache, such disputes invariably breaking out in all seasons of misfortune, when union was more than usually necessary. Laurence de Graff, whom they accused of fraud, sailed at once for St. Domingo, followed by eighty-seven men in the prize, and Ravenau accompanied Captain Rose and Captain Michael to Carthagena, where they captured seven piraguas laden with maize. From the prisoners they heard that two galleons lay in the port, that the fleet was at Porto Bello, and that some ships were about to set out. Soon after this, finding themselves separated from Captain Rose and Michael, Ravenau determined to cross over the continent and get into the South Sea, as he heard a previous expedition some months before had done. Near Cape Matance a remarkable adventure happened. A Spanish soldier, belonging to the galleons, who had been taken in one of the maize vessels, although treated with every kindness, attempted to drown himself by throwing himself into the sea; his body, however, floated on its back, although he did all he could to drown, till at last, refusing the tackle thrown him from very compassion, he turned himself upon his face, and sank to the bottom. On landing at Golden Island and fixing a flag to warn the Indians, they saw a pennon hoisted upon the shore, and discovered it to belong to three of Captain Grogniet's men, who had refused to follow the expedition, which had just started for the South Sea. Some Indians soon after brought them letters left for the first freebooters who should land, announcing that Grogniet and 170 men had gone into the South Sea, and that 115 Englishmen had preceded them. Soon after Michael and Rose, pursuing a Spanish vessel from Santiago to Carthagena, came in to water, and many of the crew resolved to join their march. 118 men left Michael, and the whole sixty-four of Rose's crew, reimbursing the owners, burnt their vessel and joined them. Ravenau's ship was left in the care of Captain Michael, and the united 264 men now encamped on shore. On Sunday, March 1st, 1685, after recommending themselves to the Almighty's protection, the expedition set out under the command of Captains Rose, Picard, and Desmarais, with two Indian guides and forty Indian porters. The country proved so rugged that they could only travel three leagues a day; it was full of mountains, precipices, and impenetrable forests. Great rains fell, and increased the hardship of the journey, and the weight of their arms and ammunition clogged them in ascending the precipices. On descending into the plain, which, though pathless, appeared smooth and level, they found they had to cross the same river forty-four times in the space of only two leagues, and this upon dangerous and slippery rocks. Arriving next day at an Indian caravansery, they remained some time shooting deer, monkeys, and wild hogs, flame-coloured birds, wild pheasants, and partridges that abounded in the woods. At length, after six days of painful and wearisome travel, the Buccaneers reached the Bocca del Chica river, that empties itself in the South Sea. Here, guided by the Indians, they fell to work making canoes, and bartered knives, needles, and hatchets, with the savages, for maize, potatoes, and bananas. Though well assured that their march had been impossible but for the friendliness of these savages, they still kept on their guard, fearing treachery. "They had," says Ravenau, with a pious sigh of pity, "no sign of religion or of the knowledge of God amongst them, holding that they have communion with the devil," and, indeed, as he declares, after spending solitary nights in the woods, often foretelling events to the Frenchmen, that came true to the minutest detail. Just as they had finished making their canoes, Lussan heard that the English expedition, under Captain Townley, had captured two provision vessels from Lima, and soon after one of Grogniet's men, who had been lost while hunting, joined them. Hearing that Grogniet awaited them at King's Islands, before he attacked the Peru fleet, they started on the 1st of April in fourteen canoes, with twenty oars a piece, and with a score of Indian guides, who were sanguine of plunder. On the fourth they halted for stragglers, and mended their canoes, much injured by the rocks and flats of the river. In some places they were even forced to carry their boats, or to drag them over fallen trees that blocked the deeper parts by the flood. Several men died, and many were seized with painful diseases, produced by hard food and immersion in the water. They were now reduced to a handful of raw maize a day. From some Indians sent forward to meet them, they heard that provisions awaited them at some distance, and that 1000 Spaniards had prepared an ambuscade on the river's banks. This, however, they avoided, by stirring only at dark, and then without noise. Surprised one night by the tide, the canoes were driven swiftly down the river, and some of them upset against a snag; the men were saved, but the arms and ammunition were lost. On approaching the Indian ambuscade at Lestocada, they placed their canoes one in the other, and telling the sentinels that they were Indian boats, bringing salt into the South Sea, escaped unhurt. On the 12th it grew so dark that the rowers could hardly see each other, and the heavy rain filled the boat so dangerously as to require two men to bale perpetually. At midnight they entered shouting into the South Sea, and found the provisions awaiting them at Bocca Chica, together with two barks to bring them to the fleet. Resting for a day or two, they repaired to the King's Islands to await the ships. These mountainous islands were the stronghold of Maroon negroes. On the 22nd, Easter Day, the fleet arrived. It consisted of ten vessels, Captain David's frigate of thirty-six guns, Captain Samms, vice-admiral, with sixteen guns, Captain Townley, with two ships; Captain Grogniet, Captain Brandy, and Captain Peter Henry had also each a vessel, and the two small barks were commanded by quartermasters. Except Grogniet, who was a Frenchman, and David, who was a Fleming, the rest were all Englishmen. Their total force amounted to the number of 1100. Of the different vessels, Ravenau gives the following laudatory account. The admiral's belonged to the English, who, at St. Domingo, had surprised a long bark, commanded by Captain Tristan, a Frenchman, while waiting for a wind. They took next a Dutch ship, and, changing vessels, went and made several prizes on the coast of Guinea, and, at Castres capturing a vessel from Hamburg, joined this expedition. They were, Ravenau declared, little better than pirates, attacking even, their own countrymen, which no true Buccaneer ever did. They had, a short time before, been chastised by a frigate, who, giving them a broadside and a volley of small shot, killed their captain and twenty men. The vice-admiral's was a vessel they had forced to join them, and had lately taken a ship called the _Sainte Rose_, laden with corn and wine, bound from Truxillo to Panama, and this vessel Davis gave to the French. The others were all prizes captured in the South seas. The holy alliance soon after took an advice boat that was carrying letters from Madrid to Panama, and despatches from the viceroy of Peru; but both the captain and pilot were bound by an oath rather to die than deliver up their packets or divulge any secret, and had thrown overboard the rolls as well as a casket of jewels. On the same evening 500 men, in twenty-two canoes, embarked to take La Seppa, a small town seven leagues to windward, of Panama. The next day, early in the morning, two armed piraguas, manned with Spanish mercenaries, seeing some of the Buccaneer canoes and forty-six men approaching them, ran ashore on an island in the bay and prepared to defend themselves. These troops were composed of all nations, and had been sent to defend this coast. One of the "Greek" boats split on the beach. The other the Buccaneers took, but the fugitives, planting their flag of defiance on a rising ground, fought desperately, and compelled the freebooters to land on another part of the island and take them in the rear. After an hour's conflict they fled into the woods, leaving thirty-five men dead round their colours and two prisoners. The attack upon La Seppa proved a failure, for the Sea Rovers had to row two leagues up a river, where they were soon discovered by the sentinels. Yet for all this they fell furiously on, and took it with the loss of only one man; but the booty proved inconsiderable. The fleet now anchored at the beautiful islands called the Gardens of Panama. All the rich merchants of the city had pleasure-houses here surrounded by rich orchards and arbours of jessamine, and watered by rills and streams. The hungry sailors revelled in the fruits, and reaped plentiful harvests of maize and rice, which Ravenau says "the Spaniards, I believe, did not sow with an intention they should enjoy." On the 8th of May they passed the old and new towns of Panama in bravado with colours and streamers flying, anchored at Tavoga, another island of pleasure. Having caulked their ships, they sent out a long bark as a scout, and arranged a plan of attacking the Spanish fleet. Davis and Grogniet were to board the admiral; Samms and Brandy the vice-admiral; and Henry and Townley the patache; while the armed piraguas would hover about and keep off the enemy's fire-ships. The next day they put ashore forty prisoners at Tavoga; and the same day, the sound of cannon, which they could not account for, announced the unobserved arrival of the Spanish fleet at Panama. The whole Buccaneer squadron, expecting a battle soon, took the usual oath that they would not wrong one another to the value of a piece of eight, if God was pleased to give them the victory over the Spaniard. They had scarcely discovered from a Spanish prisoner that the fleet had actually arrived, and was careening and remanning before they ventured out, when Captain Grogniet, raising his flag seven times, gave notice to make quickly ready. The Buccaneers doubled the point of the island where they had anchored, and saw seven great vessels bearing down upon them with a bloody flag to the stern and a royal one at their masts. The Frenchmen, mad with joy at the prospect of such prizes, and thinking them already their own, threw their hats into the sea for joy. It was now noon. The rest of the day was spent by both fleets in trying to obtain the weather-gauge, and at sunset they exchanged a broadside. In the night a floating lanthorn deceived the Buccaneers, and in the morning they found themselves all still to leeward, with the exception of two vessels which had no guns. Although terribly mauled by the Spanish shot, the English admiral and vice-admiral resolved to die fighting rather than let one vessel be taken, although both being good sailors they might have at once saved themselves. The Spaniards, refusing to board, battered them safely at a distance, and prevented Grogniet from joining them, while Peter Henry's ship, having received more than 120 cannon shot, sheered off and was taken by two piraguas. The long bark, sorely handled, was deserted by her crew, who threw their guns overboard and left the Spanish prisoners to shift for themselves. These wretches attempted to rejoin their countrymen; but the Spanish admiral, mistaking them for enemies, sank them with his cannon. Peter Henry's vessel reached the isle of St. John de Cueblo, twenty-four leagues from Panama, with five feet of water in the hold, and having repaired, rejoined his fleet in about a fortnight. They found that Captain Davis had been hard plied, having received two shots in his rudder, and six of his men were wounded, but only one killed. Captain Samms had been no less put to it. His poop was half swept off, and he had received several shots between wind and water. He had had three men wounded, and his mate had had his head carried off by a cannon ball. The smaller vessels had lost no men, but had a few wounded. The Spanish admiral, they found, had carried 56 guns, the vice-admiral 40, the patache 28, and the conserve 18. The fire-ships had also been mounted with cannon to conceal their real purpose. On considering the disparity of force, and the little loss his companions received, Ravenau seems to have no doubt that if they could have intercepted the Spaniards before they entered Panama, and could have got the weather-gauge of them, he should have returned through the straits with wealth enough to have lived all his life at ease, and have escaped three more years of danger and fatigue. Not the least discouraged by this repulse, the freebooters landed 300 men, from five canoes, to surprise the town of Puebla Nueva. Rowing two leagues up a very fine river, they captured one sentinel, but another escaped and gave the alarm. They found the place deserted, but took a ship on their way back. A quarrel broke out here between the French and the English. The latter, superior in numbers, would have taken Grogniet's ship away, and given it to Townley, had not the Frenchmen put on a determined front. Refusing to acknowledge this assumption of dominion, 130 of them banded themselves apart, and Grogniet's crew made them altogether 330 in number. "Besides national animosity, one of the chief reasons," says Lussan, "that made us disagree was their impiety against our religion, for they made no scruple when they got into a church to cut down the arms of a crucifix with their sabres, or to shoot them down with their fusils and pistols, bruising and maiming the images of the saints with the same weapons, in derision to the adoration we Frenchmen paid unto them. And it was chiefly from these horrid disorders that the Spaniards equally hated us all, as we came to understand by divers of their letters that fell into our hands." We have no doubt at all that, but for these "horrible disorders," the Spaniards would have considered the death of their children and the loss of their money as real compliments. Returning to the isle of St. John, both nations in separate encampments began to cut down acajou trees to hollow into canoes in place of those they had lost in the fight. These trees were so large that one trunk would hold eighty men. Afraid of the English, the Frenchmen placed a sentinel in a high tree on the sea-shore, to watch both the camps, and also to give the signal if any Spanish vessel approached. A Buccaneer ship putting into the harbour, they discovered it to be commanded by Captain Willnett. Forty of his crew left him, and joined the English, but eleven Frenchmen remained with Grogniet. This vessel had just captured a corn ship near Sansonnat, and hearing of other brothers being on the south coast, had set out in search of them. The Frenchmen were now very short of food, having little powder, and not daring to waste it upon deer and monkeys when Spaniards were at hand, for in fifteen days the Englishmen had eaten or driven away all the turtle. They were reduced to an allowance of two turtle for 330 men in forty-eight hours. Many of the men wandering into the woods ate poisonous fruits. Others were bitten by serpents, and died enduring terrible pains, ignorant of the fruit which is an antidote to such wounds. Several were devoured by crocodiles. While in this strait, the English sent a quartermaster to ask the French to join in an expedition against the town of Leon, being too weak by themselves. The wounded vanity of the French contended with their hunger. They knew that the English had plenty of provisions, brought in Willnett's ship, and thirty men, weary of fasting, left Grogniet and joined Davis. But Ravenau's party having but one ship asked for another, in order that they might keep together, and this being refused, broke off the treaty. As soon as the Leon party had embarked, the French, commanded by Captain Grogniet, also started with 120 men in five canoes, leaving 200 in the island to build more canoes, and join them on the continent. Coming on the mainland to a cattle station, and afterwards to a sugar plantation, they took several prisoners whom they found ignorant of the disjunction of the French and English. Sending back a canoe with provisions to the island, they landed again about forty leagues to leeward of Panama, and at cock-crowing surprised a Spanish estantia, and took fifty prisoners, including a young man and woman of rank who promised ransom. These they carried to the island Ignuana, and received the money after a fortnight's delay. On their return to St. John's they found that 100 men had been to Puebla Nueva, and taken the place, although discovered by the sentinels, and had remained there two days in spite of continual attacks. The commander of the place had come with a trumpet to speak to them, and inquired why, being English, they fought under French colours. But they, not satisfying his curiosity, fiercely told him to be gone from whence he came. Eight of them, having strayed from the main body, had been bravely set on by 150 Spaniards, who killed two of them, but, with all the advantage they had of numbers, could not hinder the other six from recovering the main guard, who fought and retreated with extraordinary vigour. Once more reunited, these restless Norsemen started to the mainland in six canoes, 140 in number, to visit the sugar plantation near St. Jago, where they had been before. Two men were sent to the cattle station to obtain the ransom of the master, whom they kept prisoner, and others visited the sugar works in search of some cauldrons, which they needed; and, fired at hearing the governor of St. Jago, with 800 men, had visited the place since their departure, they sent to dare him to meet them. Careening their ships and taking in water and wood, they would at once have sailed away, but were detained by eighteen days' rain, during which time the sun did not once appear. This part of the South Sea was proverbial for continual rains, and was called by the Spaniards "The Droppings." "These rains," Ravenau says, "not only rotted their sails, but produced dysentery among the men, and bred worms, half a finger long and as thick as a quill, between their skin and their flesh." Soon after leaving the island they were nearly cast away in a dreadful storm, and were compelled to repair their shattered sails with shirts and drawers, wherewith they were already very indifferently provided. At Realegua, where there was a volcano burning, they landed 100 men in four canoes, and obtained some prisoners by surprising a hatto. They found the English had already taken Leon and burnt Realegua. In spite of Spanish reinforcements from eight neighbouring towns, they stayed at Leon three whole days, and challenged the Spaniards to meet them in the Race savannah. But the Spaniards replied, they were not yet all come together; "which means," says our friend Ravenau, "that they were not yet six to one." While here, one of their quartermasters, a Catalonian by birth, fled to the Spaniards, and compelled the French to abandon a design on the town of Granada. At Realegua six men tried to swim ashore to fill some water casks, in spite of the Spaniards on the beach, and one of them was drowned in the attempt. They landed at the port, and found the churches and houses and three entrenchments half burnt. Surprising the sentinels of Leon, they discovered that in spite of a garrison of 2000 men, the inhabitants, hearing the Buccaneers had landed, were hiding their treasure. They soon after put to flight a detachment of horse, and took the captain prisoner. A few days after this 150 men left the vessels to take a small town of Puebla Vieja, near Realegua, which they found still deserted. It had become the custom now among the Spaniards, when the freebooters had frequently taken the same place, for the prelate to excommunicate it, and henceforward not even to bury their dead there. Discovered by the sentinel, the Buccaneers found the enemy entrenched in the church of Puebla, and about 150 horse in the market-place. A few discharges drove the horsemen away, and the defenders of the church fled through a door in the vestry. Staying a day and a-half in the captured town, the freebooters carried away all the provisions they could find on horses and on their own backs, taking with them a Spanish gentleman who promised ransom. The next day a Spanish officer brought a letter signed by the vicar-general of the province, written by order of the general of Costa Rica, declaring that France and Spain were at peace and leagued to fight the infidel, and offering them a passage to the North Sea in his Catholic Majesty's galleons. To this they returned a threatening answer, and, putting thirty prisoners ashore, proceeded to careen their ships, the Spaniards lighting fires along the coast as they departed. An expedition, with fifty men in three canoes, against the town of Esparso failed, but the hungry men killed and ate the horses of the sentinels whom they took prisoners, for they had now tasted hardly anything for four days. At Caldaria they visited a bananery, and loaded their canoes with the fruit, and at Point Borica stored their boats with cocoa-nuts, which Ravenau takes care to describe as nuts unknown in Europe. Laden with gold, but nevertheless, like Midas, starving for want of food, they landed sixty men in three canoes and took some prisoners at a hatto which they surrounded, but finding they were very near Chiriquita, and a garrison of 600 men, retreated to their ships, forcing their way through 400 horse who reviled them, and challenged them to revisit the town, which they took care soon after to do. On the 5th of January, 1686, they started 230 men in eight canoes to revisit this place, going ashore at night without a guide, and marched till daylight without being discovered. On the 7th they hid all day in a wood, and as night approached again pushed forward, the 8th they spent also hid in a covert, and then found they had gone ashore on the wrong side of the river. Fatigued as they were, they waited till night, and then, returning to their canoes, crossed the river. Surprising the watch, they found the Spaniards, even on the former alarm, had removed all their treasure. On the 9th, they reached Chiriquita two hours before day, and found the inhabitants asleep. The townsmen had been two days disputing with one another about the watches, and the Buccaneers ridiculed them by telling them they had come to spare them the trouble. The soldiers they discovered playing in the court of guard, and they found a small frigate ashore at the mouth of the river. About noon, five of the Buccaneers, straggling into the suburbs to plunder a house and obtain prisoners, were set upon by an ambuscade of 120 men. Finding no hope of escape, rather than be taken alive they resolved to sell their lives dearly, and back to back fought the enemy for an hour and a-half, when only two remained capable of resistance. The main body, who thought they had been simply firing at a mark, came to their relief, upon which the enemy at once fled. Of this skirmish, at which Lussan was present, he says--"This succour coming in so seasonably, did infallibly save our lives; for the enemy having already killed us two men and disabled another, it was impossible we should hold out against such a shower of bullets as were poured in upon us from all sides; and so I may truly say I escaped a scouring, and that without receiving as much as one wound, but by a visible hand of protection from heaven. The Spaniards left thirty men dead upon the spot; and thus we defended ourselves as desperate men, and, to say all in a word, like freebooters." The Buccaneers having burnt all the houses in the town, fearing a night attack, retreated into the great church, exchanging a shot now and then with the enemy. This town was built on the savannahs, and surrounded by hattoes, its chief trade being in tallow and leather. The men rested here till the tenth, rejoicing in plenty of provision after nearly four days' fast. They then removed their prisoners to an island in the river, where the Spaniards could only approach them openly in a fleet of shallops. The enemy, driven out of an ambuscade, sent to demand the prisoners, saying they would recover them or perish in the attempt; but grew pacified when Grogniet declared they should all be put to death if a single bullet was fired. Driving off a guard of 100 men, they also plundered the stranded vessel, and discovered by the letters that the admiral of the Peru fleet had lately been lost with his 400 men, by his vessel being struck by a thunderbolt. On the sixteenth, obtaining a ransom for their prisoners, they returned to the island of St. John. The Spaniards, from fear of the freebooters, having put a stop to their navigation, no ships were to be captured, and having no sails, and their ship being useless without them, the French began to cut down trees and build piraguas. On the 27th they descried seven sail at sea, and put out five canoes to reconnoitre, suspecting it was the vanguard of the Peruvian fleet. Soon after discerning twelve piraguas and three long barks coasting in the distance, they retreated to their docks in the river, and ran their bark ashore to render it useless to the Spaniards, placing an ambuscade of 150 men along the banks. The enemy, suspecting a trick, disregarded the two canoes that were sent to draw them into the snare, but commenced to furiously cannonade the grounded ship, which contained nothing but a poor cat, and then, perceiving her empty, bravely boarded and burnt her for the sake of the iron work, and soon afterwards sailed away. They learnt afterwards that the Chiriquita prisoners had reported that they had fortified the island, and the fleet had been sent to land field-pieces and demolish the works. This alarm of the Spaniards had been encouraged by the Buccaneers having purposely asked at Chiriquita for masons, and obliged the prisoners to give bricks as part of the ransom. On the 14th of March, they left the island of St. John, in two barks, a half galley of forty oars, ten large piraguas, and ten smaller canoes, built of mapou wood. Taking a review of their men, fourteen of whom had died in February, they found they had lost thirty since the departure of the English. To prepare for a long-planned attack on Granada, a half galley and four canoes were despatched to get provisions at Puebla Nueva. Entering the river by moonlight, the Buccaneers approached within pistol shot of a small frigate, a long bark, and a piragua, which they supposed to be their old English allies, but were received by a splashing volley of great and small shot that killed twenty men. The ships were, in fact, a detachment of the Spanish fleet left to guard some provision ships lading for Panama. Quickly recovering from their surprise, the adventurers, though without cannon, fought them stiffly for two hours, killing every man that appeared in the shrouds, and bringing down one by one the grenadiers from the main-top. But as soon as the moon went down, the Buccaneers sheered off with four dead men and thirty-three wounded, waiting for daylight to have their revenge. In the mean time, the enemy had retired under cover of an entrenchment, to which the country people, attracted during the night by the firing, had crowded in arms; against these odds, the Buccaneers were unwillingly compelled to retire, and soon rejoined their canoes at St. Peter's. Landing at a town ten leagues leeward of Chiriquita, they obtained no provisions, and had, with the loss of two men, to force their way through an ambuscade of 500 Spaniards. Rejoining their barks they spent some days in hunting in the Bay of Boca del Toro, and obtaining nourishing food for the wounded men. Their next enterprise was against the town of Lesparso, which they found abandoned. While lying in the bay they were joined by Captain Townley and five canoes, who, with his 115 men, begged to be allowed to join in the expedition against Granada. Remembering the old imperious dealing of the English, the French at first, to frighten them, boarded their canoes, and offered to take them away. "Then," says Lussan, "we let the captain know we were _honester_ men than he (a curious dispute), and that though we had the upper hand, yet we would not take the advantage of revenging the injuries they had done us, and that we would put him and all his men in possession of what we had taken from them four or five hours before." The men were then assembled in a bananery island, in the bay, and an account taken of their supply of powder, for fear any should expend it in hunting. Orders were also enacted that any brother found guilty of cowardice, violence, drunkenness, disobedience, theft, or straggling from the main body, should lose his share of the booty of Granada. On the 25th the French and English departed in piraguas and canoes, 345 men, and landed on a flat shore, following a good guide, who led them for two days through a wood. They were, however, seen by some fishermen, who alarmed the town, which had already received intelligence of their march from Lesparso. Great fatigue obliged them to rest on the evening of the 9th at a sugar plantation belonging to a knight of St. James, whom they were too tired to pursue. On the 10th they saw two ships on the distant lake of Nicaragua, carrying off all the wealth of the town to a neighbouring island. From a prisoner they learnt that the inhabitants were strongly entrenched in the market-place, guarded by fourteen pieces of cannon and six patereroes, and that six troops of horse were waiting to attack them in the rear. This information, which would have damped the courage of any but Buccaneers, drove them only the faster to the charge. At two in the afternoon they entered the town, over the dead bodies of a party that had awaited them in ambuscade, and sent a party to reconnoitre the fort. The skirmishers, after a few shots, returned, and reported that there were three streets leading to the fort, so they all resolved to concentrate in one of these. Lussan describes the scene, of which he was an eye-witness, too graphically to need curtailing. "After we had exhorted one another," he says, "to fall on bravely, we advanced at a good round pace towards the said fortification. As soon as the defendants saw us within a good cannon-shot of them, they fired furiously upon us; but observing that at every discharge of their great guns, we saluted them down to the ground, in order to let their shot fly over us, they bethought themselves of false priming them, to the end we might raise our bodies, after the sham was over, and so to be really surprised with their true firing. As soon as we discovered this stratagem, we ranged ourselves along the houses, and having got upon a little ascent, which was a garden plot, we fired upon them from thence so openly for an hour and a-half that they were obliged to quit their ground, which our hardy boys, who were got to the foot of their walls, contributed yet more than the other by pouring in hand-grenades incessantly upon them, so that at last they betook themselves to the great church or tower, but they wounded us some men. As soon as our people, who had got upon the said eminence, perceived that the enemy fled, they called to us to jump over the walls, which we had no sooner done than they followed us, and thus it was that we made ourselves masters of the town, from whence they fled, after having lost a great many men. We had on our side but four men killed and eight wounded, which in truth was very cheap. When we got into the fort we found it to be a place capable of containing 6,000 fighting men; it was encompassed with a wall the same as our prisoners gave us an account of. It was pierced with many holes, to do execution upon the assailants, and was well stored with arms. That part of it which looked towards the street, through which we attacked it, was defended by two pieces of cannon and four patereroes, to say nothing of several other places made to open in the wall through which they thrust instruments made on purpose to break the legs of those who should be adventurous enough to come near it; but these, by the help of our grenadiers, we rendered useless to them. After we had sung _Te Deum_ in the great church, and set four sentinels in the tower, we fixed our court of guard in the strong-built houses that are also enclosed within the place of arms, and there gathered all the ammunition we could get, and then we went to visit the houses, wherein we found nothing but a few goods and some provision, which we carried into our court of guard." The next evening 150 men were despatched to a distant sugar plantation, to capture some ladies of rank and treasure; but on the next day a monk came to treat about the ransom they would require to spare the town. Unluckily the Spaniards had captured a Buccaneer straggler, who told them that his companions never meant to burn the place, but intended to stop there some months, and return into the North Sea, by the lake of Nicaragua. The freebooters, being refused the ransom, set fire to the houses in revenge. Had the French indeed had but canoes to capture the two ships in the island and secure the treasure, they would undoubtedly have carried out this plan. To a handful of hungry men, without food and without ships, even the gardens of Granada appeared hateful. On leaving the town the Buccaneers took with them one piece of cannon and four patereroes, drawn by oxen, having to fight their way for twenty leagues to the shore over the savannah, surrounded by 2,500 Spaniards thirsting for their blood. In every place the enemy fled at the first discharge of their pieces. From a prisoner they learnt that a million and a-half pieces of eight, kept for ransom, was buried in the wall of the fort, but the men felt no disposition to return. They were soon obliged to leave their cannon behind, the oxen choked with the dust, worn out with the heat, and dying of thirst; but the patereroes were still dragged on by the mules. At the little village of Massaya, near the lake, they were received with open arms by the Indians, who only entreated them not to burn their huts. All the water in the village had been tainted by the Spaniards, but the natives brought them as much as they needed. While they lay here a Spanish monk came to them to obtain the release of a priest who had been taken armed and with pockets filled with poisoned bullets. They refused to surrender him but in exchange for one of their own men. The next day, passing from the forest into a plain, they were attacked by 500 men, drawn up upon an ascent, and commanded by their Spanish deserter. Each party displayed bloody flags, but the vanguard beat them with wonderful bravery, and took fifty horses. The enemy fled, leaving their arms and the wounded, and turned out to be auxiliaries from Leon. In three days more they reached the beach, and, resting several days to salt provisions, sailed to Realegua, where they collected provisions and 100 horses. They then burnt down the borough of Ginandego, in spite of 200 soldiers and an entrenchment, because the inhabitants had defied them to come. Even here they were, however, much straitened for provision, the corregidor of Leon having desired all men to burn the provisions wherever the Buccaneers landed. The same day at noon the sentinels rang the alarm bell in the steeple, and gave notice that 800 men from Leon were advancing across the savannah to fight them. The men, bustling out of their houses, marched at once, 150 in number, under their red colours, and drove off the enemy after a few shots. There now arose a dissension in the Flibustier councils. 148 Frenchmen and all the English, headed by Captain Townley, determined to go up before Panama to see if the navigation had yet been resumed. 148 Frenchmen, under Captain Grogniet, resolved to go lower westward and winter upon an island, waiting for some abatement of the rains and southerly winds. The barks, canoes, and provisions were then divided, and the chirurgeons brought in the accounts of the wounded and crippled. There were found to be four men crippled and six hurt: to the latter were given 600 pieces of eight a man, and to the former 1000, being exactly all the money then in store. Ravenau joined the Panama division, which, touching again at their old quarters on the island of St. John, took off a prisoner who had made his escape when they were last there, and proceeded to land and capture the town of Villia with 160 men. Marching with great rapidity they reached the town an hour after sunrise, and surprising the inhabitants at mass, took 300 prisoners. They then attempted to capture three barks lying in the river, but the Spanish sailors sank one and destroyed the rigging of the other two. Gathering together all the merchandise of the town left by the fleet, the invaders found it to amount to a million and a-half, valued at 15,000 pieces of eight in good silver. Much treasure was, however, buried, the Spaniards submitting to death rather than confess their hiding-places. The next day a party of fourscore men were sent to drive the pack horses to the river side to load the booty in two Spanish canoes. They despaired of obtaining any ransom for the town, as the alcalde major had sent to them to say that the only ransom he should give was powder and ball, whereof he had a great deal at their service; that as to the prisoners, he should entrust them to the hands of God, and that his people were getting ready as fast as they could, to have the honour of seeing them. Upon receiving this daring answer, the Buccaneers, in a rage, fired the town and marched to the river. As the Spanish ambuscades prevented the boats coming up to meet them, the adventurers put nine men on board the boats, the men marching by their side to guard them from attack. On the other side, unknown to them and hidden by the trees, marched 900 Spaniards. When they had proceeded about a league, an impassable thicket compelled them to make a diversion of some 200 paces, an accident which involved the loss of the whole plunder of Villia. Before they left the boats, the captain ordered the crews to stop a little higher up, where the three Spanish barks lay, and endeavour to bring them away. On arriving there they were surprised by an ambuscade, and as they defended themselves against the Spaniards, the current drove them on beyond the three barks and far from the main body. Seeing them now helpless, the enemy discharged sixty musket shots at them, and killed four men and wounded one. The rest, abandoning the canoes, swam to the other side of the river, while a dozen Indians wading in brought the boat to the Spaniards; cutting off the head of a wounded man and setting it on a pole by the shore. The Buccaneers who did not hear the firing, were astonished on returning to the river to see no canoes, and while waiting for them to come up, for they supposed they were behind, the rowers, who had escaped, broke breathless through the thicket, and told their story. Luckily in their flight through the wood they had discovered the rudders and sails of the three barks, in which the Buccaneers at once embarked, and sent fifty-six men on shore to recover the fittings, agreeing that each should fire three guns as a signal. Soon after they had landed, the report of about 500 guns was heard, but before they could reach the enemy the Spaniards had fled. Going ashore the next day, they found the two canoes dashed to pieces, and the bodies of the dead much mutilated--the head of one set upon a pole, and the body of another burnt in the fire. These objects so enraged the Buccaneers, that they instantly cut off four of their prisoners' heads, and set them on poles in the same place. Their own dead they carried with them to bury by the sea-side--the fitting burial-place for seamen. Three times they had to land to break through ambuscades at the river's mouth, in the last attack losing three men. With a Spaniard who came on board, they agreed for a ransom of 10,000 pieces of eight, but threatened to kill all the prisoners if the money was not brought in within two days. Upon the stubborn alcalde seizing the hostages who were sent ashore to obtain money to release their wives, the Buccaneers cut off the heads of two prisoners and sent them to the town, declaring that if no ransom was paid, they would serve the rest the same, and having put the women on an island, would come and capture the alcalde. The same evening came in a promise to pay all the ransoms, and to bring besides, every day while they stayed, ten oxen, twenty sheep, and 200 lbs. of meal. For a Buccaneer's fire-arms which the enemy pretended to have lost (for the Spaniards were fond of French arms), they paid 400 pieces of eight. They also bought one of the captured barks for 600 pieces of eight and 100 lbs. of nails, of which the adventurers stood in great need, but her tackle and anchors were not surrendered. They obtained also a Flibustier passport that the bark should not be retaken, although her cargo might be confiscated. Having then obtained a parting present of 100 salted beeves, from this long-suffering place the French set sail. Afraid to land on the continent, which was guarded by 4,000 men, they abstained, till, nearly dying with thirst, they made a descent with 200 sailors, driving off the Spaniards, whom they found lying on the grass about 100 paces from the sea. Lussan says they saw "we were a people who would hazard all for a small matter." Landing at midnight at a small island near Cape Pin, they were discovered by the pearl divers, but still contrived to capture a ship at daybreak. From their prisoners they heard that the Spaniards had lately defeated a party of thirty-six, French and English, from Peru, who were attempting to pass into the North Sea by the river Bocca del Chica. Two parties of English, forty each, on their way into the South Sea, had also been massacred all but four, who were prisoners at Panama. To balance these ill omens, tidings of prizes reached the Buccaneers on every hand. A bark was lying in the Bocca del Chica river, waiting for 800 lbs. of gold from the mines to bring to Panama. Two ships laden with meal and money for the garrison of Lima were also expected; and from a prisoner (a spy, it afterwards appeared), captured at the King's Islands, they learnt that two merchant barks and a piragua with sixty Indians lay in the river of Seppa, besides a frigate and scout galley under the guns of Panama. Much in want of vessels, and not suspecting the prisoner, four canoes were sent at once to cut out the barks of Panama, the "Greek" soldier going with them readily as a guide. They arrived two hours before daylight, and the moon shining very bright they waited for a cloud to obscure it, seeing, as they thought, the anticipated prize lying near with her sails loose. By mere chance, the adventurers, to waste no time, pursued a vessel just leaving the port, thinking it was the scout galley, and took it without a shot. Upon examination, the captain confessed their guide was the commander of a Greek piragua, and had been promised a large reward by the governor of Panama to betray them into his hands. The ship they saw was a mere sham of boards and sails, built upon firm land, only a pistol shot from the port. They supposed that the Buccaneers, eager to take her, would row up, and so drive their canoes far on shore, and hoped to overpower them before they got off. The Greek captain being at once identified as a spy, was, says Ringrose, "sent to that world where he had designed to send us." The fleet then proceeded to take the islands of Ottoqua and Tavoga, losing two men in the Greek's second ambuscade at Seppa, but capturing in their way a bark from Nata laden with provisions, after a few discharges of musketry, the Spanish captain swimming to shore. From Tavoga they sent a message to the governor of Panama, to say that if he did not at once surrender his five English and French captives, they would at once put to death fifty Spanish prisoners. They then anchored again at the King's Islands, and sent a galley and four canoes up the Bocca Chica river to see if the Indians were at peace with Spain or not, and to destroy an ambuscade of 100 Spaniards, who they heard were lying in wait on the banks for thirty freebooters, on their way from the South to the North Pacific. Carried swiftly up the river by the current, the guide, compelling them to row faster just before daybreak, brought them, much to their astonishment, at a bend of the river, opposite the camp fires of the enemy. The guide being hailed, replied they were from Panama; and being asked the name of the commander, hesitated about a fitting title, and received a volley in return. The Buccaneers driving off the enemy with two patereroes, passed them quickly, and, anchoring out of reach, waited for the ebb tide to return. Putting all their men under deck, the adventurers returned about an hour before daylight, saluting them with four paterero shots as they passed, and receiving no injury in return. The next day, taking a small Indian vessel, the Buccaneers landed lower down the river, intending to take the Spanish entrenchment in the rear; but seeing the enemy putting out a piragua to attack their galley, they returned in great haste and landed opposite the Spanish court of guard, killing a great many men and driving out the rest. They also shot an Indian, who, mistaking them for Spaniards, followed them and reviled them as they were re-embarking. The prisoners told them that the neighbouring town of Terrible was prepared for their coming. A letter to the camp-master of Terrible was found in the entrenchment. It concluded thus: "I have sent you 300 men to defeat these enemies of God and goodness; be sure to keep upon your watch; be afraid of being surprised, and your men will infallibly be gainers in defeating of them." The prisoners also put them on their guard as to many ambuscades and secret dangers. Having burnt the guard-house, and carried off the piragua with some pounds of gold-dust, the Buccaneers departed, dismissing the Indians to propitiate the nation who had received commission from the President of Panama to arm canoes against them. While descending the river, having put some Spanish prisoners on deck to deceive the Indians, some natives came and brought gold-dust to them, taking them for friends. A few days after this, forty Spanish prisoners put ashore at the King's Islands, met accidentally with some canoes, and escaped to Panama. The French were now again surprised as they had been before, three of the enemy's vessels approaching under cover of an island. By venturing a dangerous passage between the island of Tavaguilla and a rock the Buccaneers at last obtained the weather-gauge. The fight lasted till noon, and the Spaniards were driven off in all attempts at boarding. Throwing grenades into the biggest ship, one of them set fire to some loose powder and burnt a great many men; and during this confusion, the adventurers boarded the enemy, who rallied in the stern, and made a vigorous resistance, but at last begged for quarter. The second was also at the same time carried and taken. The third, a kind of galley, pursued by three Buccaneer vessels, ran ashore and staved to pieces, few of the crew escaping, not more than a dozen, Ringrose thinks. In the frigate eighty men were killed and wounded out of 120 on board. The second ship had only eighteen unhurt out of eighty. All the officers were killed and wounded, and the captain received no less than five musket shots. He was the soldier that had received five wounds resisting them at Puebla Nueva, and he had also planned the ambuscade at Villia. While busily employed in splicing the rigging and throwing the dead overboard, two more sail were seen bearing down from Panama. The English instantly put up Spanish colours to allure them, and placed the French and English beneath them. As the foe drew near, they received a volley, and, firing hurriedly, at once fled to the frigate which they supposed still theirs. The frigate replied by some grenades, which sent one to the bottom, and the piragua boarded the other, and, finding four packs of halters on board, put all the crew to death in revenge. They had been directed to spare none but the Buccaneer surgeons, and to send troops of horse to cut off all that escaped in canoes. On the very next day they took a shallop from Panama which the president had sent to pull up an anchor that the adventurers had left in the bay. Only one Buccaneer was killed in the fight, but Captain Townley and twenty men were wounded, and most of these died, for the Spaniards poisoned their bullets. They now sent a prisoner to the president, demanding his five captives and medicines for the use of his own people. The messenger was also told to complain heavily of the massacre of the three parties at Darien. To these remonstrances the officer sent the following answer: "Gentlemen, I wonder that you, who should understand how to make war, should require those men of me that are in our custody. Your rashness hath something contrary to the civility wherewith you ought to treat those people that were in your power. If you do not use them well, God will perhaps be on our side." To this they returned a threat of beheading all their prisoners without mercy; and having done this, sailed at once to the isles of Pericòs, fearing the Spanish fire-ships. The Bishop of Panama, who, they knew, had stirred up the president to war, sent a letter, entreating them to show mercy, saying the president had the king's orders to restore no prisoners, and that the Englishmen, having turned Roman Catholics, did not wish to leave Panama. Upon this the Buccaneers sent the president twenty Spaniards' heads in a canoe, threatening to kill all the rest, if the prisoners were not restored by the next day. Very early the next morning came the prisoners, four Englishmen and one Frenchman, with medicines for the wounded, the president leaving to their honour to give as many men as they chose in exchange. They at once sent a dozen of the most wounded on shore, accusing the president of being the murderer of the twenty they had killed, and threatening the death of the rest, unless 20,000 pieces of eight were paid for their ransom. The Spaniards at first tried to make it only 6000; but when the Buccaneers hung out their main flag, fired a gun, and prepared to enter the port, they hung out a white flag at a bastion, and promised the money shortly. The next day a Knight of Malta came in a bark with the money, and received the prisoners. While staying at Ottoqua to victual their ships, the Spaniards landed at night and murdered their Indian guides. The day after the French chased a provision vessel to the very guns of Panama, when the garrison hoisted the Burgundian flag on the bastion, and by mistake fired upon their own vessel, which the Buccaneers took. Putting nineteen prisoners on shore, they again attempted to surprise Villia, but failed, finding all the people in arms, and a reinforcement of 600 men newly come from Panama. They next took the town of St. Lorenzo, and surprising it at twilight, burnt it. They learned the Spaniards had orders to drive away the cattle from the sea-shore, to lay ambuscades, and to obtain from women intelligence of the Buccaneers' movements. A dreadful storm which overtook the fleet in the Bay of Bocca del Toro induced Lussan, with a naïve philanthropy, to tell his readers: "If you would enter into it with safety, you must keep the whip of your rudder to starboard, because it is dangerous to keep to the east side." While here the same writer gives us the following trait of Flibustier manners:--"On the 25th, being Christmas-day, after we had, according to custom, said our prayers in the night, one of our quartermasters being gone ashore in order to take care about our eating some victuals (for our ships being careening all our provisions were then put out), one of our prisoners, who served us as cook, stabbed him with a knife in six several places, wherewith crying out, he was presently relieved, and the assassin punished with death." On the 1st of January, 1687, leaving their ships in the bay of Caldaira, the Buccaneers embarked 200 men in canoes and crossed to the island of La Cagna. Their treacherous guide, under the pretence of hiding them in a covert, led them into a marsh, where the mud, in the soundest places, rose above their middles; five men sinking up to their chins were dragged out with ropes tied to the mangrove branches. The men, anxious for escape, lifted up their guide to the top of a tree, to discover by the moonlight where sound land commenced. But he, once at liberty, skipped like a monkey from tree to tree, railing at them and deriding their helplessness. They spent the whole night in marching a hundred paces round this marsh, and groped out at daybreak, bedaubed from head to toe, with their fire-arms loaded with mud. "When we were in a condition," says Lussan, "to reflect a little upon ourselves, and that we saw 200 men in the same habit, all so curiously equipped, there was not one of us who forgot not his toil to laugh at the posture he found both himself and the rest in. Inveighing against their guide, they returned to their canoes, and proceeded two leagues up a river to an entrenchment, where they found the remains of two vessels the Spaniards had some time before burnt, at the approach of Betsharp, an English freebooter. Guided by the barking of dogs, they surprised the borough of Santa Catalina, and, mounting sixty men on horses, entered Nicoya and drove out the enemy, carrying off the governor's plate and movables. They found here some letters from the President of Panama, describing the doings of "these new Turks," how they had landed at places where the sea was so high that no sentinels had been placed, and passed through the woods like wild beasts. The letters stated how much the Spaniards had been astonished by the Buccaneer mode of attack--"briskly falling on, singing, dancing, as if they had been going to a feast;" they were described also as "those enemies of God and His saints who profane His churches and destroy His servants." In one battle, it says, being blocked up, "they became as mad dogs. Whenever these irreligious men set their feet on land they always win the victory." Landing at Caldaira the sentinels set fire to the savannahs, through which they marched to Lesparso, and towards Carthage, but retired, hearing of 400 men and an entrenchment. Hiding five men in the grass, they captured a Spanish trooper, who had reviled them, and putting him to the rack, laughing at his grimaces of pain, heard that Grogniet was in the neighbourhood, and soon after they heard cannons fired off, and were joined by him in three canoes. He now told them his adventures at Napalla. Three sailors, corrupted by the Spaniards, who had taken them prisoners, persuaded him on his return to visit a gold mine, fourteen leagues from the sea-shore. They luckily got there before the ambuscade, and took some prisoners and a few pounds of gold, but 450 lbs. weight had been removed an hour before. At their return they found the traitors and prisoners all escaped. He then landed at Puebla Vieja and attacked an ambuscade and entrenchment of 300 men. Half of these fled, half were made prisoners, and their three colours taken, the freebooters losing only three men. Eighty-five of his men then determined to visit California, and he and his sixty men to return to Panama. Grogniet now consented to join in the French expedition, and, after taking Queaquilla, to force a way to the North Sea. They landed and burnt Nicoya a third time, and Lussan treats us here with an amusing piece of Buccaneer superstition. He says, "though we were _forced_ to chastise the Spaniards in this manner, we showed ourselves very exact in the preservation of the churches, into which we carried the pictures and images of the saints which we found in particular houses, that they might not be exposed to the rage and burning of the English, who were not much pleased with these sorts of precautions; they being men that took more satisfaction and pleasure to see one church burnt than all the houses of America put together. But as it was our turn now to be the stronger party, they durst do nothing that derogated from that respect we bore to all those things." On their return the French had to force their way through burning savannahs, but got safe to their ships, putting next day forty prisoners on shore who were too chargeable to keep. A new division now arose between the English and French, and the former insisting on the first prize taken, the two parties again separated, Grogniet staying with the former: making in all 142 men, Ravenau's party being 162, in a frigate and long bark. Both vessels now tried to outsail each other and reach Queaquilla first, but the French, soon finding the English beat them in speed, resolved to accompany them, for they had so little food as to be obliged to eat only once in every forty-eight hours, and but for rain water would have died of thirst. Off Santa Helena, they gave chase to a ship, and found it to be a prize laden with wine and corn, lately taken by Captain David's men, for they had been making descents along the coast, at Pisca had beaten off 800 men from Lima, and had also taken a great many ships, which they pillaged and let go. Having got to the value of 5000 pieces of eight a man, they sailed for Magellan, and on the way many of the men lost all they had by gaming. Those who had won joined Willnett, and returned to the North Sea; but the losers, sixty English and twenty French, joined David, and determined to remain and get more spoil in the South. Henry and Samms had gone to the East Indies. The eight men of David's crew who commanded the prize joined them against Queaquilla. Furling their sails to prevent being seen, they anchored off the White Cape, and at ten in the morning embarked 260 men in their canoes. On the 15th they reached, at sunset, the rocky island of Santa Clara, and on the 16th rested all day, weak from long fasting, in the island of La Puna, escaping any detection from the forty sentinels. The 17th they spent on the same island, and arranged the attack. Captain Picard and fifty men led the forlorn hope, another captain and eighty grenadiers formed a reserve. Captain Grogniet and the main body were to make themselves masters of the town and port, and the English captain, George Hewit, with fifty men, were to attack the smaller fort; while 1000 pieces of eight were promised to the first ensign who should plant the colours on the great fort. They left their covert in the evening, and hoped to reach the town by dawn, but only having three hours of favourable tide, had to remain all day at the island, and at night rowing out, were overtaken after all by the light, when a sentinel seeing them, set a cottage on fire and alarmed his companions. Marching across a wood to the fire, they killed two of the Spaniards and captured a boy. Remaining in covert all day, they thought themselves undiscovered, because the town had not answered the fire signal, and at night they rowed up the river, the rapid current carrying them four leagues in two hours. All the 19th they spent under cover of an island in the river, and at night went up with the current, not rowing for fear of alarming the sentinels. They attempted in vain to put in beyond the town, on the side least guarded, but the tide going out forced them to land two hours before day, within cannon shot of the town, where they could discern the lights burning, for the Spaniards burnt lamps all night. They landed in a marshy place, and had to cut a path through the bushes with their sabres. They soon met with a sentinel, and were discovered by one of the men left to guard the canoes striking a light, against orders, to light his pipe. The sentinel, knowing that this was punishable by death among his countrymen, suspected enemies and discharged a paterero, which the fort answered by a discharge of all their cannon. The Buccaneers, overtaken by a storm, entered a large house near to light the matches of their grenades and wait for day, the enemy firing incessantly in defiance. On the 20th, at daybreak, they marched out in order, with drums beating and colours, and found 700 men waiting for them behind a wall, four feet and a-half high, and a ditch. Killing many of the Buccaneers at the onset, the enemy ventured to sally out, sword in hand, and were at once put to flight. In spite of the bridge being broken down, the pursuers crossed the ditch, and, getting to the foot of the wall, threw in grenades, and drove the enemy to their houses. Driven also from this, they fled to a redoubt in the Place d'Armes, and from thence, after an hour's fighting, to a third fort, the largest of all. Here they defended themselves a long time, firing continually at their enemies, who could not see them for the smoke. From these palisadoes they again sallied, and wounded several Buccaneers and took one prisoner. They at last retreated with great loss. The Flibustiers, weary with eleven hours' fighting, and finding their powder nearly spent, grew desperate; but, redoubling their efforts, with some loss made themselves masters of the place, having nine men killed and a dozen wounded. Parties were then sent out to pursue the fugitives, and a garrison having been put in the great fort, the Roman Catholic part of the band went to sing _Te Deum_ in the great church. Basil Hall describes Guayaquil as having on the one side a great marsh, and on the other a great river, while the country, for nearly 100 miles, is a continued level swamp, thickly covered with trees. The river is broad and deep, but full of shoals and strange turnings, the woods growing close to the water's edge, stand close, dark, and still, like two vast black walls; while along the banks the land-breeze blows hot, and breathes death, decay, and putrefaction. The town was walled, and the forts built on an eminence. The houses were built of boards and reared on piles, on account of the frequent inundations. The chief trade of the place was cocoa. The Buccaneers took 700 prisoners, including the governor and his family. He himself was wounded, as were most of his officers, who fought better than all the 5,000 men of the place. The place was stored with merchandise, precious stones, silver plate, and 70,000 pieces of eight. Upwards of three millions more had been hidden while the fort was taking. As soon as the canoes had come up, they were sent in pursuit of the treasure, but it was too late. They captured, however, 22,000 pieces of eight, and a vermilion gilt eagle, weighing 66 lbs., that had served as the tabernacle for some church. It was of rare workmanship, and the eyes were formed of two great "rocks of emeralds." There were fourteen barks in the port--the galleys they had fought at Puebla Nueva, and two royal ships unfinished on the stocks. As a ransom for all these things, the governor promised a million pieces of eight in gold, and 400 sacks of corn, requiring the vicar-general to be released to go to Quito and procure it. The women of the town, who were very pretty, had been assured by their confessors that the Buccaneers were monsters and cannibals, and had conceived a horror and aversion to them. "They could not be dispossessed thereof," says Lussan, "till they came to know us better. But then I can boldly say that they entertained quite different sentiments of our persons, and have given us frequent instances of so violent a passion as proceeded sometimes even to a degree of folly." As a proof of the calumnies circulated against the ruthless conquerors, Lussan tells us the following:--"It is not from a chance story," he continues, "that I came to know the impressions wrought in these women that we were men that would eat them; for the next day after the taking of the town, a young gentlewoman that waited upon the governor of the place, happened to fall into my hands. As I was carrying her away to the place where the rest of the prisoners were kept, and to that end made her walk before me, she turned back, and, with tears in her eyes, told me, in her own language--'Senor, pur l'amor di Dios ne mi como'--that is, 'Pray, sir, for the love of God, do not eat me;' whereupon I asked her who had told her that we were wont to eat people? She answered, 'The fathers,' who had also assured them that we had not human shape, but that we resembled monkeys." On the 21st, part of the town was accidentally burnt down by some of the men lighting a fire in a house, and leaving it unextinguished when they returned at night to the court of guard. Afraid that it would reach the place where they had stored their powder and merchandise, the French removed all the plunder to their vessels, and carried the prisoners to the fort; but not till all this was done endeavouring to save the town, a third part of which was, by this time, destroyed. Afraid the Spaniards might now refuse to pay the ransom, they charged them with the offence, threatening to send some fifty prisoners' heads if they did not pay them what they had lost by the fire. The enemy, surprised at this, attributed the incendiarism to traitors, and promised satisfaction. The stench of the 900 dead carcases, still lying unburied up and down the town, now producing a pestilence, the Buccaneers dismounted and spiked the cannon, and carried off the 500 prisoners to their ships, anchoring at Puna. Captain Grogniet died of his wounds soon after this removal. The Spaniards obtaining four days' further respite, and then still further delaying the ransom, the adventurers made the prisoners throw dice for their lives, and cutting off the heads of four, sent them to Queaquilla, threatening further deaths. They were now joined by Captain David and a prize he had lately taken. He was planning a descent on Paita, to obtain refreshments for some men wounded in a fight with a Spanish ship, the Catalina, off Lima. They fought for two days, David's men, being drunk, constantly getting to leeward, and failing twenty times in an attempt to board. The Spaniards, gaining courage from these failures, hoisted the bloody flag; but the third day, David, getting sober, got his tackle and rigging in good order, got properly to windward, and bore down with determination. The enemy in terror ran ashore, and went to pieces in two hours. Two men were saved by a canoe, and said that their captain had had his thigh shot off by a cannon ball. David's ship, wanting refitting, was employed to cruise in the bay to prevent surprises from the Spaniards. By a letter taken from a courier, they found that the people of Queaquilla were only endeavouring to obtain time. The Buccaneers spent thirty days on the island of La Puna, living on the luxurious food brought from Queaquilla, and employing the prisoners with lutes, theorbos, harps, and guitars, to delight them by perpetual concerts and serenades. Lussan says, "Some of our men grew very familiar with our women prisoners, who, without offering them any violence, were not sparing of their favours, and made appear, as I have already remarked, that after they came once to know us, they did not retain all the aversion for us that had been inculcated into them when we were strangers unto them. All our people were so charmed with this way of living that they forgot their past miseries, and thought no more of danger from the Spaniards than if they had been in the middle of Paris." Ravenau also treats us with his own personal love adventure, which we insert as a curious illustration of the vicissitudes of a South Sea adventurer's life. "Amongst the rest," he says, "myself had one pretty adventure. Among the other prisoners we had a young gentlewoman, lately become a widow of the treasurer of the town, who was slain when it was taken. Now this woman appeared so far comforted for her loss, out of an hard-heartedness they have in this country one for another, that she proposed to hide me and herself in some corner of the island till our people were gone, and that then she would bring me to Queaquilla to marry her, that she would procure me her husband's office, and vest me in his estate, which was very great. When I had returned her thanks for such obliging offers, I gave her to understand that I was afraid her interest had not the mastery over the Spaniards' resentments; and that the wounds they had received from us were yet too fresh and green for them easily to forget them. She went about to cure me of my suspicion, by procuring secretly, from the governor and chief officers, promises under their hands how kindly I should be used by them. I confess I was not a little perplexed herewith, and such pressing testimonies of goodwill and friendship towards me brought me, after a little consultation with myself, into such a quandary, that I did not know which side to close with; nay, I felt myself, at length, much inclined to close with the offers made me, and I had two powerful reasons to induce me thereunto, one of which was the miserable and languishing life we lead in those places, where we were in perpetual hazard of losing it, which I should be freed from by an advantageous offer of a pretty woman and a considerable settlement: the other proceeded from the despair I was in of ever being able to return into my own country, for want of ships fit for that purpose. But when I began to reflect upon these things with a little more leisure and consideration, and that I resolved with myself how little trust was to be given to the promises and faith of so perfidious as well as vindictive a nation as the Spaniards, and more especially towards men in our circumstances, by whom they had been so ill-used, this second reflection carried it against the first, and even all the advantages offered me by this lady. But however the matter was, I was resolved, in spite of the grief and tears of this pretty woman, to prefer the continuance of my troubles (with a ray of hope of seeing France again), before the perpetual suspicion I should have had of some treachery designed against me. Thus I rejected her proposals, but so as to assure her I should retain, even as long as I lived, a lively remembrance of her affections and good inclinations towards me." After some negotiation with a priest, the people of Queaquilla brought in twenty-four sacks of meal, and 20,000 pieces of eight in gold. On their refusing more than 22,000 pieces of eight more for ransom, a council was held to decide upon putting all the prisoners to death, but at last, Ravenau being in the majority, decided to spare them. They then took fifty of the richest prisoners with them to the point of St. Helena, and surrendered the rest on 22,000 more being paid. While at La Puna, the Buccaneers sallied out to attack two Spanish armadillas, but not having any piraguas to tow them to the windward, could only cannonade at a distance. The French vessels were much shattered, but no man killed. The next day they came to close fight, both sides using small arms and great guns, but no Buccaneer was killed. The Spaniards lost many men, and the blood ran out of their scupper holes, but they still cried at parting, "A la manana, la partida"--(to-morrow, again.) The next night the Buccaneers unrigged and sank one of their prizes, and fitted out another, manning her with twenty Frenchmen, who wanted to leave David. The same night four Spaniards seized one of the prizes, and escaped to Queaquilla. Being now within half cannon shot, the rival vessels pounded each other all day; the French had their tackle spoiled, and sails riven, and the frigate received five cannon-shot in the foremast, and three in the mainmast, but had not one man killed or wounded. The next day the Spaniards hoisted Burgundian colours, and poured in volleys of musket-shot, but neither party boarded. The ensuing day the Buccaneer musketry was so destructive, that the Spaniards closed their port-holes and bore up to the wind. That day the French received sixty shots in their sides, two-thirds between wind and water, the rigging was torn, and Ravenau and another man were wounded. At night the Spaniards failed in an attempt to board. We spent this night at anchor, says Lussan, to stop our cannons' mouths, which otherwise might have sent us into the deep. To his astonishment, the next morning the armadillas had fled. During these successive days' fighting, the governor and officers of Queaquilla had been brought on deck to witness the defeat of their countrymen. They then set their prisoners ashore and divided the plunder, the whole amounting to 500,000 pieces of eight, or 15,000,000 livres, and in shares to 400 pieces of eight a man. The uncoined gold and the precious stones being of uncertain value were sold by auction, that those who had silver and had won in gambling might buy. All who expected an overland expedition were anxious for jewels, as more portable and less heavy than silver. They sought now in their descent for nothing but gold and jewels, quite disregarding silver as a mean metal and heavy to carry. They even left many things in Queaquilla, and neglected to send a canoe for the 100 caons of coined silver (11,000 pieces of eight in all) which had been sent to the opposite river side. Taking advantage of their indifference, Spanish thieves mixed with the Buccaneers, and pillaged their own countrymen. They landed at Point Mangla, and surprised a watch of fifteen Spanish soldiers who had been placed to guard a river abounding in emeralds. A few days after they took a vessel from Panama going to Porto Bello to buy negroes off the point of Harina. The French fleet was next attacked by a Spanish galley and two piraguas. From a prisoner they heard of 300 Frenchmen, who had defeated 600 Spaniards and killed their leader in the savannahs. While careening in the bay of Mapalla they were joined by these men, who proved to be part of Grogniet's men, who had left their companions on the coast of Acapulco, refusing to go further towards California. The adventurers next landed in the Bay of Tecoantepequa, and dispersing a body of 300 Spaniards, drawn up upon an eminence, marched inland towards the town, sleeping all night in the open air. Nothing but hunger and despair could have induced this attack. The town was intersected by a great and very rapid river, encompassed by eight suburbs, and defended by 3000 men. The Buccaneers forded the river, the water up to their middles, and after an hour's fighting forced the Spaniards from their entrenchment. In two hours these men, enraged with hunger, took the place by hand-to-hand fighting, and eighty sailors then dislodged the enemy from the abbey of St. Francis, whose terraces commanded the town. Finding the river overflowing and no ransom coming, the Buccaneers departed the next day, and landing at Vatulco, took the old governor of Merida prisoner, and obtained some provisions. They also landed at Muemeluna and victualled, the Spaniards having strong entrenchments, but making little resistance. They found upon the shore the musket and dead body of a sailor of a frigate that had attempted to land a month before. The Spaniards had not seen the body, or they would have cut in pieces or burnt it, as they were in the habit of even digging up the Buccaneers buried on their shores. At Sansonnat they landed in the face of 600 Spaniards to fill their water-casks, being faint from thirst. One of the men, more impatient than the rest, and goaded by four days' drought, swam ashore and was drowned, without any being able to help him. They now held serious councils about the return by land. The prisoners declared their best way was by Segovia, where they would _only_ meet 5000 or 6000 Spaniards, and that the way was easy for the sick and wounded. The French determined to land and obtain more certain information, and this was one of the most daring of their adventures. They landed seventy men, and marched two days without meeting anybody, upon which eighteen, less weary than the rest, tramped on and soon got into a high road. Capturing three horsemen, they learnt that they were but a quarter of a league distant from Chiloteca, a little town with about 400 white inhabitants, besides negroes, Indians, and mulattoes, who were not aware of their approach. Afraid to waste time in running back after their companions, they entered the town, frightened the Spaniards, and took the Teniente and fifty others prisoners. Had there not been horses ready mounted, on which they made their escape, the enemy would, every man, have submitted to be bound, being overcome with a panic fear, and believing the enemy very numerous. They learned from the prisoners that the Panama galley lay waiting for them at Caldaira, and the _St. Lorenzo_, with thirty guns, at Realegua. They also said that 600 men would be in the town by the next day. The Spaniards now began to rally, and compelled the Buccaneers to entrench themselves in the church. The prisoners, seeing them hurry in, and thinking them hard pressed, ran to a pile of arms and prepared to make a resistance; but the Buccaneers, retreating to the doors, fired at the crowd till only four men and their wives were left alive. They then mounted horses and retreated, carrying off four prisoners of each sex, and firing at a herald who tried to parley. Joining their companions, whom they found resting at a hatto, they made a stand and drove back 600 Spaniards. The statements of the prisoners increased their fears of the overland route, but determining rather to die sword in hand than to pine away with hunger, they at once resolved upon their design. Running all the vessels ashore but the galley and piraguas, which would take them from the island to the mainland, leaving no other means of escape to the timorous, they formed four companies of seventy men, choosing ten men from each as a forlorn hope, to be relieved every morning. Those who were lamed were to have, as formerly, 1000 pieces of eight, the horses were to be kept for the crippled and wounded. The stragglers who were wounded were to have no reward, whilst violence, cowardice, and drunkenness were to be punished. While maturing their plans, a Spanish vessel approached, and anchoring, began to fire at the grounded vessels, and soon put them out of a condition to sail. Afraid of losing their piraguas, the Buccaneers sent their prisoners and baggage to some flats behind the island. The next day, the Frenchmen, sheltering themselves behind the rocks that ran out to the sea, kept the vessel at a distance; but now afraid of total destruction, the Buccaneers sent 100 men to the continent at night to secure horses, and wait for them at a certain port. On the next day, the Spanish ship took fire, and put out to sea to extinguish the flames. The next day the Buccaneers escaped by a stratagem. Having spent the whole night in hammering the vessel, as if careening, to prevent all suspicion of their departure, they charged all their guns, grenades, and four pieces of cannon, and tied to them pieces of lighted matches of various lengths, in order to keep up an alarm throughout the night. In the twilight they departed as secretly as they could, the prisoners carrying the surgeons' medicines, the carpenters' tools, and the wounded men. On the 1st of January, 1688, the Buccaneers arrived on the continent. On the evening of the same day the men joined them with sixty-eight horses and several prisoners, all of whom dissuaded them in vain from attempting to go by Segovia, where the Spaniards were fully alarmed. The men, nothing deterred, packed up each his charge, and thrust their silver and ammunition into bags. Those who had too much to carry, gave it to those who had lost theirs by gaming, promising them half "in case it should please God to bring them safe to the North Sea." Ravenau de Lussan tells us his charge was lighter but not less valuable than the others, as he had converted 30,000 pieces of eight into pearls and precious stones. "But as the best part of this," he says, "was the product of luck I had at play, some of those who had been losers, as well in playing against me as others, becoming much discontented at their losses, plotted together to the number of seventeen or eighteen, to murder those who were richest amongst us. I was so happy as to be timely advertised of it by some friends, which did not a little disquiet my mind, for it was a very difficult task for a man, during so long a journey, to be able to secure himself from being surprised by those who were continually in the same company, and with whom we must eat, drink, and sleep, and who could cut off whom they pleased of us in the conflicts they might have with the Spaniards, by shooting us in the hurry." To frustrate this scheme, Ravenau therefore divided his treasure among several men, and by this means removed a weight both from his mind and body. On the 2nd of January, after having said prayers and sunk their boats, the Buccaneers set out, resting at noon at a hatto. On the 4th they lay on a mountain plateau, the Spaniards visible on their flanks and rear. On the 5th the barricades began, and on the 6th, at an estantia, they found the following letter lying on a bed in the hall: "We are very glad that you have made choice of our province for your passage homewards, but are sorry you are not better laden with silver; however, if you have occasion for mules we will send them to you. We hope to have the French General Grogniet very quickly in our power, so we will leave you to judge what will become of his soldiers." On the 7th the vanguard drove off an ambuscade, and lay that evening in a hatto. The Spaniards burnt all the provisions in the way, and set fire to the savannahs to windward, stifling the French horses with smoke and scaring them with the blaze. While their march was thus retarded and they waited for the fire to burn out, the enemy threw up intrenchments and erected barricades of trees. On the 8th the French set fire to a house at a sugar plantation, and, hiding till the Spaniards came to put it out, captured a prisoner, who told them that 300 auxiliaries were on the march to meet them. "These 300 men," says Lussan, "were our continual guard, for they gave us morning and evening the diversion of their trumpets, but it was like the _music of the enchanted palace of Psyche_, who heard it without seeing the musicians, for ours marched on each side of us, in places so covered with pine trees that it was impossible to perceive them." During this march the Buccaneers never encamped but upon high ground, or in the open savannah, for fear of being hemmed in. The advanced guard was now strengthened by forty men, who discharged their muskets at the entries and avenues of woods, to dislodge the ambuscades, but they did not shoot when the plain was open and free from wood; although the Spaniards, who were lying on their bellies on each side of them, opened their fire and killed two stragglers. On the 10th they repulsed an ambuscade and captured some horses. On the 11th they dispersed another ambuscade, and entered Segovia, but all the provisions had been burnt, and the Spaniards fired upon them from among the pine trees that grew on the hills around the town. Fortunately at this spot, where the old guides grew uncertain of the way, they captured a new prisoner, who led them twenty leagues to the river they were in search of. The road now grew wilder, and dangers thickened around them. They had to creep with great danger to the tops of great mountains, or to bury themselves in narrow and dark valleys. The cold grew intense, and the fogs lasted for some hours after daybreak. In the plains no chill was felt, but the same heat that prevailed on the mountains after noon. "But," says Lussan, "the hopes of getting once more into our native country made us endure patiently all these toils, and served as so many wings to carry us." On the 12th, they ascended several mountains, and had incredible trouble to clear the road of the Spanish barricades, and all night long the enemy fired into their camp. On the 18th, an hour before sunrise, they ascended an eminence which seemed advantageous for an encampment, and saw on the edge of an eminence, separated from them by a narrow valley, what they believed to be cattle feeding. Rejoiced at the prospect of food, forty men were sent to reconnoitre. They returned with the dismal intelligence that the supposed oxen were really troopers' horses ready saddled, and that the mountain on which they stood was encircled by three intrenchments, rising one above another, commanding a stream that ran through the valley. They had no other way but this to pass, and there was no possibility of avoiding it. They added, that one of the Spaniards had seen them, and shook his naked cutlass at them from a distance. Every man's heart fell at this news, and their pining appetite sickened at the loss of its expected meal. There was no time for delay, for the Spaniards from the adjacent provinces were gathering in their rear, and if any time was lost they must be surrounded and overpowered by numbers. Ravenau de Lussan, the Xenophon of this retreat, did not attempt to conceal the extent of the danger. He confesses himself that they were hard put to it, and that escape would have seemed impossible to any other men but to those who had been hitherto successful in almost every undertaking. He addressed his companions, and artfully persuaded them to agree to his plans, by first elaborating the extent of their difficulties. He said that 10,000 men could not force their way through such intrenchments, guarded by so many men as the Spaniards had, judging from the number of their horses. Nor could they pass by the side of it, with all their horses and baggage, seeing that the path could only be entered in single file. Except the road, all was a thick, pathless forest, full of quagmires, and encumbered by fallen trees; and even if these impediments were passed, the Spaniards would have still to be fought with. The Buccaneers agreed to these as truisms, but cried out that it was to no purpose to talk of difficulties so apparent, without proposing some method of surmounting them, and suggesting some means for its execution. Upon this hint De Lussan spoke. He proposed to cross those woods, precipices, mountains, and rocks, how inaccessible soever they seemed, and gaining the weather-gauge of the enemy, take them at once in the rear, suddenly and unexpectedly. The success of this plan he would answer for at the peril of his life. The prisoners, horses, and baggage he resolved to leave guarded by eighty men, to keep off the 300 Spaniards who hovered around them at day and at night, encamped at a musket-shot distance. These eighty men could answer for four times as many Spaniards. After some deliberation, De Lussan's plan was agreed to, and the execution at once resolved upon. Examining the mountain carefully with the keen eyes of both hunters and sailors, they could see a road winding along the side of the mountain, above the highest intrenchment. This they could only trace here and there by light spots visible between the trees, but once across this they were safe. Full of hope, and with every faculty aroused, some of the men were sent to a spot higher than the main body, to cover another party who had on previous occasions proved themselves ingenious and expert, and who were sent to pick out the safest and most direct spots by which they could get in the rear of the enemy before day broke. As soon as these scouts returned the men made ready for their departure, leaving their baggage guarded by eighty men. To prevent suspicion, the officer in command had orders to make every sentinel he set or relieved in the night-time fire his fusil and to beat his drum at the usual hour. He was told that if God gave them the victory they would send a party to bring him off, but that if an hour after all firing ceased they saw no messenger, they were to provide for their own safety. The immediate narrative of this wonderful escape we give in De Lussan's own words:--"Things being thus disposed," he says, "we said our prayers as low as we could, that the Spaniards might not hear us, from whom we were separated but by the valley. At the same time, we set forward to the number of 200 men by moonlight, it being now an hour within night; and about one more after our departure we heard the Spaniards also at their prayers, who, knowing we were encamped very near them, fired about 600 muskets in the air to frighten us. Besides, they also made a discharge at all the responses of the litany which they sang. We still pursued our march, and spent the whole night (in going down and then getting up) to advance half a-quarter of a league, which was the distance between them and us, through a country, as I have already said, so full of rocks, mountains, woods, and frightful precipices, that our posteriors and knees were of more use to us than our legs, it being impossible for us to travel thither otherwise. On the 14th, by break of day, as we got over the most dangerous parts of this passage, and had already seized upon a considerable ascent of the mountain by clambering up in great silence, and leaving the Spaniards' retrenchments to our left, we saw their party that went the rounds, who, thanks to the fogs, did not discover us. As soon as they were gone by, we went directly to the place where we saw them, and found it to be exactly the road we were minded to seize on. When we had made a halt for about half an hour to take breath, and that we had a little daylight to facilitate our march, we followed this road by the voice of the Spaniards, who were at their morning prayers, and we were but just beginning our march, when, unfortunately, we met with two out-sentinels, on whom we were forced to fire, and this gave the Spaniards notice, who thought of nothing less than to see us come down from above them upon their intrenchments, since they expected us no other way than from below; so that those who had the guard thereof, and were in number about 500 men, finding themselves on the outside, when they thought they had been within, and consequently open without any covert, took the alarm so hot, that falling all on them at the same time, we made them quit the place in a moment, and make their escape by the favour of the fog." The sequel is soon told. The defenders of the two first lines of wall drew up outside the lowermost, the Buccaneers firing at them for an hour under cover of the first intrenchment. But finding they gave no ground, and thinking the fog interfered with the aim, the French rushed forward and fell upon them with the butt ends of their muskets, till they fled headlong down the narrow road. Here they got entangled in their own impediments, and the Buccaneers, commanding the road from the redoubt, killed an enemy at every shot. Weary at last of running and killing, the French returned to the intrenchments and drove off the 500 Spaniards, who had now rallied, and were attacking the garrison. The pursuit ceased only from the fatigue of the conquerors and their weariness of slaughter. The Spaniards neither gave nor took quarter, and were saved in spite of themselves. De Lussan says, either from pride or a natural fierceness of temper, the Spanish soldiers, before an engagement, frequently took an oath to their commander neither to give nor receive quarter. The Buccaneers, struck with compassion at the quantity of blood running into the rivulet, spared the survivors, and returned a second time into the intrenchment with only one man killed and two wounded. The Spaniards lost their general, a brave old Walloon officer, who had given them the plan of their intrenchment. It was only at the solicitation of another commander that the rounds had been set, and the sentinels placed at the top of the mountain. The general had consented, but said there was no danger if the French were only men. It would take them eight days to climb up, and if they were devils, no intrenchment could keep them out. In his pocket were found letters from the Governor of Costa Rica, who had intended to send him 8000 men, but the Walloon asked for only 1500. He advised him to take care of his soldiers, as no glory could be gained by such a victory. The letter concluded thus:--"Take good measures, for those devils have a cunning and subtlety that is not in use amongst us. When you find them advance within the shot of your arquebuses, let not your men fire but by twenties, to the end your firing may not be in vain; and when you find them weakened, raise a shout to frighten them, and fall on with your swords, while Don Rodrigo attacks them in the rear. I hope God will favour our designs, since they are no other than for his glory, and the destruction of these new sort of Turks. Hearten up your men, though they may have enough of that according to your example they shall be rewarded in heaven, and if they get the better, they will have gold and silver enough wherewith these thieves are laden." Having sung a _Te Deum_ of thankfulness to God, Ravenau de Lussan mounted sixty men upon horseback, as he words it, "to give notice to our other people of the success the Almighty was pleased to give us." They found them about to attack the 300 Spaniards, who seeing the night-march the main body had made, and believing them defeated at the intrenchments, had sent an officer to parley with the residue. He told them that the 1500 Spaniards were lying ready to surround their troops, but promised them good terms if they surrendered; saying that, by the intercessions of the almoner, and for the honour of the holy sacrament and glorious Virgin, they had spared all the prisoners they had hitherto taken. The Buccaneers, somewhat intimidated at these threats, took heart when they saw their companions coming, and returned the following fierce answer: "Though you had force enough to destroy two-thirds of our number, we should not fail to fight with the remaining part; yea, though there were but one man of us left, he should fight against you all. When we put ashore and left the South Sea, we all resolved to pass through your country or die in the attempt; and though there were as many Spaniards as there are blades of grass in the savannah, we should not be afraid, but would go on and go where we will in spite of your teeth." The officer at Ravenau's arrival was just being dismissed, and seeing the new allies were booted and mounted on Spanish horses, he shrugged up his shoulders and rode back as fast as he could to his comrades, who were not more than a musket-shot off upon a small eminence commanding the camp, to tell them the news. As soon almost as he could get to them, the Buccaneers advanced with pistols and cutlasses, and without firing fell on them and cut many to pieces before they could mount, but let the rest go, detaining their horses. They then, with the loss of one killed and two maimed, rejoined the main body at the intrenchments. The enemy now lit a fire upon the top of a neighbouring mountain to collect the scattered troops, in order to defend an intrenchment six leagues distant; but the Buccaneers lying in wait cut off their passage, then hamstringing 900 horses, took 900 others to kill and salt when they arrived at the river. On the 15th they passed the intrenchment unfinished and undefended, and on the 16th day came very joyfully to the long desired river. Immediately they entered into the woods that covered the banks, and fell to work in good earnest to cut down trees and build "piperies," or rafts. These were made of four or five trunks of the mahot trees, a light buoyant wood, which they first barked and then bound together with parasite creepers, which were tough and of great length. Two men, generally standing upright, guided each of these frail barks, the decks sunk two or three feet under water. They were built purposely narrow, to be able to thread the rocky passes of the river even then in sight. These rafts were dragged to the river-side and then launched, the boatmen having furnished themselves with long poles to push them off the rocks, against which they were sure the current would drive them. De Lussan, who never exaggerates a danger, cannot find words to express the terrors of this stream. "It springs," he says, "in the mountains of Segovia, and discharges itself into the North Sea at Cape Gracias à Dios, after having run a long way, in a most rapid manner, across a vast number of rocks of a prodigious bigness, and by the most frightful precipices that can be thought of, besides a great many falls of water, to the number of at least a hundred of all sorts, which it is impossible for a man to look on without trembling, and making the head of the most fearless to turn round, when he sees and hears the waters fall from such a height into those tremendous whirlpools." To this dangerous river and its merciless falls, these way-worn men trusted themselves on frail rafts, and sank up to their middles in water. Sometimes they were hurried, in spite of all their resistance, into boiling pools, where they were buried with their rafts in the darkness beneath the foam, at others drifted under rocks and against fallen trees. Some tied themselves to their barks. "As for those great falls," says Lussan, "they had, to our good fortunes, at their entrances and goings out, great basins of still water, which gave us the opportunity to get upon the banks of the river, and draw our piperies ashore to take off those things we had laid on them, which were as wet as we were. These we carried with us, leaping from rock to rock, till we came to the end of the fall, from whence one of us afterwards returned to put our pipery into the water, and let her swim along to him who waited for her below. But if he failed to catch hold (by swimming) of those pieces of wood before they got out of the basin below, the violence of the stream would carry them away to rights, and the men were necessitated to go and pick out trees to make another." The rafts at first went all together for the sake of mutual assistance; but at the end of three days, finding this dangerous, Ravenau de Lussan advised their going in a line apart, so that, if any were carried against the rocks, they might get off before the next pipery arrived, which at first occasioned many disasters. De Lussan, being himself cast away, found much safety in this plan; for, uncording his raft, he straddled upon one piece and his companion upon another, and floated down, till, reaching a place less rapid, they got on land and reconstructed the raft. By his advice, those who went first put up flags at the end of long poles, to give notice on which side to land, not to signal the falls, for their roar could be clearly heard a league off. During all these dangers the men lived on the bananas that they found growing by the river side, some of which the Indians had sown, and others floated down and self-planted during the inundations. The horse-flesh they had brought the water had spoiled, compelling them to throw it away after two days; and although game abounded on the land, they could kill none, for their arms were continually wet and their ammunition all damaged. It was at this crisis the conspirators we have before mentioned chose to carry out their cruel plot. Hiding behind some rocks, they killed and plundered five Englishmen, who were known to be rich. Lussan whose raft came last of all, and followed the English float, found their bodies, and thanked God he had given others his treasure to carry. When the Buccaneers were all met together, lower down the river, Lussan told them of the murder, of which they had not heard, but the murderers were seen no more. On the 20th of February the river grew wider, slower, and deeper, the falls ceased, but the stream was encumbered with trees and bamboos, drifted together by the floods. These snags frequently overturned the rafts, but the water being, though deeper, much slower, none were drowned. Some leagues further, the stream became gentle and free from all impediment, and they determined for the next sixty leagues to the sea to build canoes. Dividing themselves into parties of sixty men, they landed and cut down mapou trees, and, working with wonderful diligence, built four canoes by the first of March. Leaving 140 men still working, 120 embarked, eager for home, ease, and rest. The English, too impatient to make canoes, had long since reached the sea-shore in their piperies. They here met a Jamaica boat lying at anchor, and attempted to persuade the captain to return, and obtain leave for them to land, as they had no commission. The captain refused to go without receiving £6000 in advance, which they could not afford, as many of them had lost all by the upsetting of the piperies. The sailors, therefore, resolved to remain with the friendly Mosquito Indians, who dwelt about the mouth of this river, and to whom they had often brought trinkets from Jamaica. The English, unable to buy the boat, determined to send word to the French, hoping to get to St. Domingo by their aid. Two Mosquito Indians were despatched in a canoe, forty leagues up the river, to bring down forty Frenchmen, as the vessel was small and short of provision, and could not hold more. But, in spite of all this, 120, instead of forty, hurried down to get on board, waiting five days for the ship that had gone to the Isle of Pearls. Great was the delight of the French to pass Cape Gracias à Dios, and enter the North Sea. The Mulattoes that lived on this cape, Lussan says, were descended from the crew of a negro vessel, lost on a shoal. They slept in holes dug in the sand, to avoid the mosquitoes, which stung them till they appeared like lepers. Lussan speaks much of the fiery darts of this mischievous insect. He says, "It is no small pain to be attacked with them, for, besides that they caused us to lose our rest at night, it was then that we were forced to go naked for want of shirts, when the troublesomeness of these animals made us run into despair and such a rage as set us beside ourselves." At last the longed-for vessel arrived, and, regardless of lots that had been drawn, fifty of the more vigilant, including Lussan, crowded in, one on the top of the other, and instantly weighed anchor, engaging the master for forty pieces of eight a head to take them to St. Domingo, afraid of venturing to Jamaica. At Cuba they landed, and surprising some hunters, compelled them to sell them food, uncertain whether France and Spain were at war or peace. On the 4th of April they rode at anchor at Petit Guaves, hoping to hear news from France. De Lussan relates a curious instance here of the effect of habit and instinctive imagination. "There were some of our people," he says, "so infatuated with the long miseries we had suffered, that they thought of nothing else but the Spaniards, insomuch that, when from the deck they saw some horsemen riding along the sea-side, they flew to arms to fire upon them, as imagining they were enemies, though we assured them we were now come among those of our own nation." De Lussan, at once going on shore, demanded of Mons. Dumas, the King's lieutenant, in the Governor Mons. de Cussy's absence, indemnity and protection, by favour of an amnesty granted by the French king to those who, in remote places, had continued to make war on the Spaniards, not hearing of the peace that had been concluded between the two nations. De Lussan relates with much unpretending pathos the feelings of himself and his Ulyssean friends upon once more landing in a friendly country. "When we all were got ashore," he says, "to a people that spoke French, we could not forbear shedding tears for joy that, after we had run so many hazards, dangers, and perils, it had pleased the Almighty Maker of the earth and seas to grant a deliverance, and bring us back to those of our own nation, that at length we may return without any more ado to our own country; whereunto I cannot but further add, that, for my own part, I had so little hopes of ever getting back, that I could not, for the space of fifteen days, take my return for any other than an illusion, and it proceeded so far with me, that I shunned sleep, for fear when I awaked I should find myself again in those countries out of which I was now safely delivered." From the preface to De Lussan's book, we learn that he returned to Dieppe, with letters of introduction from De Cussy, the Governor of Tortuga and St. Domingo, to Mons. de Lubert, Treasurer-General of Marine in France. Of the end of this brave man we know nothing. He had many requisites for a great general. CHAPTER II. THE LAST OF THE BUCCANEERS. Sieur de Montauban--Wonderful escape from an explosion--Life in Africa--Laurence de Graff--His victories--Enters French service--Treachery--Buccaneers join in French expedition and take Carthagena--Buccaneer sharpshooters--Treachery of French--Buccaneers return and retake the city--Captured in return by English and Dutch fleets--1698--Buccaneers wrecked with French--Grammont takes Santiago--Sacks Maracaibo, Gibraltar, and Torilla--Lands at Cumana--Enters French service--Lost in his last cruise. Of all the motley characters of Buccaneer history, Montauban appears one of the most extraordinary. His friends describe him to have been as prudent as he was brave, blunt and sincere, relating his own adventures with a free and generous air that convinced the hearer of their truth, and at last consenting to write his story, not from ostentation, but from the simple desire of giving a French minister of state a narrative of his campaigns. He is interesting to us as the latest known Buccaneer, and in strict parlance he can scarcely be classed as a Buccaneer at all, attacking the English as he did more than the Spanish, and not confining his cruises to the Spanish main. He begins his book with great _naïveté_ thus: "Since I have so often felt the malignant influence of those stars that preside over the seas, and by an adverse fortune lost all that wealth which with so much care and trouble I had amassed together, I should take no manner of pleasure in this place to call to mind the misfortunes that befel me before the conclusion of the last campaign, had not a desire of serving still both the public and particular persons, as well as to let his majesty know the affection and weddedness I have always had for his service, made me take pen in hand to give Mons. de Phelipeaux an account of such observations as I have made; wherein he may also find with what eagerness I have penetrated to the remotest colonies of our enemies, in order to destroy them and ruin their trade. I was not willing to swell up this relation with an account of all the voyages I have made, and all the particular adventures that have befallen me on the coasts of New Spain, Carthagena, Mexico, Florida, and Cape Verd, which last place I had been at twenty years ago, having begun to use the seas at the age of sixteen." He goes on to say that he will not stop to relate how, in 1691, in a ship called the _Machine_, he ravaged the coasts of New Guinea, and, entering the great Serelion, took a fort from the English and split twenty-four pieces of cannon, but will confine himself simply to his last voyage; "Some information," he says, "having been given thereof, by the noise made in France and elsewhere of the burning my ship, and the terrible crack it made in the air." In the year 1694, having ravaged the coast of Caracca, he went towards St. Croix, to watch for some merchant ships and a fleet expected from Barbadoes and Nevis, bound for England. Sailing towards the Bermudas, expecting good booty, he saw them coming towards him without any apprehension of danger. He at once attacked the convoy (_The Wolf_), and took her and two merchant ships laden with sugar, the rest escaping during the fight. Returning with his prizes to France, he captured an English ship of sixteen guns from Spain and bound for England, which surrendered after a short fight. This last vessel he took to Rochelle and sold it, the Admiralty declaring it good prize; the last he took to Bordeaux and sold to the merchants. Here abandoning themselves to pleasure after a long abstinence, many of his men deserted him, and he supplied their place with youths from the town, who soon became as expert as veterans. "I made it," he says, "my continual care and business to teach my men to shoot, and my so frequent exercising of them rendered them in a short time as capable of shooting and handling their arms as the oldest sea freebooters, or the best fowlers by land." Re-victualling his ship, that carried only thirty-four guns, he left Bordeaux in February, 1695, to cruise on the coast of Guinea. From the Azores he passed the Canary Islands, and sailed for fourteen days in sight of Teneriffe, in hopes of meeting some Dutch vessels, that after all escaped him, and at the Cape de Verd Islands he pursued two English interlopers of thirty guns each, who left behind in the roads their anchors and shallops. He then went in search of a Dutch guard-ship, of thirty-four guns, along the neighbouring coast. Decoying the foe by showing Dutch colours, he waited till he got within cannon shot, hoisting the French flag, gave her a signal to strike, and then exchanged broadsides. They fought from early morning till four in the afternoon, without Montauban being able to get the weather-gauge, or approach near enough to use his chief arms--his fusils. Taking advantage of a favourable wind, the Dutchman then anchored under the fort of the Cape of Three-points, where two other Dutch men-of-war lay, one of fourteen and the other of twenty-eight guns. Thinking the three vessels had leagued to fight him, Montauban anchored within a league of the shore, hoping to provoke them out by continued insults, but the guard-ship, already much mauled, would not move. This vessel, he found afterwards, had driven away a French flute. At Cape St. John he took with little difficulty an English ship of twenty guns, carrying 350 negroes, and much wax and elephants' teeth. The English captain had killed some of his blacks in a mutiny, and others had escaped in the shallop, which they stole. At Prince's Isle he took a small Bradenburg caper (a pirate), mounted with eight pieces of cannon, and carrying sixty men. He then put into port to careen, and sent his prize to St. Domingo to be condemned and sold, putting the Sieur de Nave and a crew on board, but the ship was taken by some English men-of-war before Little Goara. To keep his men employed during the careening, Montauban fitted up the caper, and with ninety men cruised for six weeks without success, and, then putting into the Isle of St. Thomas, trucked the prize for provisions, and started for the coasts of Angola, hearing that three English men-of-war and a fire-ship were fitting out against him at Guinea. On his way he chased a Dutch interloper, laden with 150 pounds of gold dust, but she ran ashore on the Isle of St. Omer and fell to pieces. When approaching the coasts of Angola, and not far from the port of Cabinda, he saw an English vessel of fifty-four guns bearing down upon him. To decoy her Montauban hung out Dutch colours, while the English fired guns, as a signal of friendship. The Frenchman, pretending to wait, sailed slow, as if heavy laden or encumbered for want of sails and men. "We kept in this manner," writes the privateersman, "from break of day till ten in the forenoon. He gave me a gun from time to time without ball, to assure me of what he was, but finding at last I did not answer him on my part in the same manner, he gave me one again with ball, which made me presently put up French colours, and answer him with another. Hereupon the English captain, without any more ado, gave me two broadsides, which I received without returning him one again, though he had killed me seven men; for I was in hopes, if I could have got something nearer to him, to put him out of condition ever to get away from me. I endeavoured to come within a fusil shot of him and was desirous to give him an opportunity to show his courage in boarding me, since I could not so well do the same by him, as being to the leeward. At last being come by degrees nearer, and finding him within the reach of my fusils, which for that end I kept concealed upon the deck from his sight, they were discharged upon him, and my men continued to make so great a fire with them, that the enemy on their part began quickly to flag. In the mean time, as their ship's crew consisted of above 300 men and that they saw their cannon could not do their work for them, they resolved to board us, which they did with a great shout and terrible threatenings of giving no quarter, if we did not surrender. Their grappling-irons failing to catch the stern of my ship, made theirs run in such a manner, that their stern ran upon my boltsprit and broke it. Having observed my enemy thus encumbered, my men plied them briskly with their small shot, and made so terrible a fire upon them for an hour and a-half, that being unable to resist any longer, and having lost a great many men, they left the sport and ran down between decks, and I saw them presently after make signals with their hats of crying out for quarter. I caused my men therefore to give over their firing, and commanded the English to embark in their shallops and come on board of me, while I made some of my crew at the same time leap into the enemy's ship and seize her, and so prevent any surprise from them. I already rejoiced within myself for the taking of such a considerable prize, and so much the more in that I hoped that after having taken this vessel, that was the guard-ship of Angola, and the largest the English had in those seas, I should find myself in a condition still to take better prizes, and attack any man-of-war I should meet with. My ship's crew were also as joyful as myself, and did the work they were engaged in with a great deal of pleasure; but the enemy's powder suddenly taking fire, by the means of a match the captain had left burning on purpose, as hoping he might escape with his two shallops, blew both the ships into the air, _and made the most horrible crack that was ever heard_. It is impossible to set forth this horrid spectacle to the life; the spectators themselves were the actors of this bloody scene, _not knowing whether they saw it or not_, and not being able to judge of that which themselves felt. Wherefore leaving the reader to imagine the horror which the blowing up of two ships above 200 fathoms into the air must work in us, where there was formed as it were a mountain of water, fire, wreck of the ships, cordages, cannon, men, and a most horrible clap made, what with the cannon that went off in the air, and the waves of the sea that were tossed up thither, to which we may add the cracking of masts and boards, the rending of the sails and ropes, the cries of men, and the breaking of bones--I say, leaving these things to the imagination of the reader, I shall only take notice of what befell myself, and by what good fortune it was that I escaped. "When the fire first began I was upon the fore-deck of my own ship, where I gave the necessary orders. Now I was carried up on part of the said deck so high, that I fancy it was the height alone prevented my being involved in the wreck of the ships, where I must infallibly have perished, and been cut into a thousand pieces. I fell back into the sea (_you may be sure giddy-headed enough_), and continued a long time under water, without being able to get up to the surface of it. At last falling into a debate with the water, as a person who was afraid of being drowned, I got upon the face of it, and laid hold of a broken piece of a mast that I found near. I called to some of my men whom I saw swimming round about me, and exhorted them to take courage, hoping we might yet save our lives, if we could light upon any one of our shallops. But what afflicted me more than my very misfortune, was to see two half bodies, who had still somewhat of life remaining in them, from time to time mount up to the face of the water, and leave the place where they remained all dyed with blood. It was also much the same thing to see round about a vast number of members and scattered parts of men's bodies, and most of them spitted upon splinters of wood. At last one of my men, having met with a whole shallop among all the wreck, that swam up and down upon the water, came to tell me that we must endeavour to stop some holes therein, and to take out the canoe that lay on board her. "We got, to the number of fifteen or sixteen of us who had escaped, near unto this shallop, every man upon his piece of wood, and took the pains to loosen our canoe, which at length we effected. We went all on board her, and after we had got in saved our chief gunner, who in the fight had had his leg broke. We took up three or four oars, or pieces of board, which served us to that purpose, and when we had done that we sought out for somewhat to make a sail and a little mast, and, having fitted up all things as well as we possibly could, committed ourselves to the Divine Providence, who alone could give us life and deliverance. As soon as I had done working I found myself all over besmeared with blood, that ran from a wound I had received on my head at the time of my fall. We made some lint out of my handkerchief, and a fillet to bind it withal out of my shirt, after I had first washed the wound with urine. The same thing was done to the rest that had been wounded, and our shallop in the meanwhile sailed along without our knowing where we were going, and, what was still more sad, without victuals, and we had already spent three days without either eating or drinking. One of our men, being greatly afflicted with hunger and thirst at the same time, drank so much salt water that he died of it." Most of the men vomited continually, Montauban's body swelled, and he was finally cured of his dropsy by a quartan-ague. All his hair and one side of his face and body were burnt with powder, and he bled as "bombardiers do at sea," at the nose, ears, and mouth. But this was no time, he says manfully, for a consultation of physicians, while they were dying of hunger, so leaving the English, they forced their way over the bar of Carthersna, an adverse wind preventing their landing at the port of Cabinda. Here they found some oysters sticking to the trees that grew round a pond, and opening them with their clasp knives, which they lent, Montauban says, "charitably and readily to each other," they made a lusty meal. Having spent two days there, they divided into three small companies, and went up the country, but could find no houses, and see nothing but herds of buffaloes that fled from them. On reaching Cape Corsa they found negroes assembled to furnish ships with wood and water in exchange for brandy, knives, and hatchets. Montauban, who had often traded in these parts, knew several of the natives, and tried to make them believe he was the man he represented; but disfigured as he was by his late misfortune, they considered him an impostor. In their own language he told them he was dying of famine, but could get nothing but a few bananas to eat. He then desired them to carry him and his men to Prince Thomas, the son to the king of that country, upon whom he had conferred many favours. But the Prince refused to recognize him, till he showed him the scar of a wound in his thigh which he had once seen when they bathed together. On seeing this the Prince rose and embraced him; commanded victuals to be given to his men; expressed his sorrow for their misfortunes; and quartered them among his negro lords. Montauban he kept at his own expense, and made him eat at his own table. In a few days he took him some leagues up the country in a canoe, to see the king his father, who ruled over a village of 300 huts among the marshes. The high priest was just dead, and during the funeral ceremonies, lasting for seven days, Montauban was regaled with elephant's flesh. The king he found surrounded by women, and guarded by negroes armed with lances and fusils. Flags, trumpets, and drums preceded this monarch of a realm of hunters, who was himself clothed in a robe of white and blue striped cotton. The black prince shook the French captain by the hand, being the first man whose hand he had ever thus honoured. He asked many questions about his brother of France, and when he heard that he sometimes waged war with England and Holland singlehanded, and sometimes with Germany and Spain, the king expressed himself pleased, and, calling for palm wine, said he would drink the French king's health, and as he drank the drums and trumpets sounded, just as they do in Hamlet, and the negro guard discharged their pieces. Prince Thomas then asked the name of the French king who was so powerful, and being told it was Louis le Grand, declared he would give that name to his son, who was about to be baptised, and that Montauban should be godfather. He also expressed his hope that at some future voyage Montauban would carry the child to France, and present him to the brother monarch, and have him brought up in that country. "Assure him," said the same prince, "that I am his friend, and that if he has occasion for my service, I will go myself into France, with all the lances and fusils belonging to the king my father." The king said, if need were he would go himself in person. At this generous promise the guard discharged their muskets frantically, and the men and women shouted their admiration. The drums and trumpets went to it again, and the spearmen ran from one side to the other, uttering horrible cries, sounding like pain, but expressive of joy. Then the glasses went round faster, and the ceremony concluded by the negro king presenting Montauban with two cakes of wax. The white men now rose in public estimation. Whenever they stirred out, they were followed by crowds of negroes bringing presents of fruits and buffalo flesh, never having seen a white face before, and generally supposing the devil to be of that colour. Sable philosophers begged to be allowed to scrape their skin with knives, till the king issued an edict forbidding any one, under pain, scraping or rubbing the strangers. The baptism passed off with great _éclat_. There being no priest in the town who knew how to baptize, or remembered the words of the service, a priest was procured from a Portuguese ship lying at the Cape. The freebooter speaks with much unction of his sponsorship. "I did it with so much the more pleasure," quoth he, "in that I was helping to make a Christian and sanctify a soul." A few days after this ceremony, which afforded so much satisfaction to Montauban's tender conscience, he determined to embark on board an English ship lying at the Cape; but the black king would not have him trust himself into the hands of his enemies, and soon after he set sail in a Portuguese vessel that arrived to barter iron, arms, and brandy, for ivory, wax, and negroes. Two of his men, who had strayed up the country, he left behind. The Portuguese captain turned out to be an old friend, and took him at once to St. Thomas's, and here he stayed a month, the governor of the island showing him a thousand civilities. He then embarked on board an English vessel, with whose captain he contracted an intimate friendship, in spite of the governor's warnings. He gave up his own cabin to Montauban, to use our adventurer's own words, "with all the pleasure and diversion he could think of, for the solacing of my spirits under the afflictions I had from time to time endured." A tedious sail of three months brought them to Barbadoes. During this time, his provisions running short, the English captain began to regret having taken up his French passengers, and reduced their daily allowance by three-fourths. On arriving at the port, Colonel Russel blamed the captain for having brought such visitors, and forbade him under pain of death to land; but some Jewish physicians declaring that he must die if he did not, the governor consented, keeping a strict watch upon the sick man, and telling him to understand that he and his fellows were prisoners of war. Montauban replied that he had only embarked on the faith of the English captain, on whose friendship he relied. He promised, if liberty were granted, them, he would be ever mindful of the favour, and would either pay the colonel a ransom, or restore at a future time any prisoners belonging to the island. "No," replied the governor, "I will have neither your ransom nor your prisoners, and you are too brave a man for me to have no compassion upon your many misfortunes. I desire, on the contrary, that you will accept of these forty pistoles, which I present you with to supply your present occasions." A vessel soon after arrived from Martinique, and Montauban went on board with two of his men, all that could be collected. The English governor, when he thanked him at parting, prayed him to be kind to any English that fell into his hands, and lamented the war regulations that compelled him to severity. On arriving at Port Royal, at Martinique, Mons. de Blenac, the governor, who was then dying, made him stay at his house, and relate every day his adventure with the English vessel. In the same breath, Montauban praises De Blenac's wisdom, justice, integrity, and knowledge of all the coasts and heights of land in America. In a few days the freebooter embarked in the _Virgin_ for Bordeaux, and we lose sight of his stalwart figure and scarred face among the bustling eager crowds that fill the streets of that busy seaport. We have a shrewd suspicion that Sieur de Montauban did not die in a bed, but with his face to the foe and his back on a bloody plank. There is something delightfully sincere and _naïve_ in the sort of out-loud thinking with which he concludes his simple "yarn." "I do not know whether I have bid the sea adieu, so much has my last misfortune terrified me, or whether I shall go out again to be revenged on the English, who have done me so much mischief, or go and traverse the seas with a design to get me a little wealth, or rest quiet and eat up what my relations have left me. _There is a strange inclination in men to undertake voyages_, as there is to gaming; whatever misfortunes befall them, they do not believe they will be always unhappy, and therefore will play on. Thus it is as to the sea, whatever accidents befall us, we are in hopes to find a favourable opportunity to make us amends for all our losses. I believe, whoever reads this account will find it a hard task to give me counsel thereupon, or to take the same himself." LAURENCE DE GRAFF, our next hero, was a Dutchman by birth, and served first in the service of Spain as a sailor and a gunner. He soon became remarkable as a good shot, and renowned for his address and bravery, his bearing being equally attractive and commanding. Going to America, he carried these talents to the best market, and, being taken prisoner by the corsairs, became a Buccaneer, and soon rose to independent command. His name grew so terrible to the Spaniards, that the monks used to pray God in their prayers to deliver them from "Lorençillo," and the whole brotherhood used his name as a war-cry to strike terror. Vessels struck their flag when they heard that shout, and the horsemen fled before it through the savannah. Knowing that the Spaniards would not forgive him the injuries he had inflicted on them, De Graff never fought without strewing powder on the deck, or having a gunner with a lighted match ready to blow up the powder magazine at the first signal. On one occasion the people of Carthagena, knowing that he was sailing near the port in a single small vessel, despatched two frigates to bring him bound to land. Lorençillo, believing himself lost, had already given orders to blow up the vessel, when, making a last desperate effort, he captured both of his enemies. These men were never so formidable as when surrounded by an overwhelming force. On another occasion the admiral and vice-admiral of the galleon fleet had orders to take him at all risks, which they should easily have done, as each of their vessels carried sixty guns. Finding it impossible to escape, Laurence animated his crew, and told them that in victory lay their only hope of life. The gunner was placed as usual ready beside the magazine, and then running boldly between the two vessels, De Graff poured in a volley of musketry and killed forty-eight Spaniards. The action still continued, when a French shot carried away the mainmast of the largest galleon, and her consort, afraid to board, left Lorençillo the conqueror. The report of this victory produced a great sensation both at Paris and Madrid. The French sent the conqueror letters of naturalization and a pardon for the death of Van Horn, and the court of Spain issued orders to cut off the head of their recreant admiral. At another time Laurence was cruising near Carthagena, in company with the French captains, Michel Jonqué, Le Sage, and Breac. The Spaniards, thinking to catch him alone, sent out two thirty-six gun ships and a small craft of six guns, which overtook him in a bay to leeward of the city. Surprised to see him well guarded, they endeavoured to escape, but Laurence attacked them, and after an eight hours' action, having killed 400 Spaniards, took the admiral's ship, Jonqué's capturing its companion. Laurence's prize, however, was soon after driven ashore, and the prisoners escaped. Captain Laurence is at this time described as a tall, fair man, with light hair and moustachios. He was fond of music, and kept a band of violins and trumpets on board his ship. On one occasion landing in Jamaica, the French levelled the three intrenchments, spiked the cannon, burnt a town, and retreated to their ships--carrying off 3000 negroes, and much indigo and merchandise. The island was saved by the fact of the inhabitants of one corner having fortified all their houses, and turned each into an inaccessible and unscalable fort. In the attack of one of these alone Captain Le Sage and fifty men were killed. The English say that there were 7000 fugitive negroes in the mountains, anxious to join the French, and to escape to St. Domingo, but the French, taking them for enemies, fled at their approach. Afraid of retaliation, Hispaniola now prepared for defence. Le Sieur de Graff commanded at Cape François, and was to lay ambuscades and throw up intrenchments, and dispute every inch with the Spaniards or the English. If the enemy was too strong he was ordered to spike his cannon, blow up his powder, and fall back to Port de Paix. In 1695 the Spaniards and English landed with 6000 men. Contrary to all expectation, De Graff, perhaps too old for service, wasted eight days in reconnoitring, and abandoned post after post. His men lost all courage when they saw his irresolution. His lieutenant, Le Chevalier de Leon, also deserted his guns without a blow, De Graff merely remarking that it was only twenty-eight cannon lost. A succession of disasters followed, and nothing but climate and the quarrels of the allies saved the desolated colony. In 1686, De Graff was made major in the French army, and henceforward fought with more or less fidelity for the country that had ennobled him. Not long after this event, the termination of all his glory, being a widower, he married Anne Dieu le Veut, a French lady of indomitable spirit. She was one of those French women brought over by the governor, M. D'Ogeron, to marry to the hunters of Hispaniola. "They grew," says Charlevoix, "perfect Atalantas, and joined in the chase, using the musket and sabre with the best." From such Amazonian mould came some of the Buccaneer chiefs. One day before her marriage, this heroine having received some insult from her husband, drew out a pistol and forced him to unsay what he had uttered. Full of admiration at her courage, and thinking such an Amazon worthy of a hero's bed, he married her. Both she and her children were taken prisoners by the English, and not released for a long time after the peace. De Graff's first wife was Petroline de Guzman, a Spanish lady. At the time De Graff's brevet arrived, he was on a reef near Carthagena, having been wrecked while pursuing a bark in a vessel of forty-eight guns and 400 men. With his canoe the wrecked men took the ship, and landing in Darien, lost twenty-five adventurers in an Indian ambuscade. His two prizes he sent to St. Domingo, but his crew obliged him to continue privateering till the letters from De Cussy recalled him. One of the chief reasons why this honour had been bestowed on him was, that, by his great credit with the adventurers, he might draw them to settle on land. About this time, the Spaniards surprised Petit Guaves, and war commenced. Only the year before, the same nation had seized Breac, the Flibustier captain, and hung him, with nine or ten of his men. Soon after this, a Spanish officer, whom De Graff, now commandant at the Isle à la Vache, had delivered from some English corsairs, informed him that a Spanish galleon full of treasure was lying wrecked at the Seranillas Islands, but this prize he was obliged to relinquish to the English. De Graff now became remarkable for his firmness and justice. He encouraged colonization, settled differences between English and French Buccaneers, and prohibited all privateering. His name was still so terrible, that on one occasion 2000 Spaniards attacking Hispaniola retreated when they heard that the old chief commanded the militia of the island. The Flibustiers were found bad colonists: the French could manage to keep them at a fortified post when a Spanish invasion was expected, but the instant the enemy retreated, the sea grew dark with Buccaneer vessels, eager for prizes. Indocile and desperate, they seduced all the youth of Hispaniola from their plantations. At one time the French governor seems to have resolved on their total destruction, but their usefulness as light troops saved them. The descents on Jamaica in search of slaves by the French Buccaneers grew soon so numerous, that the English island became known as "little Guinea." In 1692, a French adventurer named Daviot, with 290 men, landed and pillaged the north of Jamaica. His vessel being driven out to sea by a storm, his men were compelled to remain fifteen days exposed to incessant attacks from their enemies. While waiting for the vessel's return, the dreadful earthquake happened that swallowed 11,000 souls, and destroyed Port Royal. The Flibustiers, alarmed at the rocking of the earth, embarked 115 sailors and forty prisoners in canoes, but the sea was as convulsed as the land, and they lost all but sixty men, and were driven again on shore. Attacked when he again put out to sea by two English vessels, Daviot beat them off with a loss of seventy-six men, only two of his own being killed. Boarded by the English a second time, his vessel blew up, and he surrendered with twenty-one of his crew. Soon after this, three French vessels, manned with Buccaneers, took an English guarda costa of forty guns, killing eighteen men. In 1694, De Graff commanded in a Buccaneer invasion of Jamaica, sailing to that island with fourteen vessels and 550 men. He forced the English intrenchments in spite of 1400 musketeers and twelve guns, slew 360 of the defenders, and captured nine ships, losing himself only twenty-two men. He then drove off 260 troopers from Spanish Town, after two hours' combat. The next day De Graff despatched troops to carry off cattle. In 1696, a process was instituted against De Graff, whom M. Du Casse suspected of intrigues with Spain. The evidence, M. Charlevoix thinks, showed only his extreme fear of falling into the hands of the enemy. It is certain that the Spanish had offered to make him a vice-admiral, but he would not trust their sincerity. The English despised him for this supposed treachery, and when he proposed to the governor of Jamaica to retreat to that island, if he could give him employment, the governor replied, that he had already betrayed three nations, and would not stick at betraying a fourth. The Spaniards regarded him with fear till his death, and never forgave him the injury he had done them. "During the next war between France and Spain," says Charlevoix, "the Marquis of Cöelogon arriving at Havannah with a French squadron that he commanded in the Mexican Gulf, having De Graff on board, all the town ran to the shore at the news, to see the famous Lorençillo that had so long been the terror of the West Indies, but the Marquis would not let him land for fear of danger." Deprived of his command, De Graff was appointed captain of a light frigate. This situation suited him better than land service, for which he showed no genius, and he was frequently employed on board the French squadrons, no man knowing better the navigation of the North Pacific. Of his death we know nothing, but it is supposed he lived to a good age. One of the most important enterprises ever attempted by the French Buccaneers, in conjunction with the French government, was the capture of Carthagena in 1697. The fleet of M. de Poincy consisted of eighteen vessels, besides ten Flibustier craft, carrying 700 adventurers, in addition to his own 4658 men and two companies of negroes. The Buccaneer captains were Montjoy, Godefroy, Blanc, Galet, Pierre, Pays, Sales, Macary, and Colong. Their vessels were named _Le Pontchartrain_, _La Ville de Glamma_, _La Serpente_, _La Gracieuse_, _La Pembrock_, _Le Cerf Volant_, _La Mutine_, _Le Brigantin_, _Le Jersé_, and _L'Anglais_. The whole force mustered 6500 men. The adventurers at first refused to embark till a fit share of the booty was promised to them, being accustomed to be deprived of their rights by the French officers. Enraged at not being treated as equals, and finding one of their men imprisoned at Petit Guaves, they invested the fort, and were only appeased by ready concessions. The first scheme of the expedition was to seek the galleons; but this was abandoned, though it appeared afterwards that at that very time they were lying at Porto Bello richer than they had been for fifty years, and laden with 50,000,000 crowns. The second plan was to attack Vera Cruz, and the last to sail to Carthagena. That most graphic and vigorous of writers, Michael Scott, describes Carthagena as situated on a group of sandy islands, surrounded by shallow water. A little behind the town, on a gentle acclivity, is the citadel of Fort St. Felipe, and on the ship-like hill beyond it the convent of the Popa, projecting like a poop-lantern in the high stern of a ship. Arrived at that city, the French galliot bombarded the whole night; and as this was the first bomb ship ever seen in the West Indies, the splintering of shells produced a great terror in the citizens. Two days after the fleet anchored before Bocca Chica. This fort contained thirty-three guns; had four bastions, and was defended by a dry fosse cut in the rocks. The ramparts were bomb proof and the walls shot proof. Under the fire of the _St. Louis_, the galliot, and two bomb vessels, the troops landed and advanced without opposition within a quarter of a league of the fort. By the advice of the Buccaneers, accustomed to such marches, 3000 men crossed through a wood by a path so difficult that only one man could pass at a time, and, unobserved, took possession of the road leading from Carthagena to the fort, fortifying themselves on both sides, and cutting off the communication between the fort and the city, taking some negroes prisoners, and losing a few men from the shots of the enemy. The next morning, at daybreak, the adventurers, finding some boats on the beach, pursued and captured a Spanish piragua containing several monks of high rank. One of the priests in vain was sent with a flag of truce and a drummer and trumpeter to summon the governor to surrender. The negroes clearing the road, a battery of guns and mortars opened upon the fort, and the Buccaneer sharp-shooters shot down the enemy's gunners, driving back some half galleys that attempted to bring reinforcements. The Buccaneers, pursuing the boats, found shelter under the covered way, and killed every man who showed himself on the batteries of the fort. The governor, who saw the adventurers rushing, as he thought, madly to destruction, began to lament that he had employed such people. Warned that if left alone "the brothers" would give a good account of the place, he scornfully laughed and ordered up reinforcements. Thinking the Flibustiers had only run under the covered way for shelter, he pursued a few who really did turn tail with his cane, and attempted in vain to drive them to the assault. By this time the freebooters had won the drawbridge, and, displaying their colours on the edge of the ditch, demanded means for the escalade. Thirty ladders were placed, and the assault had already commenced, when the Spaniards hung out the white flag, and, shouting "_Viva el rey!_" flung their arms and hats into the ditch. The gate being opened, 100 of the garrison were confined in the chapel; 200 others were found wounded. The governor, handing the keys of the fortress to M. de Poincy, said: "I deliver into your hands the keys of all the Spanish Indies." About forty adventurers were killed, and as many wounded, in this attack. The next day the fleet entered the harbour, and the Spaniards burned all their vessels to prevent capture. The governor still refusing to surrender, saying he wanted neither men, arms, nor courage, the adventurers embarked to attack the convent of Nuestra Senhora de la Popa, and to occupy the heights. M. du Casse being wounded in the thigh, the Flibustiers refused to march under the command of M. Galifet, to whom they had a dislike; and on his striking one of them, the man took him by the cravat. The mutineer was instantly tied to a tree and sentenced to be shot, but pardoned at M. Galifet's intercession. M. de Poincy, going on board Captain Pierre's ship, seized him and ordered him to execution, and the revolt then ceased, De Poincy threatening to decimate them on the next outbreak. The convent stood on a mountain shaped like the poop of a ship, about a gunshot from Carthagena. It had been abandoned by the monks, who had stripped it of every valuable. The army then marched by sunset to the fort Santa Cruz, suffering much from thirst. The fort mounted sixty guns, was surrounded by a wet ditch, and on the land side accessible only through a morass, but it surrendered without firing a shot. The adventurers then pushed on to within a gunshot of Fort St. Lazarus, which commanded the suburbs on the other side of the city. The French defiled round the fort, while some of their grenadiers carried on a pretended conference with the fort. The next day roads were cut through a hill, and the army were placed within pistol shot of the walls, concealed by an eminence that covered them from the enemy's fire. The Spaniards, losing their commander, abandoned the place in disorder, and their fort, St. Lazarus, being within musket shot of Gezemanie (the suburbs), they opened a fire of ten guns upon the captured batteries, the Buccaneer musketry clearing the streets. Thirty men were killed in trying to turn a chapel into a redoubt, and the camp removed behind St. Lazarus, De Poincy having been wounded in the breast. The three next days several breaching batteries were completed, and the galliot and mortars bombarded the city all night. In three days more, the breach was pronounced practicable, and the storming commenced. M. du Casse, although wounded, led the grenadiers, and M. Macharais the adventurers, who set the army an example of daring. Planks were laid over the broken drawbridge, and the troops passed over, under a tremendous fire from the bastion of St. Catherine, one man only being able to cross at a time. The breach and batteries were lined with Spanish lancers, who flung their spears, nine feet long, a distance of twelve or fifteen yards. The French had 250 men killed and wounded, and many officers fell. Vice-admiral the Count de Cöetlogon was mortally hurt; the commander-in-chief's nephew, le Chevalier de Poincy, a young midshipman, had his knee broken, and many were wounded in pursuing the Spaniards to the city. The French gave no quarter, putting to the sword 200 Spaniards who had thrown themselves into a church. The governor, who had ordered his servants to carry him in his easy chair to the breach to animate his men, fled into Carthagena. The army now advanced to the bridge which led from Gezemanie to the city, and repulsed two sorties of the enemy. The French threw up intrenchments and erected batteries to breach the walls. Two days were spent in these preparations and in dressing the wounded. There were still great difficulties to encounter. Armies of Indians were approaching. The Spanish garrison had six months' provision and eighty guns mounted on their ramparts. The next day, Carthagena, terrified at the fate of Gezemanie, surrendered. The conditions were, that the churches should not be plundered, that those who chose might leave the city unmolested, and that the inhabitants should surrender half their money on pain of losing all. The governor and troops were to depart with the honours of war. The merchants were to surrender their account books to the French commander. The adventurers instantly occupied the bastions and gate, and the other troops seized the ramparts. The governor, having marched out with 700 men, M. de Poincy proceeded to the cathedral to hear the _Te Deum_, and then repaired to his lodgings at the house where the royal treasure was deposited. At first the soldiers and sailors were forbidden to enter any house on pain of death, and the admiral's carpenter being caught plundering, and confessing his guilt, had his head cut off on the spot. But a change soon took place. The governor, assembling the heads of religious houses, informed them that the treaty did not spare any convent that had money. Many days were spent in receiving and weighing the crowns. De Poincy declared, that before his arrival the monks had fled with 120 mules laden with gold, and he had obtained barely nine million pieces. Other accounts say he obtained forty million livres, _i.e._, twenty millions without including merchandise. Every officer had 100,000 crowns, besides his general share of the spoil, before he allowed his soldiers to enter a house. Charlevoix confesses, that the honour the French won by their bravery they lost by their cruelty. The capitulation was broken, churches were profaned, church plate stolen, images broken, virgins violated on the very altars, the monks tortured, and the sick in the hospitals left to starve, or resort to the horrors of cannibalism. Notwithstanding the inhabitants brought in their money, some to the amount of 400,000 dollars, a general search was made throughout the town, and much gold found. A few of the inhabitants hired guards of adventurers, but, in general, these men also turned plunderers, the officers only attempting to keep up appearances. Anxious to get the adventurers out of the way while he collected the spoil, De Poincy spread a report that 10,000 Indians were approaching, and sent the Flibustiers to drive them back. After plundering the country for four leagues, they returned with fifty prisoners, a drove of cattle, and 4000 crowns. During the siege, they had been employed in skirmishing, cutting off supplies, and foraging, and were accustomed to laugh at the sailors, who dragged the guns and called them "white negroes." Disease breaking out, and carrying off 800 men in six weeks, De Poincy embarked his plunder, and prepared to sail. Eighty-six guns he carried off, and destroyed St. Lazarus and Bocca Chica. The Buccaneers, calling out loudly for their share, received only 40,000 crowns. The men instantly shouted--"Brothers, we do wrong to take anything of this dog, our share is left at Carthagena." This proposal was received with a ferocious gaiety, and they all swore never to return to St. Domingo. They derided M. du Casse's promises to get them justice from the French king, and fired at those vessels that would not follow them. The people of Carthagena shuddered to see them return. Shutting up all the men in the cathedral, they promised to depart on receiving five millions as a ransom. In one day a million crowns were brought, but, this being still inadequate, they broke open the very tombs, and goaded the citizens to the torture, firing off guns, and pretending to put men to death in the neighbouring rooms. Two men, guilty of cruelty, their leaders hanged. Each man received about 1,000 crowns; and having spent four days in collecting and dividing the gold and silver, they appointed the Isle à la Vache as a rendezvous to divide the slaves and merchandise. The retribution was at hand. They had not sailed thirty leagues when they fell in with the combined English and Dutch fleets. _Le Christ_, with 250 men, and more than a million crowns, was taken by the Dutch, _Le Cerf Volant_ by the English, a third was driven on shore and burnt near St. Domingo, a fourth, running on land near Carthagena, was taken, and her crew employed in rebuilding the fortifications they had destroyed. Of De Poincy's plunder, 120,000 livres were carried off by an English foray on Petit Guaves. Admiral Neville, who failed to overtake the French deep-laden and weakly manned fleet, died of a broken heart at Virginia. Du Casse was rewarded with the cross of St. Louis for his services, and orders arrived from France to distribute 1,400,000 of De Poincy's spoil among the freebooters, very little of which, however, reached them. A curse, says Charlevoix, rested on the whole enterprise. In 1698, a French fleet, under the command of Count d'Estrees, on its way to attack the Dutch island of Curaçoa, was lost on the Aves Islands, a small cluster of rocks surrounded by breakers. Attracted by the distress-guns fired by the first ship that ran aground, its companions, believing that it had been attacked by the enemy, hurried pell-mell to its assistance, and, blinded by the fog, ran one by one on destruction. Eighteen of them were lost. Of this disaster, Dampier, who visited the island about a year afterwards, gives a very interesting account. The Buccaneer part of the crew (for the Buccaneers took an active part in these wars), quite accustomed to such chances, scrambled to shore, and proceeded to save all they could from the wreck; but a few of them, breaking into the stores of a stranded vessel, floated with her out to sea, drinking and cursing on the poop, and holding up their flasks, shouting and laughing to the drowning men around them. Every soul of them perished. Several Flibustier vessels were lost at the same time, about 800 Buccaneers having joined the expedition at Tortuga. About 300 of these perished with the wrecks. Dampier describes the islands as strewn with shreds of sail, broken spars, masts, and rigging. For some years, in consequence, the Aves became the resort of Buccaneer captains, who careened and refitted here, employing their crews in diving for plate, and in attempts to recover guns and anchors. To console themselves for this failure, M. de Poincy led 800 Buccaneers to attack Santiago, first touching at Tortuga for reinforcements. They landed unseen, taking advantage of a bright moonlight night. The vanguard wound their way round the base of a mountain that barred their approach to the town, and, instead of advancing, worked round till they met their rearguard, whom they mistook for the enemy, and furiously attacked. They discovered their mistake at last by their mutual cries of "Tue, tue." But it was now late; all hopes of surprise were over; the Spaniards, alarmed, put themselves on their defence, and at daybreak drove back the freebooters to their ships with an irresistible force of 4000 men. Another party, more successful, plundered Port au Prince, St. Thomas's, and Truxillo on the mainland. Grammont, during this time, had been left behind on the Aves Islands, to collect all that was valuable from the wreck, and to careen the surviving vessels. Having completed this, and finding himself short of provisions, and the season being favourable for an excursion to the Gulf of Venezuela, Grammont decided upon a visit to Maracaibo. Arriving at the fort of the bar, mounted with twelve guns and garrisoned by seventy men, he commenced an attack. The French had opened a trench, had already pushed it within cannon shot, and were preparing the ladders to scale, when the governor surrendered on condition of obtaining the honours of war. Passing on to the town, Grammont found it abandoned. Gibraltar also made little resistance. From the lake he carried off three vessels, and also took a prize of value, cannonading it with his guns, and at the same time boarding it with a swarm of canoes. Being now master of the whole lake, he visited all the places where his prisoners told him he was likely to find gold hidden, defeating the Spaniards wherever he met them. Then, collecting all his scattered plunderers, Grammont prepared to attack Torilla, making a detour of forty-five leagues in order to take it by surprise. Arriving near the town, the Buccaneers came to the banks of a rapid river, with only one ford, which they had the good fortune to find, crossing over under shelter of a hot fire that the rearguard kept up upon the Spaniards, who lay intrenched upon the opposite bank. The moment they had crossed, their enemies fled, and Torilla was their own. The prize, however, proved not worth the winning, for the town was abandoned, and the treasure hid. The Buccaneer rule, indeed, was that no place was worth sacking which was taken without a blow, as the Spaniards always fought best when they had most to fight for. The Buccaneers departed with little booty; their 700 men having taken three towns, and conquered a province, with the loss of only seventy men, and these chiefly by illness. In 1680 Grammont made another expedition to the coast of Cumana. Having collected twenty-five piraguas, he ascertained from some prisoners that there were three armed vessels anchored under the forts of Gonaire, and these he determined to cut out. He embarked all his 180 men in a single bark, and left orders for the others to sail up to Gonaire at a given signal. He landed with a few men at night, and surprised four watchmen, who, however, had still time left to fire, and alarm the town, before they could be overpowered. Gonaire leaped instantly from its sleep. The bells rang backward; the guns fired; the musketeers hurried to the market-place; doors were barred; and the women and children fled in tears to the altars. Grammont, doubling his speed, arrived at the east gate, his drums beating, trumpets sounding, and colours flying. Although it was defended by twelve guns, he took it with the hot fierceness of a Cæsar, pushed on at once to a fort about a hundred yards distant, and commenced a vigorous attack. At the head of his crew he entered the embrasures, killing twenty-six out of its thirty-eight defenders. Planting his colours on the wall, the men shouted "_Vive le Roi!_" with such unanimity and fierceness that at the very sound the whole garrison of the neighbouring fort at once surrendered, and forty-two men instantly laid down their arms. These successes were obtained with only forty-seven men--a mere handful being able to keep up in the rapid and headlong charge. Grammont, rallying his men, then placed garrisons in the forts, razed the embrasures, spiked the cannon, and then proceeded to intrench himself in a strong position. The next day he entered the town, making several vigorous sorties on the enemy, who now began to gather in round him on all sides. Being informed that 2000 men were advancing to meet him from Caragua, he gave orders for embarkation, the Buccaneers seldom fighting when no booty was to be obtained. Remaining last upon the shore to cover the retreat of his men, withstanding for nearly twenty-four hours the onslaught of 300 Spaniards, he was at last dangerously wounded in the throat, and one of his officers had his shoulder broken. Grammont took with him the Governor of Gonaire, and 150 other prisoners, the usual resource of the Buccaneers when a town either furnished no booty, or gave them no time to collect it. This daring enterprise was achieved with the loss of only eight men. On his way home to be cured of a wound which his vexation and impatience had rendered dangerous, he was wrecked near Petit Guaves, and his own vessel and his prize both lost. About the next adventure of this chivalrous corsair some doubts are thrown, although it is related boastingly by Charlevoix, who says: "He then took an English vessel of thirty guns, which had defied the Governor of Tortuga, and beaten off a Buccaneer bark. This ship, armed with fifty guns, and navigated by a crew of 300 men, Grammont is reported to have boarded, killing every Englishman on board but the captain, whom he reserved to carry in triumph to shore." Grammont was born in Paris of a good family. His mother being left a widow, her daughter was courted by an officer who treated Grammont, then a student, as a rude boy. They fought, and the lover received three mortal stabs. Obtaining the dying man's pardon, the young duellist entered the marines, eventually commanded a privateer frigate, and took, near Martinique, a Dutch flute, containing 400,000 livres. Having spent all this in gaiety at St. Domingo, the young captain turned Buccaneer. Charlevoix notices his manners and address, which were as fascinating as those of De Graff. The writer describes "Sa bonne grâce, ses manières honnêtes, et je ne sçais quoi d'aimable qui gagnoit les coeurs." We have described already his surprise of Maracaibo, and his expedition to Vera Cruz. His expedition to Campeachy was against the wish of the French Governor of St. Domingo. On their way home he quarrelled and separated from De Graff. "With all the talent that can raise man to command, he had," says Charlevoix, "all the vices of a corsair. He drank hard, and abandoned himself to debauchery, with a total disregard of religion." In 1686 Grammont, at the recommendation of M. de Cussy, Governor of St. Domingo, was made Lieutenant de Roi, Cussy intending to make him Protector of the south coast. But Grammont, elated at his new title, and anxious to show that he deserved it, armed a ship, manned by 180 Buccaneers, to make a last cruise against the Spaniards, and was heard of no more. CHAPTER III. FALL OF THE FLOATING EMPIRE. Peace of Ryswick--Attempts to settle--Buccaneers turn pirates--Last expedition to the Darien mines, 1702. The English were the first to attempt to put down Buccaneering, but the last to succeed in doing it. When the freebooters had served their purpose, the English government would have thrown them by as a soldier would his broken sword. In 1655, after Morgan returned from Panama, Lord John Vaughan, the new governor of Jamaica, had strict orders to enforce the treaty concluded with Spain in the previous year, but to proclaim pardon, indemnity, and grants of land to all Buccaneers who would turn planters. By royal proclamation, all cruising against Spain was forbidden under severe penalties. To avoid this irksome imprisonment to a plot of sugar canes, many of the English freebooters joined their brethren at Tortuga, or turned cow-killers and logwood cutters in the Bay of Campeachy. In the next year the war broke out between England and Holland, and many fitted out privateers. The unwise restrictions of France, and home interference with colonial administration, once more fostered "the people of the coast." Annoying prohibitions and vexatious monopolies drove the planters to sea. In 1690 a royal proclamation granted pardon to all English Buccaneers who should surrender themselves. The French Flibustiers continued to flourish during the war which followed the accession of William III. to the throne of England. In 1698 the knell of the brotherhood was finally rung by the joy bells that announced the peace of Ryswick. The English and Dutch made great complaints to the Governor of St. Domingo of the French Flibustiers, and demanded compensation, which was granted. A colony was established at the Isle à la Vache in hopes of carrying on a trade with New Spain, by orders of the French king the church plate brought from Carthagena was returned, and Buccaneering prohibited. The government advised that force should be resorted to to induce those Flibustiers to turn planters who were not willing to avail themselves of the amnesty. Those who had settled in Jamaica, seeing in 1702 a new war likely to break out between England and France, and determined not to take arms against their own country, passed over to the mainland, and settled in Bocca Toro. As soon as the war broke out, however, a great many French Buccaneers, persecuted at St. Domingo, joined the English under Benbow. In 1704, M. Auger, a new governor, coming to St. Domingo, and seeing the false step his predecessors had taken, recalled the Flibustiers, and made peace with the Bocca Toro Indians. M. d'Herville led 1500 of them to the Havannah, and died there. He held the Buccaneers of Hispaniola far beyond those of Martinique, and, had he lived, would have united them all under his flag. In 1707 Le Comte de Choiseul Beaupré, the new governor, attempted to revive Buccaneering as the only hope of saving French commerce in the Indies, the English privateers carrying off every merchant ship that approached the shores of St. Domingo. The French government approved of all his plans, and gave him unlimited power to carry them out. He issued an amnesty to all Flibustiers who had settled among the Indians of Sambres and Bocca Toro. The greater part of those who had joined the English returned; and those who had joined in the last expedition against Carthagena received their pay. The Brothers were restored to all their ancient privileges. The Count intended to guard the coast with frigates while his smaller vessels harassed Jamaica, but in the midst of these immature projects he was killed, in 1710, in a sea engagement. The Buccaneers, gathered from every part, now turned planters. Thus, says Charlevoix, ended the "Flibuste de Saint Domingue," which only required discipline and leaders of ambition to have conquered both North and South America. Undisciplined and tumultuous as it has been, without order, plan, forethought, or subordination, it has still been the astonishment of the whole world, and has done deeds which posterity will not believe. Attachment to old habits and difficulty in finding employment made many turn pirates. Proscribed now by all nations, with no excuse for plunder, and with no safe place of refuge, they sailed over the world, enemies to all they met. Many frequented the Guinea coast, others cruised off the coast of India, and New Providence island, one of the Bahama group, was now the only sanctuary. Here the memorable Blackbeard, Martel, and his associates, were at last hunted down, about 1717. The last achievement related of the Flibustiers is in 1702, when a party of Englishmen having a commission from the Governor of Jamaica, landed on the Isthmus of Darien, near the Samballas isles, and were joined by some old Flibustiers who had settled there, and 300 friendly Indians. With these allies they marched to the mines, drove out the Spaniards according to Dampier's plan, and took seventy negroes. They kept these slaves at work twenty-one days, but obtained, after all, only eighty pounds' weight of gold. CHAPTER IV. THE PIRATES OF NEW PROVIDENCE AND THE KINGS OF MADAGASCAR. Laws and dress--Government--Blackbeard--His enormities--Captain Avery and the Great Mogul--Davis--Lowther--Low--Roberts--Major Bonnet--Captain Gow--the Guinea coast. The last refugee Buccaneers turned pirates, and settled in the island of New Providence. The African coast, and not the main, was now their cruising ground, and Madagascar was their new Tortuga. They no longer warred merely against the Spaniard--their hands were raised against the world. Their cruelty was no longer the cruelty of retaliation, but arose from a thirst of blood, never to be slaked, and still unquenchable. There was no longer honour among the bands, and they grew as cowardly as they were ferocious. Flocks of trading vessels were scuttled, but no town attacked. We waste time even to detail their guilt, and only append the terrible catalogue as a _finis_ to our narrative. The following articles, signed by Roberts's crew, may furnish a fair example of the ordinary rules drawn up by pirate captains:-- "Every man has a vote in affairs of moment, and an equal title to the fresh provisions or strong liquors at any time seized; which he may use at pleasure, unless a scarcity make it necessary for the good of all to vote a retrenchment. "Every man shall be called fairly in turn by list on board the prizes, and, over and above their proper share, shall be allowed a change of clothes. Any man who defrauds the company to the value of a dollar in plate, jewels, or money, shall be marooned. If the robbery is by a messmate, the thief shall have his ears and nose slit, and be set on shore at the place the ship touches at. "No man shall play at cards or dice for money. "The lights and candles to be put out at eight o'clock at night. If any of the crew, after that hour, still remain inclined for drinking, they are to do it on the open deck. "Every man shall keep his piece, pistols, and cutlass clean, and fit for service. "No woman to be allowed on board. Any man who seduces a woman, and brings her to sea disguised, shall suffer death. "Any one deserting the ship, or leaving his quarters during an engagement, shall be either marooned or put to death. "No man shall strike another on board, but the disputants shall settle their quarrel on shore with sword or pistol. "No man shall talk of breaking up the company till we get each £100. Every man losing a limb, or becoming a cripple in the service, shall have 800 dollars, and for lesser hurts proportional recompence. "The captain and quartermaster shall receive two shares of every prize. The master, boatswain, and gunner one share and a-half, and all other officers one and a-quarter. "The musicians to rest on Sundays, but on no other days without special favour." From another set of articles we find, that "He that shall be found guilty of taking up any unlawful weapon on board a prize so as to strike a comrade, shall be tried by the captain and company, and receive due punishment. "All men guilty of cowardice shall also be tried. "If any gold, jewels, or silver, to the value of a piece of eight, be found on board a prize, and the finder do not deliver it to the quartermaster within twenty-four hours, he shall be put to his trial. "Any one found guilty of defrauding another to the value of a shilling, shall be tried. "Quarter always to be given when called for. "He that sees a sail first, to have the best pistols or small arms on board of her." One of the most cruel of their punishments was "sweating," an ingenuity probably invented by the London rakes and "scourers" of Charles the Second's reign. They first stuck up lighted candles circularly round the mizenmast, between decks, and within this circle admitted the prisoners one by one. Outside the candles stood the pirates armed with penknives, tucks, forks, and compasses, and the musicians playing a lively dance, they drove the prisoner round, pricking him as he passed. This could seldom be borne more than ten minutes, at the end of which time the wretch, maddened with fear and pain, generally fell senseless. Their diversions were as strange as their cruelties. On one occasion some pirates captured a ship laden with horses, going from Rhode Island to St. Christopher's. The sailors mounted these beasts, and rode them backwards and forwards, full gallop, along the decks, cursing and shouting till the animals grew maddened. When two or three of these rough riders were thrown, they leaped up and fell on the crew with their sabres, declaring that they would kill them for not bringing boots and spurs, without which no man could ride. In dress the pirates were fantastic and extravagant. Their favourite ornament was a broad sash slung across the breast and fastened on the shoulder and hip with coloured ribbons. In this they slung three and four pairs of pistols, for which, at the sales at the mast, they would often give £40 a-pair. Gold-laced cocked hats were conspicuous features of their costume. For small offences, too insignificant for a jury, the quartermaster was the arbitrator. If they disobeyed his command, except in time of battle, when the captain was supreme, were quarrelsome or mutinous, misused prisoners, or plundered when plundering should cease, or were negligent of their arms, as the master he might cudgel or whip them. He was, in fact, the manager of all duels, and the trustee of the whole company, returning to the owners what he chose (except gold and silver), and confiscating whatever he thought advisable. The quartermaster was, in fact, their magistrate, the captain their king. The captain had always the great cabin to himself, and was often voted parcels of plate and china. Any sailor, however, might use his punch-bowl, enter his room, swear at him, and seize his food, without his daring to find fault, or contest his rights. The captain was generally chosen for being "pistol proof," and in some cases had as privy council a certain number of the elder sailors, who were called "lords." The captain's power was uncontrollable in time of chase or battle: he might then strike, stab, or shoot anybody who disobeyed his orders. The fate of the prisoner depended much upon the captain, who was oftener inclined to mercy than his crew. Their flags were generally intended to strike terror. Roberts's was a black silk flag, with a white skeleton upon it, with an hour-glass in one hand, and cross-bones in the other, underneath a dart, and a heart dripping blood. The pennon bore a man with a flaming sword in one hand, standing on two skulls, one inscribed A.B.H. (a Barbadian's head), and the other, A.M.H. (a Martiniquian's head). EDWARD TEACH, _alias_ Blackbeard, was born in Bristol, and at a seaport town all daring youths turn sailors. He soon became distinguished for daring and courage, but did not obtain any command till 1716, when a Captain Benjamin Hornigold gave him the command of a sloop, and became his partner in piracy, till he surrendered. In the spring of 1717, the pair sailed from their haunt in New Providence towards the Spanish main, and taking by the way a shallop from the Havannah, laden with flour, supplied their own vessels. From a ship of Bermuda they obtained wine, and from a craft of Madeira they got considerable plunder. Careening on the Virginian coast, they returned to the West Indies, and capturing a large French Guinea-man, bound for Martinique, Teach went aboard as captain, and started for a cruise. Hornigold, returning to New Providence, surrendered to proclamation, and gave himself up to Governor Rogers. Blackbeard had in the mean time mounted his prize with forty guns, and christened her the _Queen Anne's Revenge_. Cruising off St. Vincent, he captured the _Great Allan_, and having plundered her, and set the men on shore, fired the ship, and let her drift to sea. A few days after, Teach was attacked by the _Scarborough_ man-of-war, who, finding him well manned, retired to Barbadoes, after a cannonade of some hours. On his way to the mainland, Teach was joined by Major Bonnet, a gentleman planter, turned pirate, who joined with him, commanding a sloop of ten guns. Finding he knew nothing of naval affairs, Teach soon deposed him, and took him on board his own ship, on pretext of relieving him from the fatigues and cares of such a post, wishing him, as he said, to live easy and do no duty. While taking in water near the Bay of Honduras, they surprised a sloop from Jamaica, which surrendered without a blow, striking sail at the first terror of the black flag. The men they took on board Teach's vessel, and manned it for their own use. At Honduras they found a ship and four sloops, some from Jamaica, and some from Boston. The Americans deserted one vessel, and escaped on shore, and the pirates burnt it in revenge. The other vessel they also burnt, because some pirate had been lately hung at Boston. The three sloops they allowed to depart. Taking turtles at the Grand Caiman's islands, they sailed to the Havannah, and from the Bahamas went to Carolina, capturing a brigantine and two sloops. For six days they lay off the bar of Charlestown, taking many vessels, and a brigantine laden with negroes. The people of Carolina, who had not long before been visited by the pirate Vane, were dumb with terror. No vessel dared put out, and the trade of the place stood still. To add to these misfortunes, a long and expensive war with the natives, only just concluded, had much impoverished the colony. Teach detained all the ships and prisoners, and being in want of medicines, sent a boat's crew of men ashore, with one of the prisoners, to ask the governor to supply him with the drugs. The pirates were insolent in their demands, and, swearing horribly, vowed, if any violence was offered to them, that their captain would murder all the prisoners, send their heads to the governor, and then fire the vessels and slip cable. These rude ambassadors swaggered through the streets, insulting the inhabitants, who longed to seize them, but dared not, for fear of endangering the town. The governor did not deliberate long, for one of his brother magistrates was in the murderer's hands, and at once sent on board a chest, worth about £400, which the pirates returned with in triumph. Blackbeard then released the prisoners, having first taken about £1500 out of the ships, besides provisions. From the bar of Charlestown the kingly villains sailed to North Carolina, where Teach broke up the partnership, objecting to any division of money, preferring all the risk and all the profit. Running into an inlet to clean, he purposely grounded his ship, and Hands, another captain, coming to his assistance, ran ashore by his side. He then with forty men took possession of the third vessel, and marooned seventeen other men upon a sandy island, about a league from the main, where neither herb grew nor bird visited. Here they would have perished, had not Major Bonnet taken them off two days after. Teach then surrendered himself, with twenty of his men, to the Governor of North Carolina, and received certificates and pardons from him, having soon crept into his favour. Through the governor's permission, the _Queen Anne's Revenge_, though avowedly the property of English merchants, was forfeited by an Admiralty Court, as a Spaniard, and declared the property of Teach. Before setting out again to sea Blackbeard married his fourteenth wife, twelve more being still alive. The governor, who seems to have been half a pirate, and wholly a rogue, performed the ceremony. In June, 1718, he steered towards Bermudas, and meeting several English vessels, plundered them of provisions. He also captured two French vessels, one of which was loaded with sugar and cocoa, and bound to Martinico. The loaded vessel he brought home, and the governor, calling a court, condemned it as a derelict, and divided the plunder with Teach, receiving sixty hogsheads of sugar as his dividend, and his secretary twenty. For fear the vessel might still be claimed, Teach declared it was leaky, and burnt her to the water's edge. He now spent three or four months in the river, lying at anchor in the coves, or sailing from inlet to inlet, bartering his plunder with any ship he met, giving presents to the friendly, and ransacking those who resisted. His nights he spent in revelries with the planters, to whom he made presents of rum and sugar, sometimes, when he grew moody, laying them under contribution, and even bullying his confederate, the villainous governor. The plundered sloops, finding no justice could be obtained in Carolina, determined with great secresy to send a deputation to the Governor of Virginia, and to solicit a man-of-war to destroy the pirates. The governor instantly complied with their request. The next Sunday a proclamation was read in every church and chapel in Virginia, and by the sheriffs at their country houses. For Blackbeard's head £100 was offered, if brought in within the year, for his lieutenant's £20, for inferior officers £10, and for the common sailors £10. The _Pearl_ and _Lime_, men-of-war, lying in St. James's river, manned a couple of small sloops, supplied by the governor. They had no guns mounted, but were well supplied with small arms and ammunition. The command was given to Lieutenant Robert Maynard, of the _Pearl_, a man of courage and resolution. On the 7th of November the Lieutenant sailed from Picquetan, and on the evening of the 21st reached the mouth of the Ollereco inlet, and sighted the pirates. Great secresy was observed: all boats and vessels met going up the river were stopped to prevent Blackbeard knowing of their approach. But the governor contrived to put him on his guard, and sent back four of his men, whom he found lounging about the town. Blackbeard, frequently alarmed by such reports, gave no credit to the messenger, till he saw the sloops. He instantly cleared his decks, having only twenty-five of his forty men on board. Having prepared for battle with all the coolness of an old desperado, he spent the night in drinking with the master of a trading sloop, who seemed to be in his pay. Maynard, finding the place shoal and the channel intricate, dropped anchor, knowing there was no reaching the pirate that night. The next morning early he weighed, sent his boat ahead to sound, and, coming within gunshot of Teach, received his fire. The lieutenant then, boldly hoisting the king's colours, made at him with all speed of sail and oar, part of his men keeping up a discharge of small arms. Teach then cut cable and made a running fight, discharging his big guns. In a little time the pirate ran aground, and the royal vessel drawing more water anchored within half a gunshot. The lieutenant then threw his ballast overboard, staved all his water, and then weighed and stood in for the enemy. Blackbeard, loudly cursing, hailed him. "D---- you villains, who are you? From whence come you?" The lieutenant replied, "You see by our colours we are no pirates." Teach bade him send a boat on board that he might know who he was. Maynard answered that he could not spare his boat, but would soon board with his sloop. Whereupon Blackbeard, drinking to him, cried, "Devil seize my soul if I give you quarter or take any." Maynard at once replied, "He should neither give nor take quarter." By this Blackbeard's sloop floated, and the royal boats were fast approaching. The sloops being scarcely a foot high in the waist, the men were exposed as they toiled at the sweeps. Hitherto few on either side had fallen. Suddenly Blackbeard poured in a broadside of grape, and killed twenty men on board one ship and nine on board the other; his vessel then fell broadside to the shore to keep its one side protected, and the disabled sloop fell astern. The Virginia men still kept to their oars, however exposed, because otherwise, there being no wind, the pirate would certainly have escaped. Maynard finding his own sloop had way, and would soon be on board, ordered his men all down below, for fear of another broadside, which would have been his total destruction. He himself was the only man that kept the deck, even the man at the helm lying down snug; the men in the hold were ordered to get their pistols and cutlasses ready for close fighting, and to come up the companion at a moment's signal. Two ladders were placed in the hatchway ready for the word. As they boarded, Teach's men threw in grenades made of case-bottles, filled with powder, shot, and slugs, and fired with a quick match. Blackbeard, seeing no one on board, cried out, "They are all knocked on the head except three or four, and therefore I will jump on board and cut to pieces those that are still alive." Under smoke of one of the fire-pots he leaped over the sloop's bows, followed by fourteen men. For a moment he was not heard, during the explosion, nor seen for the smoke. Directly the air cleared Maynard gave the signal, and his men, rising in an instant, attacked the pirates with a rush and a cheer. Blackbeard and the lieutenant fired the first pistols at each other, and then engaged with sabres till the lieutenant's broke. Stepping back to cock his pistol, Blackbeard was in the act of cutting him down, when one of Maynard's men gave the pirate a terrible gash in the throat, and the lieutenant escaped with a small cut over his fingers. They were now hotly engaged, Blackbeard and his fourteen men--the lieutenant and his twelve. The sea grew red round the vessel. The ball from Maynard's first pistol shot Blackbeard in the body, but he stood his ground, and fought with fury till he received twenty cuts and five more shot. Having already fired several pistols (for he wore many in his sash), he fell dead as he was cocking another. Eight of his fourteen companions having now fallen, the rest, much wounded, leaped overboard and called for quarter, which was granted till the gibbet could be got ready. The other vessel now coming up attacked the rest of the pirates, and compelled them to surrender. So ended a man that in a good cause had proved a Leonidas. With great guns the lieutenant might have destroyed him with less loss, but no large vessel would have got up the river, so shallow, that, small as it was, the sloop grounded a hundred times. The very broadside, although destructive, saved the lives of the survivors, for Blackbeard, expecting to be boarded, had placed a daring fellow, a negro named Cæsar, in the powder room, with orders to blow it up at a given signal. It was with great difficulty that two prisoners in the hold dissuaded him from the deed when he heard of his captain's death. The lieutenant cutting off Blackbeard's head, hung it at his boltsprit end, and sailed into Bath Town to get relief for his wounded men. In rummaging the sloop, the connivance of the governor was detected; the secretary, falling sick with fear, died in a few days, and the governor was compelled to refund the hogsheads. When the wounded men began to recover, the lieutenant sailed back into James's river, with the black head still hanging from the spar, and bringing fifteen prisoners, thirteen of whom were hung. Of the two survivors, one was an unlucky fellow captured only the night before the engagement, who had received no less than seventy wounds, but was cured of them all and recovered. The other was the master of the pirate sloop, who had been shot by Blackbeard, and put on shore at Bath Town. His wound he received in the following way: One night, drinking in the cabin with the mate, a pilot, and another sailor, Blackbeard, without any provocation, drew out a small pair of pistols and cocked them under the table. The sailor, perceiving this, said nothing, but got up and went on deck. The pistols being ready, Blackbeard blew out the candle, and, crossing his hands under the table, discharged the pistols. The master fell shot through the knee, lamed for life, the other bullet hit no one. Being asked the meaning of this cruelty, Blackbeard answered, by swearing that if he did not kill one of them now and then, they would forget who he was. This man was about to be executed, when a ship arrived from England with a proclamation prolonging the time of pardon to those who would surrender. He pleaded this, was released, and ended his days as a beggar in London. It is a singular fact that many of Blackbeard's captors themselves eventually turned pirates. Teach derived his nickname from his long black beard, which he twisted with ribbons into small tails, and turned about his ears. This beard was more terrible to America than a comet, say his historians. In time of action he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three brace of pistols hanging to it in holsters like bandoliers. He then stuck lighted matches under his hat, and this, with his natural fierce and wild eyes, gave him the aspect of a demon. His frolics were truly satanic, and only madness can furnish us with any excuse for such crimes. Pre-eminent in wickedness, he was constantly resorting to artifices to maintain that pre-eminence. One day at sea, when flushed with drink, "Come," said he, "let us make a hell of our own, and try how long we can bear it." He then, with two or three others, went down into the hold, and, closing up all the hatches, lighted some pots of brimstone, and continued till the men, nearly suffocated, cried for air and pushed up the hatches. Blackbeard triumphed in having held out longest. The night before he was killed, as he was drinking, one of his men asked him, if anything should happen to him, if his wife knew where he had buried his money. He answered that nobody but himself and the devil knew where it was, and the longest liver should have all. These blasphemies had filled the crew with superstitious fears, and perhaps unnerved their arms in the last struggle. The survivors declared that, once upon a cruise, a man was found on board more than the crew, sometimes below and sometimes above. No one knew whence he came and who he was, but believed him to be the devil, as he disappeared shortly before their great ship was cast away. In Blackbeard's journal were found many entries illustrating the fear and misery of a pirate's life. For instance-- "3rd June, all rum out; our company somewhat sober; rogues a plotting; great talk of separation; so I looked sharp for a prize. 5th June, took one with a great deal of liquor on board, so kept the company hot, d---- hot; then all things went well again." Some sugar, cocoa, indigo, and cotton were found on board the pirate sloops, and some in a tent on the shore. This, with the sloop, sold for £2500. The whole was divided amongst the crews of the _Lime_ and _Pearl_, the brave captors getting no more than their dividend, and that very tardily paid, as such things usually are by English governments. CAPTAIN ENGLAND began life as mate of a Jamaica sloop, and being taken by a pirate named Winter, before Providence was turned into a freebooter fortress, became master of a piratical vessel. He soon became remarkable for his courage and generosity. When Providence was taken by the English, England sailed to the African coast, a hot place, but not too hot for him, like the shores of the main. He here took several ships, among others the _Cadogan_, bound from Bristol to Sierra Leone--Skinner, master. Some of England's crew had formerly served in this ship, and, having proved mutinous, had been mulcted of their wages and sent on board a man of war, from whence deserting to a West Indian sloop, they were taken by pirates, and eventually joined England and started for a cruise. As soon as Skinner struck to the black flag, he was ordered on board the pirate. The first person he saw was his old boatswain, who addressed him with a sneer of suppressed hatred. "Ah, Captain Skinner," said he, "is that you? the very man I wished to see. I am much in your debt, and will pay you now in your own coin." The brave seaman trembled, for he knew his fate, and shuddered as an ox does when it smells the blood of a slaughter-house. The boatswain, instantly shouting to his companions, bound the captain fast to the windlass. They then, amidst roars of cruel laughter, pelted him with glass bottles till he was cut and gashed in a dreadful manner. After this, they whipped him round the deck till they were weary, in spite of his prayers and entreaties. At last, vowing that he should have an easy death, as he had been a good master to his men, they shot him through the head. England then plundered the vessel and gave it to the mate and the crew of murderers, and they sailed with it till they reached death's door, and the port whose name is terrible. Taking soon after a ship called the _Pearl_, England fitted her up for his own use, and re-christened her the _Royal James_. With her they took several vessels of various nations at the Azores and Cape de Verd Islands. In 1719 the rovers returned to Africa, and, beginning at the river Gambia, sailed all down the torrid coast as far as Cape Corso. In this trip they captured the _Eagle Pink_, six guns, the _Charlotte_, eight guns, the _Sarah_, four guns, the _Wentworth_, twelve guns, the _Buck_, two guns, the _Castanet_, four guns, the _Mercury_, four guns, the _Coward_, two guns, and the _Elizabeth_ and _Catherine_, six guns. Three of these vessels they let go, and four they burnt. Two they fitted up as pirates, and calling them the _Queen Anne's Revenge_ and the _Flying King_, many of the prisoners joined their bands. These two ships sailed to the West Indies, and careening, started for Brazil, taking several Portuguese vessels, but were finally driven off by a Portuguese man-of-war. The _Revenge_ escaped, but soon after went down at sea; the _Flying King_ ran ashore; twelve of the seventy men were killed, and the rest taken prisoners. Thirty-two English, three Dutch, and two Frenchmen of these were at once hung. But to return to England. In going down the coast, he captured two more vessels, and detained one, releasing the other. Two other ships, seeing them coming, got safe under the guns of Cape Corso castle. The pirates, turning their last prize into a fire-ship, resolved to destroy both the fugitives, but, the castle firing hotly upon them, they retreated, and at Whydah road found Captain la Bouche, another pirate, had forestalled their market. Here England fitted up a Bristol galley for his own use, calling it the _Victory_. Committing many insolences on shore, the negroes rose upon them and compelled them to retire to their ship, when they had fired one village, and killed many of the natives. They now put it to the vote what voyage to take, and, deciding for the East Indies, arrived at Madagascar (1720), and, taking in water and provisions, sailed for the coast of Malabar, in the Mogul's territory. They took several Indian vessels, and one Dutch, which they exchanged for one of their own, and then returned to Madagascar. England now sent some men on shore, with tents, powder, and shot, to kill hogs, and procure venison, but they searched in vain for Avery's men. Cleaning their ships, they then set sail for Panama, falling in with two English ships, and one Dutch, all Indiamen. Fourteen of La Bouche's crew boarded the Englishmen in canoes, declaring that they belonged to the _Indian Queen_, twenty-eight guns, which had been lost on that coast, and that their captain, with forty men, was building a new vessel. The two English captains, Mackra and Reily, were about to sink and destroy these castaways, when England's two vessels, of thirty-four and thirty-eight guns, stood in to the bay. In spite of all promises of aid, the _Ostender_ and _Kirby_ deserted Mackra, a breeze admitting of their escape, while the pirate's black and bloody flags were still flaunting the air. Mackra, undaunted by their desertion, fought desperately for three hours, beating off one of the pirates, striking her between wind and water, and shooting away their oars, when they put out their sweeps and tried to board. Mackra being wounded in the head, and most of his officers killed, ran ashore, and England following, ran also aground, and failed in boarding. The engagement then commenced with fresh vigour, and, had Kirby come up, the pirates would have been driven off. England, obtaining three boats full of fresh men, was now in the ascendant, and soon after Kirby stood out to sea, leaving his companion in the very jaws of death. Mackra, seeing death inevitable, lowered the boats and escaped to land, under cover of the smoke, and the pirate, soon after boarding, cut three of their wounded men in pieces. The survivors fled to Kingstown, a place twenty-five miles distant. England offered 10,000 dollars for Mackra's head, but the king and chief people being in his interest, and a report being spread of his death, he remained safe for ten days, then obtaining a safe conduct from the pirate, Mackra had an interview with their chief. England and some men who had once sailed with Mackra protected him from those who would have cut him to pieces, with all who would not turn rovers. Finding that they talked of burning their own ships, and refitting the English prize, Mackra prevailed on them to give him the shattered ship, the _Fancy_, of Dutch build, and 300 tons burden, and also to return 129 bales of the Company's cloth. Fitting up jury masts, Mackra sailed for Bombay, with forty-five sailors, two passengers, and twelve soldiers, arriving after much suffering, and a passage of forty-three days, frequently becalmed between Arabia and Malabar. In the engagement he had thirteen men killed and twenty-four wounded, and killed nearly a hundred of the pirates. If Kirby had proved staunch, he might have destroyed them both, and secured £100,000 of booty. Opposed to him were 300 whites and eighty blacks. We are happy to record that this brave fellow was well rewarded, and honoured with fresh command. Nothing but despair could have driven Mackra, he said in his published account, to throw himself upon the pirates' mercy, still wounded and bleeding as they were. He did not either seem to know how friendly the Guiana people were to the English, so much so, that there was a proverb, "A Guiana man and an Englishman are all one." When he first came on board, England took him aside and told him that his interest was declining among his crew, that they were provoked at his opposition to their cruelty, and that he should not be able to protect him. He advised him, therefore, to win over Captain Taylor, a man who had become a favourite amongst them by his superiority in wickedness. Mackra tried to soften this wretch with a bowl of punch, and the pirates were in a tumult whether to kill him or no, when a sailor, stuck round with pistols, came stumping upon a wooden leg up the quarterdeck and asked for Captain Mackra, swearing and vapouring, and twirling a tremendous pair of whiskers. The captain, expecting he was his executioner, called out his name. To his delight, the bravo seized him by the hand, and, shaking it violently, swore he was d----d glad to see him. "Show me the man," cries he, "that dares offer to hurt Captain Mackra, for I'll stand by him; he's an honest fellow, and I know him well." This put an end to the dispute. Taylor consented to give the ship, and fell asleep on the deck. Mackra put off instantly, by England's advice, lest the monster should awake and change his mind. This clemency soon led to England's deposition, and on a rumour that Mackra was fitting out a force against them, he was marooned with three more on the island of Mauritius, and making a boat of drift wood, escaped to Madagascar. The pirate, detaining some of Mackra's men, set sail for the Indies. Seeing two ships which they supposed to be English, they commanded one of their prisoners to show them the Company's private signals, or they would cut him in pound pieces. On approaching, they proved to be Moorish ships from Muscat, loaded with horses. They rifled the ships and put the officers to the torture, and left them without sails and with the masts cut through. The next day they fell in with the Bombay fleet of eight vessels and 100 men, despatched to attack Angria, a Malabar chief. Afraid to show their fear, the pirates attacked the fleet and destroyed two laggers, torturing the crew and sending them adrift. The commodore of the fleet would not fight the pirates without orders, which so enraged the governor of Bombay, that he appointed Mackra the commander, and enjoined him to pursue and engage England wherever he met him. Some time after this, the same fleet, aided by the Viceroy of Goa, landed 10,000 men at Calabar, Angria's stronghold, but were compelled to retreat. The next day between Goa and Carwar the pirates drove two grabs under the guns of India-diva castle, and would have taken the island but for the delay. At Carwar they took a ship, and sent in a prisoner to demand water and provisions, for which they offered to surrender their prize. Failing in this they sailed for the Laccadeva islands, and landing at Melinda, violated the women, destroyed the cocoa trees, and burnt the churches. At Tellechery they heard of Mackra's expedition, and cursed his ingratitude. Some wished to hang the dogs who were left, but the majority agreed to keep them alive to show their contempt and revenge. At Calicut they attempted to take a large Moorish ship in the roads, but were prevented by some guns mounted on the shore. One of Mackra's men they obliged to tend the braces on the booms amid all the fire. When he refused, they threatened to shoot him or loaded him with blows. His old tormentor, Captain Taylor, being gouty, could not hold a cudgel. Some interceded for him, but Taylor declared if he was let go he would disclose all their plans. They next arrived at Cochin, and, sending on shore a fishing boat with a letter, ran into the road, saluting the fort. At night boats came off with provisions and liquor. The governor sent a boat full of arrack and sixty bales of sugar, and received in return a present of a table clock, and a gold watch for his daughter. The boatmen they paid some £7000, and threw them handfuls of ducatoons to scramble for. The fiscal brought out cloths and piece goods for sale, but the fort opened fire when they chased a vessel under its shelter. They were soon after chased by five tall ships, supposed to be Mackra's, but escaped. Their Christmas for three days they spent in a carouse, using the greater part of their fresh provisions, so that in their voyage to the Mauritius they were reduced to a bottle of water and two pounds of beef a day for ten men. Fitting up at Mauritius, they sailed again in two months, leaving this inscription on one of the walls: "Left this place the 5th of April, to go to Madagascar for limes." At the island of Mascarius they fell upon a great prize, finding the Viceroy of Goa in a Portuguese ship of seventy guns, lying dismasted on the shore. Of diamonds alone she had a cargo worth four millions of dollars. The viceroy coming calmly on board, taking them for English, was captured with all his officers, and ransomed for 2000 dollars. To the leeward of the island they found an Ostend vessel, which they sent to Madagascar to prepare masts for the prize, and followed soon after with a cargo of 2000 Mozambique negroes. When they reached Madagascar they found that the Dutch crew had made the pirates drunk, and sailed back to Mozambique, and from thence to Goa with the governor. They now divided their plunder, most of them receiving forty-two small diamonds as their share. The madman, who obtained one large one, broke it in a mortar, swearing he had got now a better share than any of them, for he had forty-three sparks. Some of the pirates now gave up their wild life and settled in _matelotage_ at Madagascar, on the tontine principle of the longest liver inheriting all. The two prizes were then burnt, and Taylor sailed for Cochin to sell his diamonds to the Dutch, and thence to the Red and China Seas, to avoid the English men-of-war. The pirates, about this time, had 11 sail and 1500 men in the Indian seas, but soon separated for the coast of Brazil and Guinea, or to settle and fortify themselves at Madagascar, Mauritius, Johanna, and Mohilla. A pirate named Condin, in a ship called the _Dragon_, took a vessel from Mocha with thirteen lacs of rupees (130,000 half-crowns), and burning the ship settled at Madagascar. The commander of the English fleet, still in pursuit of these pirates, attempted to prevail on England to serve him as spy and pilot, but in vain. Taylor, resolving to sail to the Indies, but hearing of the four men-of-war, started for the African main, and put into Delagoa, destroying a small fort of six guns. This fort belonged to the Dutch East India Company, but its 150 men had been deserted, and left to pine away and starve; sixteen turned pirates, but the rest, being Dutch, were left to die. They stayed in this den of fever three months, and having careened, paid the Dutch with bales of muslins and chintzes. Some now left, and returned to settle in Madagascar. The rest sailed for the West Indies, and, escaping the fangs of two English men-of-war, surrendered themselves to the Governor of Porto Bello. Eight of them afterwards passed to Jamaica as shipwrecked sailors, and shipped for England. Captain Taylor entered the Spanish service, and commanded the man-of-war that afterwards attacked the English logwood-cutters in the bay of Honduras, and caused the Spanish war. CAPTAIN AVERY was a more remarkable man than England, and his ambition of a wider kind. He was a native of Plymouth, and served as mate of a merchant vessel in several voyages. Before the peace of Ryswick, the French of Martinique carried on a smuggling trade with the natives of Peru, in spite of the Spanish _guarda costas_. The Spaniards, finding their vessels too weak for the French, hired two Bristol vessels of thirty guns and 220 men, which were to sail first to Corunna or the Groine, and from thence to the main. Of one of these ships, the _Duke_, Gibson was commander, and Avery first mate. Avery, planning with the boldest and most turbulent of the crew, plotted to run away with the vessels, and turn pirates on the Indian coasts. The captain, a man much addicted to drink, had gone to bed, when sixteen conspirators from the other vessel, the _Duchess_, came on board and joined the company. Their watchword was, "Is your drunken boatswain on board?" Securing the hatches, they slipped their cable and put to sea, without any disorder, although surrounded by vessels. A Dutch frigate of forty guns refused to interrupt their progress, although offered a reward. The captain, awoke by the motion of the ship and the noise of working the tackle, rang his bell, and Avery and two others entered the cabin. The captain, frightened and thinking the ship had broken from her anchors, asked, "What was the matter?" Avery replied coolly, "Nothing." The captain answered, "Something has happened to the ship; does she drive? what weather is it?" "No, no," said Avery, "we're at sea with a fair wind and good weather." "At sea?" said the captain, "how can that be?" Upon which Avery told him to get up and put on his clothes, and he could tell him a secret, for he (Avery) was captain, and that was his cabin, and that he was on his way to Madagascar to make his fortune and that of all the brave fellows who were with him. Avery then bade the captain not to be afraid, for if he was sober and minded his business, he might in time make him one of his lieutenants. At his request, however, he sent him on shore with six others. On reaching Madagascar they found two sloops lying at anchor, which the men had run away with from the West Indies, and who, taking his vessel for a frigate, fled into the woods and posted themselves in a strong place with sentinels. Discovering their mistake, after some cautious parleying, they united together and sailed for the Arabian coast. Near the river Indus they espied a sail and gave chase, believing they had caught a Dutch East Indian ship, but found it to be one of the Great Mogul's vessels, carrying his daughter with pilgrims and offerings to Mecca. The sloops boarded her on either side, and she at once struck her colours. The Indian ship was loaded with treasure, the slaves and attendants richly clad and covered with jewels, and all having vessels of gold and silver, and large sums of money to defray their expenses in the land journey. Taking all the treasure, they let the princess go, and the ship put back for India. The Mogul, on learning it, threatened to drive the English from India with fire and sword, but the Company contrived to pacify him by promising to deliver up to him the pirate ship and her crew. The rumours of this adventure occasioned a report at Wapping that Jack Avery had married the Great Mogul's daughter, founded an empire, and purchased a fleet. Avery, having secured his prize, determined to return to Madagascar, build a fort and magazine where he could leave a garrison to overawe the natives when he was absent on a cruise. A fresh scheme suggesting itself, he resolved to plunder his friends the sloops, and return to New Providence. He began by sending a boat on board each of his allies, desiring their captain to come and attend a general council. At this meeting he represented to them that if they were separated in a storm they must be taken, and the treasure would then be lost to the rest. He therefore proposed, as his ship was so strong that it could hold its own against any vessel they could meet with on those seas, to put the treasure on board in his care, in a chest sealed with three seals, and that a rendezvous should be appointed in case of separation. The two captains at once agreed to the proposal as manifestly for the common good. That day and the next the weather was fair, and they all kept company. In the mean time Avery persuaded his men to abscond with the plunder, and escape to some country where they might spend the rest of their days in splendour and luxury. Taking advantage of a dark night, they steered a new course, and by morning had lost sight of the outwitted sloops. Avery now resolved to steer for America, change his name, purchase a settlement, and die in peace and charity with all the world--a calm, rich Christian. They first visited New Providence, afraid that they might be detected in New England as the deserters from the Groine expedition. Avery, pretending that his vessel was a privateer that had missed her mark and was sold by the owners, disposed of her to good advantage, and bought a sloop. In this vessel he touched at several parts of the American coast, giving his men their dividends, and allowing those who chose to leave the ship. The greater part of the diamonds he had concealed at the first plunder of the vessel. Some of his men settled at Boston; but he, afraid of selling his diamonds in New England, betook himself with a few companions to Ireland, putting into one of the northern ports, and avoiding St. George's Channel. The sailors now dispersed. Some went to Dublin, and some to Cork, to obtain pardons from King William. Avery, still afraid of being apprehended as a pirate if he offered his diamonds for sale, passed over to England, and sent for some Bristol friends to Bideford. They agreed, for a commission, to put the stones into the hands of Bristol merchants who, being men of wealth and credit, would not be suspected. The merchants, after some negotiation, visited him at Bideford, and, after many protestations of honour and integrity, received several packets of diamonds and some vessels of gold to dispose of. They gave him some money for his present necessities and departed. Changing his name Avery continued to live at Bideford, visited by those relations to whom he confided his secret. The merchants, after many letters and much importunity, sent him small supplies of money, scarce sufficient to pay his debts and buy him bread. Weary of this life, he ventured over privately to Bristol, and to his dismay, when he desired them to come to an account with him, they threatened to proclaim him as a pirate, for men who had been robbed by him could be found on the 'Change, in the docks, or in any street. Afraid of their threats (for he never showed much personal courage), or detected by some sailor, he fled to Ireland, and from thence again solicited the merchants, but in vain, for a supply. In a short time reduced to beggary, he resolved to throw himself upon their throats, and obtain money or revenge, and, working his passage on board a trading vessel to Plymouth, travelled on foot to Bideford. In a few days he fell sick and died, and was buried at the expense of the parish. To return to the deserted crews of the sloops. They, believing the separation an accident, sailed at once to the rendezvous, and then discovering the cheat, and having no more fresh provisions, resolved to establish themselves on land. They therefore made tents of their sails, and unloaded their vessels. On shore they were joined by the crew of a privateer which had been despatched by the government of Bermuda to take the French factory of Goree, in the river Gambia, and had turned pirates by the way, Captain Tew, their captain, capturing a large Arabian vessel in the strait of Babelmandel, in spite of its crew and 300 soldiers. By this prize his men gained £3000 a-piece, and but for the cowardice and mutiny of the quartermaster and some others would have captured five other ships. This leading to a quarrel, the band left off pirating, and retired to Madagascar. Captain Tew sailed to Rhode Island, and obtained a pardon. The pirates lived at Madagascar like little princes, each with his harem, and with large retinues of slaves, whom they employed in fishing, hunting, and planting rice. The English sided with some of the negro princes in their wars, and struck such terror in their adversaries by their fire-arms, that whole armies fled at the sight of two or three of the white faces. At first, these piratical chieftains waged war on each other, but at last, alarmed by a revolt of the negroes, united in strict union. Before this they tied their slaves to trees, and shot them to death for the smallest offence; and at last the negroes, uniting in a general conspiracy, resolved to murder them all in one night. As they lived apart, this would undoubtedly have been done, had not one of their black concubines run nearly twenty miles in three hours to discover the plot. They instantly, upon this alarm, flocked together in arms, and compelled the advancing negroes to retire. This escape made them very cautious. They therefore fomented war between the native tribes, but henceforward remained neutral. All murderers and outlaws they took under their protection, and turned into body-guards, whilst the vanquished they defended. By this diplomacy, worthy of the most civilized people, they soon grew so powerful and numerous as to be compelled to branch out in colonies, parting into tribes, each with their wives and children. They had now all the power and all the fears of despotism. Their houses were citadels, and every hut a fortress. They generally chose a place overgrown with wood, and situated near a spring or pool. Round this spot they raised a rampart, encircled by a fosse. This wall was straight and steep, could not be ascended without scaling ladders, and had but one entrance. The hut was so hidden that it might not be seen at a distance. The passage that led to it was intricate, labyrinthine, and narrow, so that only one person could walk it abreast, and the path wound round and round, with so many cross-paths, that any one uninitiated might search for hours and not find the cabin. All along the sides of the path, huge thorns peculiar to the island were stuck into the ground, with points uppermost, like _chevaux-de-frise_, sufficient to impale the assailant who ventured by night. These men were found in this state by Captain Woods Rogers, when he visited Madagascar in the _Delicia_ (40 guns), wishing to buy slaves, to sell to the Dutch of New Holland. The men he met had been twenty-five years on the island, and had not seen a ship for seven years. The petty kings of the bush were covered with untanned skins, and were savage wretches, overgrown with beard and hair. They bartered slaves for cloths, knives, saws, powder, and ball. They went aboard the _Delicia_ and examined her with care, and, talking familiarly with the men, invited them on shore, intending to surprise the ship by night when there was a slender watch kept, having plenty of boats and arms. They wanted the men to surprise the captain, and clap those who resisted under hatches. At a given signal, the negroes were to row on board, and then all would start as pirates and roam round the world. The captain, observing the intimacy, would not suffer his men to even speak with the islanders, choosing an officer to negotiate with them for slaves. These pirate kings were all foremast men, and could read no more than their chief secretaries could write. The chief prince of this Newgate paradise had been a Thames waterman, who had committed a murder on the river. As even a few years since an old sailor at Minehead was known as the "King of Madagascar," we suppose divine right and hereditary succession still continue in that Eden of gaol-birds. During the time of war the pirates diminished in number and turned privateersmen, but increased at the peace of Utrecht, when the disbanded privateersmen again turned thieves for want of excitement and some more honest employment. About 1716, Captain Martel appeared as commander of a pirate sloop of eight guns and eighty men, that, cruising off Jamaica, captured a galley and another small vessel, from the former of which he plundered £1000. In their way to Cuba they took two more sloops, which they rummaged and let go, and off Cavena hoisted the black flag, and boarded a galley of twenty guns, called the _John and Martha_. Part of the men they put ashore and part enrolled in the crew. The cargo of logwood and sugar they seized, and, taking down one of the ship's decks, mounted her with twenty-two guns and 100 men, and proceeded to cruise off the Leeward Islands, capturing a sloop, a brigantine, and a Newfoundland vessel of twenty guns. They soon after plundered a Jamaica vessel, and two ships from Barbadoes, detaining all the best men, and from a Guinea galley they stole some gold dust, elephants' teeth, and forty slaves. In 1717, they put into Santa Cruz to clean and refit with a small piratical fleet of five vessels, warping up a little creek, very shallow, but guarded by rocks and sands. They then erected a battery of four guns on the island, and another of two guns near the road, while a sloop with eight guns protected the mouth of the channel. In November, 1716, the commander-in-chief of all the Leeward islands sent a sloop to Barbadoes for the _Scarborough_, of thirty guns and 140 men, to inform her of the pirate. The captain had just buried twenty men, and having forty sick could scarcely put out to sea. However, putting on a bold heart, he left his sick behind and beat up for recruits at all the islands he passed. At Antigua he took in twenty soldiers, at Nevis ten, and the same number at St. Christopher's. Unable to find the pirate, he was on the point of putting back, when a boat from Santa Cruz informed him of a creek where he had seen a vessel enter. The _Scarborough_ instantly sailed to the spot and discovered the pirates, but the pilot refused to enter. The pirates all this while fired red-hot shot from the shore; but at length the ship anchored alongside the reef and cannonaded the vessels and batteries. The sloop in the channel soon sank, and the larger vessel was much punished, but the _Scarborough_, fearing the reef, stood off and on for a day or two and blockaded the creek. The pirates, endeavouring to warp out and slip away, ran aground, and, seeing the _Scarborough_ again standing in, fired the ship and ran ashore, leaving twenty negroes to perish. Nineteen escaped in a sloop, and the captain and twenty other negroes fled to the woods, where it is supposed they perished, as they were never heard of again. Captain CHARLES VANE, our next Viking, is known as one of the men who helped to steal the silver which the Spaniards had fished up from their sunk galleons in the gulf of Florida. When Captain Rogers with his two men-of-war conquered Providence, and pardoned all the pirates who submitted, Vane slipped his cable, fired a prize in the harbour, hoisted the black flag, and, firing a broadside at one of the men-of-war, sailed boldly away. Capturing a Barbadoes vessel, he manned it with twenty-five hands, and, unloading an interloper of its pieces of eight, careened at a key, and spent some time in a revel. In the next cruise they captured some Spanish and New England vessels, and one laden with logwood. The crew of the latter they compelled to throw the lading overboard, intending to turn her into a pirate vessel, but in a fit of caprice suddenly let the men go and the ship with them. The prize captain, offended at Vane's arrogance, left him, and surrendered himself and 90 negroes to the governor of Charlestown, receiving a free pardon. Vane saluted the runaway with a broadside as he left, and lay wait for some time for him, but without success. Soon after this two armed sloops started in pursuit of Vane, and, failing in the capture, attacked and took another pirate vessel that was clearing at Cape Fear. In an inlet to the northward Vane met Blackbeard, and saluted him, according to piratical etiquette, with a discharge of his shotted guns. Off Long Island he attacked a vessel that proved to be a French man-of-war, and gave chase; Vane was for flight, but many of the men, in spite of the enemy's weight of metal and being twice their force, were for boarding. A pirate captain in all cases but that of fighting was controlled by a majority, but in this case had an absolute power; Vane refused to fight, and escaped. The next day Vane was branded by vote as a coward and deposed, and Rackham, his officer, elected captain. Vane and the minority were turned adrift in a sloop. Putting into the bay of Honduras, Vane captured another sloop, and fitted it up as a pirate vessel, and soon after captured two more. Vane was soon after shipwrecked on an island near Honduras, and most of his men drowned; he himself being supported by the turtle fishermen. While in this miserable state, a Jamaica vessel arrived, commanded by a Buccaneer, an old acquaintance, to whom he applied to help him. The man refused, declaring Vane would intrigue with his men, murder him, and run off as a pirate. On Vane expressing scruples about stealing a fisherman's boat from the beach, the Buccaneer declared that if he found him still there on his return he would take him to Jamaica and hang him. Soon after his friend's departure a vessel put in for water, and, not knowing Vane to be a pirate, took him on board as a sailor. On leaving the bay the Buccaneer met them and came on board to dine. Passing to the cabin he spied Vane working in the hold, and asked the captain if he knew that that was Vane, the notorious pirate. The other then declared he would not have him, and the Buccaneer, sending his mate on board with at loaded pistol, seized Vane and took him to Jamaica, where he was soon after hung. Rackham, after a cruise among the Caribbee islands, spent a Christmas on shore, and when the liquor was all gone put to sea. Their first prize was an ominous one, a ship laden with Newgate convicts bound for the plantations, which was soon after retaken by an English ship of war. Two others of his prizes were also recaptured while careening at the Bahama islands by Governor Rogers, of New Providence. They then sailed to the back of Cuba, where Rackham had a settlement, and there spent their plunder in debauchery. As they were fitting out for sea, they were attacked by a Spanish guarda costa that had just captured an English interloper. Rackham being protected by an island, the Spaniards warped into the channel at dusk and waited for day. The pirates, roused to despair, boarded the Spanish prize with pistols and cutlasses in the dead of the night, and, threatening the crew with death if they spoke, captured her almost without a blow, and slipping the cable stood out to sea. When day broke the Spaniards opened a tremendous fire upon the deserted pirate vessel, but soon discovered their mistake. 1720 was spent in small cruises about Jamaica, their crew being still short; they then swept off some fishing boats from Harbour Island, and landing in Hispaniola, carried off some wild cattle and several French hunters. He then captured several more vessels, and was joined by the crew of a sloop in Dry Harbour Bay. But their end was at hand. The governor of Jamaica despatched a sloop in pursuit of them, who found the pirates carousing with a boat's crew from Point Negril, and they were soon overpowered. A fortnight after sentence of death was passed upon nine of them at a court of admiralty held at St. Jago de la Vega. Five of them were executed at Gallows Point in Port Royal, and the four others the day after at Kingston. Rackham and two more were afterwards taken down and hung in chains, one at Plumb Point, one at Busk-key, and the other at Gun-key. By the terrible Draconic laws of Jamaica, the nine boatmen from Port Negril were also hung by their side. After such justice, can we wonder at the crimes to which despair too often drove the pirates? Among these "unfortunate brave," as Prior generously calls them, two female pirates are not to be forgotten. The first of these, Mary Reed, was the daughter of a sailor, whose wife having after his death given birth to an illegitimate girl, palmed it off as a boy, in order to excite the compassion of her husband's mother. Being reduced in circumstances she put the girl out as a foot-boy, but she soon after ran to sea, and entered on board a man-of-war. Quitting the sea service Mary Reed wintered over in Flanders and obtained a cadetship in a regiment of foot, behaving herself in many actions with a great deal of bravery, and finally entering a regiment of horse. Here she fell in love with a comrade, a young Fleming, whom she eventually married, and set up an eating-house at Beda, called "The Three Horse-shoes." Her husband dying, and the peace ruining her trade, Mary went into Holland, and joined a regiment quartered on a frontier town, but, finding preferment slow, she shipped herself on board a vessel bound for the West Indies. The vessel was taken by English pirates, and the amazon, being the only English sailor, was detained. A pardon soon afterwards being issued, the crew surrendered themselves, but Mary Reed sailed for New Providence, and joined a privateer squadron fitting out there against the Spaniards. The crews, who were pardoned pirates, soon rose against their commander, and resumed their old trade, and Mary Reed among them. Abhorring the life of a pirate, she still was the first to board, and was as resolute as the bravest. By chance Anne Bonny, another disguised woman, being with the crew, discovered her sex, and soon after she fell in love with a sailor whom they took prisoner, and was eventually married to him. Her husband hated his new profession as much as herself, and they were about to quit it when they were both taken prisoners. On one occasion Mary Reed, to prevent her husband fighting a duel, challenged his opponent to meet her on a sand island near which their ship lay, with sword and pistol, and killed him on the spot. At the trial she declared that her life had been always pure, and that she had never intended to remain a pirate. When they were taken, only she and Anne Bonny kept the deck, calling to those in the hold to come up and fight like men, and when they refused firing at them, killing one and wounding several. In prison she said the fear of hanging had never driven her from piracy, for but for the dread of that there would be so many pirates that the trade would not be worth following. Great compassion was evinced for her in the court, but she was still found guilty, though being near her pregnancy, her execution was respited. She might have been pardoned, but a violent fever coming on soon after her trial she died in prison. Her companion, Anne Bonny, was the illegitimate daughter of a Cork attorney. Her father, disguising the child as a boy, pretended it was a relative's son, and bred it up for a clerk. Becoming ruined he emigrated to Carolina, and turning merchant bought a plantation. Upon her mother's death Anne Bonny succeeded to the housekeeping. She was of a fierce and ungovernable temper, and was reported to have stabbed an English servant with a case-knife. Marrying a penniless sailor, her father turned her out of doors, and she and her husband fled to New Providence, where he turned pirate. Here she was seduced by Captain Rackham, and ran with him to sea, dressed as a sailor, and accompanied him in many voyages. The day that Rackham was executed she was admitted to see him by special favour, but she only taunted him and said that she was sorry to see him there, but that if he had fought like a man he would not have been hung like a dog. Becoming pregnant in prison she was reprieved, and, we believe, finally pardoned. Captain HOWEL DAVIS, our next sea king, was a native of Milford, who, being taken prisoner by England, was appointed captain of the vessel of which he had been chief mate. At first, he declared he would rather be shot than turn pirate, but eventually accepted sealed orders from England, to be opened at a certain latitude. On opening them, he found they directed him to make the ship his own, and go and trade at Brazil. The crew, refusing to obey Davis, steered for Barbadoes, and put him in prison, but he was soon discharged. Starting for New Providence, the pirates' nest, he found the island had just surrendered to Captain Woods Rogers. He here joined the ships fitting out for the Spanish trade, and at Martinique joined in a conspiracy, secured the masters, and started on a cruise against all the world. At a council of war, held over a bowl of punch, Davis was unanimously elected commander, and the articles he drew up were signed by all the crew. They then sailed to Coxon's-hole, at the east end of Cuba, to clean, that being a narrow creek, where one ship could defend itself against a hundred, and, having no carpenter, they found some difficulty in careening. On the north side of Hispaniola, they fell in with a French ship of twelve guns, which they took, and sent twelve men on board to plunder, being now very short of provisions. They had scarcely leaped on deck before another French vessel of twenty-four guns and sixty men hove in sight. This vessel Davis proposed to attack, quite contrary to the wish of his crew, who were afraid of her size. When Davis approached, the Frenchmen bade him strike, but giving them a broadside, he said he should keep them in play till his consort arrived, when they should have but hard quarters. At this moment came up all the prisoners, having been dressed in white shirts, and forced on deck, and a dirty tarpaulin was hoisted for a black flag. The French captain, intimidated, instantly struck, and was at once, with ten of his hands, put in irons. The guns, small arms, and powder in the small ship were then removed, and the prize crew sent on board the larger vessel. Part of the prisoners were put in the smaller and now defenceless bark. At the end of two days, finding the French prize a dull sailer, Davis restored her to the captain, minus her ammunition and cargo. The Frenchman, vexed at being so outwitted, would have destroyed himself had not his men prevented him. Davis then visited the Cape de Verd islands, and left some of his men as settlers among the Portuguese. They also plundered many vessels at the Isle of May, obtained many fresh hands, and fitted one of their prizes with twenty-six guns, and called her the _King James_. At St. Jago the governor accused them of being pirates, and Davis resolved to resent the affront by surprising the fort by night. Going on shore well armed, they found the guard negligent, and took the place, losing only three men. The fugitives barricaded themselves in the governor's house, into which the pirates threw grenades. By daybreak the whole country was alarmed, and poured down upon them, but they, unwilling to stand a siege, dismounted the fort guns and fought their way to their ships. Mustering their hands, and finding themselves still seventy strong, they proposed to follow Davis's advice, and attack Gambia castle, where a great deal of money was always kept, for they had now such an opinion of Davis's courage and prudence that they would have followed him anywhere. Having come within sight of the place, he ordered all his men below but such as were absolutely necessary for the working of the vessel, that the people on shore might take her for a trader. He then ran close under the fort, anchored, and ordering out the boat, manned her with six plain-dressed men, himself as the master, and the rest attired as merchants. The men were instructed what to say. At the landing-place they were received by a file of musqueteers, and led to the governor, who received them civilly. They said they were from Liverpool, bound to the river of Senegal to trade for gums and ivory, but being chased to Gambia by two French men-of-war, were willing to trade for slaves; their cargo, they said, being all iron and plate. The governor, promising them slaves, asked for a hamper of European liquor, and invited them to stay and dine. Davis himself refused to stay, but left his two companions. On leaving he observed there was a sentry at the entrance, and a guard-house near, with the arms of the soldiers on duty thrown in one corner. Going on board he assured his men of success, desired them to keep sober, and when the castle flag struck to send twenty hands immediately ashore. He then seized a sloop that lay near, for fear the crew should discern their preparations. He put two pairs of loaded pistols in his pocket, and made all his crew do the same, bidding them get into conversation with the guard, and when he fired a pistol through the governor's window, leap up and secure the piled arms. While dinner was getting ready, the governor began to brew a bowl of punch, when Davis, at a whisper of the coxswain who had been reconnoitring the house, suddenly drew out a pistol, and, clapping it to the governor's breast, bade him surrender the fort and all his riches, or he was a dead man. The governor, taken by surprise, promised to be passive. They then shut the door, and loaded the arms in the hall, while Davis fired his piece through the window. The men, hearing this signal, cocked their pistols, got between the soldiers and the arms, and carried them off, locking up the men in the guard-room, and guarding it without. Then striking the flag, the rest of the crew tumbled on shore, and the fort was their own without the loss of a man. Davis at once harangued the soldiers, and persuaded many to join him, and those who resisted he sent on board the sloop, which he first unrigged. The rest of the day they spent in salutes--ship to castle and castle to ship, and the next day plundered. Much money had been lately sent away, so they found only £2,000 in bar gold, and many rich effects. They then dismounted the guns, and demolished the fortifications. A French pirate of 14 guns, and sixty-four men, half French, half negroes, soon joined Davis, and they sailed down the coast together. They soon after met another pirate ship, of 24 guns, and spent several days in carousing. They then attacked in company the fort of Sierra Leone, and the garrison, after a stiff cannonade, surrendered the place and fled. Here they spent seven weeks careening; and, capturing a galley, La Bouce, the second captain, cut her half deck, and mounted her with 24 guns. They now sailed together, and appointed Davis commodore, but, like men of a trade, soon quarrelled, and parted company. Off Cape Apollonia Davis took several vessels, and off Cape Points Bay attacked a Dutch interloper, of 30 guns, and ninety men. After many hours' fighting the Dutchman surrendered to the black flag, having killed nine of Davis's men at one broadside. This vessel Davis called the _Rover_, fitted with 32 guns and 27 swivels, and, sailing to Anamaboe, captured several ships laden with ivory, gold dust, and negroes, saluting the fort, and then started for Prince's island, a Portuguese settlement near the same coast. They here captured a Dutchman, a valuable prize, having the governor of Acra and £150,000, besides merchandise, on board, and recruited their force with thirty-five hands. The _King James_ springing a leak, they deserted her and left her to sink. At the isle of Princes Davis passed himself off for an English man-of-war in search of pirates, and was received with great honours by the governor, who approved of his openly plundering a French vessel which he accused of piracy. A few days after Davis and fourteen of his men attempted to carry off the chief men's wives from a small village in which they lived, but failed in the attempt. But Davis had determined to plunder the island by means of the following stratagem. He resolved to present the governor with a dozen negroes in return for his civilities, and afterwards to invite him with the friars and chief men of the island to an entertainment on board his ship. He would then clap them in irons, and not release them under a ransom of £40,000. This plot proved fatal to him. A Portuguese negro, swimming ashore at night, disclosed the whole. The governor dissembled and professed to fall into the snare. The next day Davis went himself on shore to bring the governor on board, and was invited to take some refreshment at the government house. He fell at once into the trap. A prepared ambuscade rose and fired a volley, killing every pirate but one, who, running to the boat, got safely to the ship. Davis, though shot through the bowels, rose, made a faint effort to run, drew out his pistols, fired at his pursuers, and fell dead. Upon Davis's death, Bartholomew Roberts was at once chosen commander, in preference to many other of the _lords_ or head seamen. The sailors said, that any captain who went beyond their laws should be deposed, but that they must have a man of courage and a good seaman to defend their commonwealth. One of the lords, whose father had suffered in Monmouth's rebellion, swore Roberts was a Papist. In spite of all, Roberts, who had been only taken prisoner six weeks before, was chosen commander. He told them that, "since he had dipped his hands in muddy water, and must needs be a pirate, he would rather be commander than mere seaman." Their first thought was to avenge Davis's death, for he had been much beloved for his affability and good nature. Thirty men were landed, and attacked the fort in spite of the steep hill on which it was situated. The Portuguese deserted the walls, and the pirates destroyed the guns. Still unsatisfied, they would have burnt the town, had it not been protected by a thick wood, which furnished a cover to the enemy. They, however, mounted the French ship with twelve guns, running into shoal water, battered down several houses, and then sailed out of the harbour by the light of two ships to which they set fire. Having taken two more vessels and burnt one of them, they started by general consent for Brazil. Cruising here for nine weeks and taking no prize, the pirates grew quite discouraged, and resolved to steer for the West Indies, but soon after fell in with forty-two sail of Portuguese ships laden for Lisbon, and lying off the bay of los Todos Santos, waiting for two men-of-war of seventy guns each for their convoy. Stealing amongst them, Roberts hid his men till he had closed upon the deepest of them, threatening to give no quarter if the master was not instantly sent on board. The Portuguese, alarmed at the sudden flourish of cutlasses, instantly came. Roberts told him they were gentlemen of fortune, and should put him to death if he did not tell them which was the richest vessel of the fleet. The trembler pointed out a ship of forty guns and 150 men, more force than Roberts could command; but Roberts, replying "They are only Portuguese," bore down at once upon it. Finding the enemy was aware of their being pirates, Roberts poured in a broadside, grappled, and boarded. The dispute was short and warm. Two of the pirates fell, and many of the Portuguese. By this time it was pretty well seen that a fox had got into the poultry-yard. Signals of top-gallant sheets were flying, and guns fired to bring up the convoy that still rode at anchor. Roberts, finding his prize sail heavy, waited for the first man-of-war, which, basely declining the duel, lingered for its consort till Roberts was out of sight. The prize proved exceedingly rich, being laden with sugar, skins, tobacco, and 4000 moidors, besides many gold chains and much jewellery. A diamond cross, which formed part of this spoil, they afterwards gave to the governor of Caiana. Elated with this spoil, they fixed on the Devil's Islands, in the Surinam river, as a place for a revel, and, arriving there, found the governor ready to barter. Much in want of provision, Roberts threw himself, with forty men, into a prize sloop, in hopes of capturing a brigantine laden with provision from Rhode Island, which was then in sight, and was kept at sea by contrary winds for eight days. Their food ran short, and failing in securing the prize, they despatched their only boat to bring up the ship. Landing at Dominica, Roberts took on board thirteen Englishmen, the crews of two New England vessels that had been seized by a French guarda costa. At this island they were nearly captured by a Martinique sloop, but contrived to escape to the Guadanillas. Sailing for Newfoundland they entered the harbour with their black colours flying, their drums beating, and trumpets sounding. The crews of twenty-two vessels fled on shore at their approach, and they proceeded to burn and sink all the shipping and destroy the fisheries and the houses of the planters. Mounting a Bristol galley that he found in the harbour with sixteen guns, Roberts destroyed nine sail of French ships, and carried off for his own use a vessel of twenty-six guns. From many other prizes they pressed men and got plunder. The passengers on board the _Samuel_, a rich London vessel, he tortured, threatening them with death if they did not disclose their money. His men tore up the hatches, and, entering the hold with axes and swords, cut and ripped open the bales and boxes. Everything portable they seized, the rest they threw overboard, amidst curses and discharges of guns and pistols. They carried off £9000 worth of goods, the sails, guns, and powder. They told the captain "They should accept of no act of grace. The king might be d---- with their act of grace for them: they weren't going to Hope Point to be hung up sun-drying like Kidd's and Braddish's company were; and if they were overpowered they would set fire to the powder, and _go all merrily to hell together_." While debating whether to sink or burn the prize, they espied a sail, and left the _Samuel_ tumultuously to give chase. It proved to be a Bristol vessel, and hating Bristol men because the Martinique sloops were commanded by one, he used him with barbarous cruelty. Their provisions growing scarce, Roberts put into St. Christopher's, and, being refused succours, fired on the town and burnt two ships in the road. They then visited St. Bartholomew, where they were well received. Sailing for Guinea, weary of even debauchery, they captured a rich laden vessel from Martinique, and changed ships. By some extraordinary ignorance of navigation, Roberts, in trying to reach the Cape Verd islands, got to leeward of his port, and, obliged to go back again with the trade wind, returned to the West Indies, steering for Surinam, 700 leagues distant, with one hogshead of water for 124 souls. Great suffering followed their pleasures in the islands of the Sirens; each man obtained only one mouthful of water in twenty-four hours. Many drank their urine or the brine and died fevered and mad; others wasted with fluxes. The rest had but an inch or two of bread in the day, and grew so feeble they could hardly reef and climb. They were all but dying, when they were suddenly brought into soundings, and at night anchored in seven fathoms water. Thirsty in the sight of lakes and streams, and maddened with hunger, Roberts tore up the floor of the cabin, and, patching together a canoe with rope yarn, paddled to shore and procured water. After some days, the boat returned with the unpleasant intelligence that the lieutenant had absconded with the vessel. This Lieutenant Kennedy's sail into Execution Dock we will give before we return to Roberts. Upon leaving Caiana Roberts's treacherous crew determined to abandon piracy. Their Portuguese prize they gave to the master of the prize sloop, a good-natured man, whose quiet philosophy under misfortune had astonished and pleased them. Off Barbadoes Kennedy took a Quaker's vessel from Virginia, the captain of which allowed no arms on board, and his equanimity so attracted the pirates that eight of them returned with him to Virginia. These men rewarded the sailors and gave £250 worth of gold dust and tobacco to the peaceful captain. At Maryland the treacherous Quaker surrendered his friends, who were all hung on the evidence of some Portuguese Jews whom they had brought from Brazil. Off Jamaica Kennedy captured a flour vessel from Boston, in which himself and many others embarked. This Kennedy had been a pickpocket and a housebreaker, could neither read nor write, and had been only elected captain for his cruelty and courage. His crew, at first afraid of his treachery, would have thrown him overboard, but relented, on his taking solemn oaths of fidelity. Of all these men only one knew anything of navigation, and he was so ignorant that, trying to reach Ireland, he ran them ashore on Scotland. Landing they passed at first for shipwrecked sailors; seven of them reached London in safety, the rest were seized at Edinburgh and hung, having attracted attention by rioting and drunken squandering. Two others were murdered on the road. Kennedy turned robber, and some years after was arrested as a pirate by the mate of a ship he had plundered, turned king's evidence, but was hung in 1721. We must now return to Roberts, whom we left swearing and vapouring on the coast of Newfoundland. He began by drawing up a code of laws and establishing stricter discipline, and then steered for the West Indies, capturing several vessels by the way, and was soon after pursued by a Bristol galley of twenty guns and eighty men, and a sloop of ten guns and forty men, despatched by the Governor of Barbadoes. Roberts, taking them for traders, attempted to board, but was driven off by a broadside, the king's men huzzaing as they fired. Roberts, crowding all sail, took to flight and escaped, after a galling pursuit, by dint of throwing overboard his guns and heavy goods. He was henceforward particularly severe to Barbadian vessels, so deeply established were the principles of justice and compensation in the mind of this great man. In the morning, they saw land, but at a great distance, and dispatching a boat, it returned late at night with a load of water: they had reached Surinam. The worst blasphemer heard the words, and fell upon his knees to thank a God whom he had so often denied. They swore that the same Providence which had given them drink would bring them meat. Taking provisions from several vessels, Roberts touched at Tobago, and then sailed to Martinique to revenge himself on the governor. Adopting the custom of the Dutch interlopers, he hoisted a jack and sailed in as if to trade. He was soon surrounded by a swarm of sloops and smacks; then sending all the crews on shore on board one vessel, minus their money, he fired twenty others. His new flag bore henceforward a representation of himself trampling on the skulls of a Barbadian and Martinique man. At Dominica he took several vessels, and several others at Guadaloupe, and then put into a key off Hispaniola to clean and refit. While here, the captains of two piratical sloops visited him, having heard of his fame and achievements, to beg from him powder and arms. After several nights' revel, Roberts dismissed them, hoping "the Lord would prosper their handy works." Three of their men, who had long excited suspicion by their reserve and sobriety, deserted, but being recaptured were put upon their trial. The jury sat in the steerage, before a bowl of rum punch; the judge on the bench smoked a pipe. Sentence was already passed, when one of the jury, with a volley of oaths, swore Glashby (one of the prisoners) should not die. "He was as good a man as the best of them, and had never turned his back to a man in his life. Glashby was an honest fellow in spite of his misfortune, and he loved him. He hoped he would live and repent of what he had done; but d---- if he must die, he would die along with him," and as he spoke he handled a pair of loaded pistols, and presented them at two of the judges, who, thinking the argument good, at once acquitted Glashby. The rest, allowed to choose their executioners, were tied to the mast and shot. Amply stocked with provision, they now sailed for Guinea to buy gold dust, and on their passage burnt and sank many vessels. Roberts, finding his crew mutinous and unmanageable, assumed a rude bearing, offering to fight on shore any one who was offended, with sword or pistol, for he neither feared nor valued any. On their way to Africa they were deserted by a prize, a brigantine, which they had manned. Roberts being insulted by a drunken sailor, killed him on the spot. His messmate returning from shore declared the captain deserved the same fate. Roberts hearing this stabbed him with his sword, but in spite of the wound the seaman threw him over a gun and gave him a beating. A general tumult ensued, which was appeased by the quartermaster, and the majority agreeing that the captain must be supported at all risks, the sailor received two lashes from every man on board as soon as he recovered from his wound. This man then conspired with the captain of the brigantine and his seventy hands, and agreed to desert Roberts, as they soon after did on the first opportunity. Near the river of Senegal the pirates were chased by two French cruisers of ten and sixteen guns, who mistook him for one of those interlopers for whom they were on the look-out. The pair surrendered, however, with little resistance on the first shot of the _Jolly Roger_, and with these prizes they put into Sierra Leone. About thirty retired Buccaneers and pirates lived here, one of whom, who went by the name of Crackers, kept two cannon at his door to salute all pirate ships that arrived. They found that the _Swallow_ and _Weymouth_ men-of-war, fifty guns, had just been there, and would not return till Christmas; so, after six weeks' debauch, they put out again to sea, plundering along the coast. They exchanged one of their vessels for a French frigate-built ship, pressing the sailors, and allowing some soldiers on board to sail with them for a quarter share. They found an English chaplain on board, and wanted him to go with them to make punch and say prayers, but as he refused they let him go, detaining nothing of the property of the church but three prayer-books and a corkscrew. This ship they altered by pulling down the bulkheads and making her flush. They then christened her the _Royal Fortune_, and mounted her with forty guns. They next proceeded to Calabar, where a shoal protected the harbour. Enraged at the negroes refusing to trade, they landed forty men under protection of the ships' fire, drove back a party of 2000 natives, and then burnt their town. Still unable to obtain provisions, they returned to Cape Apollonia. Here they took a vessel called the _King Solomon_, boarding her from the long boat in spite of a volley from the ship, the pirates shouting defiance. The captain would have resisted, but the boatswain made the men lay down their arms and cry for quarter. They then cut her cable, and rifled her of everything. They next cut the mast of a Dutch vessel, and strung the sausages they found on board round their necks, killing the fowls, and inviting the captain to drink from his own but, singing obscene French and Spanish songs from his Dutch prayer-book. Going too near the land they alarmed the coast, and the English and Dutch factories spread signals of danger. Entering Whydah with St. George's ensign and a black flag flying, eleven ships instantly surrendered without a blow; most of the crews being, in fact, ashore. Each captain ransomed his cargo for 8 lbs. of gold dust, upon which they gave him acquittals, signed with sham names, as "Whiffingpin" and "Tugmutton." One vessel full of slaves refusing to give any ransom, he set fire to it, and burnt eighty negroes who were chained in the hold; a few leaped overboard to avoid the flames, and were torn to pieces by the sharks that swarmed in the road. Discovering from an intercepted letter that the _Swallow_ was after him, Roberts put back to the island of Anna Bona, but the wind failing steered for Cape Lopez. The cruiser had lost 100 men from sickness in a three weeks' stay at Prince's island, and, unable to return to Sierra Leone, turned to Cape Corso, unknown to Roberts, who was ignorant of the causes that had led to their return. Receiving many calls for help, and finding the trade of the whole coast disturbed, the _Swallow_ sailed for Whydah. The crew were impatient to attack the pirates, learning that they had an arms' chest full of gold, secured by three keys. Recruiting thirty volunteers, English and French, the _Swallow_ reached the river Gaboon, and soon discovered the pirates, one of whom gave them chase, believing her a Portuguese sugar vessel, and the sugar for their punch now ran short. The pirates were cursing the wind and the sails that kept them from so rich a prey, when the _Ranger_ suddenly brought to and hauled up her lower ports, while the first broadside brought down their black flag. Hoisting it again, they flourished their cutlasses on the poop, but tried to escape. Some prepared to board, but, after two hours' firing, their maintop came down with a run, and they struck, having had ten men killed and twenty wounded. The _Swallow_ did not lose one. The _Ranger_ carried thirty-two guns, and was manned by sixteen Frenchmen, seventy-seven English, and ten negroes. Their black colours were thrown overboard. As the _Swallow_ was sending a boat to board, an explosion was heard, and a smoke poured out of the great cabin. It appeared that half a dozen of the most desperate had fired some powder, but it was too little to do anything but burn them terribly. The commander, a Welshman, had had his leg shot off, and had refused to allow himself to be carried below. The rest were gay and brisk, dressed in white shirts and silk waistcoats, and wearing watches. An officer said to a man whom he saw with a silver whistle at his belt--"I presume you are boatswain of this ship." "Then you presume wrong," said the pirate, "for I am boatswain of the _Royal Fortune_--Captain Roberts, commander." "Then, Mr. Boatswain, you'll be hanged," said the officer. "That is as your Honour pleases," said the man, turning away. The officer asking about the explosion, he swore "they are all mad and bewitched, for I have lost a good hat by it." He had been blown out of the cabin gallery into the sea. "But what signifies a hat, friend?" said the officer. "Not much," he answered. As the sailors stripped off his shoes and stockings, the officer asked him if all Robert's crew were as likely men as himself? He answered, "There are 120 of them as clever fellows as ever trod shoe-leather; would I were with them." "No doubt on't," said the officer. "It's naked truth," said the man laughing, as he looked down at his bare feet. The officer then approached another man, black and scorched, who sat sullenly alone in a corner. He asked him how it happened. "Why," said he, "John Morris fired a pistol into the powder, and if he had not done it I would." The officer said he was a surgeon, and offered to dress his wounds, which he bore without a groan. He swore it should not be done and he would tear off the dressing, so he was then overpowered and bandaged. At night he grew delirious and raved about "brave Roberts," who would soon release him. The men then lashed him down to the forecastle, as he resisted with such violence to his burnt sore flesh that he died next day of mortification. The other pirates they fettered, and sent the shattered ship, scarcely worth preserving, into port. The next day Roberts appeared in sight with a prize, and his men ran to tell him of the cruizer as he was dining in the cabin with the prisoner captain. Roberts declared the vessel was his own returning, or nothing but a Portuguese or French slave ship, and laughed at the cowards who feared danger, offering to strike the most apprehensive. As soon as he discovered his mistake he slipped his cable, got under sail, and ordered his men to arms, declaring it was "a bite." He appeared on deck dressed in crimson damask, with a red feather in his cocked hat, a gold chain and diamond cross round his neck, a sword in his hand, and two pairs of pistols hanging pirate-fashion from a silk sling over his shoulders. His orders were given in a loud voice and with unhesitating boldness. Informed by a deserter that the _Swallow_ sailed best upon a wind, he resolved to go before it, if disabled to run ashore and escape among the negroes, or if, as many of his men were drunk, everything else failed, to board and blow up both vessels. Exchanging a broadside he made all sail he could crowd, but steering ill was taken aback and overtaken. At this critical moment a grapeshot struck him on the throat, and he sat calmly down on the tackle of a gun and died. The man at the helm running to his assistance, and not seeing a wound, thought his heart had failed him, and bade him stand up and fight it out like a man, and remember the _Jolly Roger_. Discovering his mistake the rough sailor burst into tears, and prayed the next shot might strike him. The pirates then threw their captain overboard, with all his arms and ornaments, as he had often requested in his life. When Roberts fell the men deserted their quarters and fell into a torpor, till their mainmast being shot away compelled them to surrender. Some of the crew lit matches and tried to blow up the magazine, but the rest prevented them. The black flag, crushed under the fallen mast, they had no time to destroy. The _Royal Fortune_ was found to have forty guns and 157 men, forty-five of them being negroes. Only three were killed in the action, and the _Swallow_ did not lose a man. She had upwards of £2000 of gold dust in her. From the other vessel the same quantity was embezzled by an English captain, who sailed away before the _Swallow_ arrived. The prisoners were mutinous under restraint, and cursed and upbraided each other for the folly that had brought them into that trap. For fear of an outbreak they were manacled and shackled in the gun-room, which was strongly barricaded, and officers with pistol and cutlass placed to guard it night and day. The pirates laughed at the short commons, and swore they should be too light to hang. Those who read and prayed were sneered at by the others. "Give me hell," said one blasphemer; "it is a merrier place than heaven, and at my entrance I'll give Roberts a salute of thirteen guns." The whole of the prisoners made a formal complaint against "the wretch with a prayer-book," as a common disturber. A few of the more violent conspired, having loosened their shackles, to rise, kill the officers, and run away with the ship. A mulatto boy who attended them, conveyed messages from one to the other, but the very evening of the outbreak two prisoners heard the whispers, and warned the officers. They were then treated rougher, and heavier chains put on. The negroes and surgeon on board the other ship also contrived a conspiracy, the surgeon knowing a little of the Ashantee language. They were betrayed by a traitor, all re-chained, and brought to Cape Corso castle to be tried. Here they grew chapfallen, forgot to jest, and begged for good books. Some joined in prayers, and others sang psalms. Brawny, sunburnt, scarred men were seen spelling out hymns, and, through the blood-red haze of a thousand crimes, trying with moistened eyes to look back to calm Sunday evenings when fond mothers had first taught them the words of long since forgotten prayers. When the ropes were fitting only one appeared dejected, and he had been ill with a flux. A surgeon of the place was charitable enough to offer himself as chaplain, and represented to them the urgent need of repentance and the tender forgiveness of a Saviour. They hardly listened to him, but some begged caps of the soldiers, for the sun was burning on their bare heads. Others asked for a single draught of water. When they were pressed to speak of religion, they burst into curses, and imprecated vengeance on their judge and jury, saying they were hung as poor rogues, but many worse escaped because they were rich. He then implored them to be in charity with all the world, and asked their names and ages. They said, "What is that to you? we suffer the law, and shall give no account but to God." One cursed a woman in the crowd for coming to see him hung, and another laughed at their tying his hands behind him, "for he had seen many a good fellow hung, but never that done before." A third said, the sooner the better, so he might get out of pain. Nine others showed much penitence. One obtained a short reprieve, and devoted it to prayer, singing the thirty-first Psalm at the foot of the gallows. Another (the deserter) exhorted the seamen to a good life, and sang a psalm. The next instant a gun was fired, and he swung from the fore-yard-arm. Bunce, the youngest of them all, made a pathetic speech, and begged forgiveness of God and all mankind. Seeing the gallows standing on a rock above the sea, he took a last look at the element which he had so often braved, and saying, he stood "as a beacon on a rock to warn mariners of danger," was turned off by the hangman. CAPTAIN WORLY, the next adventurer, embarked in an open boat, with eight other men, from New York in 1718, captured a shallop up the Delaware river, and soon took many other vessels, pursuing an English cruiser from Sandy Hook. He had now twenty-five men and six guns, and his crew had taken an oath to receive no quarter. While careening in an inlet in North Carolina he was attacked by two government sloops. These cruisers boarded him on either side, and the pirates fought so desperately that only the captain and another man were taken prisoners, and being much wounded were hung the next day for fear they should die, and the law not have its due. Captain GEORGE LOWTHER was originally second mate on board a vessel carrying soldiers to a fort of the Royal African Company's on the river Gambia, the very one that had been destroyed by Davis. Captain Massey, who commanded these men, offended at the arrogance of the merchants, plotted with Lowther, who had been ill-treated by his captain, to run away with the vessel. They then started as pirates--their vessel, the _Delivery_, having fifty men and sixteen guns. The worthy partners soon quarrelled, Massey knowing nothing of the sea and Lowther nothing of the land. Massey wished to land with thirty men and attack the French in Hispaniola, but Lowther refused his consent; and when Lowther resolved to scuttle a ship, Massey interposed in its behalf. Massey, soon after this, being put on board a prize with ten malcontents, gave himself up at Jamaica, and was sent to cruise in search of his old partner. Massey wrote to the African Company, and prayed to be forgiven, or at least shot as a soldier, and not hung as a pirate. He then came to London, gave himself up, and was soon after hung. Off Hispaniola Lowther captured two vessels--one of them a Spaniard, the crew of which, in consideration of their being also pirates, and having just boarded an English ship, were drifted off in their own launch, but the English sailors were enrolled in their own crew. They then put into a key, cleaned, and spent some time in revelry. Starting again about Christmas, at the Grand Caimanes they met with a small pirate vessel, commanded by a captain named Low, who now became Lowther's lieutenant. The old ship they sank, and soon after attacked a Boston vessel, the _Greyhound_, which, though only 200 tons, refused to bring to in answer to Lowther's gun, and held out for an hour before she struck her ensign, seeing resistance hopeless. The pirates whipped, beat, and cut these men cruelly, and at last set fire to their vessel, and left them to burn and perish. They soon after burnt and sank several New England sloops; a vessel of Jamaica they generously sent back to her master, and two other vessels they fitted up for their own use, mounting one with eight carriage and ten swivel guns. With this little fleet, Admiral Lowther, in the _Happy Delivery_, went to the gulf of Matique to careen, carrying ashore all their sails and stores, and putting them in tents on the beach. While the ships, however, were on the keel, and the men busy heaving, scrubbing, and tallowing, they were attacked by a large body of the natives. Burning the _Happy Delivery_, their largest ship, and leaving all their stores behind, they then turned one sloop adrift, and all embarked in the other, the _Ranger_. This disaster, and the shortness of provisions, soon produced mutiny and mutual recrimination. In May 1721 they went to the West Indies, capturing a brigantine, which they plundered and sank, and then started for New England. Low and Lowther always quarrelling, at last parted, Low taking forty-four hands in the brigantine, and leaving the same number in the sloop to Lowther. The latter for some time captured nothing but fishing vessels, and a New England ship with a cargo of sugar from Barbadoes. Off the coast of South Carolina, being pursued by an English vessel that he had imprudently attacked, he was driven on shore in his attempts to escape. The English captain, in attempting to board, was shot, and his mate declined the combat. The pirate sloop soon put again to sea, but much shattered, and with many of the crew killed and wounded. The winter Low spent in repairing, in an inlet of North Carolina, where his men pitched tents, and lived on the wild cattle they shot in the woods, while in very cold nights they slept on board the ship. After a cruise round Newfoundland the pirates sailed for the West Indies, and put into a creek in the island of Blanco, not far from Tortuga, to careen. Here they were attacked by the _Eagle_ sloop of Barbadoes, belonging to the South Sea Company. She fired a gun first to make Lowther show his colours, and then boarded. Lowther and twelve of his crew made their escape out of a cabin window after their vessel had struck. The master of the _Eagle_, with twenty-five men, spent five days in search of the fugitives, and, capturing eight only of them, returned to Cumana. The Spanish governor applauding the _Eagle_ condemned the sloop, and sent a small vessel with twenty-five hands to scour the patches of _lignum vitæ_ trees that covered the low level island, and took four pirates, but Lowther and three men and a boy still escaped. It is supposed he then destroyed himself, as he was found soon after by some sailors dead, beside a bush, with a burst pistol by his side. Of his companions nine were hung at St. Christopher's, two pardoned, and five acquitted; four the Spaniards condemned to slavery for life, three to the galleys, and the others to the Castle of Arraria. Captain Spriggs was another of this same gang, having been quartermaster to Lowther. In 1723 Spriggs, with eighteen men, sailed by night from the coast of Guinea, in the _Delight_ (a man-of-war) taken by Low, for they had quarrelled as to the punishment of a pirate who had murdered another. Low was for mercy and Spriggs for the yard-arm. They then chose Spriggs captain, hoisted the black flag, and fired all their guns to honour his inauguration. In their voyage to the West Indies they plundered a Portuguese bark, tortured the crew, set them adrift in a boat with a small quantity of provisions, and then burnt the vessel. The crew of a Barbadoes sloop they cut and beat for refusing to serve with them, and turned them off like the Portuguese. They next rummaged a logwood ship from Jamaica, cut the cable, broke the windows, destroyed the cabins, and when the mate refused to go with them, every man in the vessel gave him ten lashes, which they called "writing his discharge" in red letters flaring on his back. George the Second's birthday they spent in roaring out healths, shouting, and drinking, expecting that there would be an amnesty at his accession, and vowing, if they were excepted, to murder every Englishman they met. They next gave chase to a vessel (supposed to be a Spaniard), till the crew made a lamentable cry for quarter, and they discovered it was the logwood vessel they had turned off three days before, not worth a penny. Enraged at this, fifteen of them flew at the captain and cut him down, though his mate, who had joined the pirates, interceded for his life. It being midnight, and nearly all, as usual at such an hour, drunk, it was unanimously agreed to make a bonfire of the Jamaica ship. They then called the bleeding captain down into the cabin to supper, and made him, with a sword and pistol at his breast, eat a dish of candles, treating all the crew in the same way. Twenty days afterwards they landed the captain and a passenger on a desert island in the Bay of Honduras, giving them powder, ball, and one musket. Here they supported life for fifteen days, till two marooned sailors coming in a canoe paddled them to another island, where they got food and water. Espying a sloop at sea, they made a great smoke and were taken off after nineteen days' more suffering. Spriggs, while laying wait to take his revenge on the _Eagle_, was pursued by a French man-of-war from Martinique, and then went to Newfoundland to obtain more men and attack Captain Harris, who had lately taken another pirate vessel. Of their future fate we hear nothing. Let us hope they sailed on till they reached Gallows Point and there anchored. JOHN GOW was one of the crew of an Amsterdam galley, who in 1724, in a voyage to Barbary, plotted to murder the captain and seize the vessel. Having first cut his throat they tried to throw him overboard, but as he grappled with them Gow and the second mate and gunner shot him through the body. They then murdered the chief mate and the clerk, who was asleep in his hammock; the latter, handing the key of his chest, begged for time to say his prayers, but a sailor shot him as he knelt, with a pistol that burst as he fired. The murders being over, one of the red-handed men came on deck, and, striking a gun with his cutlass, cried "You are welcome, Captain Gow, to your new command." Gow then swore that if any whispered together or refused to obey orders, they should go the same way as those that had just gone. They plundered a French fruit vessel and some others, but were soon after stranded on the Orkney coast, where they had intended to clean, were apprehended by a gentleman named Fea, and brought up to London. Gow obstinately refusing to plead, his thumbs were tied with whipcord till they broke. As he still remained silent he was ordered by the Draconic law of those days to be pressed to death. When the preparations were completed Gow's courage failed him, he sullenly pleaded not guilty, and was soon after, with nine of his crew at the same time, executed. Captain WEAVER, of the _Good Fortune_, brigantine, which had taken some sixty sail off the banks of Newfoundland, on his return from thence came to Bristol, and passed himself off as a sailor who had escaped from pirates, walking openly about the town. Here he was met by a captain whom he had once plundered, and who invited him to share a bottle in a neighbouring tavern, telling him he had been a great sufferer by the loss of his ship, but that for four hogsheads of sugar he would never mention the affair again. Unable to obtain this compensation he arrested Weaver, who was soon after hung. Captain EDWARD LOW, our last commodore, was originally a London thief, the head of a gang of Westminster boys, and a gambler among the footmen in the lobby of the House of Commons. One of his brothers was the first thief who stole wigs by dressing as a porter, and carrying a boy on his head in a covered basket. He ended his days at Tyburn. Low was originally a logwood cutter at Honduras, but quarrelling with his captain, and attempting his life, put off to sea with twelve companions, and taking a sloop, hoisted a black flag, and declared war against the world. Of his adventures with Lowther we have already made mention. In May, 1722, while off Rhode Island, the governor ordered a drum to beat up for volunteers, and fitted out two sloops with 140 men to pursue him, but Low contrived to escape, and soon after running into Port Rosemary, seized thirteen vessels at one stroke, arming a schooner of ten guns for his own use, putting eighty men on board, and calling her the _Fancy_. He was soon after beaten off by two armed sloops from Boston. Low waiting too long for his consort, a brigantine, to come up, in steering for the Leeward Islands, they were overtaken by a dreadful storm, the same which drowned 400 people at Jamaica, and nearly destroyed the town of Port Royal. The pirates escaped by dint of throwing over all their plunder and six of their guns, and put into one of the Caribbees to refit, buying provisions of the natives. In this storm it was that forty sail of ships were cast away in Port Royal harbour. Once refitted, Low sailed into St. Michael's road, and took seven sail, threatening with present death all who dared to resist. Being without water, he sent to the governor demanding some, and declaring that if none were sent he would burn all his prizes. On the governor's compliance he released six, and fitted up the seventh for himself. Another one they burnt. The crews they compelled to join them, all but one French cook, who was so fat that they said he would fry well. They then bound him to the mast, and allowed him to burn with the ship. The crew of another galley they cruelly cut and mangled, and two Portuguese friars they tied up to the yard-arm, pulling them up and down till they were dead. A Portuguese passenger looking sorrowfully on at these brutalities, one of the pirates cried out that he did not like his looks, and cut open his belly with his cutlass, so that he fell down dead. Another of the men, cutting at a prisoner, slashed Low across the upper lip, so as to lay the teeth bare. The surgeon was called to stitch up the wound, but the medical man being drunk, Low cursed him for his bungling. He replied by striking Low a blow in the mouth that broke the stitches, telling him to sew up his chops himself. Off Madeira, they seized a fishing boat, and obtained water by a threat of hanging the fishermen. While careening at the Cape Verd Islands, after making many prizes, Low sent a sloop to St. Michael's in search of two vessels, but his crew were seized and condemned to slavery for life. In careening his other ship, it was lost, and Low had now to fall back on his old schooner, the _Fancy_, which he sailed in with a hundred men. Proceeding to the West Indies, they captured, after some resistance, a rich Portuguese vessel called the _Nostra Signora de Victoria_, bound home from Bahia. Several of the crew they tortured till they confessed that during the chase their captain had hung a bag of 11,000 moidors out of the cabin window, and when the ship was taken dropped it into the sea. The pirates, in a fury at this, cut off his lips, broiled them before his face, and then murdered him and thirty-two of his crew. In the next month they seized four vessels, burning all those from New England. In the Bay of Honduras Low boarded a Spanish sloop of six guns and seventy men, that had that morning captured five English vessels. Finding out this from the prisoners in the hold, these butchers proceeded to destroy the whole crew, plunging among them with pole-axes, swords, and pistols. Some leaped into the hold and others into the sea. Twelve escaped to shore: the rest were knocked on the head in the water. While the pirates were carousing on land, one wounded wretch, fainting with his wounds, came to them and begged in God's name for quarter, upon which a brutal sailor replied, he would give him good quarters, and, forcing him down on his knees, ran the muzzle of his gun down his throat, and shot him. They then burnt the vessel, and forced the English prisoners to return to New York, and not to Jamaica. Hating all men of New England, Low cut off the ears of a gentleman of that nation, and tied burning matches between the fingers of some other prisoners. The crew of a whaler he whipped naked about the deck, and made the master eat his own ears with pepper and salt. On one occasion, the captain of a Virginian vessel refusing to pledge him in a bowl of punch, he cocked a pistol and compelled him to drain the whole quart. Off South Carolina, his consort was taken by a cruiser, but Low basely deserting him, escaped, and off Newfoundland took eighteen ships, and in July, 1723, he fitted up a prize called the _Merry Christmas_, with thirty-four guns, and assumed the title of admiral, hoisting a black flag, with the figure of death in red. At St. Michael he cut out of the road a London vessel of fourteen guns, which the men refused to defend. The ears of the captain Low cut off, for daring to attempt resistance, and giving him a boat to escape in, burnt his ship. He then visited the Canaries, Cape de Verd Islands, and lastly, the coast of Guinea. At Sierra Leone he captured the _Delight_, of twelve guns, which he supplied with sixteen guns, and sixty men, appointing Spriggs, his quartermaster, as captain, who two days after deserted him, and sailed for the West Indies. Of the end of this detestable monster we know nothing, but if there is any truth in old adages, he could not have well perished by a mere storm. The best account of a pirate's life extant is to be found in Captain Roberts's Narrative of the Loss of his Vessel in 1721, preserved in Astley's amusing Collection of Voyages, four dusty quartos, that contain a mine of "auld warld" information. This Captain Roberts, it appears, contracted with some London merchants to go to Virginia, to fit out a sloop, named the _Dolphin_, with a cargo "to slave with" on the coast of Guinea, and then to return to trade at Barbadoes. Arriving at that island, in 1722, he was discharged, and upon that bought the _Margaret_ sloop, and started again for the African coast. At Curisal he turned up to procure a supply of wood and water, and the next morning after his arrival, it being calm as day broke, he looked out and espied three sail of ships off the bay, and making one of them plain with his glass, observed that she was full built and loaded, and supposed that she and her companions wanted water, as they first brought to, then edged away without making any signals. As soon as the day broke clean and they made his ship, one of them stood right in towards her, and as the sun rose and the wind freshened, tacked more to the eastward. As she drew nigher, Roberts found her by his glass to be a schooner full of hands, all in white shirts; and when he saw a whole tier of great guns grinning through the port-holes, he began to suspect mischief. But it was now too late to escape, as it held calm within the bay, and the three ships came crowding in as fast as the wind, flaunting out an English ensign, jack, and pendant. Roberts then hoisted his ensign. The first of the three that arrived had 8 guns, 6 patereroes, 70 men, and stretching ahead hailed him. Roberts said he was of London, and came from Barbadoes. They answered, with a curse, that they knew that, and made him send a boat on board. The pirate captain, John Lopez, a Portuguese, who passed himself off as John Russel, an Englishman, from the north country, asked them where their captain was. They pointed him out Roberts, walking the deck. He instantly called out, "You dog, you son of a gun, you speckled shirt dog!" for Roberts had just turned out, wore a speckled Holland shirt, and was slipshod, without stockings. Roberts, afraid if he showed contempt by continued silence they would put a ball through him, thought it best to answer, and cried "Holloa!" upon which Russel said, "You dog you, why did you not come aboard with the boat? I'll drub you within an inch of your life, and that inch too." Roberts meekly replied that only the boat being commanded aboard, he did not think he had been wanted, but if they would please to send the boat, he would wait upon him. "Ay, you dog you," said the Portuguese, "I'll teach you better manners." Upon this eight of the pirates boarded, and took possession of the ship, and as soon as Roberts came alongside, the pirate began again to threaten to drub him for daring to affront him; and when he declared he meant no offence, cried out, "D--n you, you dog, don't stand there to chatter, come aboard," and stood with a cutlass ready drawn to receive him. While still hesitating, the gunner, who wore a gold-laced hat, looked over the side, and said, "Come up, master, you shan't be abused." When he got up, the pirate raised his sabre as if to cut him down, asking what a dog deserved for not coming aboard when the boat was first sent. Roberts replied, if he had done amiss, it was through ignorance, as he did not know what they were. "Curse you," said the pirate, "who do you think we are?" Roberts now trembled for fear, for having once been captured by pirates at Newfoundland, he knew--one wrong word and the knife was at his throat. After a short pause, he said, "I believed you were gentlemen of fortune belonging to the sea." At this the Portuguese, a little pacified, said, "You lie, we are pirates." After vapouring for some time, the pirate asked, in a sneering tone, why Roberts had not put on his clothes to visit gentlemen. Roberts replied, that he did not know of the visit when he dressed, and, besides, came in such a fright on account of their threats, that he had very little thought or stomach to change clothes, still, if it would please them to grant him the liberty, he would go and put on better clothes, hoping it was not yet too late. "D--n you," said the pirate, "yes, it is too late; what clothes you took you shall keep, but your sloop and what is in her is ours." Roberts said, he perceived it was, but hoped, as he lay at their mercy, they would be so generous as to take only what they had occasion for and leave him the rest. The Portuguese said, "that was a company business, and he could say nothing about that yet." He then bade him give an account of his cargo and money, and of everything aboard his sloop, for if upon rummaging they found the least article concealed, they would burn the vessel and him in her. The pirates standing by also begged him to make a full discovery of all money, arms, and ammunition, which were the chief things they sought after, for it was their way to punish liars and concealers very severely. Roberts then drew up an account from memory, and asked to see his ship's papers that he might complete it. Russel said, "No, he would take care of the papers, and if anything was found missing in the inventory he must look out for squalls." During this time the pirates were rummaging the sloop, but found nothing but a ring and a pair of silver buckles not inserted in the list. During the capture a Portuguese priest and six black fishermen, taken on board at the Isle of Sal, who had been sent on shore, escaped to the hills. Russel, seeing them, told Roberts that he had captured the fishing sloop to which the fugitives belonged, but one of his gang had run away with it, carrying off £800 in cash, in addition. Russel then slipped cable and made Roberts pilot them to Paraghisi, in company with their other vessel, the _Rose Pink_, of thirty-six guns, commanded by Edmund Loe, their commodore. At Paraghisi they landed thirty-five men and captured the fugitive priest, five negroes, and the old governor's son. Russel on his return was received with great ceremony by his commander, the gunner acting as master of the ceremonies and presenting Roberts. Captain Loe welcomed him aboard with the usual compliments, "It's not my desire, captain," he said, "to meet with any of my countrymen (but rather foreigners), excepting some few whom I want to chastise for their roguishness; but, however, since fortune has ordered it so that you have fallen into our hands, I would have you be of good cheer and not cast down." Roberts replied, "I am very sorry, sir, that I chanced to fall in your way, but I feel I am still in the hands of gentlemen of honour and generosity, in whose power it is still to make my capture no misfortune." Loe said, "It does not lie singly in my breast, for all business of this nature is determined by a majority of votes in the whole company, and though neither I nor, I believe, any of the rest desire to meet with any of our nation, yet when we do it cannot well be avoided to take as our own what Providence sends us; and, as we are gentlemen who depend entirely on fortune, we durst not be so ungrateful to her as to despise any of her favours, however mean, for fear that she might withdraw her hand and leave us to perish for lack of those very things we had slighted." After this philosophical utterance, the great man, who sat astride on a great gun, and not, like other potentates, in a chair of state, without moving from his place, begged Roberts, with much condescension, to make himself at home, requesting to know what he would drink. The broken-spirited man, still trembling for his life, replied, "He did not care then much for drinking, but out of a sense of the honour they did him in asking he would drink anything he chose." Loe told him "Not to be cast down, it was the fortune of war: d----, sir, care killed the cat, and fretting thinned the blood and was d---- bad for the health. To please the company he should be brisk and cheerful and he would soon have better fortune." He then rang the bell and bade one of the _valets de cabin_ bring in a bowl of punch. This was brought and mixed in a rich silver bowl holding two gallons. He then called for some wine, and two bottles of claret being brought, Roberts sipped at the claret while Loe drained the bowl with his usual philosophy and contentment. As he grew warm with the fragrant draught, he told Roberts that he was a d----d good fellow, and he would do him all the favours he could, but wished he had had the good fortune to have been captured ten days earlier, when they had taken two Portuguese outward bound Brazilmen, laden with cloth, woollens, hats, silk, and iron, for he believed he could have prevailed on his company to have loaded Roberts's ship. "But now unfortunately," he added, as he put down the empty bowl, "they had no goods at all, having flung all the Brazil stuffs into David Jones's locker (the sea). He did not know, however, but he might meet Roberts again (such things did come round), and then if it lay in his way he would make Roberts a return for his loss, for he might depend on his readiness to serve him as far as his power or interest could reach." To this outburst of sympathy Roberts replied by bowing and sipping his unrelished glass of claret. While they were talking word was brought that Quartermaster-General Russel had arrived with the prisoners, and the commodore, ordering the empty bowl to be removed, bade them come in. Russel, the chief officers, and the prisoners then crowded into the cabin, and to the question of "How goes the game?" Russel gave an account of his expedition. On landing they had at once seized two blacks, who had been sent by the governor as heralds, and used them as guides. Though the road was uneven and rocky they reached the town, twelve miles distant, that night, surprising the governor and priest. Russel told them, that hearing they had great stores of dollars hoarded up, he had come to share it with them, as it was one rule of his trade to keep money moving and circulation brisk. The priest said they had none, and the island was barren and uncultivated. Russel said he had only two senses, seeing and feeling, which could convince him the information was false. The priest then lit a number of consecrated wax-candles, and allowed them to search. They found, however, nothing but twenty dollars, which he did not think worth taking. The men then lay down to sleep, keeping their arms loaded and their pistols slung, and setting a watch. The next morning he carried the prisoners to the boats. Upon this tame conclusion, Loe, who had been sitting patient and quiet as a judge, started up and said, interrupting Russel, "Zounds! what satisfaction is this to me or the company? We did not want these black fools, d----n them! No, we wanted their money, and if they had none, they might have stayed ashore or gone to the devil." Russel, nettled at this rebuke, replied fiercely, "I have as much interest in getting the money as any of the company, and did as much to find it: I don't believe there was more than we saw, and that wouldn't have been sixpence a head, a trifle not worth having our name called in question for. For my part, I am for something that is worth taking, and if I can't light on such, I never will give the world occasion to say that I am a poor sneaking rogue and mean-spirited fellow. No, I will rob for something of value, or not at all, especially among these people, where, if our company breaks, we may look for a place of refuge; and I boldly affirm that it is a fool's act to draw on us their odium by such peddling thefts, that would be by all men accounted a narrow-souled, beggarly action, and would be cursed to all futurity by this fraternity, who might suffer for its effects." Captain Loe, abashed by the murmur of approval that followed this speech, said, "it was all very true, and carried a deal of reason with it, that he was satisfied with Russel's judgment and courage in the affair; but come," says he, "let us do nothing rashly"--and filling a bumper, drank to Russel, wishing Roberts better success in his next voyage. Russel then went on shore again, and, finding the priest had escaped to the mountains, told the governor, an old negro, that he should burn the town to ashes if he was not brought in in three hours' time. The governor said the thing was impossible, that he lay at their mercy, and hoped he would not destroy the innocent for the guilty. Russel declared the doom should not be deferred, but promised the priest should not be killed if he surrendered himself. While parties of blacks were on the hunt, Russel ordered an ox to be roasted for his men, and a pipe of wine to be broached; and on the priest being captured, treated all the natives at their Christian minister's expense, leaving him to extract it from them again in tithes. The priest and governor, when they heard they were to be taken on board, to assure Loe of their poverty, prayed not to be detained as slaves. Russel told them he was a Catholic, and no harm should be done them. They were soon afterwards released. Loe then ordered a hammock for Roberts, till his own and ship's fate were decreed by the company, telling him generously, in language rather metaphorical than strictly accurate, that everything in the ship was at his command, and begging him not to vary his usual course of hours, drinking, or company. Next morning about eight, as Roberts was pacing unemployed and melancholy on the deck, three pirates came up to him, and said that they had once sailed with him on board the _Susannah_, in 1718. They expressed sorrow for his ill luck, and promised to do something for him. They said they had fifty pieces of white linens, and eight of silk, and that when the company had agreed to restore him his ship, they would make interest to load it. Then looking about as if wishing to tell him a secret, and seeing the deck clear, which it seldom was in pirate vessels, with much concern they informed him that if he did not take abundance of care, he would be forced to stay with them, for their mate had found that he knew the coast of Brazil, whither they were bound after they had scoured that of Guinea, and they would take him as pilot. Then enjoining him to secresy (for their lives depended upon it), they said they had been in close consultation as to his fate, and had almost agreed to take him as a forced prisoner. They had praised him as kind to his men, and a good paymaster, and, knowing the pirate law that no married man could be forced to join their ships, swore at a hazard that he was married, and had four children. His mate had turned informer, but he was as yet ignorant of their articles, which they never showed till they were signed. His only chance of escape was to keep up to their story. Russel, one of the council, had been in favour of breaking through the law in this special case, and keeping Roberts at all events till they could catch another guide, but Loe was opposed to it, telling them it would be an ill precedent and of bad consequence, for that if once they took the liberty of breaking their articles and oath, nothing would be sure. They added that most of the company being of Loe's opinion, Russel was vexed and determined if possible to break the articles. Soon after they were gone, Loe came on deck, and bidding him good morrow, with many compliments, ordered the flag, the signal for consultation, to be hoisted. This they called "the green trumpeter," and was a green silk flag, with the figure of a trumpeter in yellow, and hoisted on the mizen peak. Upon this all came on board to breakfast, crowding both cabin and steerage. After breakfast Loe asked Roberts, as if casually, if he was married and had children. The latter answered he had five and perhaps six, for one was on the stocks when he came away. He then asked him, if he had left them well provided for. Roberts replied, he had left his wife in such indifferent circumstances, having met with recent misfortunes, that the greater part of his substance was in that ship and cargo, and if that failed they would want even for bread. Loe then turned to Russel and said, "It won't do, Russel." "What won't do?" replied the quartermaster. "You know what I mean," said Loe; "it must not and it shall not be, by----" "It must and shall be, by----" replied Russel; "'Self-preservation is the first law of nature,' and 'Necessity knows no law,' says the adage." "Well," says Loe, "it shall never be by my consent." The rest of the company then declared it was a pity, and ought to be seriously weighed and put to the vote. Loe said, indeed it ought, and that there was no time like the present to determine the matter. The rest all cried, "Ay, it is best to end it now." Loe then ordered all hands upon deck, and bade Roberts stay in the cabin. In about two hours (awful hours for Roberts, to sit listening for shouts or cries), Loe came down, and asked him how he did. Russel said, with a frown, "Master, your sloop is very leaky." Roberts replied it was, wishing to depreciate its value. "Leaky," said Russel, "I don't know what you could do with her if we gave her you, for all your hands now belong to us." Russel then continued to taunt him for his want of cargo and provision, as if to give a keener edge to his misery. At last, "Come, come," said Loe, "let us toss the bowl about, and call a fresh course." They then proceeded to carouse and talk of their past transactions at Newfoundland, the Western Islands, the Canaries, &c., and at dinner tore their food one from the other, thinking such ferocity looked martial. Next morning one of the three men contrived to speak to Roberts, and apologized for his caution, as they had an article making it death to hold any secret correspondence with a prisoner. He then informed him that his own mate was his great enemy, and seemed likely to turn rogue and enter with them, leaving him only a boy and a child to manage the sloop. Both he and his companions heartily wished to join him, but found it would be death even to mention it, as they had an article that any of the company advising or merely speaking of separation should be shot to death by the quartermaster's order, without even court-martial. Russel had been Roberts' friend till the mate had told him of his captain's knowledge of Brazil, and had even planned a gathering for him nearly equal in value to what they had taken, for it was a custom in pirate vessels to keep a spare stock of linen, silk, gold lace, and clothes, to give to any prisoner whom they took a liking to or had known before. Loe was his friend, the sailor assured him, but that he could do little against Russel, who had really more power and sway than anyone else. Some time after this man left him, Captain Loe turned out, and, passing the usual compliments, sent for some rum, and discoursed on many indifferent subjects. Upon all of these Roberts was obliged to appear interested, dreading this sea-despot's displeasure. Perhaps a button-holder, like this Trunnion, never had so attentive an auditor, or so hearty an applauder of anecdotes, good or bad. About ten o'clock Russel, the evil genius, came on board, and accosted Roberts in an agreeable manner, trying to conciliate him into consenting to his proposal. He said, he had been considering Roberts's scheme, and did not see how he could carry it through. He believed Roberts was a man of understanding, but in this case was directed by sheer desperation rather than reason. For his part he did not think it would stand with the credit or reputation of the company to put it into his power to throw himself wilfully away, as he seemed determined to do. Wishing him indeed well, he had been thinking all night upon a scheme which, without exposing him to danger, would turn out more to his advantage than anything he could expect by getting the sloop. (Here Roberts's eye brightened.) He had resolved to sink or burn the sloop, and detain Roberts as a prisoner, all the company promising to give him the first prize they took, or to allow him to join their crew. This would be the making of him, and enable him to soon leave off sea, and live ashore if he were so inclined. Roberts thanked him, but said he thought he should gather no advantage from such a plan, for he could not dispose of a ship or cargo without a lawful power to sell, and if the owners heard of it, he should be either obliged to make restitution, or be thrown into prison, and run the hazard of his own life. Russel replied that his objections were frivolous, and could easily be evaded. To avoid detection, they would make him a bill of sale, and give him powers in writing that would answer any inquiry. As for the owners, they would take care from the ship's writings, which they always first seized, to let him know who were the owners of the cargo, and where they lived. These writings should be made in a false name, which Roberts could assume till all were sold. Roberts said there was abundant address in his contrivance and much plausibility in the whole. But were he even sure that all would turn out well, he had a still stronger motive than any he had yet mentioned, and that was his dread of the continual sting and accusation of his conscience. He then with more courage than he had hitherto shown, began to expatiate on the duty of restitution, and tried to awaken his hearers to some sense of the sin of piracy. Many said, with a laugh, he would do well to preach a sermon, and would make a good chaplain. Others shouted that they wanted no preaching there. "Pirates had no god but money, no saviour but their muskets." A few approved of what he said, and declared that if a little goodness, or at least rude humanity, was in practice among them, their reputation would be a little better both with God and man. A short silence followed, which captain Russel broke by employing some Jesuitical sophistry, to persuade Roberts that it would be no sin for him merely to accept what they had stolen, since he had no hand in the theft, and was their constrained prisoner. "Suppose," he said, "we should still resolve to sink or burn your sloop, unless you will accept of her. Now, where I pray, is the owner's property when the ship is sunk or burnt. I think the impossibility of his ever having her again cuts it off to all intents and purposes, and our power was the same, notwithstanding our giving her to you, if we had thought fit to make use of it." Loe and the rest here burst out laughing, declared it was as good as a play to hear the two argue, and that Roberts was a match for Russel, though few could generally stand up to him in a fight with mere words. Roberts not allowing this praise to over-balance his prudence, would not drive Russel further, seeing him vexed at their applause. He merely said that he knew he was absolutely in their power to dispose of as they pleased, but that having hitherto been treated so generously by them, he could not doubt of their future goodness to him. That if they would please to give him his sloop again, it was all he requested at their hands, and that, he doubted not, by his honest endeavours he should be able to retrieve his present loss. Upon this Captain Loe said, "Gentlemen, the master, I must needs say, has spoke nothing but what I think is very reasonable, and I think he ought to have his sloop. What do you say, gentlemen?" The majority cried out with one voice, "Ay, ay, by G---- let the poor man have his sloop again, and go in God's name and seek a living in her for his family." In the evening Russel insisted on treating Roberts on board his own schooner before his departure. All passed off well till after supper, when a bowl of punch and half a dozen of claret were put on the table. The captain first took a bumper, wishing success to the undertaking, and this toast passed round, Roberts not daring to refuse to drink. The next health was, "Prosperity to our trade." The third, "Health to the King of France." Russel then proposed "The King of England's health," and all drank it, some repeating his words, others saying, "the aforesaid health." Just before it came to Roberts, Russel poured two bottles of claret into the punch, and his prisoner disliking this mixture, begged to pledge the health in a bumper of claret. At this heresy, Russel, who had laid his trap, flew into a passion, "D----" he said, "you shall drink in your turn a full bumper of that sort of liquor the company does." "Well then, gentlemen," said Roberts, "rather than have words, I will drink, though it is in a manner poison to me." "Curse you," said Russel; "if it be in a manner or out of a manner, or really rank poison, you shall drink as much and as often as anyone here, unless you fall down dead, dead." Then Roberts, dreading a quarrel with his old enemy, took the glass, which held about three-quarters of a pint, and filling a bumper, said, "The aforesaid health." "What health is that?" said Russel. "Why," answered Roberts, "the health you have all drank--the King of England's health." "Who is king of England?" said Russel. "In my opinion," said Roberts, "he that wears the crown is certainly king of England." "Well," argued his opponent, "and who is that?" Upon his saying King George, he swore at him, and said the English had no king. Roberts replied, laughing, "He wondered he should begin and drink a health to a person who was not in being." At this quip, Russel drew a pistol from his sash, and would have shot his unoffending enemy dead, had not the gunner snatched it out of his hand. At this Russel, who was a Roman Catholic and a Jacobite, grew still more maddened, and fired another at Roberts, saying, "The Pretender is the only lawful king." The master striking down the barrel, the pistol went off without doing mischief. High words then arose between Russel and the gunner, and the latter, addressing the company, said, "Well, gentlemen, if you have a mind to maintain these laws, made, established, and sworn to by us all, as I think we are obligated by the strongest ties of reason and self-interest to do, I assure you my opinion is that we ought to secure John Russel, so as to prevent his breaking our constitution." When Russel attempted, still in a passion, to defend his conduct, the gunner declared, "That no man's life should be taken away in cold blood till the company, under whose care he was, had so decreed it." Then accusing him of hating Roberts, merely because he had been prevented from breaking the articles by detaining him, he left the spot. Russel's arms were next taken away, and Roberts, being guarded during the night, was sent to the commodore in the morning, there being a law among them to receive no boats aboard after nine o'clock at night. About four in the afternoon Russel came to Loe, with Spriggs, the commander of the other ship, and told him that Roberts's mate was willing to join them as a volunteer. Loe said, in that case Roberts would have no one but a child to help him; and he thought, in reason, they could not give him less than the mate and two boys. Russel said he could not help that, "the mate was a brisk lusty young fellow, and had been upon the account before. He had declared he would not go in the sloop unless forced; that when he first came to Barbadoes his resolve had been to ship himself on board the first pirate he met with." Loe replied, "That to give the master a vessel without men was only putting him to a lingering death, and they had better knock him on the head at once." Russel replied, "as for that they might do as they pleased; he spoke for the good of the company and according to articles, and he should like to see or hear the man who dared to gainsay it. He was quartermaster, and by the authority of that office should at once enter the mate, and had a pistol and a brace of bullets for any who opposed him." Loe said he would not argue against law and custom, but he thought if they kept the mate they should substitute another man. Russel said, with an oath, grinding his teeth, "No, the sloop's men were enrolled already in his books, and he should rub no names out." Then turning to Roberts, he added, "The company, master, has decreed you your sloop, and you shall have her; you shall have your two boys, that's all: but you shall have neither provisions nor anything else more than she has now. And, as I hear some of the company design to make a gathering for you, that also I forbid, by the authority of my office, because we are not certain but we may have occasion ourselves for those very things before we get more. And I swear by all that's good and bad, if I know anything that's carried or left on board the sloop against my order, or without my knowledge, I will set her on fire that very instant, and you with her." After a little more dispute and feeble and intimidated resistance to this violence, Russel's stern resolution and heartless villany carried the day, and about dusk they parted, each to his own ship, several professing kindness to Roberts, but none giving him anything. When Russel was ready, he sent Roberts into his boat, and bringing him to his own ship, ordered supper for him, and bottles, and pipes and tobacco, being set on the table, he invited Roberts and his officers into his cabin. His revenge was now accomplished and the wretch, now resolved to make Roberts taste the tortures of death, by anticipation, addressed him with a sneer worthy of the applause of hell. "Captain Roberts," he said, "you are very welcome, and I pray you eat and drink heartily, for you have as tedious a voyage to go through as Elijah in his forty days' journey to Horeb, and, as far as I know, without a miracle, it must be only by the strength of what you now eat, for you shall have neither eatables nor drinkables with you in the sloop." Roberts replied, "I hope not so," but Russel answered he would find it certainly true. Roberts then said, that rather than be put on board the sloop in that manner, when there was no possibility of escaping but by a miracle, he should be glad to be sent ashore on some island off the coast of Guinea, or even to tarry on board till an opportunity occurred to land where he pleased, for he would yield to anything else they should think fit to do with him, except entering into their service. Russel answered with an oath, the usual prelude of a pirate's harangue, that it had been once in his power to have been his own friend, but as he chose to slight their proffered favours, and had made that choice, he must now take it, as all apologies were too late; and he thought he had proved himself a better friend than Roberts could have expected, since he had caused him to have more differences with his company than he had ever had before. Roberts pleaded the innocence of his intentions, and intreated Russel and all the gentlemen present to consider him an object rather of pity than vengeance. But his tormentor, more inexorable than a headsman, said: "All your whining arguments, you dog, are now too late. You not only refused our commiseration when it was offered, but ungratefully despised it. Your lot is cast, and you have nothing to do but to go through your chance with a good face. Fill your belly with victuals and good drink, and strengthen yourself for three days or so, or have some brandy and die drunk, and be happy. This is your last meal in this world, so fail not to make the most of it. Yet, perhaps, such a conscientious man as you pretend to be may have a miracle worked for you, but for my own part I don't believe God himself, if there is one, could help you. I pity the boys, and have a great mind, Roberts, to keep them on board, and let the miracle be worked on you alone." The master and governor said they heard the boys were willing to take their chance with the master, let it be what it would. "Nay, then," said Russel, "it is fit the young devils should, and I suppose the master has made them as religious and conscientious as himself. However, master," he cried, "eat and drink heartily; this is your last supper, as the priests call it, and don't try to change your allotted fate, or it may provoke us to treat you worse." "Gentlemen," said Roberts, with a resignation that would have touched any other man, "I have done; you can do no more than God is pleased to permit you, and I own for that reason I ought to take it patiently. God forgive you." "Well, well," said Russel, "if it is done by God's permission, you need not fear He will permit any harm to befall one of his peculiar elect." About ten at night, in order that darkness might add to his dismay, some of Russel's partisans brought the sloop's boat. In answer to an inquiry as to whether they had cleared the vessel as he had ordered, they replied with an oath, "Ay, ay, she has nothing on board except ballast and water." "Zounds," said Russel, stamping on the deck, "did I not bid you stave all the casks that had water in them?" "So we have," was the reply; "the water we mean is salt water leaked in, and now above the ballast, for we have not pumped her, we don't know when." He asked if they had brought away the sails. They said they had, all but the mainsail that was bent, for the other old mainsail was so rotten it was only fit to cut up for parcelling, and was so torn it could not be brought to, and was past mending. "Zounds," said Russel, "we must have it, for I want it to make us a mainsail. The same miraculous Power that brings the rogue provisions will bring him sails." "What a devil! is he a conjuror?" said one. "No, no!" replied Russel, "but he expects miracles to be wrought for him, or he would never have chosen what he has." "Nay, nay, if he be such a one, he will do well enough." "But I doubt," cried another, "if he be such a mighty conjuror, for if he was, how the devil was it that he did not conjure himself clear of us?" "Pish!" cried a third, "may be his conjuring books were all shut up." "Ay," said a fourth, "now we have all his conjuration books over board, I doubt he'll be hard put to it." The gunner alone seemed to retain any trace of humanity, he bade Russel take care he had not this to answer for some day when he would be sorry for it. "Howsum-dever," he said, "you've got the company's assent, I can't tell how, and, therefore, I shall say no more, only that I, and I believe most of the gentlemen came here to get money, but not to kill, except in fight, much less in cold blood, or for private revenge. And I tell you, Jack Russel, if ever such cases as these be any more practised, my endeavours will be to leave this company as soon as convenient." Russel made no answer, but ordered his men to fetch the mainsail from the sloop. He then gave Roberts an old worm-eaten musket, a damp cartridge, and two half pounds of tobacco "as a parting present." His victim was then conducted with great ceremony over the side into his own boat, and put on board with his two boys. As their boat was putting away, Roberts thought he heard his mate's voice, so he called to him and said, "Arthur! what, are you going to leave me?" A voice replied, for it was pitch dark, "Ay." "What!" said Roberts, "do you do it voluntarily, or are you forced?" He answered faintly, "I am forced, I think!" Roberts answered "Very well." The mate then called out and asked Roberts, if he ever had an opportunity, to write and give his brother an account of him. Roberts asked where he lived, and the mate replied at Carlingford, in Ireland. Now this mate the captain had picked up at Barbadoes, a naked shipwrecked man, who had served in a New England sloop. He had bought him clothes and instruments, and treated him with sympathy and kindness. He was a rigid Presbyterian, a great arguer on theological points, and a loud inveigher against the Church of England. Although he had never before been heard to utter an oath, as soon as Russel persuaded him to join the pirate crew, he became constantly drunk, and outdid them all in blasphemy and wickedness, but he had told his new companions so much of Roberts's kindness, that but for Russel they would not have allowed him to join them. Next morning Roberts proceeded to rummage the sloop, and sweeping out the bread lockers, he found about his hat crown full of biscuit crumbs, some broken pipes, and a few screws of tobacco. They had left his fore-staff, but took his bedding, although they generally lay upon deck, or against a gun carriage. In the hold, the more merciful had left ten gallons of rum in one hogshead, and thirty pounds of rice in another, with three pints of water and a little flour, together with some needles and twine, sufficient to repair his rotten sails. A day or two afterwards they caught a shark, which they boiled for several dinners, using the shark's liver, melted, for oil. He soon after reached Curisal, obtained a negro crew, was wrecked, built a boat, and was eventually taken home by an English ship. Scarcely less interesting than this narrative of Roberts is that of Captain William Snelgrave, who was engaged in the slave trade on the Guinea coast in 1738. Having escaped one of the dreaded Salee rovers, he was taken at Sierra Leone by Captain Cocklyn of the _Rising Sun_, a pirate commanding three vessels and a gang of eighty men. He had been marooned by a man named Moody, but had gradually collected men, and captured, in a short time, ten English vessels. Moody's crew, soon after Cocklyn's departure, disliking their captain's cruelty, put him and twelve more in an open boat, which they had taken from the Spaniards off the Canary Islands, and chose a Frenchman named Le Bouce as their commander, who instantly put back and joined Cocklyn, whom they liked because he was fierce and brutal, being resolved to have no more gentlemanlike captains like Moody. The next day Davis, the pirate, arrived with 150 well disciplined men, the black flag flying at his mast head. The evening Snelgrave entered the river, he observed a suspicious smoke on land, but his mate said it was only travellers roasting oysters, and it appeared afterwards that he was a traitor. On standing in for the river's mouth, the pirate vessels appeared in sight. Towards dusk he heard a boat approaching, so he ordered twenty men to get ready their firearms and cutlasses. Lanterns being brought and the boat hailed, the pirates fired a volley at the ship, being then within pistol shot distance, a daring act for twelve men, who were attacking a ship of sixteen guns and forty-five men. When they began to near, the captain called out to fire from the steerage port-holes. This not being done, he went below, and found his people staring at each other, and declaring they could not find the arm chest. The pirates instantly boarded, fired down the steerage, shooting a sailor in the loins, and throwing hand grenades amongst them. On their calling for "mercy," the quartermaster, who always headed the pirate boarders, came down from the quarterdeck and inquired for the captain, asking how he dared to fire. On Snelgrave saying it was his duty to defend his ship, the quartermaster presented a pistol at his breast, but he parried it, and the bullet passed under his arm. The wretch then struck him on the head with the butt end, bringing him on his knees. On his getting up and running to the quarterdeck, the pirate boatswain made a blow at his head with his broad sword, swearing no quarter should be offered to any captain who dared to defend his vessel. The blow missed him, but the blade cut an inch deep in the quarterdeck rail, and there broke. The pirate's pistols being all unloaded, he then struck at him with the butt end of one of them till the crew cried out for his life, and said they had never sailed with a better man. One of the crew, however, had his chin cut off; another fell for dead on the deck. The quartermaster who came up, told him he should be cut to pieces if his men did not recover the pirate's boat that had run adrift. On recovering this, he took him by the hand, and declared his life was safe if none of his crew complained of him. The pirate then fired several vollies for joy at their recovery, but forgetting to hail their companions, were fired on by the other ships. When Snelgrave questioned the quartermaster why he did not use his speaking trumpet, he asked him angrily whether he was afraid of going to the devil by a great shot, "for that he hoped to be sent to hell by a cannon ball some time or other." The pirates now prepared for dinner by cramming geese, turkeys, fowls, and ducks, all unpicked, into the furnace, with some Westphalia hams, and a large sow in pig, which they only bowelled, leaving the hair on. Soon after this, a sailor came to Snelgrave to ask him what o'clock it was, and on the captain's presenting him with his watch, laid it on the deck, and kicked it about, saying it would make a good football. One of the pirates then caught it up, and said it should go into the common chest, and be sold at the mast. Snelgrave was soon after carried on board the pirate ship. The commander told him he was sorry for the bad usage he had met with, but it was the fortune of war, and that if he did not answer truly every question he would be cut into even ounces, but that if he told the truth they would make it the best voyage he had ever taken. One of them asked if his ship sailed well on wind, and on his saying, "Very well," Cocklyn threw up his hat, saying she would make a brave pirate man-of-war. A tall fellow, with four pistols in his belt, and a broadsword in his hand, then came up and claimed him as an old schoolfellow, and told him secretly that he was a forced man, having been mate in a Bristol vessel lately captured, and was obliged to go armed. He told him also that at night, when the pirates drank hard, was the time of most danger for prisoners. A bowl of punch was then ordered, and the men, going into the great cabin, sat on the floor cross-legged, for want of seats, drinking the Pretender's health by the name of "King James the Third." At midnight they gave Snelgrave a hammock, and his old schoolfellow kept guard over him with a drawn sword, but he could not sleep for the songs and cursing. About two o'clock the pirate boatswain came on board, and hearing Snelgrave was asleep, declared he would slice his liver for daring to fire at the boat, and refusing to give up his watch. Griffin threatened to cleave him if he came nearer, and struck at him with his sword. In the morning, when all were sober, the sentinel complained of the boatswain for infringing the pirate law, "that no ill usage be offered to prisoners when quarter has once been given." The crew proposed the offender should be whipped, but Snelgrave prudently begged him off. Soon after, his own first mate came to tell him that, being badly off and having a scolding wife, he had joined the pirates. He found out afterwards that he had hid the arm-chest, and dissuaded the men from resistance. The pirate then began to rummage the vessel, and, not caring for anything but money, threw overboard, before night, about £4000 worth of Indian bales. They broke up his escritoires, and destroyed his chests of books, swearing there was "jaw work enough for a whole nation." Against all religious books they exercised a strict censorship, for fear of any of the crew being roused to qualms of conscience, or taking a dislike to the profession. The wine too began to be passed freely round, and the pirates grew merciful, and good-humouredly made up a bundle of clothes for the prisoners. At this moment one of Davis's crew, a pert young fellow of 18, broke open a chest for plunder, and on the quartermaster complaining, replied "that they were all equal, and he thought he was in the right." The quartermaster then struck at him with his sword, and pursued him into Davis's cabin, where he thrust at him, and ran him through the hand, wounding the captain as well. Davis vowed revenge, saying that if his man had offended, no one had a right to punish him, and especially in his presence. He then instantly went on board his own ship, and bore down upon Cocklyn, who finally consented to make the quartermaster beg pardon for his fault. Snelgrave was sitting in the cabin with the carpenter and three or four other pirates, when the boatswain came down very drunk, and beginning to abuse him was turned out of the place. Soon after a puff of wind put out the candle, and the boatswain returning, declared Snelgrave had put it out, with the design of going into the powder-room and blowing up the ship; and in spite of the carpenter declaring it was done by accident, he drew a pistol and swore he would blow out the dog's brains. In rising to blow in the candle Snelgrave and the carpenter had, unknown to the boatswain, changed places. The pistol flashing in the pan, the carpenter saw by the light that he must have been shot if it had gone off, and in a rage ran in the dark to the boatswain, wrenched the pistol from his hand and beat him till he was nearly dead. The noise alarmed the ship, and the disturber was carried off to bed. The next morning Davis's crew came on board to divide the wines and liquors. They hoisted on deck a great many half hogsheads of claret and French brandy, knocked out their heads and dipped out cans and bowls full, throwing them at each other, and washing the decks with what was left. The bottles they took no trouble to mark, but "nicked" them, as they called it, by striking off their necks with a cutlass, spilling the contents of about one in every three. The eatables were wasted in the same way. Three drunken pirates coming into the cabin, and tumbling over Snelgrave's bundles of clothes, threw three of the four overboard. A fourth pirate, more sober than the rest, opened the remaining bundle, and taking out a black suit and a wig, put them on and strutted on deck, throwing them over in an hour when the crew had drenched him with claret. When Snelgrave mildly expostulated with him on this robbery, he struck him on the shoulder with the flat of his sword, whispering at the same time a caution never to dispute the will of a pirate for fear he might get his skull split for his impudence. When night came on, Snelgrave had nothing left of four bundles of clothes but a hat and a wig, and these were soon after put on by a drunken man, who staggered into the cabin, saying he was "one of the most respectable merchants on the African coast." As he was leaving the room, a sailor came in and beat him severely for taking what he had no right to, and thinking he was one of the crew. The interposer then comforted Snelgrave, and promised to recover what he had lost, while others of the crew brought him food. Next day, Davis, ordering all the crews on the quarter-deck, made a speech in Snelgrave's behalf, persuading them to give him a ship and several thousand pounds' worth of miscellaneous plunder. One of the men proposed they should take him with them down the Guinea coast, and if they took a Portuguese vessel, to give him a cargo of slaves. Down the coast he might sell his goods for gold dust, and then, sailing for St. Thomas's, sell his ship and the slaves to the Danes, and return to London a rich man. Snelgrave demurring to this, they grew angry, thinking their gift would have been legal, but Davis kindly said, "I know this man and can easily guess his thoughts, he thinks he would lose his reputation. Now, I am for allowing everybody to go to the devil in their own way, so beg you to give him the remains of his own cargo and let him do as he thinks fit." This they granted, but of his own adventure not more than £50 worth was now left. The sailors had taken rolls of fine Holland and opened them to lie down in on the deck. Then when the others came and flung buckets of claret over them, they flung the stained parcels overboard. In loading, the pirates always dropped the bales over, if they were not passed as quickly as they expected. The Irish beef they threw away, Cocklyn saying Snelgrave had horsebeans enough to last his crew six months. Soon after this the brutal quartermaster fell sick of a fever, and sent to Snelgrave to beg his forgiveness, for having attempted to shoot him. He said he had been a wicked wretch, and that his conscience tormented him, for he feared he should roll in hell fire. When Snelgrave preached repentance he declared his heart was hardened, but he would try, and he ordered Snelgrave to take any necessaries he wanted from his chest, but died that night in terrible agonies and cursing God. This so affected many of the new recruits that they begged Snelgrave to get them off, and promised not to be guilty of murder or other cruelty. In the cabin the pirates found some proclamations, and being unable to read asked the prisoner to do it for them. He then read His Majesty's proclamation for a pardon to all pirates that should surrender themselves at any of the British plantations by the 1st of July, 1719. The next was the declaration of war against Spain. When they heard the latter, some said they wished they had known it before they left the West Indies, as they might have turned privateersmen, and have enriched themselves. Snelgrave told them it was not yet too late, there being still three months left of the term prescribed. But when they heard the rewards offered for the apprehension of pirates, a Buccaneer who had been guilty of murder, treated the proclamation with contempt, and tore it in pieces. Amongst other men that consulted Snelgrave was a sailor named Curtis, who, being sick, walked about the deck wrapped in a silk gown. He had sailed with Snelgrave's father. Among other spoil the three pirate captains had found a box with three second-hand embroidered coats, which they seized and put on. The longest falling to Cocklyn's share, who was a short man, it reached to his ankles, but Le Bouce and Davis refused to change with him, saying that as he was going on shore where the negro ladies knew nothing of white men's fashions, it did not matter, and moreover, as his coat was scarlet embroidered with silver, he would be the bravest of them all. These clothes being taken contrary to law, and without the quartermaster's leave, the crew were offended, declaring that if they suffered such things, the captains would assume a new power, and soon take whatever they liked. The next morning when their captains returned, the coats were taken from them, and put into the common chest; and it having been reported that Snelgrave had advised the costume, many of the men turned against him, one of them threatening to cut him to pieces. A sailor who stood near told Snelgrave not to be frightened at the man's threat, for he always spoke in that way, and advised him to call him "captain" when he came on board, for the fellow had once been commander of a pirate sloop, did not like the post of quartermaster, and loved to be called by his old title. On entering the ship, Snelgrave said softly to him, "Captain Williams, pray hear me on the point you are so offended about." Upon this Williams gave him a playful blow on the shoulder with the flat of his sword, and said "I have not the heart to hurt thee." He then explained the affair, drank a glass of wine with him, and they were friends ever after. The pirates next captured a French ship that they had at first taken for a forty-gun ship in pursuit of them. The men drunk and newly levied, might at this time have easily been cut off, and the hundred sail of ships they afterwards destroyed saved. When some of the men cried out that they had never seen a gun fired in anger, Cocklyn caned them, telling them they should soon learn to smell gunpowder. The French captain they hung at the yard-arm for not striking at their first shot. When they had pulled him up and down several times till he was almost dead, Le Bouce interfered for his countryman, protesting he would sail no longer with such barbarous villains. They then gave him the French ship, first destroying her cargo, cutting her masts by the board, and running her on shore, as old and useless. Snelgrave's ship being now fitted up by the pirates, he was invited to its christening. The officers stood round the great cabin, holding bumpers of punch in their hands; and on Captain Cocklyn saying, "God bless the Wyndham galley," they drank the liquor, broke their glasses, and the guns thundered a broadside. The new ship being galley built with only two flush decks, the powder-room scuttle was in the chief cabin, and at that time stood open. One of the guns blowing at the touch-hole, set fire to some cartouch boxes that held small arm cartridges, the shot of which flew about, filling the room with smoke. When it was over, Davis remarked on the great danger they had been in, the scuttle having been all the time open, and 20,000 lb. weight of powder lying under. Cocklyn replied with a curse, "I wish it had taken fire, for it would have been a noble blast to have gone to hell with." The next day the pirate captains invited Snelgrave to dinner, and during supper a trumpeter and other musicians, who had been taken from various prizes, played and sang. About the middle of supper there was a sudden cry of fire, and a sailor boy, running in, with a pale face, said the main hatchway was on fire. The crew were then nearly drunk, and many of them leaped into the boats, leaving the officers and the fifty prisoners. On Snelgrave remarking to Davis the danger they were in, being left without a boat, Davis fired a great gun at the fugitives, and brought them back. The gunner then put wet blankets on the bulk head of the powder-room, and so saved it from destruction. This immense store of powder had been collected from various prizes, as being an article in great request with the negroes. Snelgrave took one of the quarterdeck gratings and lowered it over the ship's side with a rope, in case he should be obliged to leave the ship, and all this time the drunken sailors were standing on the quarterdeck, to the horror of the prisoners, shouting, "Hurrah for a quick passage to hell!" About ten o'clock the master, a brisk and courageous man, who, with fifteen more, had spared no pains to conquer the flames, came up miserably burnt, and calling for a surgeon, declared the danger was now all over. The fire had arisen from the carelessness of a negro, who being sent to pump out some rum, held his candle so near the bung-hole of the hogshead that a spark caught the spirit. This soon fired another tub, and both their heads flew off with the report of a cannon; but though there were twenty casks of rum, and as many of pitch and tar in the store, all the rest escaped. Before morning, the gunner's mate having spoken in favour of Snelgrave's conduct during the fire, the crew sent for him to attend the sale of his effects on board the Wyndham galley. Some promised to be kind to him; and the captain offered to buy his watch. As they were talking, a mate, half drunk, proposed that Snelgrave should be kept as a pilot till they left the coast, but Davis caned him off the quarter deck. Two days after this the pirates took a small vessel belonging to the African Company. Snelgrave's first mate then told them that he had been once very badly served by this company, and begged that they would burn the vessel in revenge. This was about to be ordered when Stubbs, a quick-witted sailor, stood up and said, "Pray, gentlemen, hold, and I will prove to you that the burning of this ship will only advance the company's interests. The vessel has been out two years; is old, crazy, and worm-eaten; her stores are worth little, and her cargo consists only of red wood and pepper, the loss of which will not harm the company, who will save the men's wages, which will be three times the value of the cargo." This convinced the crew, who at once spared the vessel, and returned her to the captain. A few days afterwards, Snelgrave's things were sold at the mast, many of the men returning him their purchases, his old school-fellow in particular begging hard on his behalf. When the fiercer men observed the great heap of things he had collected, they swore the dog was insatiable, and said it would be a good deed to throw them overboard. Hearing this, Snelgrave loaded his canoe, and, by the advice of his friends, returned to shore. Soon after he left, his watch was put up for sale, and run to £100 in order to vex Davis, who, however, bought it at that enormous price. One of the sailors, enraged at this, tried the case on a touch-stone, and, seeing it looked copperish from the alloy in the gold, swore it was bad metal. They then declared Snelgrave was a greater rogue than any of them, since he had cheated them all. Russel laughed at this, and then vowed to whip him when he came next. Upon the advice of his friends, Snelgrave hid in the woods till the pirates left the river, and soon after returned with several other ruined men to England. Of the MADAGASCAR PIRATES some scanty record in Hamilton's Account of the East Indies, published in 1726. He mentions the fact that the pirates had totally destroyed the English slave trade in that island, in spite of several squadrons of men-of-war sent against them. To use the author's own rather ambiguous words, "A single ship, commanded by one Millar, did more than all the chargeable fleets could do, for, with a cargo of strong ale and brandy, which he carried to sell them in 1704, he killed about 500 of them by carousing, though they took his ship and cargo as a present from him, and his men entered, most of them, into the society of the pirates." Commodore Littleton lent them blocks and tackle-falls to careen, and, for some secret reasons, released some of their number. The author concludes in the following manner: "Madagascar is environed with islands and dangerous shoals both of rocks and sand. St. Mary's, on the east side, is the place which the pirates first chose for their asylum, having a good harbour to defend them from the weather, though in going in there are some difficulties. But hearing the squadrons of English ships were come in quest of them, they removed to the main island for more security, and there they have made themselves free denizens by marriage." And the author is of opinion it will be no easy matter to dispossess them. In 1722 Mr. Matthews went in search of them, but found they had deserted St. Mary's Island, leaving behind them some marks of their robberies, for in some places he found pepper strewed a foot thick on the ground. The commodore went, with his squadron, over into the main island, but the pirates had carried their ships into rivers or creeks, out of danger of the men-of-war, and to burn them with their boats would have been impracticable, since they could have easily distressed the crews from the woods. The commodore had some discourse with several of them, but they stood on their guard, ready to defend themselves in case any violence had been offered them. The 11th and 12th of William III., and the 8th George I., are both statutes against piracy, and are indications of the years in which their ravages were peculiarly felt. By the first, any natural-born subject committing an act of hostility against any of his Majesty's subjects, under colour of a commission from any foreign power, could be tried for piracy. And further, any commander betraying his trust, and running away with the ship, or yielding it up voluntarily to a pirate, or any one confining his captain to prevent him fighting, was adjudged a pirate, felon, and robber, and was sentenced to death. The later acts make it piracy even to trade with known pirates. Commanders or seamen wounded, or their widows slain in piratical engagements, were entitled to a bounty not exceeding one-fiftieth part of the value of the cargo, and wounded men received the pension of Greenwich Hospital. If the commander behaved cowardly, he was to forfeit all his wages, and suffer six months' imprisonment. Such are a few of the facts connected with the almost unrecorded and uncertain history of the pirates of New Providence and Madagascar, the most loathsome wretches that perhaps, since Cain, have ever washed their hands in human blood. Ferocious yet often cowardly, they were subtle and cruel, with none of the frequent generosity of outlaws, and little of the enterprise of the military adventurers. Long ago have their bones crumbled from the dark gibbets on the lonely sand islands of the Pacific, and they remain without monument or record, except in prison chronicles and forgotten voyages. We have reviewed their history simply as the natural sequel of our annals, and as an illustration of the character of the English seaman in its most brutal and satanic aspect. THE END. CHIEF AUTHORITIES. BUCCANEER WRITERS. JOHN (JOSEPH?) ESQUEMELING'S[1] Bucaniers of America; or, an Account of the most Remarkable Assaults committed on the Coasts of the West Indies by the Bucaniers of Jamaica and Tortuga; with the Exploits of Sir Henry Morgan. Translated into English from the Dutch, with a Portrait of Sir H. Morgan, a Map and Plates, with a Table. 4to. London. 1684. [1] Rich, in his "Bibliotheca Americana Nova," 1835, confounds Esquemeling, the Dutchman, with Oexmelin, the Frenchman. The English translation of 1684 speaks of Esquemeling's work as written by a Frenchman and Dutchman together, the name being French and the language Dutch. Rich describes it as first printed in Dutch, 1678; then translated into Spanish; then from Spanish into English, and from English into French; the author's name being changed in the latter translation. ---- De Americanische Zee Roovers. 4to. Amsterdam. 1678. ---- Hisp. 12mo. Col. Ag. 1682. ---- Eng. 12mo. London. 1684. ---- 4to. Col. Ag. 1684. ---- 12mo. 4 vols. Maps and Plates. Trevoux. (Augmentée de l'Histoire des Pirates Anglais depuis leur Etablissement dans l'Isle de Providence jusqu'au Presént.): 1775. OEXMELIN, ALEXANDRE OLIVIER--Histoire des Avanturiers qui se sont signalés dans les Indes Occidentales depuis Vingt Ans. Traduite de l'Anglais par le Sr. de Frontignières; avec un Traité de la Chambre de Comptes établie dans les Indes par les Espagnols, traduit de l'Espagnol; le tout enriché des Cartes et des Figures, avec des Tables. 2 vols. 12mo. Paris. 1688. ---- 8vo. Paris. 1688. 2 tom. JESUIT HISTORIANS. PIERRE FRANÇOIS XAVIER CHARLEVOIX--Histoire de l'Isle Espagnole, ou de St. Domingue, écrite sur des Mémoires Manuscrits du P. Jean Baptiste le Tertre, Jésuite Missionaire à St. Domingue, et sur les Pièces Originales qui se conservent au Dépôt de la Marine; avec des Cartes, des Plans, et des Tables. 2 vols. 4to. Paris. 1730-31. Piratas de la America y Luz à la Defensa de las Costas de Indias Occidentales. Traducida del Flamenco en Espanol, por el Doctor Buena Maison, Medico Practico en la Amplissima y Magnifica Ciudad de Amsterdam Dala à Luz esta Tercera Edicion, D.M.G.R. Madrid. 4to. 1763. 12mo. 1682. 4to. 1684. JEAN BAPTISTE DU TERTRE, missionaire apostolique dans les Antilles--Histoires des Antilles Habitées par les François; avec des Figures. 4 vols. 4to. Paris. 1667-71. JEAN BAPTISTE LABAT, Dominicain Parisien, professeur des Philosophies à Nanci, etc.--Nouveau Voyage aux Isles de l'Amérique. 8 vols. 12mo. Paris. 1742. CAPTAIN WILLIAM DAMPIER'S Voyage Round the World. Illustrated with Maps and Plates. 4 vols. in 3. 8vo. London. 1703-9. CAPTAIN COWLEY'S Voyage Round the Globe. 8vo. London. 1679. LIONEL WAFER'S Voyage and Description of the Isthmus of America. 8vo. London, 1699. 8vo. London, 1704. CAPTAIN JAMES BURNEY'S Chronological History of the Discoveries in the South Sea or Pacific Ocean. 3 vols. 4to. 1803-13-17. CAPTAIN T. SOUTHEY'S Chronological History of the West Indies. 3 vols. 8vo. London. 1817. LIST OF BUCCANEER CHIEFS, FROM THE COMMENCEMENT OF THEIR EMPIRE TO ITS DOWNFALL. LOUIS SCOTT. PIERRE LE GRAND. PIERRE FRANÇOIS. ROC THE BRAZILIAN. BARTHELEMY PORTUGUES. LOLONNOIS THE CRUEL. ALEXANDRE BRAS DE FER. MONTBARS THE EXTERMINATOR. MOSES VAN VIN. PIERRE LE PICARD. TRIBUTOR. CAPTAIN CHAMPAGNE. LE BASQUE. SIR HENRY MORGAN. CAPTAIN SWAN. CAPTAIN SHARP. CAPTAIN BRADLEY. CAPTAIN COXEN. CAPTAIN BETSHARP. DAMPIER. CAPTAIN GROGNIET. CAPTAIN YANKEY. LAURENT DE GRAFF. SIEUR DE GRAMMONT. SIEUR DE MONTAUBAN. DE LISLE. ANNE LE ROUX. VAUCLIN. OVINET. ELIAS WARD. WILLIS. D'OGERON. CAPTAIN DAVIS. VAN HORN. CAPTAIN MICHAEL. CAPTAIN ROSE. CAPTAIN DAVIOT. LONDON: SERCOMBE AND JACK, 16 GREAT WINDMILL STREET. Just Published, Illustrated with Portraits, THE THIRD AND FOURTH VOLUMES, COMPLETING THE WORK, OF THE MEMOIRS OF THE COURT & CABINETS OF GEORGE III. FROM ORIGINAL FAMILY DOCUMENTS. BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM & CHANDOS, K.G. Among the principal important and interesting subjects of these volumes (comprising the period from 1800 to 1810) are the following:--The Union of Great Britain and Ireland--The Catholic Question--The retirement from office of Mr. Pitt and Lord Grenville--The Addington Administration--The Peace of Amiens--The connection of the Prince of Wales with the Opposition--The Coalition of Pitt, Fox, and Grenville--The Downfall of the Addington Ministry--The conduct of the Princess of Wales--Nelson in the Baltic and at Trafalgar--The Administration of Lord Grenville and Mr. Fox--The Abolition of the Slave Trade--The Walcheren Expedition--The Enquiry into the conduct of the Duke of York--The Convention of Cintra--The Expeditions to Portugal and Spain--The Quarrel of Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Canning--The Malady of George III.--Proceedings for the establishment of the Regency. The Volumes also comprise the Private Correspondence of Lord Grenville, when, Secretary of State and First Lord of the Treasury--of the Right Hon. Thomas Grenville, when President of the Board of Control and First Lord of the Admiralty--of the Duke of Wellington, during his early Campaigns in the Peninsula; with numerous confidential communications from George III., the Prince of Wales, Lords Castlereagh, Elgin, Hobart, Camden, Essex, Carysfort, Melville, Howick, Wellesley, Fitzwilliam, Temple, Buckingham, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wyndham, &c. &c. N.B.--A FEW COPIES OF THE FIRST AND SECOND VOLUMES OF THIS WORK MAY STILL BE HAD. "These volumes contain much valuable matter. There are three periods upon which they shed a good deal of light--the formation of the Coalition Ministry in 1783, the illness of the King in 1788, and the first war with Republican France."--_Times._ "A very remarkable and valuable publication. In these volumes the most secret history of many important transactions is for the first time given to the public."--_Herald._ HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Mismatched quotation marks in one paragraph of Chapter I were left as in the original. 
38632	----	public domain material generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com/) Note: Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work. Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38631 Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38633 Images of the original pages are available through the the Google Books Library Project. See http://books.google.com/books?vid=ASYCAAAAYAAJ&id THE MONARCHS OF THE MAIN; Or, Adventures of the Buccaneers. by GEORGE W. THORNBURY, ESQ. "One foot on sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never." MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. In Three Volumes. VOL. II. London: Hurst and Blackett, Publishers, Successors to Henry Colburn, 13, Great Marlborough Street. 1855. London: Sercombe and Jack, 16 Great Windmill Street. CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAPTER I.--SIR HENRY MORGAN. Son of a Welsh farmer--Runs to sea--Turns Buccaneer--Joins Mansvelt and takes the Island of St. Catherine--Mansvelt dies--St. Catherine re-taken by the Spaniards--Morgan takes Port au Prince--Quarrel of French and English adventurers about a marrow-bone--Takes Porto Bello--Captures _Le Cerf Volant_, a French vessel--It blows up--Takes Maracaibo---City deserted--Tortures an Idiot beggar--Le Picard, his guide--Takes Gibraltar--Also deserted--Tortures the citizens--With a Fire-ship destroys the Spanish fleet and repasses the bar--Escapes the fort by a stratagem--The Rancheria expedition--Sails for Panama--Captain Bradley takes the Castle of Chagres--Anecdote of a wounded Buccaneer 1 CHAPTER II.--CONQUEST OF PANAMA. March from Chagres over the Isthmus--Famine--Ambuscades of Indians--Wild bulls driven down upon them--Victory in the Savannah--Battle of the Forts--Takes the city--Burns part of it--Cruelties--Revels--Virtue of the Spanish prisoner, and her sufferings--Retreats with prisoners--Ransom--Divisions of booty--Treason of Morgan--Escapes by night to Jamaica--Dispersion of his fleet--Morgan's subsequent fate 125 CHAPTER III.--THE COMPANIONS AND SUCCESSORS OF MORGAN. Oexmelin's interview with the old Buccaneer--Adventure with Indians--Esquemeling's escapes--D'Ogeron's escape from the Spaniards--Buccaneers' fight in Tobago against the Dutch--Captain Cook captures a Spanish vessel--Captains Coxen and Sharp begin their cruise 189 CHAPTER IV.--THE CRUISES OF SAWKINS AND SHARP. The South sea now visited--Buccaneers land at Darien--March overland--Take Santa Maria--Sail to Panama--Ringrose is wrecked--Failure of Expedition--Driven off by Spanish fleet--Partial victory--Coxen accused of cowardice--Sharp elected commander, deposed--Plunder Hillo and take La Serena--Take Arica--Sharp re-elected--Retreat with difficulty--Conspiracy of the prisoners--Land at Antigua--Return to England--Sharp's trial for piracy--Seizes a French ship in the Downs--Returns to Jamaica 215 CHAPTER V.--DAMPIER'S VOYAGES. Dampier leaves Captain Sharp--Land march over the Isthmus--Joins Captain Wright--Wreck of D'Estrèes and the French fleet--Returns to England--Second voyage--With Captain Cook--Guinea coast--Visits Juan Fernandez--Takes Ampalla--Plunders Paita--Scheme for working the Spanish mines--Attacks Manilla Galleon--Captain Swan--Dampier's death unknown--Van Horn, a Dutch sailor--Entraps the Galleons--Takes Vera Cruz--Killed in a duel with De Graff--His Dress 277 MONARCHS OF THE MAIN. CHAPTER I. SIR HENRY MORGAN. Son of a farmer--Runs to sea--Turns Buccaneer--Joins Mansvelt, and takes the Island of St. Catherine--Mansvelt dies--St. Catherine retaken by the Spaniards--Takes Port-au-Prince--Quarrel of French and English Buccaneers about a marrow-bone--Takes Porto Bello--Captures _Le Cerf Volant_, a French vessel--It blows up--Takes Maracaibo--City deserted--Tortures an Idiot--Le Picard--Storms Gibraltar--Also deserted--Tortures the Citizens--With a Fire-ship destroys Spanish fleet, and repasses the Bar--Escapes by stratagem--Rancheria expedition--Sails for Panama--Captain Bradley takes the Castle of Chagres--Anecdote of wounded Buccaneer. Morgan's campaigns furnish one of the amplest chapters of Buccaneer history. Equally daring, but less cruel than Lolonnois, less fanatical than Montbars, and less generous and honest than De Lussan or Sharp, he appears to have been the only freebooting leader who obtained any formal recognition from the English government. From an old pamphlet, we find, that the expedition to Panama was undertaken under the commission and with the full approbation of the English governor of Jamaica. Sir Henry Morgan was the son of a Welsh farmer, of easy circumstances, "as most who bear that name in Wales are known to be," says Esquemeling, his Dutch historian. Taking an early dislike to the monotonous, unadventurous life of his father's house, he ran away from home, and, coming to the coast, turned sailor, and went to sea. Embarking on board a vessel bound for Barbadoes, that lay with several others in the port, he engaged himself in the usual way to a planter's agent, who resold him for three years immediately on his arrival in the West Indies. Having served his time and obtained his hard-earned liberty, he repaired to Jamaica, a place of which wild stories were told all over the Main. He resolved to seek his fortune at that El Dorado, and arriving there, saw two Buccaneer vessels just fitting out for an expedition. Being now in search of employment, and finding this suit his daring and restless spirit, he determined to embrace the life of a Flibustier. The gentlemen of fortune were successful, and had not been long at sea before they took a valuable prize. This early success was as fatal to Morgan as good luck is to a young gambler on his first visit to a hell. It roused his ambition, heightened his hope, and encouraged him to continue a career so auspiciously begun. He followed the Buccaneer chiefs, and learnt their manners of living. In the course of only three or four voyages, he signalized himself so much as to acquire the reputation of a good soldier, remarkable for his valour and success. He was a good shot, and renowned for his intrepidity, coolness, and determination. He seemed to foresee all contingencies, and set about his schemes with a firm confidence that insured their success. Having already laid by much money, and being fortunate both in his voyages and in gambling, Morgan agreed with a few rich comerades to join stock, and to buy a vessel, of which he was unanimously appointed commander. Such was the usual beginning of an adventurer's career. Setting out from Jamaica, he soon became remarkable for the number of prizes which he took, his well known stations being round the coast of Campeachy. With these prizes he returned triumphantly to Jamaica, his name established as a terror to the Spaniard, and a war-cry to the English. Finding Mansvelt, an old Buccaneer, lying in harbour, about to start on a grand expedition to the mainland, he joined him, and was at once elected as vice-admiral of a small fleet of fifteen vessels and 600 men, part English and part French. They sailed first to the island of St. Catherine, near the continent of Costa Rica, and distant about thirty-five degrees from the river of Chagres. Here they made their first descent, and found the Spaniards well entrenched in forts, strongly built of hewn stone, but landing most of their men they soon forced the garrisons to surrender. Morgan distinguished himself remarkably in this expedition, forcing even his very enemies to laud his skill and valour. He now proceeded to demolish all the castles but one, in which he placed 100 men, and the slaves and prisoners, and proceeded to attack a small neighbouring island. In a few days they threw over a bridge to join it to St. Catherine's, and conveyed over it all the larger ordnance which they had taken, laying waste their first conquest with fire and sword. They then set sail again, having first set their prisoners ashore near Portobello, intending to cruise along Costa Rica, as far as the river Colla, and burn and pillage all the towns up to Nata. They had, in fact, only taken the island in order to procure a guide who could lead them on their way to Nata, knowing that the Spaniards used St. Catherine's as a depôt for their prisoners of all nations. The first step towards a Buccaneer expedition was to procure a guide. They found, to their delight, a mulatto who knew Nata, and who undertook to lead them to the destruction of a people whom he hated. It is probable, too, that Mansvelt had already projected founding a colony at St. Catherine's, which might be neither dependent on the French nor the English. But their schemes were frustrated, for the governor of Panama, hearing of their approach, and of their past success, advanced to meet them with a body of men, and compelled them to retreat suddenly, for the whole country was now alarmed and their plans all known. Morgan, however, seeing St. Catherine's to be a well-fortified island, easily defended, and important as to situation, because its harbour was good and near the Spanish settlements, resolved to hold it, appointing as governor Le Sieur Simon, a Frenchman, whom he left behind, with a garrison of 100 men. St. Simon had behaved well in his absence, and put the island in a good posture of defence, had strengthened the four large forts, and turned the smaller island into a citadel, guarding carefully the three accessible spots, planting vegetables and clearing plantations in the smaller island, where abundance of fresh water could be procured, providing victual enough for the fleet for two voyages. The two commanders now determined to return to Jamaica, promising to send recruits to Simon, for fear of an invasion, and themselves to bring speedy succours, intending to make the island a sanctuary and refuge for the brotherhood of both nations. The governor of Jamaica refused to accede to Mansvelt's requests for soldiers, afraid to weaken the forces of the island without permission from England. Mansvelt, worn out with delay, hastened to Tortuga, and died while collecting volunteers, his plans being still in embryo. Had his scheme succeeded, and been pushed with energy, the Buccaneers might have founded a republic, and have eventually driven the Spaniards out of the Indies. While Simon was impatiently expecting succour from Jamaica, and astonished at Mansvelt's really unavoidable silence, the Spaniards were preparing to smoke out the wasps' nest that lay so dangerously near their orchard. A new governor of Costa Rica threw unusual decision into their plans. Fearing they should lose the Indies piecemeal, they resolved to crush the evil ere it grew indestructible. Don Juan Perez de Guzman equipped a fleet of four vessels with fifty or sixty men each, commanded by Don Joseph Sancho Ximenes, major-general of the garrison of Porto Bello. Don Juan, in a letter to Simon, promised him a reward if he would surrender the island to his Catholic Majesty, and threatened him with punishment if he resisted. Simon, seeing the impossibility and uselessness of resistance, surrendered it after a few shots, on the same condition with which Morgan had obtained it from the enemy. The Spaniards made much of their victory, publishing "a true relation and particular account of the victory obtained by the arms of his Catholic Majesty, against the English pirates, by the direction and valour of Don Juan Perez de Guzman, knight of the order of St. James, governor and captain-general of Terra Firma, and the province of Veraguas." The account goes on to describe the arrival of fourteen English vessels on the coast, 1665, their arrival at Puerto de Naos, and the capture of St. Catherine's from the governor, Don Estevan del Campo, the enemy landing unperceived. Upon this the valorous Don Juan called a council of war, wherein he declared the great progress the said pirates had made in the dominions of his Catholic Majesty, and propounded, "that it was absolutely necessary to send some forces to the isle of St. Catherine, sufficient to retake it from the pirates, the honour and interest of his Majesty of Spain being very narrowly concerned herein, otherwise the pirates, by such conquests, might _easily_, in course of time, possess themselves of 'all the countries thereabout.'" The less vapouring, or more pacific, ingeniously proposed to leave the pirates alone till they perished for want of provisions, but Don Juan, overruling their timidity, sent stores to the militia of Porto Bello, and conveyed himself there, with no small danger of his life. At this port he found the _St. Vincent_, a good ship, belonging to the Negro Company, which he equipped with a crew of 270 soldiers, thirty-seven prisoners, thirty-two of the Spanish garrison, twenty-nine mulattos of Panama, twelve Indian archers, seven gunners, two lieutenants, two pilots, a surgeon, and a Franciscan chaplain. Before they set sail, Don Juan (_who did not go with them_) encouraged them to fight against the enemies of their country and their religion, "those inhuman pirates who had committed so many horrid cruelties upon the subjects of his Catholic Majesty," promising liberal rewards to all who behaved themselves well in the service of their king and country. At Carthagena, they received a reinforcement of one frigate, one galleon, a boat, and 127 men. On arriving at the island, the pirates discharged three guns, refused to surrender, and declared they preferred to lose their lives. The next day three negro deserters, swimming to the admiral, told him there were only seventy-two men on the island, and two days after the day of the Assumption the Spaniards landed and commenced the affray. The _St. Vincent_ attacked the Conception battery, the _St. Peter_ the St. James's forts, the pirates driving off many of the enemy by loading their guns with part of the pipes of a church organ, threescore pipes at a time. The pirates lost six men before surrendering, the Spaniards one. They found in the island 800 lbs. of powder, and 250 lbs. of bullets. Two Spanish deserters, discovered amongst the prisoners, were "shot to death" the next day. The prisoners were transported to Puerto Velo, all but three, who, by order of the governor, were kept as a trophy, like chained Samsons, to work in the castle of St. Jerome at Panama, a fortress building by the governor at his own expense. A day or two after this unavoidable surrender, a vessel arrived at St. Catherine, bringing reinforcements and provisions from the governor of Jamaica, who had repented of his rejection of Mansvelt's proposal, but had not even yet the courage to be boldly dishonest. The Spaniards, hoisting an English flag, persuaded Simon to welcome it, and betray it into their hands. There were fourteen men on board and two women, all of whom were made prisoners. On the death of Mansvelt, Morgan became without opposition the leader of all the adventurers of Jamaica. He at once published far and wide his intention of setting out on a grand expedition, and named Cuba as a rendezvous, St. Catherine's not being far distant. Morgan had been no less anxious than Mansvelt to make this island a fortress and a storehouse. He had written to the merchants of Virginia and New England, to contract with them for ammunition and provisions; but this hope being ended by the Spanish conquest, he felt himself free to embark on a wider and more ambitious field. His plans were for a moment defeated, but his courage and ambition were not a whit humbled. Two months spent in the southern ports of Cuba sufficed him to collect a fleet of twelve sail, with 700 fighting men, part English, part French, resolved to follow him to the death. To prevent the disunion so frequent between the two nations, Morgan had a clause inserted in the charter-party, empowering him to condemn to instant death any adventurer who killed or wounded another. A council was then called to decide on what place they should first fall. Some proposed Santiago, which had been before sacked, others a swoop on the tobacco of the Havannah, or the dye-woods of Campeachy. Many voices were strong for a night assault on the Havannah, which, they said, could be taken before the castle could be ready to defend itself. The very ransom of the clergy they might carry off, would be worth more than the pillage of a smaller town. But some Buccaneers, who had been prisoners there, said nothing could be done with less than 1500 men, and the proposal was abandoned, when they proved that they must first go to the island de los Pinos, and land in small boats at Matamana, fourteen leagues from the city. At last some one proposed a visit to Port-au-Prince, a town of Cuba, very rich from its traffic in hides, and which, being far inland and built on a plain, could be very easily surprised. The speaker knew the city well, and was sure that it never had been sacked. Despairing of collecting forces enough to attempt the Havannah, they pursued the Spaniard's plan. Morgan at once acceded to this scheme, and, giving the captain the signal of weighing anchor, steered for Port St. Mary, the nearest harbour to Port-au-Prince. The night of their arrival in the bay a Spanish prisoner threw himself into the sea, and swimming on shore went to inform the governor of the Buccaneers' plans, having, with a scanty knowledge of English, gathered a full insight, deeper than history tells us, of Morgan's intentions. The governor instantly sent to the neighbouring town for succour, and collected, in a few hours, a force of 800 armed freemen and slaves, occupying a pass which the Buccaneers must traverse. He cut down the trees, barricaded the approaches, and planned eight ambuscades, strengthened by cannon to play upon them on their march. He then marched out into a savannah, where he might see the Buccaneers at a long distance. The townsmen, in the meanwhile, prepared for the worst with the usual timidity of the rich, hiding their riches and carrying away their movables. The adventurers, on entering the place, found the paths almost impassable with trees, but, supposing themselves discovered, took to the woods, and thus fortunately escaped the ambuscade. The governor, seeing the enemy, to his astonishment, emerge from the trees into the plain, instantly ordered his cavalry to surround them as he would have done a troop of wolves, intending to disperse them first with his horse and then pursue them with his main body. The Buccaneers, nothing daunted by the flashing of the spears or the tramp of the horsemen, advanced boldly, with drums beating and colours displayed. They drew up in a semicircle to receive the charge, and advanced swiftly towards the enemy, not waiting to be attacked. The Spaniards charged them hotly for a while, but, finding their enemies dexterous at their arms, moving their feet forward rather than backward; and seeing their governor and many of their companions dead at their feet, fled headlong to the town; those who escaped towards the wood were killed before they could reach it. The Buccaneers with few men either killed or wounded, advancing still in their phalanx, killed without mercy all they met, for the space of the four hours that the fight lasted. The fugitives of the town barred themselves in their houses and kept up a fire from the windows and loopholes. The shots from the roofs and balconies still continuing, though the town was taken, the Buccaneers threatened, if the firing did not cease, to set the town in a flame, and cut the women and children in pieces before the eyes of the survivors. Having thus silenced all resistance, Morgan drove all his prisoners, men, women, children, and slaves, into the cathedral, where he placed a guard. He then gave the town over to pillage, for the benefit of his joint-stock company, finding much that was valuable, but little money, so skilful had the Spaniards grown in hiding. Parties were next sent out, as usual, to plunder the suburbs, and bring in provisions and prisoners for the torture. The revelry then began, while the prisoners were allowed to starve in the churches; old women and children were daily tortured to make them disclose where their money was hidden. The monks had been the first to fly from the English heretics, but bands of them were frequently captured in the woods, and thrown, half dead with fear, to confess the dying in the prisons. When pillage and provisions grew scanty, and they themselves began to feel the privations they had inflicted on others, the Buccaneers resolved to depart, after fifteen days' residence, a favourite time with the brotherhood. They now demanded a double ransom of their chief prisoners; first, for themselves, under pain of being transported to Jamaica; and secondly, for the town, or it would be burned to the ground. Four merchants were chosen to collect the contributions, and some Spaniards were first tortured in their presence, to increase the zeal of their applications. After a few days, they returned empty-handed, and demanded a respite of fifteen days, which Morgan granted. They had searched all the woods, they said, and found none of their countrymen. Delay now grew dangerous--a party of foragers had captured a negro, with letters from the governor of Santiago, telling the citizens not to make too much haste to pay the ransom, but to put off the pirates with excuses till he could come to their aid. Enraged at what he deemed treachery, Morgan swore he would have no more delay, and would burn the town the next day if the ransom was not paid down, but not alluding to the detected letter, and betraying no apprehension. Still unable to obtain money, Morgan consented to take 500 oxen, which he insisted on the Spaniards placing on board his ships at Port-au-Prince, together with salt enough to "powder" them, needing the flesh to re-victual for a fresh and more profitable expedition. The same day Morgan left the city, taking with him six of the principal citizens as hostages. The next day came the cattle, but he now required the Spaniards to assist him in killing and salting them. This was done in a great hurry, Morgan expecting every moment the Santiago vessels would appear in sight. As soon as the butchering was completed he released his hostages and set sail, unwilling to fight when nothing could be gained by victory. At this juncture, the smouldering jealousy of the two nations that formed his crews broke into a flame. The grudges of the last voyage had been perpetuated, and had grown into a deep and lasting feud, producing ultimately a disunion fatal to all increase of the power of the brotherhood of the coast. While the prisoners were toiling at salting the beeves, the sailors employed themselves in drinking and rejoicing at their success, cooking the richest morsels while they were still fresh, and all hands intent on securing the hot marrow bones, the favourite delicacy of the hunters of Hispaniola. A Frenchman, employed as one of the butchers, had drawn out the dainty and placed it by his side, as a _bonne bouche_ when his work was over. An English Buccaneer, more hungry than polite, passing by, and knowing no reservation of property in such a republic, snatched up the reeking bone and carried it off. The Frenchman, pursuing him with angry vociferations, challenged him to fight for it, but before they could reach the place of combat, the aggressor stabbed his adversary in the back, and laid him dead on the spot. The Frenchmen, rising in arms, made it a national quarrel, and demanded redress. Morgan, just and impartial by nature and from policy, arrested the murderer and condemned him to be instantly shot, declaring that he had a right to challenge his adversary, but not to stab him treacherously. Oexmelin says, the man was sent in chains to Jamaica (and there tried and hung), Morgan promising to see justice done upon him. The French, however, remained discontented, lamented the fate of their comrade, and vowed revenge. Morgan, not waiting for the governor of Jamaica to share his spoil, sailed to a small island, at some distance, to make the dividend. To the general grief and disgust, they found the whole amounted to only 60,000 crowns, not enough to pay their debts at Jamaica: this did not include the silk stuffs and other merchandise, which gave a poor pittance of 80 crowns to each man, as the return for so much danger and privation. Morgan, as unwilling as the rest to revisit Port Royal empty-handed, proposed a new expedition, in search of a greater prize. But the French, not able to agree with the English, left the fleet, in spite of all their commander's persuasions, but still with every external mark of friendship, entreating to the last to have justice done to the "_infame_." Morgan, who had always placed great reliance on the courage of the French adventurers, was not going to relinquish his new expedition on account of their desertion. He had inspired his men with courage and the hope of acquiring riches, and they all resolved to follow him to the attack of the place, whose name he would not yet disclose, exciting them by a mystery, which prevented the possibility of treachery. He put forth to sea with eight small vessels, but was soon joined by an adventurer of Jamaica, just returning from Campeachy; with this new ally, he had now a force of nine vessels and 470 men, many French being still among them, and arrived at Costa Rica with all his fleet safe. As soon as they sighted land, he disclosed his design to his captains, and soon after to all his seamen. He intended to storm Porto Bello by night, and to put the whole city to the sack: he was confident of success, because no one knew of his secret; although some of his men thought their force too small for such an enterprise. To these Morgan replied, that if their number was small, their courage was great, and the fewer they were the more booty for each, with the greater prospect of union and secresy; and upon this, all agreed unanimously to the design. By good fortune, or by preconcerted arrangement, one of Morgan's crew turned out to be an Englishman who, only a short time before, had been a prisoner at Porto Bello, and his past sufferings now proved to have been the foundation of his future good fortune. Having escaped from that place, he knew every inch of the coast, which had been so painfully impressed on his mind, and Morgan submitted, with perfect confidence, to his guidance. By his advice, they steered straight for the bay of Santa Maria, arriving there purposely about dusk, and reached a spot about twelve leagues from the city, without meeting any vessel. They then sailed up the river to Puerto Pontin, four leagues distant, taking advantage of the land wind that sprang up, cool and fresh, at night. They here anchored, and embarked in boats, leaving a few men to bring on the ships. Rowing softly, they reached about midnight a place called Estera de Longa lemos, where they all landed, and marched upon the outposts of the city. Michael Scott describes Porto Bello as built in a miserable, dirty, damp hole, surrounded by high forest-clad hills, wreathed in mist, and reeking with dirt and fever. Everlasting vapours obscure the sun, and mingle with the exhalation of the steaming marshes of the lead-coloured, land-locked cove that forms the harbour. They were now within reach of the strongest city in the Spanish West Indies, except Havannah and Carthagena, the port of Panama, and the great mart for silver and negroes. Leaving as usual a party to guard the boats, and preceded by their guide, they began halfway to the town to prepare their arms. Upon approaching the first sentinel, Morgan sent forward the guide and three or four others to surprise him. They did it cunningly, before he could fire his musket, and brought him with his hands bound to Morgan, who, threatening him with death, asked him how things in the city went, and what forces they had, making a "thousand menaces to kill him if he did not speak the truth." The terrified Spaniard informed them that the town was well garrisoned, but that there were very few inhabitants; the merchants only residing in the town while the galleons are loading, and that he would be able to take the place in spite of all the fortresses and the 300 soldiers. Morgan then pushed on to the fort, carrying the man bound before them, and after a quarter of a league reached the castle, where the man's company was stationed, closely surrounding it, so that no one could get in or go out. The prisoner had in vain attempted to avoid this redoubt, to which he had served as picket, encouraged by Morgan's promises of reward, and avowal that he would not give him up to his countrymen. The Spaniards, finding the sentinel gone, had already spread the alarm of the Buccaneers' approach. From beneath the walls Morgan commanded the sentinel to summon the garrison to surrender at once to his discretion, or they should be cut in pieces without quarter. Not regarding these threats, the Spaniards began instantly to discharge their guns and muskets to alarm the town and obtain succour. But though they made a good resistance they were soon overpowered, and the Buccaneers, driving them into one room, set fire to the powder which lay about on the floor, and blew the tower and its defenders together into the air; all the survivors they put to the sword, in order to strike terror in the city. At daybreak they fell upon the city, and found the inhabitants, some still asleep and others scared and alarmed; many had thought of nothing but hiding their treasure, and only the professional soldier prepared for resistance. The governor, unable to rally the citizens, fled into the citadel, and fired upon the town as well as the enemy. The frightened herd, stupid with fear, were throwing their money and jewels into wells and cisterns, or burying their treasure in their courtyards, cellars, gardens, and chapels. The adventurers, abstaining from pillage, sent a chosen party to the convents to make prisoners of the religious, male and female; while another division prepared ladders to escalade the fort, not relaxing for a moment either in attack or defence. They attempted in vain to burn down a castle-gate which proved to be of iron, and baffled their efforts, and kept up a warm fire at the embrasures, aiming with such dexterity at the mouths of the guns as to kill a gunner or two every time the pieces were either run out or loaded. The firing continued from daybreak till noon, and even then the result seemed doubtful, for when the adventurers approached the walls with their grenades to burn the doors the defenders threw down upon them earthen pots full of powder, and lighted by a fusee, together with showers of stones and other missiles. Morgan himself began to despair of success, and did not know how to escape from that strait, when the English flag arose above the smaller fort, and a troop of men ran forth to proclaim victory with shouts of joy. The remaining castle, however, was the _pièce de resistance_, being the storehouse of the church plate, and the wealth of the richer citizens now with the garrison. A stratagem was suggested, appealing strongly to Spanish superstition, and, as it happened, successfully. Ten or twelve ladders were made so broad and strong that three or four men might mount them abreast. To all threats the governor replied he would never surrender alive, although the religious should themselves plant the ladders. The monks and nuns were then dragged to the heads of the companies, and forced to plant the ladders, in spite of the hot rain of fire and shot; the governor "using his utmost endeavours to destroy all who came near the walls, firing on the servants of God, although his kinsmen, and prisoners, and forced to the service. Delicate women and aged men were goaded at the sword's point to this hateful labour, derided by the English, and unpitied by their countrymen." All this time the Buccaneers maintained an unceasing fire along the whole line of grey battlements at every aperture where a pike head glittered or a lighted match smouldered; suffering much in return, unarmed as they were, guarded neither by steel-cap nor cuirass, and unsheltered by palisade or earthwork. In spite of the cries of the religious as they reared the ladders, their prayers to the saints, and their entreaties to the garrison to remember their common blood and nation, many of the priests were shot before the walls could be scaled. The more superstitious of the Spaniards were unnerved at hearing the dying curse of the consecrated servants of God, rising shrill above the roar of the battle. The ladders were at last planted, amid a shower of fire-pots that killed almost as many of the Spaniards as the English, and the Buccaneers sprang up with all the agility of sailors and the determination of Berserkers; their best marksmen shooting down the few Spaniards who awaited their arrival at the summit. Their falling bodies struck a few Buccaneers from their ladders. Every man that went up carried hand grenades, pistols, and sabre, but the musket was now laid aside, for it had done its work, and was a mere encumbrance in the grapple of closer combat. The English swarmed up in great numbers, and reaching the top kindled their fusees and threw down their fire-pots upon the crowded ranks of the enemy, with destructive effect. Before they could recover their dismay, sabre in hand, as if they were boarding, they leaped down upon the garrison, who drove them off with pikes and clubbed muskets, and, closing with them, hurled many from the ramparts, or, stabbing them, fell clenched with the foe in their despair. When their cannon was taken, the Spaniards threw down their arms and begged for quarter, except the governor and a few officers, who determined to die fighting against the robbers and heretics, the enemies of God and Spain. The Buccaneers, seeing the red flag flying from the first fort, which was the strongest, and built on an eminence which commanded the towers below, advanced with confidence to the attack of the remaining one, hitherto thought impregnable, which defended the port, and prevented the entrance of their vessels, which they wished to secure safe in the harbour, as the number of their wounded would require their long stay in the place they had captured. The governor, proud and brave, still refused to surrender, and fired upon them with his cannon, which were soon silenced by the superior fire of the newly-taken fort, which flanked his position. Out of this last stronghold, the weary and despairing defenders were quickly driven. Major Castellon, the stout-hearted governor, disdaining to ask quarter of a pack of heretic seamen, killed several of his own men who would not stand to their arms and called on him to save their lives, and struck down many of the hunters who tried to take him alive, not from a generous compassion, for pity seldom entered a Buccaneer's heart, but in order to obtain his ransom. A still more cruel trial of his courage, and duty to his king, awaited him: his wife and children fell at his knees, and, with cries and tears, begged him to lay down his arms and save both their lives. But he obstinately and sternly refused, replying, "Better this than a scaffold," preferring to die as a valiant soldier at his post, than to be hanged as a coward for deserting it. He died the death of a brave man, fighting desperately, and was found buried under the bodies of his dead enemies. If unpitied by his ferocious foes, he has left a name to be honoured by all brave men, as one worthy of a more chivalrous age, and a better cause. It now being nearly sunset, and the city their own, the adventurers enclosed all their prisoners in the citadel, separating the wounded, and, although heedless of their sufferings, employing the female slaves to wait upon them. It now being nearly night, they gave way to all the excesses of soldiers in a town taken by storm, exasperated by the recollection of past danger, and the death of friends, and maddened by both the certainty of present pleasure and the power of indulging in every success. Oexmelin says, fifty brave Spaniards might have put all the revellers to death, and recovered the place. We do not, however, hear that a single Spanish Jael was found to revenge herself on these modern Siseras. The following morning Morgan summoned his vessels into the harbour, and collecting all the loose wealth of the town, had it brought into the fort. Directing the repairs of the ramparts, scorched and shattered, he remounted the guns, in order to be ready to repel any attack from Panama. He collected a few of the prisoners who had been persuaded to say they were the richest merchants in Porto Bello, and put all who would not confess to the torture. He maimed some and killed others, who remained silent because they were in reality poor, and had concealed no treasure. Having spent fifteen days in these alternate cruelties and debaucheries, Morgan resolved to retreat. No Buccaneer general had ever taken a city which could not be stripped clean in fourteen days. Famine and disease began ungratefully to take the part of the Spaniard against the nation that had fed them with so many victims. Wild waste compelled them already to devour their mules and horses, rather than die of hunger, or turn cannibals. Parties of hunters were sent into the suburbs to hunt the cattle, whose flesh they then devoured, saving the mules for the prisoners, who, between their wounds and their hunger, were reduced to dreadful extremities. A death more terrible than that of a blow in battle now appeared in their midst. Many had already died victims of excess, and even the most prudent perished. The bad food, the sudden transition from excess to want, and the impurity of the tainted air, produced a pestilence. The climate of Porto Bello, always unhealthy, as Hosier's squadron afterwards experienced, was poisoned by the putrefaction of the dead bodies, hastily buried, and scarcely covered by earth. The wounded nearly all sickened, and the intemperate were the first to die. The prisoners, crowded together, and already weakened mentally by despondency, and physically by famine, soon caught the fever, and died with dreadful rapidity. Rich merchants, accustomed to every luxury, and to the most varied and seasoned food, pined under a diet of half-putrid mule's flesh, and bad, unfiltered water. Everything warned Morgan that it was time to weigh anchor, for the president of Panama was already on his march towards the city at the head of 1500 men. Informed of their approach from a slave captured by a hunting party, Morgan held a council, at which it was agreed not to retreat until they had obtained a ransom for the town greater than the spoil at present collected; and, in order to prevent a surprise, he placed a body of 100 well-armed men in a narrow defile, where but a few men could go abreast, and through which the president must pass. They found that that general had fewer troops with him than was reported, and these took flight at the first encounter, and did not attempt again to force a passage, but waited for reinforcements. The president, with the usual gasconade of a Spaniard, sent word to Morgan, that if he did not at once leave Porto Bello he should receive no quarter when he should take him and his companions, as he hoped soon to do. To this, Morgan, knowing he had a sure means of escape, said he should not leave till he had received 180,000 pieces of eight as a ransom for the city, and if he could not get this he should kill all his prisoners, blow up the castle, and burn the town, and two men were sent by him to the president to procure the money. The president, seeing that nothing could either deceive or intimidate Morgan, gave up Porto Bello to its fate, not caring to erect a silver bridge for a flying enemy. In vain he sent to Carthagena for a fleet to block up the ships in the river; in vain he kept the citizens in suspense as to the money, in hopes of gaining time. He was deaf and obdurate to all the entreaties of the citizens, who sent to inform him that the pirates were not men but devils, and that they fought with such fury that the Spanish officers had stabbed themselves, in very despair, at seeing a supposed impregnable fortress taken by a handful of people, when it should have held out against twice the number. Don Juan Perez de Guzman, the president, a man of "great parts," and who had attained high rank in the war in Flanders, expressed himself, with candour, as astonished at the exploits of 400 men (not regular soldiers) who, with no other arms but their muskets, had taken a city which any general in Europe would have found necessary to have blockaded in due form. He gave the people of Porto Bello, at the same time, leave to compound for their safety, but offered them no aid to insure it. To Morgan himself he could not refrain from expressing astonishment. He admired his success, with no ordnance for batteries, and against the citizens of a place who bore the reputation of being good soldiers, never wanting courage in their own defence. He begged, at the same time, that he would send him some small pattern of the arms wherewith he had, with such vigour, taken so great a city. Morgan received the messenger with great kindness and civility, flattered by the compliment from an enemy, and glad of an opportunity of expressing contempt of any assailants. He took a hunter's musket from one of his men, and sent it, together with a handful of Buccaneer bullets, to the president, begging him to accept it as a small pattern of the arms wherewith he had taken Porto Bello, hoping he would keep it a twelvemonth or two, at which time he hoped to visit Panama and fetch it away. The Spaniard, astonished at the wit and civility of the captain, whom he had deemed a mere brutal sea thief, sent a messenger to return the present, as he did not need the loan of weapons, but thanking Morgan and praising his courage, remarking at the same time that it was a pity that such a man should not be employed in a just war, and in the service of a great and good prince, and hoping, in conclusion, that he would not give himself the trouble of coming to see him at Panama, as he would not fare there so well as he had done at Porto Bello. Having delivered this message, so chivalrous in its tone, the messenger presented Morgan with a beautiful gold ring, set with a costly emerald, as a remembrance of his master Don Guzman, who had already supplied the English chief with fresh provisions. Having now provided himself with all necessaries, and stripped the unfortunate city of almost everything but its tiles and its paving stones, carried off half of the castle guns and spiked the rest, he then set sail, taking on board the ransom, which was punctually paid in the shape of silver bars. Corn seldom grew where his foot had once been, and he left behind him famine, pestilence, poverty, and death. Orphans and widows, mutilated men and violated women leaped for joy as his fleet melted into the distance. Setting sail, with great speed, he arrived in eight days at Cuba, where the spoil was divided. They found that they had in gold and silver, whether in coin or bar, and in jewels, which from haste and ignorance were seldom estimated at one-fourth part of their value, to the value of 260,000 pieces of eight. This did not include the silks and merchandise, of which they paid little heed, only valuing coin or bullion, and regarding the richest prize without coin as scarce worth the taking. This division accomplished, to the general satisfaction of all but the people of Porto Bello, who were now poor enough to defy all thieves, they returned at once to Jamaica, where they were magnificently received, Oexmelin says, "_surtout des cabaretiers_." Every door was open to them, and for a whole week all loudly praised their generosity and their courage; at the end of a month, every door was shut in their faces, all but one--the prison for debts, and that closed behind their backs. "They spent in a short time," says one of their historians, "with boundless prodigality, what they had gained with boundless danger and unremitting toil." The people of Tortuga considered them as mere slaves, who dived to get their pearls, and cared not whether they perished by the wave or by the shark, so the pearls which they had gathered could be first secured. "Not long after their arrival in Jamaica," says Esquemeling, "being that short time needed to lavish away all their riches, they concluded on another enterprise to seek new fortunes:" a sailor spends his money quickly, and so does a highwayman--in them both trades were combined. Morgan remained at rest as long as most Buccaneers did, that is to say, till he had drunk out half his money, strung the jewels of Spanish matrons around the necks of the fairest courtesans in Jamaica, and stripped himself at the gambling-table to-day in the hope of recovering the losses of yesterday. As his purse grew thin his heart grew stout, as his hunger grew greater his thirst for blood began also to increase. At last he looked seaward, turned his back on the lotus-land and the sirens, and prepared for sea. His rendezvous this time was fixed in a small island on the south side of Hispaniola, in order to invite both the French hunters and the sailors of Tortuga. By this sign of confidence Morgan hoped to remove all rankling prejudice between the French and English adventurers, and to obtain recruits from both nations. He resolved this time upon an expedition which would enable him and his men to retire from the sea life for ever, or at least to hold a longer revel. The Buccaneers of the coast seeing him always successful, and never returning without booty, less cruel and less rash than Lolonnois, and not only very brave but very fortunate, flocked to his flag almost without a summons. Every one furbished up his musket, cast bullets, bought powder, or fitted up a canoe. Parties were at once despatched to hunt in the savannahs, and to prepare salted meat sufficient for the voyage. Great numbers of French and English crowded to Cow Island. A powerful ally appeared at this crisis, in the shape of a French vessel, _Le Cerf Volant_, of St. Malo, which had come out to the Indies, virtuously intending to trade with the Spaniards, but, finding this difficult or unprofitable, had less virtuously determined to live by plundering them, and was now manned by French adventurers from Tortuga, no friends to Morgan, but anxious to share his booty. The vessel, which had also a long-boat towing at its stern, had a short time before attacked a Genoese ship, trading with negroes, but which, mounting forty-eight cannon, had driven it off, and compelled the captain to return home and refit. The crew seemed unwilling to trust the English, and would not listen to any terms. Morgan, who had just been joined by a ship from New England with thirty-six cannon, longed to add the twenty-four iron guns and the twelve brass ones of _Le Cerf Volant_ to his collection. In spite of his wish to unite the two nations, and close the green and still rankling wound, the temptation was rather too strong for him. His guardian angel slept for a moment, and when she awoke the English flag floated at the Frenchman's peak. The change happened thus: the French captain having refused to join Morgan's expedition, unless he drew up a peculiar charter party opposed to all Buccaneer law, and quarrelling about this, he swore _ventre St. Gris_, he would return to Tortuga, reload his cargo, and return to France. The blow was to be struck now or never. The English part of the St. Malo crew had already deserted to Morgan. Some of these men furnished him with an opportunity of revenge. The merchant captain, unaccustomed to the looseness of Buccaneer discipline, had treated them as sailors, and not as _matelots_ and brothers. They told Morgan, that being short of victual, he had lately stopped an English vessel, and taken provisions by force, paying the commander only with bills of exchange, cashable at Jamaica, and that he carried secretly a Spanish commission, empowering him to plunder the English. These charges, though full of malice, had a specious appearance of truth. The captain had indeed stopped an English vessel, but had paid for all he had taken with honest bills. He did also carry a Spanish commission, having been driven to anchor at the port of Baracoa, on the north-east side of Cuba, where he had obtained letters of marque from the governor, in order to conceal his real errand. Morgan considered this a sufficient pretext, and sounded his crew to ascertain how far they would help him at the moment of need. It was at this very moment of indecision that the New England vessel joined the fleet, and enabled him to bear down any opposition. This ship, which Oexmelin calls the _Haktswort_ (Oxford?) carried a crew of 300 men. It was said to belong to the king of England (Charles II.), and to have been lent by him to the present captain. [A strange, improbable story, unless the English government had really determined to encourage the Buccaneer movement. The _Haktswort_ was really sent by the governor of Jamaica to join the expedition.] With this timely succour Morgan's mind was instantly made up. He asked the St. Malo captain and all his officers to dinner, on board the newly-arrived vessel, and there made them prisoners, without any resistance, away from their crew, and with their ship exposed to an overwhelming fire. He then affected the anger of indignant justice, declared they were robbers, who plundered the English under a commission from the enemy, and came there as mere spies and traitors. Fortunately for him, the English vessel that had been stopped by the St. Malo crew arrived at the very moment to repeat and exaggerate the charge. The ship was now his own, and only God could take it from him. And "God did so," says Esquemeling, who sees a judgment in all misfortunes that befal an enemy, but none in those that befal his friends. Morgan, victorious and exulting, called a council of war, and summoned all his captains to attend him on board his large prize. They praised the vessel, laughed at the tricked Frenchmen, and discussed their plans. They calculated what provisions they had in store, and of what their force was capable. The island of Savona was agreed upon as a rendezvous, as at that east corner of Hispaniola they might lurk and cut off stragglers from the armed Spanish flota, now daily expected. Having completed their arrangements they gave way to pleasure, the real occupation and business of a Buccaneer's life, his toil being only expended to procure the means for pleasure, and time to enjoy it. They began to feast and drink healths, the officers below and the sailors on deck. Prayers for a successful voyage were blended with drunken songs, and unintelligible blasphemies. The captain and the cook were both drunk, the very gunners who discharged a broadside when the toasts were drained, fell senseless beside their smoking guns. Those who could not move slept, those who could walk drank on. By some accident, a spark from a smoking match caught the powder, and in an instant the vessel blew up. In perfect equality all ranks were lifted up towards heaven, in a column of flame, only to fall back again to perish, burnt and helpless, in the sea. More than 350 of the 400 men that formed the crew were drowned. By a singular coincidence, the officers nearly all escaped. The English having their powder stored in the fore part of the vessel, and not in the stern like the French, the sailors only perished; the officers and the St. Malo prisoners who were drinking with them were merely blown, much bruised, into the water. The English adventurers, declaring that the French had set fire to the powder, would have killed them on the spot, but Morgan, not apparently the least chapfallen by the disappointment, sent them all as prisoners to Jamaica. The thirty men, seated in the great cabin at some distance from the main force of the powder, escaped, and many more would have been saved had they been sober. The French prisoners in vain endeavoured to obtain justice in Jamaica, were long detained in confinement, and threatened with death when they demanded a trial. Had Morgan returned unsuccessful they might have perhaps been listened to. Eight days after this loss Morgan commanded his men to collect the floating bodies now putrifying, not to give them Christian burial, but to save the clothes, and to remove the heavy gold rings which the English Buccaneers wore upon their forefingers, abandoning their unsaleable bodies to the birds and to the sharks. Undaunted by this accident, Morgan found he had still a force of fifteen vessels, and 860 men, but his gun ship, the largest of all, only carried fourteen small guns. They now made way to Savona, where all were to repair and careen, and the swift to wait for the slow. Letters were soon placed in bottles, and buried at a spot indicated by a mark agreed on. Coasting Hispaniola, they were detained by contrary winds, and attempted for three weeks in vain to double Cape Lobos. Their provisions ran short, but they were relieved by an English vessel, bound to Jamaica, which had a superfluity for sale. Always seeking for pleasure, though in emergencies capable of the severest self-denials, six or seven of the fleet remained clustering round this vessel to purchase brandy, as eager and thoughtless as stragglers round a vivandière. The more thoughtful and earnest pressed on with Morgan, and, reaching the bay of Ocoa, waited for them there, the men spending their time usefully, as they had agreed before, in hunting, and foraging for water and provisions, killing some oxen and a few horses. Detained here by continued bad weather, Morgan maintained strict discipline, compelling every captain to send, daily, on shore eight men from each ship, making a total force of sixty-four. He also instituted a convoy, or a body of armed men, who attended the hunters as a guard, for they were now near St. Domingo, which was full of Greek soldiers and Spanish matadors. The Spaniards, few in number, did not attack them, but, adopting a Fabian policy, which suited their pride and phlegm, sent for 300 or 400 men to kill all the cattle round the bay. Another party drove all the herds far into the interior, wishing to starve the foe out of the island, knowing that a Buccaneer, pressed by hunger, did not care whether he ate horse, mule, or ass, falling back upon monkeys and parrots, and resorting to sharks' flesh or his own shoes as a last resource. But when the Buccaneers spread further inland, a body of soldiers was despatched to the coast, to practise a stratagem, and to form an ambuscade. The following was their plan, which completely succeeded, but nevertheless ended in the Spaniards' total rout. A band of fifty Buccaneers having resolved to venture further than usual into the woods, a party of Spanish muleteers were ordered to drive the bait, a small herd of cattle, past the shore, where they had landed, pretending to fly when they caught sight of their enemies. When they approached the ambuscade two Spaniards were sent out, carrying a white flag of truce. The Buccaneers, ceasing the pursuit, pushed forward two men to parley. The treacherous Spaniards beseeched them plaintively not to kill their cows, offering to sell them cattle, or furnish them with food. The Buccaneers, with all the good faith of seamen, replied that they would give a crown and a-half for each ox, and that the seller could make his own profit besides on the hide and the tallow. During this time, which was planned to give time for the operation, the Spanish troops were turning the flank of the enemy, and had now surrounded the small band on all sides. They interrupted the conversation by breaking out of the wood, with shots and cries of "_Mata, mata_"--"kill, kill," imagining they could cut to pieces so small a force without a struggle. The Buccaneers, differing from them in opinion, faced about with good heart, threw themselves into a square, and beat a slow retreat to the forest, keeping up a rolling fire from all four sides of their brave phalanx. The Spaniards, considering the retreat a sure proof of despair and fear, attacked them with great courage, but great loss. The Buccaneers losing no men, while the Spaniards fell thick and fast, cried out, in imprudent bravado, that they were only trying to frighten them, and put no balls in their muskets. This jest cost them dear, for the Spaniards had been only aiming high, wishing to kill them on the spot and to make no prisoners. They now tried to maim as well as kill, and soon wounded so many in the legs that the Buccaneers were obliged to retreat to a clump of trees, where they stood at bay, and from whence the Spaniards did not dare to beat them. They then began to prepare to carry off their dead and wounded to the vessels, but seeing a small party of Spaniards piercing one of the bodies with their swords, they fired upon them, charged them, and drove them off, tracking their way by their dead, and then retreated, killing the cattle and bearing them off in sorrowful triumph to their vessels. The very next day, at the first light, Morgan, furious to revenge this treachery of the Spaniards, landed himself at the head of 200 men, and entered the woods, visiting the scene of the last night's skirmish. But the Spaniards had long since fled, discovering that in driving cattle towards the shore as a lure for the Buccaneer, they only brought destruction upon themselves, and a dangerous enemy nearer to their homes and treasures. Morgan, finding his search useless, returned to his ship, having first burned down all the deserted huts he could find: "Returning," says Esquemeling, "somewhat more satisfied in his mind for having done considerable damage to the enemy, which was always his ardent desire." The day after, deciding not to venture an attack upon Bourg d'Asso, Morgan, impatient at the delay of his vessels, resolved to sail without them, and visit Savona, hoping there to meet his lingering companions. Alarming the people of St. Domingo, he coasted round Hispaniola. He determined to wait eight days at Savona, and, weary of rest, still wanting provisions, he sent some boats and 150 men to plunder the towns round St. Domingo, but they, finding the Spaniards vigilant and desperate, gave up the enterprise as hopeless, and returned empty-handed to endure the curses and sneers of their commander. Morgan now held a council of war, for provisions were very scanty and time was going. The eight ships did not arrive, and all agreed, with their seven small vessels and their 300 men, some place of importance might still be taken. Morgan had hitherto resolved to cruise about the Caraccas and plunder the towns and villages, mere hen-roost robbing and footpad work, compared with the enterprise proposed by one of his French captains amid great applause. This captain was Pierre le Picard, the _matelot_ of the famous Lolonnois when he took Maracaibo: he it was who had steered the vessels over the bar, and had served both as pilot at sea and guide on land; he reefed and fought, and could handle a rope as well as a musket. He now proposed a second attack upon the same place, and, with all the rude eloquence of sincerity, proved the facility of the attempt, and the riches that lay within their reach. As he spoke good English that could be understood by all, and was, moreover, much esteemed by Morgan, the scheme for a new campaign was at once rapturously approved. He disclosed in the council all the entries, passages, forces, and means. A charter-party was drawn up, containing a clause, that if the rest of the fleet joined them before they had taken a fortress, they should be allowed to share like the rest. Having left a letter at Savona, buried in the usual way, the Buccaneers set sail for Curaçoa, stopping after some days' sail at the island of Omba, to take in water and provisions. This place was distant some twelve leagues from Maracaibo. Here they stayed twenty-four hours, buying goats of the natives for hanks of thread and linen. Sheep, lambs, and kids were the only products of the island, which abounded with spiders whose bite produced madness, unless the sufferer was tied hands and feet, and left without food for a night and a day. The fleet set sail in the night, to prevent the islanders discovering the object of their voyage. The next morning they sighted the small islands that lie at the entrance of the lake of Maracaibo, anchoring out of sight of the Vigilia, in hopes to escape notice, but were observed by the sentries, whose signal gave the Spaniards ample time for defence. The fleet remained becalmed, unable to reach the bar till four o'clock in the afternoon. The canoes were instantly manned, in order to take the Bar Fort, rebuilt since Picard's last visit. Its guns played upon the boats as they pulled to land. Morgan exhorted his men to be brave and not to give way--for he expected the Spaniards would defend themselves desperately, seeing their fire was so rolling and incessant that the fort seemed like the crater of a small volcano, and they could now see that the huts round the wall had been burnt and removed, to leave them no protection or shelter. "The dispute continued very hot, being managed with great courage from morning till dark night." That latterly the fighting died away to occasional shots is evident, for, at six o'clock when it grew dusk, Morgan reconnoitred the fort, and found it deserted. The cessation of the fire had already roused their suspicions. Suspecting treachery, Morgan searched the place to see if any lighted fuses had been placed near the powder, and a division was employed to enter the place before the main body. There was no lack of volunteers for this experimental and cat's-paw work. Morgan himself clambered up first. As they expected, they found a lighted match, and a dark train of powder communicating with the magazine. A little later and the whole band had perished together. Morgan himself snatched up the match. This fort was a redoubt of five toises high, six long, and three round. In the magazine they found 3,000 pounds of gunpowder that would have been wasted had the place been blown up; fourteen pieces of cannon, of eight, twelve, and fourteen pounds calibre, and abundance of fire-pots, hand-grenades, and carcases; twenty-four muskets and thirty pikes and bandoliers had been left by the runaways. The fort was only accessible by an iron ladder, which could be drawn up into the guard-room. But courage requires no ladder, and, like love, can always find out a way. When they had once examined the place, the Buccaneers broke down the parapet, spiked the cannon, threw them over the walls, and burnt the gun-carriages. The Spaniards waited in vain for the roar of their bursting mine. Their own city was rocking beneath their feet; a more dreadful visitation than the earthquake or the hurricane was at their doors. At daybreak the fleet sailed up the lake, the ruined fort smoking behind them. Making great haste, they arrived at Maracaibo the next day, having first divided among themselves the arms and ammunition of the fort. The water being very low and the shoals numerous, they disembarked into their boats, with a few small cannon. From some cavaliers whom they could see on the walls they believed that the Spaniards were fortifying themselves. The Buccaneers therefore landed at some distance from the town, anchoring and disembarking amid discharges of their own cannon, intending to clear the thickets on the shore. Their men they divided into two divisions, in order to embarrass the enemy by a double attack. But these precautions were useless. The timid people had already fled into the woods; only the beggars, who feared no plunderers, and the sick, who were praying for death, remained in Maracaibo. The brave fled with the coward, the monk with the sinner, the thief from the thieves, the soldiers from the seamen, the Catholic from the dreaded Protestant, and the Spaniard from the enemies of his name and race. The sick were expecting death, and cared not if it came by the hand of the doctor or the Buccaneer; the beggar hoped to benefit by those who could not covet, and might pity, their rags. "A few miserable folk, who had nothing to lose," says Esquemeling, "alone remained." Crippled slaves, not worth removing, lay in the streets; the dying groaned untended in the hospital. Children fled from parents, and parents from children; rich old age was left to die in spite of all the inducements of avarice. The prostitute fled to escape dishonour, and the murderer to avoid bloodshed. The houses were empty, the doors open, the chambers stripped of every movable, costly or precious. The first care of the invaders was to search every corner for prisoners, the next to secure, each party as they arrived, the richest palaces for their barracks. The palaces were their dens, the churches their prisons; everything they defiled and polluted, the loathsome things they made still more horrible, the holy they in some degree contaminated. At sea they were brave, obedient, self-denying, religious in formula (half the world goes no further), determined, and irresistible; on land cruel, bloody, rebellious, and ferocious. At sea they exceeded most men in the practice of the sterner virtues, on land they were demons of wrath, devils of drunkenness and lust, mercenaries and outlaws in their bearing and their actions. The three former days of terror had sapped the courage of the bravest, and alarm and fear had, by a common panic, induced the inhabitants to hide the merchandise in the woods. The men who fled had had fathers and children killed and tortured in the first expedition. Friends, still maimed by the rack, increased their fears by their narrations. The Buccaneers seemed a judgment from God, irresistible and unavertable. The desire to defend riches seems to be a weaker principle in the human mind than the desire to obtain them. Great conquerors have generally been poorer than the nations they have conquered. Scarcely any provisions remained in the town. There was no vessel or boat in the port, all had been removed into the wide lake beyond. The small demilune fort, with its four cannon, that was intended to guard the harbour, was also deserted. The richer the man, the further he had escaped inland; the needy were in the woods, the drunken beggars revelled alone in the town, rejoicing in an event that at least made them rich: "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good." The very same day the Buccaneers despatched a body of 100 men to search the woods for refugees, any attempt to secrete treasure being a heavy offence in the eyes of Morgan. These men returned the next evening with thirty prisoners, fifty mules, and several horses laden with baggage and rich merchandise. Both the male and female prisoners seemed poor and worthless. They were immediately tortured, in order to induce them to disclose where their richer and more virtuous fellow citizens were hidden. Morgan, finding none to resist him, quartered his men in the richest houses, selecting the church as their central guard-house and rallying point, their store-room for plunder, their court of justice (blind and with false weights), and their torture-chamber. Some of the prisoners offered to act as guides to places where they knew money and jewels were hidden. As several places were named, two parties went out the same night upon this exciting search. The one party returned on the morrow with much booty, the other did not wander in for two days, having been misled by a prisoner, who, in the hopes of finding means to escape through his knowledge of the country, had led them into such dangerous and uninhabited places that they had had a thousand difficulties in avoiding. Furious at finding themselves mocked by their guide, they hung him on a tree without any parley. In returning they came, however, suddenly upon some slaves who were seeking for food by night, having been hiding in the woods all day. Torture was at once resorted to, to find out where the masters lay, for slaves could not be there alone. The braver of the two suffered the most horrible pain without disclosing a syllable, and was eventually cut to pieces without confessing; the weaker, and perhaps younger negro, endured his sufferings at first with equal fortitude, although he was offered liberty and reward if he would speak. But when the seamen drew their sabres, still red with the blood of his companion, and began to hew and gash his brother's limbs that still lay palpitating on the ground, his courage fell, and he offered to lead them to his master. The Spaniard was soon taken with 30,000 crowns' worth of plate. For eight days the men practised unheard-of cruelties upon the wretched townsmen, already starved and beggared, wretches whose only crime had been their yielding to the natural impulse of self-preservation. They hung them up by their beards and by the hair of their heads, by an arm or a leg; they stretched their limbs tight with cords, and then beat with rattans upon the rigid flesh; they placed burning matches between their fingers; they twisted cords about their heads, tightening the strain by the leverage of their pistol stocks, till the eyes sprang from the sockets. The deathblow was never given from pity, but as the climax and consummation of suffering, and when the executioners were weary of their cruelty. In vain the tortured Spaniards screamed that the treasure was all removed to Gibraltar, and that they were not the rich citizens but very poor men, monks and servants of Jesus, God help them! Many died before the rack could be loosened. Captain Picard, exulting in the success of his expedition, was now very urgent in pressing Morgan to advance on Gibraltar before succours could arrive there from Merida, believing that it would surrender as it had done to Lolonnois. Morgan having in his custody about 100 of the chief families of Maracaibo, and all the accessible booty, embarked eight days after his landing, and proceeded to Gibraltar, hoping to rival Lolonnois in every virtue. His prisoners and plunder went with him, and he determined to hazard a battle. Expecting an obstinate defence, every Buccaneer made his will, consoling himself by the thought of revelry at Jamaica if he was one of those lucky enough to escape. "Death," says Oexmelin, "was never much mixed up in their thoughts, especially when there was booty in view, for if there were only some hopes of plunder they would fight like lions." Before the fleet started, two prisoners had been sent to Gibraltar to warn the governor that Captain Morgan would give him no quarter if he did not surrender. Picard, who remembered the former dangerous spots, made his men land about a quarter of a league from the town, and march through the woods in hopes of taking the Spaniards in the rear, in case they should be again entrenched. The enemy received them with quick discharges of cannon, but the men cheered each other, saying, "We must make a breakfast of these bitter things ere we sup on the sweetmeats of Gibraltar." They landed early in the morning, and found no more difficulty than at Maracaibo. The Spaniards, deceived by a stratagem, had expected their approach by the road, and not by the woods. They had no time to throw up entrenchments, and only a few barricades, planted with cannon, protected their flight. They remembered Lolonnois; their hearts became as water, and they fled as the Buccaneers took peaceable possession of the town. The Spaniards took with them their riches, and all their ammunition, to use at some more convenient period. Morgan, rejoicing in the easy victory, posted his men at the strong points of the town, while 100 men, under Picard, went out to pursue and bring in prisoners. They found the guns spiked, and every house sacked by its owner, much spoiled, much carried off, and the heavy and the worthless alone left. The only inhabitant remaining in the town was a poor half-witted Spaniard, who had not clearly ascertained what he ought to do. He was so well dressed that they at first took him, much to his delight, for a man of rank, and asked him what had become of all the people of Gibraltar. He replied, "they had been gone a day, but he did not know where; he had not asked, but he dare say they would soon be back, and for his part he, Pepé, did not care." When they inquired where the sugar-mills were, he replied that he had never seen any in his life. The church money, he knew, was hid in the sacristy of the great church. Taking them there he showed them a large coffer, where he pretended to have seen it hid. They opened it and found it empty. To all other inquiries he now answered, "I know nothing, I know nothing." Some of the Buccaneers, angry at the disappointment, and vexed at the subtlety of the Spaniards, declared the fellow was more knave than fool, and dragged him to torture. They gave him first the strapado, till he began to wish the people were returned; they then hung him up for two hours with heavy stones tied to his feet, till his arms were dislocated. At last he cried out, "Do not plague me any more, but come with me and I will show you my goods and my riches." He then led them to a miserable hovel, containing only a few earthen pots and three pieces of eight, wrapped in faded finery, buried under the hearth. He then said his name was Don Sebastian Sanchez, brother of the governor of Maracaibo, that he was worth more than 50,000 crowns, and that he would write for it and give it up if they would cease to hang and plague him so. They then tortured him again, thinking he was a grandee in disguise, till he offered, if he was released, to show them a refinery. They had not got a musket-shot from the hut before he fell on his knees and gave himself up as a criminal. "Jesu Maria!" he cried, "what will you do with me, Englishmen? I am a poor man who live on alms, and sleep in the hospital." They then lit palm-leaves and scorched him, and would have burnt off all his clothes had he not been released by one of the Buccaneers who now saw he was an idiot. The poor fellow died in great torment in about half-an-hour, and before he grew cold was dragged into the woods and buried. The following day Picard brought in an old peasant and his two daughters; the old man, his crippled limbs having been tortured, offered to serve as guide, and lead them to some houses in the suburbs. Half blind and frightened, he mistook his way, and the Buccaneers, thinking the error intentional, made a slave, who declared he had intentionally misled them, hang him on a tree by the road side. Slavery here brought its own retribution, for this same slave, burning to avenge some ill treatment he had received, offered, on being made free, to lead them to many of the Spanish places of refuge. Before evening ten or twelve families, with all their wealth, were brought into Gibraltar. It had now become difficult to track the fugitives, as fathers refused even to trust their children; no one slept twice in the same spot, for fear that some one who knew of the retreat would be captured, and then, under torture, betray the spot, generally huts in the darkest recesses of the woods, where their goods were stored from the weather. These exiles were, however, obliged to steal at night to their country houses to obtain food, and then they were intercepted. From some of these merchants Morgan heard that a vessel of 100 tons, and three barges laden with silver and merchandise belonging to Maracaibo, now lay in the river; about six leagues distant, and 100 men were despatched to secure the prize. In scouring the woods again with a body of 200 human bloodhounds, Morgan surprised a large body of Spaniards. Some of these he forced the negro guide to kill before the eyes of the others, in order to implicate him in the eyes of the survivors. After eight days' search the band returned with 250 prisoners, and a long train of baggage mules, bound for Merida. The prisoners were each separately examined as to where the treasure was hid. Those who would not confess, and even those who had nothing to confess, were tortured to death--burnt, maimed, or had their life slowly crushed out of them. Amongst the greatest sufferers in this purgatory on earth was an old Portuguese of venerable appearance, perhaps either a miser or purposely disguised. This man the blood-thirsty negro, now high in favour with the Buccaneers, and trying to rival them in cruelty, declared was very rich. The poor old man, tearing his thin grey hair, swore by the Virgin and all the saints that he had but 100 pieces of eight in the whole world, and these had been stolen from him a few days before, during the general chaos, by a runaway slave. This he vowed on his knees with tears and prayers, doubly vehement when coming from one already on the grave's brink. The cruel slave still looked sneeringly on, and swore he was known to be the richest merchant in all Gibraltar. The Buccaneers then stretched the Portuguese with cords till both his arms broke at the shoulder, and then bound him by the hands and feet to the four corners of a room, placing upon his loins a stone, weighing five cwt., while four men, laughing at his cries, kept the cords that tied him in perpetual motion. This inhuman punishment they called "swimming on land." As he still refused to speak, they held fire under him as he swung groaning, burnt off his beard and moustaches, and then left him hanging while they strapadoed another. The next man they threw into a ditch, after having pierced him with many sword thrusts, for they seem to have been as insatiable for variety of cruelty as they were for cruelty itself. They left him for dead, but he crawled home, and eventually recovered, although several sword blades had passed completely through his body. As for the old Portuguese, his sufferings were far from ended; putting him on a mule they brought him into Gibraltar, and imprisoned him in the church, binding him to a pillar apart from the rest, supplying him with food barely sufficient to enable him to endure his tortures. Four or five days having passed, he entreated that a certain fellow prisoner, whom he named, might be brought to him. This request being complied with, as the first step to obtaining a ransom while he still remained alive, he offered them, through this agent, a sum of 500 pieces of eight. But the Buccaneers laughed at so small a sum, and fell upon him with clubs, crying "500,000, old hunx, and not 500, or you shall not live." After several more days of continued suffering, during which he incessantly protested that he was a poor man and kept a small tavern, the miser confessed that he had a store of 2000 pieces of eight, buried in an earthen jar, and all these, bruised and mutilated as he was and much as he loved money, he gave for his liberty, and a few days more of life. Upon the other prisoners, without regard to age, sex, or rank, they inflicted tortures too disgusting and shocking to mention. Fear, hatred, and avarice generated crimes, till the prisoners grew as vile as their persecutors. A slave, who had been cruelly treated by his master, persuaded the Buccaneers to torture him on the plea that he was very rich, although he was in reality a man of no wealth. The other prisoners, roused from the selfishness of self-preservation by a thrill of involuntary compassion, told Morgan that the Spaniard was a poor man, and that the slave had perjured himself to obtain revenge. Morgan released the Spaniard directly, but he had been already tortured. The slave was given up to his master to be punished by any sort of death he chose to inflict. Handed over to the Buccaneers, he was chopped to pieces in his master's presence, still exulting in his revenge. "This," says Oexmelin, with a cold _naïveté_, "satisfait l'Espagnol, quoyqu'il fust fort mal traité, et en danger d'estre estropié" (this satisfied the Spaniard, though he had been very badly treated, and almost lamed for life). Some of the prisoners were crucified, others were burnt with matches tied between their toes or fingers, many had their feet forced into the fires till they dropped from the leg black and charred. All that the Indians had suffered was now retaliated on the Spaniards. The Buccaneers themselves considered the punishment a vengeance of Providence. The only mercy ever shown to a Spaniard was to end his sufferings by death. The _coup de grace_ was a kindness when it ended the misery of a groaning wretch, bruised and burnt, lying in the hot sun, half mortified, or with his body already paralyzed four or five days since. The masters being all tortured, the slaves next received the strapado. These men, weaker in their moral nature and with no motive for concealment but fear, told everything. Many of the hiding-places were, however, not known to them. One of them, during the fever of his wound, declared he knew where the governor of the town was secreted, with many of the ladies of Gibraltar, and a large portion of the treasure. Threats of death revealed the rest, and he confessed that a ship and four boats, laden with Maracaibo wealth, lay in a river of the lake. The Buccaneers were instantly on their feet. Morgan, with 200 men and the slave guide, set out to capture the governor; and 100 others, in two large _settees_ (boats), sallied out to capture the treasure and the ships. The governor was not easily caught, for it needed a battalion of balloons to surprise him. His first retreat was a fort thrown up in the centre of a small island in the river, two days' march distant. Hearing that Morgan was coming in force, he retreated to the top of an adjoining mountain, into which there was but one ascent, so straight, narrow, and perilous, that it could only be mounted in single file. The expedition altogether broke down, the rock proved inaccessible to any but eagles; a "huge rain" wetted their baggage and ammunition; in fording a river swollen by this "huge rain," many of their female prisoners were lost, and, what they valued more, several mules laden with plate were whirled down the torrents. Many of the women and children sank under the fatigue, and some escaped. Involved in a marshy country, up to their middles in water, the Buccaneers had to toil on for miles. A few lost their lives, others their arms (the means of preserving them). A body of fifty determined men, the Buccaneer historian himself says, could have destroyed the whole body. But the Spaniards were already so paralyzed by fear that they fled at the very rustle of a leaf. Twelve days were spent in this dangerous and useless expedition. Two days after them arrived their comrades, who had been somewhat more successful. The Spaniards had unloaded the vessels, and were beginning to burn them when they arrived, but many bales were left in the haste of flight, and the boats, full of plunder, were brought away in tow. Morgan had now been lord in Gibraltar for five whole weeks, practising all insolences that a conqueror ever inflicts on the conquered; revenging on them the sufferings of the conquest, and trampling them under foot for the very pleasure of destruction. Provisions now failing, he resolved to depart; the provisions of Gibraltar, except the fruits, coming entirely from Maracaibo, were delayed and intercepted. He first sent some prisoners into the woods to collect a ransom from the fugitives, under pain of again burning down their newly rebuilt city. He demanded 5,000 pieces of eight. They promised to pay it in eight days, and gave four of their richest citizens as hostages. The governor, safe from all danger himself, had, however, forbidden them to pay any ransom, and they prayed Morgan to have patience. Setting sail with his hostages he arrived in three days at Maracaibo, afraid that, during his long absence, the Spaniards had fortified themselves, and he should have to fight his way through the passes. Before his departure he released all his prisoners who had paid ransom, but detained the slaves. He refused particularly to give up the treacherous negro, because he knew they would burn him alive. The only inmate of all the rich palaces and wide squares of Maracaibo, was a poor sick man, who informed him (Morgan), to his astonishment, that three Spanish men-of-war had arrived at the bar, and had repaired and garrisoned the fort. Their commander was Don Alonso del Campo d'Espinosa, the vice-admiral of the Indian fleet, who had been despatched to those seas to protect the Spanish colonists, and put to the sword every adventurer he could meet. This news did not alarm those who every day "set their lives upon the hazard of a die," but it enraged men who thought themselves secure of their plunder, and which they now might have to throw off to lighten them in their retreat. Morgan instantly despatched his swiftest vessel to reconnoitre the bar. The men returned next day, assuring him that the story was too true, and they were in very imminent danger. They had approached so near as to be in peril of the shot, the biggest ship mounted forty guns, the next thirty, and the smallest twenty, while Morgan's flag-ship had only fourteen. They had seen the flag of Castile waving on the redoubt. There was no means of escape by sea or land, and all were in despair at such enemies so placed. Morgan, undaunted and roused to new courage by the extremity, grew more full of audacity than ever. He at once sent a flag of truce to the _Magdalene_, the Spanish admiral's vessel, demanding 20,000 pieces of eight, or he should set Maracaibo in flames. The admiral, amused and astonished at such temerity, wrote back to say, that hearing that they had committed hostilities in the dominions of his Catholic Majesty, his sovereign lord and master, he had come to dispute their passage out of the lake, from that castle, which they had taken out of the hands of a parcel of cowards, and he intended to follow and pursue them everywhere, as was his duty. The letter continued: "Notwithstanding if you be contented to surrender with humility all you have taken, together with the slaves and other prisoners, I will let you pass freely without trouble or molestation, on condition that you retire home presently to your own country. But if you make any resistance or opposition to what I offer you, I assure you I will command boats to come from the Caraccas, wherein I will put my troops, and, coming to Maracaibo, will put you every man to the sword. This is my last and absolute resolution; be prudent, therefore, and do not abuse my bounty with ingratitude. I have with me very good soldiers, who desire nothing more ardently than to revenge on you and your people all the cruelties and base infamous actions you have committed upon the Spanish nation in America." This vapouring letter Morgan read aloud to his men in the broad market-place at Maracaibo, first in French and then in English, begging their advice on the whole matter--asking them whether they would surrender everything for liberty, or fight for both liberty and hard-won treasure. They all answered unanimously, they did not care for the Spanish brag, and they would rather fight to the last drop of their blood than surrender booty got with such peril. One of the men, stepping forward, cried, "You take care of the rest, I'll build a _brûlot_, and with twelve men will burn the biggest of the three Spaniards." The scheme was adopted, but resolved once more to try negotiation, now that he was prepared for the worst, Morgan wrote again to Don Alonso, offering to leave Maracaibo uninjured, surrender all the prisoners, half the slaves, and to give up the hostages. The Don, trusting in his superior strength, and believing Morgan fairly intimidated or at least entirely in his mercy, refused to listen to any terms but those he had proposed, adding, that in two days he should come and force him to yield. Morgan resolved upon this to fight his way out and surrender nothing, his men, though discouraged, being still brave and desperate. All things were put in order to fight. The Englishman of Morgan's crew proceeded as fast as possible with his _brûlot_, or fire-ship. He took the small vessel captured in the Rivière des Espines, and filled it full of palm-leaves dipped in tar, and a mixture of brimstone and gunpowder. He put several pounds of powder under each of the ten sham guns, which were formed of negro drums. The partitions of the cabins were then broken down, so that the flame might spread unimpeded. The crew were wooden posts, dressed up with swords, muskets, bandoliers, and hats or montero caps. This fire-ship bore the English colours, so that it might pass for Morgan's vessel; and in eight days, by all hands working upon it, it was ready. During the preparation an extra guard was kept upon the prisoners, for one escaping would have destroyed all their hopes of safety. The male prisoners were kept in one boat, and the females, slaves, plate, and jewels in another. In others, guarded by twelve men each, came the merchandise. The _brûlot_ was to go first and grapple with the admiral's ship. All things being now completed, Morgan, with a heart as gay as if he fought for God and the right, made his men take the usual Buccaneer oath, employed on all occasions of pressing danger, when mutual confidence was peculiarly necessary. They vowed to fight till death, and neither to give nor take quarter. He promised a reward to all who distinguished themselves, exciting all the strongest feelings of their nature--revenge, avarice, and self-preservation. With these desperate resolves, full of hope, for they were accustomed to consider his promises of victory as certain prophecies, they set sail on the 30th day of April, 1669, to seek the Spaniards. They found the Spanish fleet riding at anchor in the middle of the entry of the lake, like gaolers of their spacious prison. It being late and almost dark, Morgan gave orders to anchor within range of the enemy, determined to resist if attacked, but to wait for light. They kept a strict watch, and at daybreak lifted anchor and set sail, bearing down straight upon the Spaniards, who, seeing them move, advanced to meet them. Poor fishing boats the Buccaneers' barks seemed beneath those proud floating castles; "but the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong." The _brûlot_ sailed first, pushing on to the admiral's vessel, which lay stately between its two companions, and was suffered to approach within cannon shot. The Spaniards believing that it was Morgan's vessel, and intended to board them, waited till it came closer to crush it with a broadside. They little thought that they were fighting with the elements. The fire-ship fell upon the Spaniard and clung to its sides, like a wild cat on an elephant. Too late the Spaniard attempted to push her off, but the flames had already leaped from their lurking places; first the sails were swathed in fire, then the tackling shrivelled up, and soon the solid timbers burst into a blaze. The stern was first consumed, and the fore part sank hissing into the sea. The wretched crew, flying from one element to the other, perished, some by fire, some by water; the half-drowning clung to the burning planks and withered in the glare; the burning sailors were sucked down by the vortex of the sinking wreck. Don Alonso, seeing the danger, called out to them in vain to cut down the masts, and, throwing himself with difficulty into his sloop, escaped to land. The sailors, refusing quarter, were allowed to perish by the Buccaneers' boats' crews, who at first offered to save them. Perhaps the recollection of their oath lessened their exertions. The boats were pulling round the burning vessel in hopes of saving plunder, and not of saving lives. The second vessel was boarded by the Buccaneers and taken, in the confusion, almost without resistance. The third ship, cutting its cables, drifted towards the fort, and there ran ashore, the crew setting fire to her to prevent capture. The Buccaneers, proud of their victory, determined to push it to extremities by landing and attempting to storm the fort at the bar, without ladders, and relying only on their hand grenades, but their artillery was too small to make any practicable breach. The fort they found well supplied with men, cannon, and ammunition. The garrison had not suffered personally by the loss of a fleet manned by strangers, and they repulsed all attacks. Unwilling to retire, Morgan spent the whole of the day till dusk in firing muskets at any defenders who showed themselves above the walls, and at dusk lit them up with a shower of fireballs, but the Spaniards desperately resisted, and shot so furiously at them as to drive them back to the ships, with the loss of thirty killed and as many wounded--more loss than they had suffered in the capture of Maracaibo and Gibraltar, while the fleet had been destroyed without the loss of a single man. The garrison, expecting a fresh attack at daybreak, laboured all night to strengthen their works, levelling the ground towards the sea, and throwing up entrenchments from spots that commanded the castle. The next day Morgan, not intending to renew the attack, employed himself in saving the Spanish sailors who were still floating on charred pieces of the wreck; not rescuing them from mercy, but in order to make them help in recovering part of the sunk treasure. They acknowledged that Don Alonso had compelled them before the engagement, after they had confessed to the chaplain, to come and take an oath to give the enemy no quarter, which was the reason many had refused to be saved. The admiral's vessel, the _Magdalene_, had carried thirty-eight guns and twelve small brass pieces, and was manned by 350 sailors; the second, the _St. Louis_, had thirty-four guns and 200 men; and the third, the _Marquise_, twenty-two guns and 150 men. The _Marquise_ derived its name from the Marquis de Coquin, who had fitted it out as a privateer. The _Concepcion_ and _Nostra Signora de la Soledad_, two larger vessels, had been sent back to Spain from Carthagena; a fourth, _Nostra Signora del Carmen_ (for the Spaniards generally drew the names of their war vessels from the lady of love and peace), had sunk near Campeachy. The pilot of the smaller vessel being saved, and promised his life, disclosed all Don Alonso's plans. He had been sent, upon the tidings of the loss of Porto Bello, by direction of the supreme council of state, with orders to root out the English pirates in those parts, and to destroy as many as he could, for dismal lamentations had been made to the court of Spain, to the Catholic king, to whom belonged the care and preservation of the New World, of the damages and hostilities committed by the English, and he had resolved to punish these proceedings and avenge his subjects. The king of England being complained to, constantly replied that he never gave any letters-patent to such men or such ships. Sending home his more cumbrous ships, the Don had heard at St. Domingo of the fleet sailing from Jamaica, and a prisoner, taken at Alta Grecia, disclosed Morgan's plan on the Caraccas. On arriving there the wild fire had already broken out at Maracaibo a second time, and hither he came to extinguish it. A negro slave had indeed informed the admiral of the fire-ship, but with short-sighted pride he derided the idea, saying that the English had had neither wit, tools, nor time to build it. The pilot who made these disclosures was rewarded by Morgan, and, yielding to his promises, entered into his service. He informed him, with the usual zeal of a deserter, that there was plate to the value of 40,000 pieces of eight in the sunken ship, for he had seen it brought on board in boats. The divers eventually recovered 2000 pounds' worth of it, some "in plate" and others in piastres, that had melted into large lumps, together with many silver hilts of swords and other valuables. Leaving a vessel to superintend this profitable fishery, Morgan hurried back to Maracaibo, and, fitting up his largest prize for himself, gave his own ship to a companion. He also sent to the governor, now somewhat crest-fallen, to re-demand the ransom, threatening more violently than before to burn down the city in eight days if it was not brought in. He also demanded, in addition, 500 cows as victual for his fleet. These were brought in in the short space of two days, with part of the money, and eleven more days were spent in salting the meat and preparing for sea. Then returning to the mouth of the lake, he sent to Don Alonso to demand a free passage, offering to send all the prisoners on shore as soon as he had once passed out, but otherwise to tie the prisoners to the rigging, exposing them to the shot of the fort, and then to kill and throw overboard those who were not struck. The prisoners also sent a petition, praying the governor to spare their lives. But the Don, quite undaunted, sternly answered to the hostages, who besought him on their knees to save them from the sword and rope, "If you had been as loyal to your king in hindering the entry of these pirates as I shall be in hindering their going out, you had never caused these troubles, either to yourselves or to our whole nation, which hath suffered so much through your pusillanimity. I shall not grant your request, but shall endeavour to maintain that respect which is due to my king, according to my duty." When the terrified messengers returned and told Morgan, he replied, "If Alonso will not let me pass, I will find out a way without him," resolving to use either force or stratagem, and perhaps both. Fearing that a storm might separate his fleet, or that some might not succeed in escaping, Morgan divided the booty before he attempted to pass the bar. Having all taken the usual oath, he found they had collected 250,000 pieces of eight, including money and jewels, and in addition a vast bulk of merchandise and many slaves. Eight days were spent in this division, which took place within sight of the exasperated garrison in the fort. The following stratagem was then resorted to. Knowing that the Spaniards were expecting a final and desperate attack on the day before their departure, the Buccaneers made great show of preparing to land and attack the fort. Part of each ship's crew embarked with their colours in their canoes, which were instantly rowed to shore. Here the men, concealed by the boughs on the banks, lay down flat in their boats, and were rowed back again to their vessels by only two or three sailors. This feigned landing they repeated several times in the day. The Spaniards, certain of an escalade, at night brought down the great eighteen pound ship guns of the fort to the side of the island looking towards the land, and left the sea-shore almost defenceless. When night came Morgan weighed anchor, and, by moonlight setting sail, at the commencement of the ebb tide, dropped gently down the river, till the vessels were almost alongside of the castle. Then spreading sails, quick as magic, he drove past, firmly but warily. Every precaution was taken. The crew were couched flat on the poop, and some placed below to plug the shot-holes as they came. The Spaniards, astonished at their daring, and enraged at their escape, ran with all speed and shifted their battery, firing hastily, furiously, and with little certainty; but by this time, a favourable wind springing up, the Buccaneers were almost out of reach, few men were killed, and little damage done. In this manner escaped Morgan from the clutches of Don Alonso, who had thought himself sure of his prey. The baffled rage of the Spaniards and the wild joy of the Buccaneers, their clamorous approval of Morgan's skill, the exultation of their triumph, and the prisoners' dismay, may be easily imagined. Generous in success, Morgan, once out of range of the guns that thundered in pursuit, sent a canoe on shore with his prisoners from Maracaibo, but those of Gibraltar he carried off, as they had not yet paid their ransom. The joy of one and the grief of the other, their parting and the tears, were painful to witness. As he set sail, and the fort was still looming to the right, Morgan discharged a farewell salute of eight guns, to which the chapfallen Spaniards had not the heart to return even a single musket shot. But out of Scylla into Charybdis was a Buccaneer's fate: one danger was succeeded by another, hope by hope, despair by despair. The very day of their escape the judgment of Heaven seemed to overtake the sea rovers, as if to warn them that no stratagems could defeat God. The fleet was surprised by such a tempest that they were compelled to anchor in five or six fathom water. The storm increased, they were obliged to weigh again, and at any risk keep off the land. Their only choice seemed to be death by the Spaniard, the Indian, or the wave--all equally hostile and deaf to mercy. Oexmelin says he was on board the least seaworthy vessel of the whole fleet, that, having lost anchors and mainsail, they had great difficulty in keeping afloat, and were obliged to bale as well as work night and day at the pumps, amid deafening thunder and mountainous seas that threatened to drown them even while the vessel still floated. The ship, but for the ropes that held it together, would have instantly sunk. The lightning and the wave disputed for their prey, but the rude arbiter, the wind, came in and snatched them from these destroyers. "Indeed," says Oexmelin, "though worn out with fatigue and toil, we could not make up our minds to close our eyes on that blessed light which we might so soon lose sight of for ever, for no hope of safety now remained. The storm had lasted four days, and there was no probability of its termination. On one side we saw rocks on which our vessel threatened every instant to drive, on the other were Indians who would no more have spared us than the Spaniards who were behind us; and by some evil fortune the wind drove us ceaselessly towards the rocks and the Indians, and away from the place whither we desired to go." In the midst of these distresses, six armed vessels gave them chase through the storm when they were near the bay of Venezuela. They turned out to be vessels of the Count d'Estreés, the French admiral, who generously rendered them aid, and the wind abating enabled them to reach the shore. Morgan and some others made for Jamaica, and the French for St. Domingo,--the Spaniards at the fort probably believing they had perished in the gale. The laggers of Morgan's fleet, who had never joined him, were less fortunate than the admiral they deserted. 400 in number, they landed at Savona, but could not find the buried letter. They determined to attack the town of Comana, on the Caraccas, choosing Captain Hansel, who had distinguished himself at Porto Bello, as their commander. This town was distant sixty leagues from Trinidad. On landing they killed a few Indians who awaited them on the beach, but the Spaniards, disputing briskly the entry of the town, drove them back at last to their ships with great loss and confusion. On returning to Jamaica they were jeered at by Morgan's men, who used to say, "Let us see what sort of money you brought from Comana, and if it be as good as that which we won at Maracaibo." Morgan, encouraged by success, soon determined on fresh enterprises. On arriving at Jamaica, "he found many of his officers and soldiers already reduced to their former indigency by their vices and debaucheries. Hence they perpetually importuned him for new exploits, thereby to get something to expend still in wine and strumpets, as they had already done what they got before. Captain Morgan, willing to follow fortune's call, stopped the mouths of many inhabitants of Jamaica who were creditors to his men for large sums, with the hopes and promises of greater achievements than ever in a new expedition. This done, he could easily levy men for any enterprise, his name being so famous through all these islands, as that alone would readily bring him in more men than he could well employ." Affecting a mystery, attractive in itself, and necessary where Spanish spies might be present, Morgan appointed a rendezvous at Port Couillon, on the south side of Hispaniola, and made known his intentions to the English and French adventurers, whether in Tortuga or St. Domingo. He wrote letters to all the planters and old Buccaneers in Hispaniola, and desired their attendance at a common council. At many a hunting fire this announcement was read, and many an _engagé's_ heart beat high at the news, for Morgan was now the champion and hero of the Buccaneers of America. Great numbers flocked to the port in ships and canoes, others traversed the woods and arrived there by land, through a thousand dangers. Such crowds came that it soon became difficult to obtain a place in the crews. Vessels and provisions were now all that was wanted. Plunder was certain, and they had but to choose on what rich coast they should land. The French adventurers, ever gay and ready, were first in the field. Morgan himself, punctual and prompt, followed in the _Flying Stag_, the St. Malo vessel we have before mentioned, carrying forty-two guns. The vessel had been lately confiscated and sold by the governor of Jamaica, the unfortunate captain escaping with his life, happy in being free although penniless. At the rendezvous on the 24th day of October, 1670, 1600 men were present, and twenty-four vessels assembled at the muster, amid shouting, gun firing, flag waving, and great joy and hope. Morgan's proposition was to attack some rich place which was well defended--the more danger the more booty, for it was only rich places that the Spaniards cared to defend. Several previous expeditions had failed from want of provisions, and the necessity of attacking small places to obtain food gave the alarm to the Spaniards and frustrated their plans. They therefore resolved to visit La Rancheria, a small place on the banks of the River de la Hache, on the mainland, with four vessels and 400 men. This was a place where corn and maize were brought by the farmers for the supply of the neighbouring city of Carthagena, and they hoped to capture in the port some pearl vessels from that place. In the meanwhile, Morgan, not caring for lesser prey, employed his men in careening, cleaning, rigging, and pitching their vessels ready for sea, that all might be ready to weigh anchor the moment the expedition of foragers returned. It augured terribly to the Spaniard that it was necessary to sack a town or two before the Buccaneer fleet could even set sail. Part of the men were in the woods boar-hunting, and others salting the flesh for the voyage. Each crew had a certain part of the woods allotted it for its own district, so perfect was Morgan's discipline. Each party prepared the salt pork for its own use, while the cauldrons of pitch were smoking on the beach, and the clank of the shipwrights' hammers could be heard all night by the hunters. The English, who were not so expert in hunting as their Gallic brethren (so says a French writer), generally took a French hunter with them, to whom they gave 150 or 200 piastres. Some of these men had trained packs of dogs that would kill enough boars in a day to load twenty or thirty men. The Rancheria expedition arrived in six days within sight of the river, and was unfortunately becalmed for some time within a gunshot of land. This gave the Spaniards time to prepare for their defence, and either to bury their goods or throw up entrenchments, for these repeated visits of the Buccaneers had rendered them quick on such occasions. A land-wind at last springing up, gave a corn vessel from Carthagena, lying in the river, an opportunity to sally out and attempt its escape, but being a bad sailer it was soon captured, much to the Englishmen's delight, for corn was the object of their visit. By a singular coincidence, it turned out to be that very cocoa vessel which Lolonnois sold to the governor of Tortuga, who, on its return from France, had sold it to Captain Champaigne, a French adventurer, who in his turn sold it to the same merchant captain who then commanded it. He told the Buccaneers that it made the twelfth vessel taken from him by the brotherhood of the coast in five years only, and yet that with all these losses he had contrived to make a fortune of 500,000 crowns. "On peut juger par là," says Oexmelin, with a shrug, "s'il y a des gens riches dans l'Amérique." Landing at daybreak, in spite of the mowing fire from a battery, and under protection of their own cannon, they drove the Spaniards back to their strongly fortified village, which they at once attacked. Here the enemy rallied and fought desperately, hand-to-hand, sword blow and push of pike, from ten in the morning till night, when they fled, having suffered great loss, into secret places in the woods. The Buccaneers, who had suffered scarcely less loss, pushed on at once headlong to the town, which they found deserted; and next day pursuing the Spaniards took many prisoners, and proceeded to torture them, inflicting on fear and innocence all the horrors of the Madrid inquisition. In fifteen days they captured many prisoners and much booty, and with the usual threats of destroying the town, they obtained 4000 hanegs, or bushels of maize, sufficient for the whole of the fleet. They preferred this to money, and in three days, the whole quantity being brought in by the people, eager for their departure, they at once sailed. Morgan, alarmed at their five weeks' absence, had begun to despair of their return, thinking Rancheria must have been relieved from Carthagena or Santa Maria. He also thought that they might have had good fortune, and deserted him to return to Jamaica. His joy was great to see them arrive laden with corn, and more in number than when they departed. A council of war was actually holding to plan a new expedition, when Captain Bradley and his six vessels hove in sight. The maize was divided among the fleet, but the plunder was awarded to the captain who had risked his life for the general good. The captured ship arrived very opportunely, and it was instantly awarded by general consent to Le Gascon, a French adventurer who had lately lost his vessel. Morgan having divided the meat and corn, and personally inspected every bark, set sail for Cape Tiburon, at the west end of Hispaniola, a spot convenient for laying in stores of wood and water. Here he was joined by several ships from New England, refitted at Jamaica. Morgan now found himself suzerain of a fleet of thirty-seven vessels, large and small, carrying sixteen, fourteen, twelve, ten, even down to four pound guns. To man these there were 2200 sailors, well armed and ready for flight and plunder. The fleet was divided into two squadrons, under his vice-admiral and subordinate officers. To the captains he gave letters-patent, guaranteeing them from all the effects of Spanish hostility, from "the open and declared enemies of the King his master," (Charles II.) The charter-party which we give elsewhere was then signed, the rewards were higher than usual, and many modifications introduced. In the private council three places were proposed as rich and accessible--Panama, Carthagena, and Vera Cruz. In these consultations the only thing considered was whether a town was rich or poor, not whether it was well or ill defended. "The lot fell" on Panama, as the richest of the three, though the least known to them, being further from the North Pacific than any Buccaneer had yet gone. Panama was the galleon-port and the El Dorado of the adventurer's yarns. Being so unknown a place they determined to first recapture St. Catherine's, where in the prisons they might obtain many guides, who had seen both the North and South Pacifics, for outlaws made, they found, the best guides for outlaws; and they agreed before sailing that, if they took a Spanish vessel, the first captain who boarded it should have for his reward a tenth part of her cargo. They had begun by sacking a town to victual their fleet, they now proposed to storm a fort to obtain a guide--St. Catherine's batteries, if resolutely manned, being able to beat off three such fleets. The admiral, it was agreed, should have a share for every hundred men, and every captain eight shares if the vessel they took was large. The crews then one by one took the oath of fidelity. On the 18th December, 1670, the fleet set sail for St. Catherine's, whose prisoners would rejoice at their arrival. The one squadron carried the royal English and the other a white flag. The admiral's division bore a red banner with a white cross, "le pavillon du parlement," and at the bow-sprit one of three colours, blue, white, and red. Those of the other divisions carried a white and red flag. Morgan also appointed peculiar signals for all emergencies. On their way to St. Catherine's they chased two Dutch vessels from Cuba, which escaped by aid of contrary winds that baffled their pursuers. In four days the fleet arrived at St. Catherine's, and Morgan despatched two small vessels to guard the port. This island was renowned for its vast flocks of migratory pigeons, and is watered by four streams, two of which are dry in summer. The land, though fertile, was not cultivated. The next day, before sunrise, they anchored in the bay of Aguada Grande, where the Spaniards had erected a four-gun battery. Morgan, at the head of 100 men, landed and made his way through the woods, having no guides but some old Buccaneers who had been there before with Mansvelt. On arriving that night at the governor's house and the Platform Battery they found the Spaniards had retreated by a bridge into the smaller and almost impregnable island, which they had made strong enough to beat off 10,000 men. Being driven back at first by a tremendous fire, Morgan was obliged to encamp that night in the woods or open country--no hardship to hunters or sailors in fine weather. There still remained a whole league of dense brush between them and their enemies, at once their protection and destruction. A chilling torrent of rain began to beat upon them, and instead of ceasing, as they had hoped, lasted till noon of the next day. They pulled down two or three thatched huts, and made small damp fires, that scorched a few but warmed none. They could not shelter themselves, and, what was worse, could not keep their arms and powder dry. But more than this, they suffered from hunger, having had no food for a whole day. The men for the greater part being dressed with no clothes but a seaman's shirt and trowsers, and without shoes or stockings, suffered dreadfully after the burning of a tropic noon from this freezing cold and rain. One hundred men, says Esquemeling, even indifferently well armed, might have cut them all to pieces. At daybreak they were roused from their shivering sleep by the Spanish drums beating the _Diane_, or _reveillé_. The rain had now ceased, and their courage rose as high as ever. But they could not answer this challenge, for their own drums were loose and soaked with wet, and they had now to employ themselves in quickly drying their arms. Scarcely had they done this, when it began to cloud over and rain with increased fury, as if the "sky were melting into waters," which blinded them and prevented them again from advancing to the attack. Many of them grew faint-hearted, and talked of returning. The men were now feeble for want of sleep, and faint with cold and hunger. The eager foragers found in a field "an old horse, lean, and full of scabs and blotches, with galled back and sides." This was instantly killed and flayed, and divided in small pieces among as many as could get any, and eagerly eaten without salt or bread by the few lucky epicures--"eaten," says the historian, "more like ravenous wolves eat than men." The rain still gushing down, and the men, worn out in mind and body, growing angry, discontented, and clamorous, it became necessary for Morgan to act with promptitude. About noon, to his great joy, the rain ceased and the sun broke out. Taking advantage of this lull--for the rain had barred even their retreat--Morgan ordered a canoe to be rigged out in great haste, and dispatched four men with a white flag to the Spanish governor, declaring that if they did not all surrender he would put them to the sword without quarter. His audacity was luckily crowned with success. Opposed armies are often men mutually afraid, trying to frighten each other. The governor was intimidated. He demanded two hours to confer with his officers. At the end of this time, on Morgan giving hostages, two soldiers with white flags were sent to arrange terms. The governor had decided in full conference that he could not defend the island against such an armada, but he proposed a certain (Dalgetty-like) stratagem of war to save his own head, and preserve the reputation of his officers at home and abroad. Morgan was to come at night and assault the fort of St. Jerome, which stood near the bridge that joined the two islands, and at the same moment his fleet was to attack the castle of Santa Teresa by sea, and land troops near the battery of St. Matthew. These men were to intercept and take prisoner the governor as he made his way to the St. Jerome batteries. He would then at once lead them to the castle, as if they were his own men. On both sides there was to be continual firing, but only with powder, and no bullets. The forts thus taken, the island would of course surrender. This well-arranged performance took place with great _éclat_. Morgan, in acceding to the terms, had insisted on their strict performance of every item, and gave notice, for fear of ambush, that every straggling Spaniard would be shot. Afraid of a stratagem, some Buccaneers loaded their muskets with ball, and held themselves ready for any danger. With much smoke and great consumption of powder, the unsuspecting Spaniards were driven like sheep into the church, the island surrendered, and by this bloodless artifice Spanish pride remained unhurt. But a cruel massacre now commenced. The Buccaneers had eaten nothing for nearly two days. They made war upon all the poultry and cattle--the oldest cow was slain, the toughest rooster strangled. For several days the island was lit up with huge fires, round which the men roasted their meat, and revelled and caroused. When wood grew scarce they pulled down cottages to light their fires, and having no wine very wisely made use of water. The day after the surrender they numbered their prisoners, and found they had collected 450 souls--seventy of the garrison, forty-three children, and thirty-one slaves. The men were all carefully disarmed, and sent to the plantations to bring in provisions; the women were left in the church to pray and weep. They next inspected all the ten batteries, wondering in their strength and exulting in their victory. The fort St. Jerome contained eight great guns and sixty muskets; the St. Matthew three guns; the Santa Teresa twenty guns and 120 muskets. The castle was very strong, and moated; impregnable on the sea side, and on the land side ascended by a narrow mountain path, while the guns on its summit commanded the port. The St. Augustine fort mounted three guns; the Platform two; the St. Salvador and another also two; the Santa Cruz three; and the St. Joseph six and twelve muskets. In the magazine they found 30,000 pounds of powder, which they at once shipped, with all the other ammunition. In the St. Jerome battery Morgan left a guard, but in all the other forts the guns were spiked and the gun-carriages burnt. The object of his visit was still to seek. Examining the prisoners, who were now crowded in with merchants and grandees, he inquired for banditti from Panama, and three slaves stepped forward who knew every path and avenue to the city. These men he chose as guides, promising them a full Buccaneer's share of the spoil if they brought him by a secure way to the city, and, in addition, their liberty when they reached Jamaica. These volunteers consisted of two Indians and a mulatto. The former denied all knowledge of the place; the latter--a "rogue, thief, and assassin, who had deserved breaking on the wheel rather than mere garrison service"--readily accepted Morgan's propositions, and promised to serve him faithfully. He had a great ascendancy over the two Indians, and domineered over them as he pleased, without their daring to disobey a half-blood already on the point of preferment. The next step to Panama was to capture Chagres and its castle, and Morgan at once dispatched five vessels, well equipped, with 400 men on board, to undertake this expedition, remaining himself at St. Catherine's, lest the people of Panama should be alarmed. He was to follow his van-guard in eight days, guided by the Indians, who knew Chagres. This time he and his men prudently spent in pulling manioc roots for cassava, and digging potatoes for the voyage. The Chagres expedition was led by the same Captain Bradley who commanded at Rancheria. He had been with Mansvelt formerly, and had rendered himself famous by his exploits both among the Buccaneers and the Spaniards. He arrived in three days at Chagres, opposite Fort St. Lawrence, which was built on a mountain commanding the entrance of the river. As soon as the Spaniards saw the red flag spreading from his vessels, they displayed the royal colours of Spain, and saluted him with a volley too hasty and angry to be very destructive. The Buccaneers, according to their usual stratagem, landed at Narangui, a place a quarter of a league distant from the castle, their guide leading them through thick woods, through which they had to cut a path with their sabres. It was early morning when they landed, and requiring half a day to perform the short distance, they did not reach a hill commanding the castle till two o'clock. The mire and dirt of the road combined, with the darkness of the way, to lengthen their march. The guides served them well, but brought them at one spot so near to the castle, and in so open and bare a place, that they lost many men by the shot. In other parts the wood was so thick that they could only tell that they were near the castle by the discharge of the cannon. The hill they had now reached was not within musket range, and they were thus deprived of the use of their favourite weapon. Could they have dragged cannon so far they might have taken the place without losing a man. The castle of Chagres was built on a high mountain at the entry of a river, and surrounded by strong wooden palisadoes banked with earth. The top of the mountain was divided into two parts, between which ran a ditch thirty feet deep; the tower had but one entrance by a drawbridge, towards the land it had four bastions, and towards the sea two more. The south wall was inaccessible crag, the north was moated by the broad river. At the foot of the hill lay a strong fort with eight guns, which commanded the river's mouth; a little lower down were two other batteries, each of six guns, all pointing the same way. At another side were two great store-houses, full of goods, brought from the inland, and near these a flight of steps, cut in the rock, led to the castle of the summit. On the west side was a small port not more than seven or eight fathoms deep, with good anchorage for small vessels, and before the hill a great rock rose from the waves, which almost covered it at low water. The place appeared such a perfect volcano of fire, and so threatening and dangerous, that the Buccaneers, but for fear of Morgan's rage and contempt, would have at once turned back. After many disputes and much doubt and perplexity, they resolved to hazard the assault and risk their lives. When they descended from their hill into the plain, they had to throw themselves on their faces to escape the desolating shower of balls; but their marksmen, quite uncovered and without defence, shot at the Spanish gunners through the loops of the palisading, and killed all who showed themselves. This skirmishing continued till the evening, when the Buccaneers, who had lost many men, their commander having his leg broken with a cannon shot, began to waver and to think of retiring, having in vain tried to burn down the place with their fireballs, and charged up to the very walls, which they tried in vain to climb, sword in hand. When the Spaniards saw them drawing back through the dusk, in some disorder, carrying their wounded men and gnashing their teeth in rage at the dark lines of defence, they shouted out "Come on, you dogs of heretics; come on, you English devils: you shan't get to Panama this bout, for we'll serve your comerades as we have served you." The Buccaneers, astonished at their cries, now for the first time learnt that Morgan's expedition had been heard of at Panama. Night had already begun, and the rain of bullets, shot, and Indian arrows (more deadly almost than the bullets), harassing and well-aimed, continued as grievous as by day. Taking advantage of the gloom, another party advanced to the palisadoes; the light of their burning fuses directed the aim of the Spaniards. A singular accident of war gave the place, so briskly defended, into the hands of the assailants. A party of the French musketeers were talking together, devising a plan of advance, when a swift Indian arrow fell among them and pierced one of the speakers in the shoulder (Esquemeling says in the back and right through the body, another writer says in the eye). A thought struck the wounded man, for the wound had spurred his imagination: coolly drawing the point from his shoulder, he said to those near him, "Attendez, mes frères, je m'en vais faire périr tous les Espagnols--tous--avec cette sacré flèche" (wait a bit, my mates, I'll kill all the Spaniards--all--with this d---- arrow); so saying he drew from his pocket a handful of wild cotton, which the Buccaneers kept as lint to staunch their wounds, and wound it round the dart; then putting it in his loaded musket, from which he extracted the ball, he fired it back at the castle roof. It alighted on some dry thatch, which in a moment began to smoke, and in another second broke into a bright flame, more visible for the darkness. The Buccaneers shouted and pushed on to the attack, and the wounded men forgot their wounds. Some of the men, seeing the result of the experiment, gathered up the Indian arrows that lay thick around them, and fired them at the roofs. Many houses were soon in flames. The Spaniards, busy with the defence, did not see the fire until it had gained some head, and reaching a parcel of powder blown it up and caused ruin and consternation within the fort. If they left the walls the Buccaneers gained ground, if they left the fire the flames spread more terribly than before; the want of sufficient water increased the confusion, and while they tried to quench the conflagration, the Buccaneers set fire to the palisadoes. Oexmelin, who was present as a surgeon at this attack of Chagres, relates an anecdote of courage which he himself witnessed, to show the indomitable fury of the assailants. One of his own friends was pierced in the eye by an Indian arrow, and came to him to beg him to pull it out, the pain was so intense and unbearable. Although a surgeon, Oexmelin had not the nerve to inflict such torture, however momentary, on a friend, and turned away in pity, upon which the hardy seaman tore out the arrow with a curse, and, binding up the wound, rushed forward to the wall. The few Buccaneers who had retreated, seeing the flames, now hurried back to the attack. The Spaniards could no longer see the enemy at whom they fired, the night was so dark and starless, while the Buccaneers shot down with the unerring aim of hunters the Spaniards, whose bodies stood out dark and well-defined against the bright background of flame. All this time, before the fire of the roofs could be extinguished, the Buccaneers had swarmed through the fosse, and, mounting upon each other's shoulders, burnt down part of the palisadoes, as we have before described, in spite of the hand grenades that were thrown from above, and which burst among them. The fire ran along the wall, leaping like a winged thing, and devoured wherever it clung, spreading with dreadful rapidity. The fight continued all night, and when the calm daylight broke on the worn soldiers, the Buccaneers saw with sparkling eyes that the gabions had smouldered through, and that the earth had fallen down in large heaps into the fosse. The breaches in many places were practicable. The armour had fallen piece-meal from their giant adversary, and he now stood before them bare, wounded, and defenceless. The Buccaneers, creeping within musket shot of the walls, shot down the gunners in the breaches to which the cannon had been dragged by the governor's orders during the night. Divided into two bands, one party kept up a constant fire on the guns, and the other watched the motions of the enemy. About noon they advanced to a spot which the governor himself defended, belted round with twenty-five brave Spaniards, armed with pikes, halberds, swords, and muskets. They advanced under a dreadful hail of fire and lead, the defenders casting down flaming pots full of combustible matter and "_odious smells_," which destroyed many of the English. But we do not know how smells could drive back men who would have marched through hell if it had been the shortest way to Panama. Nothing could equal the unflinching courage of the Spaniards--they disputed every inch of ground--they yielded slowly like wounded lions when the hunters narrow their circles. They showered stones and all available missiles on their assailants, only wishing to kill a Buccaneer, but feeling that resistance was hopeless; some, rather than yield, threw themselves from the cliffs into the sea, and few survived the fall. As the Buccaneers won their way to the castle the Spaniards retreated to the _garde du corps_, where they entrenched themselves with two cannon; to the last the governor refused quarter, and at last fell shot through the brain. The few who remained surrendered when the guns were taken and would have been turned against them. Only fourteen men were found unhurt in the fort and about nine or ten wounded, who had hid themselves among the dead. They told Morgan that they were all that were left of a garrison of 314 soldiers. The governor, seeing that he was lost, had despatched the survivors to Panama to alarm the city, and remained behind to die. No officer was left alive; they had been the first to set their men the example of a glorious death. It appeared that a Buccaneer deserter, an Irishman, whom Morgan had not even informed of his design, had come to the port, and assured them of the attack on La Rancheria, and the contemplated movement on Panama. The governor of that place had instantly sent to Chagres a reinforcement of 164 men, with ammunition and provisions, and had placed ambuscades along the river. He was at that very moment, they said, awaiting them in the savannah with 3600 men: of these 2000 were infantry, 400 cavalry, and 600 Indians. He had also employed 200 muleteers and hunters to collect a drove of 1000 wild cattle to drive down upon the invaders. "The taking of this castle," says Esquemeling, "cost the pirates excessively dear, in comparison to what they were wont to lose, and their toil and labour was greater than at the conquest of the Isle of St. Catherine." On numbering their thinned ranks, many voices were silent at the roll call. More than 100 men were found to be dead, and more than seventy grievously wounded. There were sixty who could not rise, and many in the ranks wore on their arms strips of the Spanish colours, or had their heads bound round with bloody cloths. The prisoners they compelled to drag their own dead to the edge of the cliffs and cast them among the shattered bodies on the beach, and then to bury them where the sea could not wash them out of their graves, or the birds devour them. The castle chapel they turned into an hospital for the wounded, and the female slaves were employed to tend them, for the surgeons in the heat of battle had only had time to amputate a limb or bind an artery. CHAPTER II. CONQUEST OF PANAMA. March from Chagres--Famine--Ambuscade of Indians--Wild bulls driven down upon them--Victory--Battle of the Forts--Takes the City--Burns part of it--Cruelties--Debauchery--Retreat with prisoners--Virtue of the Spanish prisoner, and her sufferings--Ransom--Division of booty--Treason of Morgan--Escapes by night to Jamaica--Dispersion of the Fleet--Morgan's subsequent fate. The bodies of their comerades, who had died that they who survived might conquer, were buried, not without some tears even from these rude men, in large (plague pit) graves, dug by the prisoners. The women were violated in the first fury of the sack. During their plunder they found a great quantity of provisions and ammunitions stored up for the use of the fleet. Their next act was to repair the fort and render it tenable. Morgan, instantly informed of the fall of Chagres, did not remain long behind. Having first collected all the Indian wheat and cassava he could carry, he embarked his prisoners and provisions, taking with him Don Joseph Ramirez de Leiba, the governor, and the chief officers. The cannon he spiked or threw into the sea, in places where he might recover them, intending to return and fortify the place, as a stronghold if his design on Panama failed. The forts, and church, and house he fired, with the exception of the castle of Santa Teresa. In sailing to Chagres a storm arose and dispersed his vessels, keeping them many days at sea. The admiral, always watchful in danger, suffered himself for a moment to sleep in the hour of prosperity. When he approached the river mouth and saw the English flag floating from the blackened walls, he could not restrain the heedless joy of his crew--not waiting for the pilot canoe that was putting out to warn them of their danger, he drove on the sunken rock at the foot of the castle hill. His own and three other vessels sank, yet the crews and cargoes were all saved, and but for a strong "norther" the ships themselves would have been preserved. Brought into the castle with acclamations and hearty congratulations at his escape, Morgan employed the Spanish prisoners from St. Catherine's in repairing the palisading of the fort, carefully destroying all thatched sheds for fear of fire. He then chose a garrison by lot, and divided the stores. He heard with delight the details of the victory, and lamented the absent dead and the many brave men that had shared so often his own hopes and fears. His next movement was to seize some _chatten_, or small Spanish vessels that were still in the river. They were small craft that went to and fro between Chagres and Porto Bello, or Nicaragua, or plied with merchandise up and down the river. They mounted six guns, two iron, and four small brass, and were navigated by six men. He also took four small frigates of fourteen and eight guns, and all the canoes he could lay hands on, requiring them for the expedition. He left behind him 100 men, under command of Captain Le Maurice, and 150 men to guard the ships. For Panama, Morgan took with him 1300 of the best armed and the most robust of his band, five boats with artillery, and thirty-two canoes. He imprudently carried little provisions, expecting to obtain plenty from the Spaniards they should kill in the ambuscades. In spite of the recent victory, and of Morgan's certainty of conquest, many of the Buccaneers were less sanguine than on former expeditions. The Spanish prisoners had succeeded in alarming them by rumours of the dangers and intricacy of the road, and the ambuscades that had been two months in preparation. Some, more superstitious than the rest, thought the wreck of Morgan's ship, and the severe loss at Chagres, bad omens for their success at Panama. But these were mocked at by the rest, as white-livered, and Morgan having divided the provisions between the garrison and the St. Catherine prisoners, reviewed his men, and examined himself their arms and ammunition. He quieted their fears and spoke of victory as already obtained. He exhorted them to show more than usual courage, in order to return as soon as possible rich and glorious to Jamaica. With a shout of "Long live the King of England, and long live Henry Morgan," they began their march towards the doomed city on the 18th of January, 1670. The first day they advanced only six leagues to Rio de los Braços, where they got out of their canoes to sleep on shore, being crippled with overcrowding in the boats. They could have brought no provisions, for few had any food that day, but a pipe of tobacco "to stop the orifice of the stomach." They could find nothing in the deserted plantations, where even the unripe fruits had been plucked and the roots pulled up before their arrival. The men longed to fight, in order that they might eat. By noon of the next day they reached Cruz de Juan Gallego, where they were obliged to leave their canoes; the river was very dry and shallow from want of rain, and much impeded with fallen trees, but their hopes were excited by the guide's intelligence, that about two leagues further the roads grew better. Here they left their boats with 160 men to guard them, as a resource in case of defeat, giving them strict injunctions not to land for fear of ambuscades in the neighbouring woods, which were so thick as to seem impenetrable. Finding the forest almost impassable, Morgan ordered a few of the canoes to be rowed, though with immense labour, to a place called Cedro Bueno, further up the river, taking half the men at a time and returning for the rest, so by nightfall all the men were once more united. From discovering no ambuscades, in spite of all the wishes of these hungry soldiers, it was supposed that the Spanish spies, willing to avoid a fight, had frightened their officers by exaggerating the number of the adventurers. On the third day Morgan sent forward some guides, who could find no road, the country being flat, inundated, and marshy. The men, who had scarcely eaten anything since their departure, grew faint and hungry, and a few of them gathered the leaves from the forest trees. It being night before they could pass the river, they slept on the bank, exposed, half-clothed as they were, to the tropical damps and cold. The fourth day's march they advanced in divisions; the largest went by land, the smaller in canoes. The guides were always kept two musket shots in advance, to give notice of ambuscades, and in hopes of capturing stragglers who might furnish intelligence. But the Spaniards had also scouts, very wary, and very "dexterous" in giving notice of all accidents, frequently bringing the Panama men intelligence of the Buccaneers' approach six hours before the enemy arrived. About noon the army reached a post named Torna Cavallos, so called probably from the roughness of the road, and at this spot the guide of the canoes cried out that he saw an ambuscade. With infinite joy, the hungry men, thirsting for blood, flew to arms, knowing that the Spaniards always went luxuriously provided with food, and knowing that a dead Spaniard could want no more provender. As soon as they came within sight of the entrenchment, which was shaped like a half-moon, and the palisading formed of entire trees, they uttered a dreadful shout, and, driven on by rage and hunger, began to race like starved wolves, seeing which could first cross swords with the enemy, whom they believed to be about 400 strong. But their hearts fell within them when they found the place a mere deserted rampart, and all the provisions, but a few crumbs which lay scattered about, either burnt or carried off. Some leather bags lay here and there, as if left in a hasty retreat. Enraged at this, they at once pulled down the Spanish huts, and cutting the leather bags, tore them up for food. Quarrels then arose for the largest messes, but before they could well finish this unsavoury banquet, the drum sounded for the march. About 500 Spaniards seem to have held these entrenchments, and many of the men threatened to devour the first fugitive they could meet with. About night they reached another deserted ambuscade, called Torna Munni, equally bare of food, and the remainder of the bags were now devoured. Those fortunate enough to obtain a strip first soaked slices of it in water, next beat it between two stones, then scraped off the hair with their hunters' knives, and, roasting it in the fire, ate it leisurely in small pieces. "I can assure the reader," says Oexmelin, "that a man can live on this fare, but he can hardly get _very fat_." Frequent draughts of water (which, by good fortune, they had at hand) seasoned this not very palatable food of men accustomed to revel on venison and brandy. "Some who were never out of their mothers' kitchens," says Esquemeling, "may ask how these pirates could eat and digest those pieces of leather, so hard and dry, whom I answer, that could they once experience what hunger, or rather famine, is, they would find the way as the pirates did." The fifth day at noon they arrived at a place called Barbacoa, where there were more deserted barricades, and the adjacent plantations were equally bare of either man, animal, or plant. Searching with all the zeal and perseverance of hungry men, they found at last, buried in the floor of a cave lately hewn out of the rock, two sacks of flour, two jars of wine, and some plantains, and Morgan generously divided these among the most exhausted of his troops, some being now nearly dead with famine. The flour they mixed with water, and, wrapping the dough in banana leaves, baked it in the fire. Somewhat refreshed, they renewed their march with increased skill and vigour. The lagging men they placed in the canoes, till they reached at night some deserted plantations known as the Tabernillas, where they slept. On the sixth day they marched slowly, after resting a time from real weakness, some of the strongest being sent into the woods to pluck berries and pull roots, many even eating leaves and grass. The same day at noon they arrived at a plantation. Eagerly foraging here, but not expecting to find anything, they turned a little from the road, and came upon a barn full of maize in the husk. Beating down the door, they fell upon it and devoured it as rapaciously as a herd of swine, till they fell off satiated. A distribution was then made of it to each man, for hunger does not care for cooking. Loaded with this grain they continued their march in high spirits for about two hours, when they came suddenly on about 200 Indians, and soon after passed a deserted ambuscade. Those who had maize still left threw it away, thinking that the Spaniards and better food were at hand. These archers were on the opposite side of the river. The Buccaneers, firing, killed a few, and pursued the others as far as Santa Cruz. The nimblest escaped by swimming, and two or three adventurers, who waded after them, were pierced with arrows at the ford. The Indians, as they fled, hooted--"Ah perros Ingleses, à la savanah, à la savanah:" "_English dogs, English dogs, come to the savannah._" Passing the river they were now compelled to begin their march on the opposite side. There was little sleep that night, but great dejection, and murmurs arose against Captain Morgan and his conduct. He was blamed for not having brought provisions, and for not having yet met the Spaniards; condemned for irreconcilable errors, and reviled for even his past successes. Some declared they would return home, others would willingly have done so, yet were afraid to retreat; but a large party declared they would rather die than go back a step. One of the guides, perhaps bribed by Morgan, promised that it should not be long before they met with people from whom they should derive no small advantage, and this comforted them. A tinge of superstition would have soon converted this into one of those prophecies by which Cromwell and Cortes both consoled their desponding troopers. On the seventh morning, expecting enemies, the men all cleaned their arms, and every one discharged his musket and pistols without ball to let the Spaniards hear they were coming, and that their ammunition was not damaged. Leaving Santa Cruz, where they had rested, they crossed the river in their canoes, and arrived at the town of Cruz. At some distance from Cruz they had beheld to their great joy a great smoke rising above the roofs, which they thought arose from kitchen chimneys, and quickening their pace they began to laugh, and shout, and leap,--joking at the Spanish waste of fuel, and saying, "the Spanish cooks are roasting meat for our dinner when we have mastered their masters;" but as the smoke grew thicker, they began to think that the enemy were burning some houses that interfered with the fire of the entrenchments. Two hours after, on arriving panting and hot at Cruz, they found the place deserted and stripped, and no meat, but many fires, for every Spaniard had burnt his own house, and only the royal store-house and stables were left standing. A few crackling ruins were all that remained of the great halfway house between Chagres and Panama, for here the Chagres merchandise was always landed and transported to Panama on the backs of mules, being distant only twenty-six Spanish leagues from the river of Chagres, and eight from Panama. The disappointed Buccaneers spent the remainder of the day at Cruz in seeking food and resting. Every cat and dog was soon killed and eaten, for the cattle had been all driven off. Morgan, growing now more strict in discipline, gave orders that no party of less than 100 men should leave the town. Five or six Englishmen who disobeyed the order were killed by the Indians. In the king's stables fifteen or sixteen jars of Peruvian wine were found, and a leather sack full of biscuit. Morgan, afraid that his men would fall into excesses, spread a report that the Spaniards had poisoned the wine--a report confirmed by the violent sickness of all who drank of it; although half-starved men, fed for a week on vegetable refuse, would have been injured by any excess. It was, however, eagerly drunk, and would have been had there been death in every cup. This sickness detained them a day at Cruz. The canoes, being now useless, were sent back, guarded by sixty men, to join the other boats, one alone being hid in a thicket for fear of any emergency or any necessity arising, and to transmit intelligence to the vessels. He feared that, if left at Cruz, they might be captured, and would at least require an extra guard. On the eighth day at morning Morgan reviewed his troop, and found he had 1100 able and resolute men still at his back. He persuaded them that their comerade who was carried off by the Indians had returned, having only lost his way in the woods, fearing they might be discouraged at his disappearance. He then chose a band of the best marksmen as a forlorn hope, and a "hundred of these men," says Oexmelin, "are worth six hundred of any other nation." He divided the remainder into a van and wings, knowing that he should have to pass many places where not more than two men could pass abreast. After ten hours' march they arrived at a place called _Quebrada Obscura_, a dark wooded gorge where the sunlight rarely entered. Here, on a sudden, a shower of 300 or 400 arrows poured down upon them, killing eight or nine men, and wounding ten. These arrows came from an Indian ambuscade hid on a wooded and rocky mountain, perforated by a natural arch, through which only one laden beast could pass. The Buccaneers, though they could see nothing but rocks and trees, instantly returned the fire, and two Indians rolled down into the path. One of these, who appeared to be a chief, for he wore a coronet of variegated feathers, attempted to stab an English adventurer with his javelin, but a companion, parrying the thrust with his sabre, slew the Indian. This brave man was, it is supposed, the leader of the ambuscade, for the savages seeing him fall took at once to flight, and never discharged another shaft. As they entered a wood the rest of the Indians fled to seize the next height, from whence they might observe them and harass their march. The Buccaneers found them too swift to capture, and pursued them in vain: but two or three of the wounded fugitives were found dead in the road. A few armed and disciplined men could have made this pass good against a hundred, but these Indians were now scattered and without a leader, and they had only fired at random, and in haste, through trees and thickets that intercepted their arrows. On leaving this defile the Buccaneers entered a broad prairie, where they rested while the wounded were tended. At a long distance before them they could see the Indians on a rocky eminence, commanding the road where they must pass. Fifty active men were dispatched to take them in the rear in the hopes of obtaining some prisoners, but all in vain, for the Indians were not only more agile but knew all the passes. Two hours after they were seen at about two gunshots' distance, on the same eminence from which they had been just driven, while the Buccaneers were now on an opposite height, and between them lay a wood. The Buccaneers supposed that a Spanish ambuscade was hid here, for whenever they came near enough the Indians cried out "À la savanah, à la savanah, cornudos perros Ingleses:" "To the savannah, to the savannah, you cuckold English dogs." Morgan sent 100 men to search this wood, and upon this the Spaniards and Indians came down from the mountain as if to attack them, but appeared no more. About night, a great rain falling, the Buccaneers marched faster, in order to prevent their arms getting wet, but they could find no houses to barrack in, for the Indians had burnt them all and driven away the cattle, hoping to starve out the men whom they could not drive out. They left the main road after diligent search, and found a few shepherds' huts, but too few to shelter all their company; they therefore piled their arms, and chose a small number from each company to guard them. Those who slept in the open air endured much hardship, the rain not ceasing all night. They made temporary sheds, which they covered with boughs, in order to sleep under a shelter, however imperfect; and sentinels were placed, Morgan being afraid of the Indians, who chose wet nights for their onslaughts, when fire-arms were often useless. Next morning very early, being the ninth of their tedious journey, they recommenced their march, Morgan bidding them all discharge their guns and then reload them, for fear of the wet having damped the powder. The fresh air of the morning, clear after the storm, was still about them, and the clouds had not yet yielded to the tropical sun as they pushed on over a path more difficult than before. In about two hours' time a band of twenty Spaniards began to appear in the distance, and the Indians were also visible, but Morgan could obtain no prisoners, though he offered a reward of 300 crowns for every Spaniard brought in. When pursued the enemy hid themselves in caves and eluded all search. At last, toiling slowly up a high mountain, the adventurers unexpectedly beheld from the top the South Sea glittering in the distance. This caused them as great joy as the sight of "Thalatta" did to the soldiers of Xenophon. They thought their expedition now completed, for to them victory was a certainty. They could discern upon the sea, never before beheld, a large ship and six small boats setting forth from Panama to the islands of Tavoga and Tavogilla, which were only six leagues distant. Fortune smiled upon them to-day, for, descending this mountain, they came into a grassy prairie valley, full of all sorts of cattle, which were being pursued by mounted Spaniards, who fled at the sight of the Buccaneers. Upon these animals Morgan's men rushed with the avidity of half-starved hunters, the eagerness of sailors to obtain fresh meat, and all the haste that brave men exhibit to get at an enemy. One shot a horse, another felled a cow, but the greater part slaughtered the mules, which were the most numerous. Some kindled fires, others collected wood, and the strongest hunted the cattle, while the invalids slew, and skinned, and flayed. The whole plain was soon alight with a hundred fires. The hungry men cut off lumps of flesh, carbonadoed them in the flame, and ate them half raw with incredible haste and ferocity. "They resembled," Esquemeling says, "rather cannibals than Christians, the blood running down their beards to the middle of their bodies." But no hunger, no fear, no passion threw Morgan off his guard. Hungry and weary himself, and sympathising with his men's hunger, he saw the danger of this reckless gluttony, which produced a reaction of inertness as dangerous as intoxication. Dreading surprise, for he was surrounded by enemies, he beat a false alarm, and seizing their arms, his men, ashamed of their excess, renewed their march. The remainder of the meat, half-roasted or quite raw, they strung to their bandoliers. "The very look of these men," says Esquemeling, "was enough to have terrified the boldest, for we know that in love as well as war, the eyes are the soonest conquered." Morgan, anxious at not having yet obtained a prisoner as guide, again despatched a vanguard of fifty men, who about evening saw in the distance 500 Spaniards, who shouted to them they knew not what. Soon after, almost at dusk, mounting a small eminence, they saw a better sight than even the South Sea--the highest steeples of Panama, bright in the sunset; upon this, like the German soldiers at the sight of the Rhine, the Buccaneers gave three cheers, to show their extreme joy, leaping and shouting, and throwing their hats into the air as if they had already won the victory. At the same time the drums beat stormily and proudly, and each man shot off his piece, while the red flag was displayed and waved in defiance of the Spaniard, and high above all the trumpet sounded. The camp was pitched for the night by the men, who waited impatiently for the morning when the battle should join; with equal pride and courage 200 mounted Spaniards shouted in return as they dashed up within musket shot, "To-morrow, to-morrow, ye dogs, we shall meet in the savannah;" and as they ended, their trumpet sounded clearer than even that of Morgan's. These horsemen were soon joined by several companies of infantry and several squadrons of cavalry, who wheeled round them within cannon shot. These troops had been despatched when the sounds of the Buccaneers' approach reached the gates of the city. There were still two hours of light, but Morgan determined not to fight till early in the morning, when he might be able to move freely in the unknown country, and when there would be a whole clear, bright day for the battle. As night drew on all the Spaniards retired to the city, excepting seven or eight troopers, who hovered about to watch the enemy's motions and give the alarm, if a night attack was contemplated. On his side Morgan placed double sentinels, and every now and then ordered false alarms to be beat to keep his men on the alert. Those who had any meat left ate it raw, as they had often done when hunters. No fires were allowed to be kindled, and the men lying, ready armed, on the grass, waited eagerly for the daylight. 120 cavaliers again joined the Spanish scouts, and affected to maintain a strict blockade, and the city all night played with its biggest guns upon the camp, but being at so great a distance did little harm to the Buccaneers. At daybreak of the tenth day of their march the Spaniards beat the _Diane_, and Morgan, replying heartily, began with great eagerness to push forward to the city, the Spaniards wheeling cautiously around his wings. One of the guides warned Morgan against the high road, which he knew would be blocked up and crowded with ambuscades, and the army defiled into a wood to the right, where the passage was so difficult that none but Buccaneers could have forced a way, "very irksome indeed," says Esquemeling. The Spaniards, completely baffled and astonished by this diversion, left their batteries in a hurry, and, without any distinct plan of attack, crowded out into the plain. After two hours' march the Buccaneers reached the top of a small hill. From this eminence they could now see their goal, and Panama, with all the roofs that hid its treasure, lay before them. Below, on the plain, they might also discern the Spanish army drawn up in battalia, awaiting their descent. Even Esquemeling admits that the forces seemed numerous. "There were two squadrons of cavalry, four regiments of foot, and a still more terrible enemy, a huge number of wild bulls, roaring and tossing their horns, driven by a great number of Indians, and a few negroes and mounted matadors." The historian, more truthful in his confessions than his boasts, says, "They were surprised with fear, much doubting the fortune of the day; yea, few or none there were but wished themselves at home, or at least free from the obligation of that engagement, it so nearly concerning their lives. Having been for some time wavering in their minds, they at last reflected on the strait they had brought themselves into, and that now they must either fight resolutely or die, for no quarter could be expected from an enemy on whom they had committed so many cruelties. Hereupon they encouraged one another, resolving to conquer or spend the last drop of their blood." They then divided themselves into three battalions, sending before 200 Buccaneers, very dexterous at their guns, who descended the hill, marching directly upon the Spaniards, and the battle closed. The Spanish cavalry uttered cries of joy, as if they were going to a bull-fight. The infantry shouted "Viva el rey!" and the vari-coloured silks of their doublets glistened in the sun. The Buccaneers, giving three cheers, charged upon the enemy. The forlorn hope Morgan despatched against the cavalry and the bulls. The cavalry galloped forward to meet them, but, the ground being marshy, they could not advance with speed, and sank one by one before the unceasing dropping fire of 200 Buccaneers, who fell on one knee and poured in a full volley of shot, the foot and horse in vain trying to break through this hot line of flame and death. The bulls proved as fatal to those who employed them, as the elephants to Porus. Driven on the rear of the Buccaneers, they took fright at the noise of the battle, a few only broke through the English companies, and trampled the red colours under foot, but these were soon shot by the old hunters; a few fled to the savannah, and the rest tore back and carried havoc through the Spanish ranks. The firing lasted for two hours; at the end of that time the cavalry and infantry had separated, and the troopers had fled, only about fifty of their number succeeding in escaping. The infantry, discouraged at their defeat, and despairing of success, fired off one more volley, and then threw down their arms; the victory was won. Morgan, having no cavalry, could not pursue, and a mountain soon hid the fugitives from the Buccaneers' sight, who would not follow, expecting the flight was a mere decoy to lure them into an ambuscade. The Buccaneers, weary and faint, threw themselves down to rest. A few Spaniards, found hiding in the bushes by the sea-shore, were at once slain, and several cordeliers belonging to the army, being dragged before Morgan, were pistolled in spite of all their cries and entreaties. A Spanish captain of cavalry was taken prisoner by the English musketeers, who had hitherto given no quarter, and confessed that the governor of Panama had led out that morning 2000 men, 200 bulls, 1450 horse, and twenty-four companies of foot, 100 men in each, sixty Indians, and some negroes. In the city, he said, were many trenches and batteries, and at the entrance a fort with fifty men and eight brass guns. The women and wealth had all been sent to Tavoga, and 600 men with twenty-eight pieces of cannon were inside the town, defended by ramparts of flour sacks. The ambuscade had been waiting fifteen days in the savannah, expecting Morgan. On reviewing their men, the English found a much greater number of killed and wounded than they had expected, so Esquemeling confesses, but does not give the number. Oexmelin puts the loss at only two killed and two wounded, an incredible statement, trustworthy as he generally is. The Spaniards lost 600 men. "The pirates, nothing discouraged," says the former historian, "seeing their number so diminished, but rather filled with greater pride, perceiving what huge advantage they had obtained against their enemies, having rested some time, prepared to march courageously towards the city, plighting their oaths one to another, that they would fight till not a man was left alive. With this courage they recommenced their march, either to conquer or be conquered, carrying with them all the prisoners." They avoided the high road from Vera Cruz, on which the Spaniards had placed a battery of eight pieces of cannon, and selecting that from Porto Bello, they advanced to the town before the people could rally, and while the exaggerated rumours of the defeat were still uncontradicted. Trembling fugitives filled the streets, and terror was in every face. The Spaniards fought desperately, but without hope. In spite of Morgan's endeavour to maintain strict discipline, his men began to undervalue the enemy, and to advance straggling and reckless. The Spaniards, observing this, fired a broadside, killing twenty-five or thirty of the vanguard at the first discharge, and wounding nearly as many, but before they could reload were overpowered and slain at their guns, the Buccaneers stabbing all whom they met. Of this attack, Esquemeling gives the following graphic but rambling account: "They found much difficulty in their approach to the city, for within the town the Spaniards had placed many great guns at several quarters, some charged with small pieces of iron, and others with musket bullets. With all these they saluted the pirates at their approaching, and gave them full and frequent broadsides, firing at them incessantly, so that unavoidably they shot at every step great numbers of men. But neither these manifest dangers of their lives, nor the sight of so many as dropped continually at their sides, could deter them from advancing, and gaining ground every moment on the enemy; and though the Spaniards never ceased to fire and act the best they could for their defence, yet they were forced to yield after three hours' combat, and the pirates having possessed themselves, killed and destroyed all that attempted in the least to oppose them." Morgan was now master of Panama, as he had been of St. Catherine's, la Rancheria, Maracaibo, and Gibraltar, but his vigilance did not yet relax. As soon as the first fury of their entrance was over, he assembled his men, and commanded them, under great penalties, not to drink or taste any wine, as he had been informed by a prisoner that it had been poisoned by the Spaniards. Though much wealth had been hidden, great warehouses of merchandise, they rejoiced to find, were still well stocked with silks, cloths, and linens. Morgan's only fear now was, that with so small a body of men as remained to him, the Spaniards might rally, or his men, grown intoxicated by success and intent on plunder, be cut off without resistance. Having placed guards at all the important points of defence within and without the city, he ordered twenty-five men to seize a boat laden with merchandise, that owing to the low water in the harbour could not put out to sea. The command of this vessel he gave to an English captain. The houses of Panama were built chiefly of cedar, and a few of stone. Fortunately, Michael Scott sketches for us nearly the whole scenery of Morgan's march. One side of the harbour of Chagres is formed, he says, by a small promontory that runs 500 yards into the sea. This bright little bay looks upon an opposite shore, long and muddy, and covered with mangroves to the water's brink. On the uttermost bluff is a narrow hill, with a fort erected on its apex. The rock is precipitous on three sides. The river of Chagres is about 100 yards across, and very deep. It rolls sluggishly along, through a low, swampy country. It is covered down to the water with thick sedges and underwood, and where the water is stagnating, generates mosquitoes and fevers. The gigantic trees grow close to the water, and are laced together by black, snake-like withes. Here and there, black, slimy banks of mud slope out near the shore, and on these, monstrous alligators roll or sleep, like logs of rotting drift-wood. For some miles below Cruz, where the river ceases to be navigable by canoes, oars are laid aside, and long poles used to propel the boats, like punts, over the shoals. Panama is distant about seven leagues from Cruz. The roads are only passable for mules: in some places it has been hewn out of the rock, and zig-zags along the face of hills, in parts scarcely passable for two persons meeting. "The scenery on each side is very beautiful, as the road winds for the most part amongst steeps, overshadowed by magnificent trees, among which birds of all sizes, and of the most gorgeous plumage, are perpetually glancing, while a monkey every here and there sits grimacing and chattering overhead. The small, open savannahs gradually grow larger, and the clear spaces widen, until the forest you have been travelling under breaks into beautiful clumps of trees, like those of a gentleman's park, and every here and there are placed clear pieces of water, spreading out full of pond-turtle, and short grass, that sparkles in the dew." As you approach the town, the open spaces become more frequent, until at length you gain a rising ground, about three miles from Panama, where the view is enchanting. Below lies the city, and the broad Pacific, dotted with ships, lies broad and glassy beyond. Basil Hall, an accurate but less poetical observer, sketches the bay of Panama, its beach fringed with plantations shaded by groves of oranges, figs, and limes, the tamarinds surmounting all but the feathery tops of the cocoa-nut trees; the ground hidden with foliage, among which peep cane-built huts and canoes pulling to shore. Tavoga he describes as a tangle of trees and flowers. "The houses of the city, very curious and magnificent," says Esquemeling, "and richly adorned with paintings and hangings, of which a part only had been removed." The buildings were all stately, and the streets broad and well arranged. There were within the walls eight monasteries, a cathedral, and an hospital, attended by the religious. The churches and monasteries were richly adorned with paintings, and in the subsequent fire may have perished some of the masterpieces of Titian, Murillo, or Velasquez. The gold plate and fittings of these buildings the priests had concealed. The number of rich houses was computed at 2000, and the smaller shops, &c., at 5000 additional. The grandest buildings in the town were the Genoese warehouses connected with the slave trade; there were also long rows of stables, where the horses and mules were kept that were used to convey the royal plate from the South to the North Pacific Ocean. Before the city, like offerings spread before a throne, lay rich plantations and pleasant gardens. Panama was the city to which all the treasures of Peru were annually brought. The plate fleet, laden with bars of gold and silver, arrived here at certain periods brimming with the crown wealth, as well as that of private merchants. It returned laden with the merchandise of Panama and the Spanish main, to be sold in Peru and Chili, and still oftener with droves of negro slaves that the Genoese imported from the coast of Guinea to toil and die in the Peruvian mines. So wealthy was this golden city that more than 2,000 mules were employed in the transport of the gold and silver from thence to Porto Bello, where the galleons were loaded. The merchants of Panama were proverbially the richest in the whole Spanish West Indies. The Governor of Panama was the suzerain of Porto Bello, of Nata, Cruz, Veragua, &c., and the Bishop of Panama was primate of the Terra Firma, and suffragan to the Archbishop of Peru. The district of Panama was the most fertile and healthy of all the Spanish colonies, rich in mines, and so well wooded that its ship-timber peopled with vessels both the northern and the southern seas; its land yielded full crops, and its broad savannahs pastured innumerable herds of wild cattle. The Buccaneers found the booty in the half-devastated town ample beyond their expectations, in spite of all that had been destroyed, buried, or removed. The stores were still full of wealth, which not even a month of alarm had given the merchants time to remove to their overcharged vessels. Some rooms were choked with corn, and others piled high with iron, tools, plough-shares, &c., for Peru. In many was found "metal more attractive," in the shape of wine, olive oil, and spices, while silks, cloths, and linen lay around in costly heaps. Morgan, still afraid of surprise, resorted to a reckless scheme to avert the danger. The very night he entered Panama he set fire to a few of the chief buildings, and before morning the greater part of the city was in a flame, although the first blaze had been detected in the suburbs. No one knew his motive, and few that the enemy had not done it. He carefully spread a report, both among the prisoners and his own people, that the Spaniards themselves were the authors of the fire. The citizens and even the English strove to extinguish the flames, by blowing up some houses with gunpowder and pulling down others, but being of wood, the fire spread rapidly from roof to roof. In less than half an hour a whole street was consumed. The Genoese warehouses and many of the slaves were burnt, and only one church was left standing; 200 store buildings were destroyed. Oexmelin seems to lament chiefly the slaves and merchandise, and scarcely even affects a regret for the stately city. The ruins continued to smoke and smoulder for a month, and at daybreak of the morning after their arrival, little of the great city they had lately seen glorious in the sunset remained but the president's house, where Morgan and his staff lodged, a small clump of muleteers' cottages, and two convents, that of St. Joseph and that of the Brothers of the Redemption. Still fearful of surprise, the adventurers encamped outside the walls in the fields, from a wish to avoid the confusion, and in order to keep together in case of an attack by a superior force. The wounded were put into the only church that had escaped the fire. The next day Morgan despatched 160 men to Chagres to announce his victory, and to see that his garrison wanted for nothing. They met whole troops of Spaniards running to and fro in the savannah, but, in spite of their expectations, they never rallied. In the afternoon the Buccaneers re-entered the city, and selected houses of the few left to barrack in. They then dragged all the available cannon they could find and placed them round the church of the Fathers of the Trinity, which they entrenched. In this they placed in separate places the wounded and the prisoners. The evening they spent in searching the ruins for gold, melted or hidden, and found much spoil, especially in wells and cisterns. A few hours after, Morgan's vessels returned with three prizes, laden with plate and other booty, taken in the South Sea. The day they sailed, arriving at one of the small islands of refuge near Panama, they took a sloop with its crew of seven men, belonging to a royal Spanish vessel of 400 tons, laden with church plate and jewels, removed by the richest merchants in Panama; there were also on board all the religious women of the nunnery, with the valuable ornaments of their church, and she was so deeply laden as not to require ballast. It carried only seven guns and a dozen muskets, had no more sails than the "uppermost of the mizen," was short of ammunition and food, and even of water. The Buccaneers received this intelligence from some Indians who had spoken to the seamen of the galleon when they came ashore in a cock-boat for water. Had they given chase they might have easily captured it, but Captain Clark let the golden opportunity slip through his hands. Thinking himself sure of his prize as he had got her sloop, his men spent the night in drinking the rich wines they found in the sloop, and reposing in the arms of their Spanish mistresses, the more beautiful for their tears and despair. During these debaucheries the galleon slipped by and was no more seen, and so they lost a prize of greater value than all the treasure found in Panama. In the morning, weary of the revel, they crowded all sail and despatched a well-armed boat to pursue the cripple, ascertaining that the Spanish ship was in bad sailing order and incapable of making any resistance. In the islands of Tavoga and Tavogilla they captured several boats laden with merchandise. Informed by a prisoner of the probable moorings of the galleon, Morgan, enraged at her escape, sent every boat in Panama in pursuit of her, bidding them seek till they found her. They were eight days cruising from port to creek. Returning to the isles, they found here a large ship newly come from Payta, laden with cloth, soap, sugar, biscuit, and 20,000 pieces of eight; another small boat near was also taken and laden with the divided merchandise. With these glimpses of wealth the boats returned to Panama somewhat consoled for the loss of their larger prize. The Buccaneers' vessels now began to excite the astonishment of the Spaniards, they being the first Englishmen, since Drake, who had appeared as enemies on those seas. During this expedition Morgan had employed the rest of his men in scouring the country in daily companies of 200, one party relieving another, and perpetually bringing in flocks of pale and bleeding prisoners, or mules laden with treasure. Some tortured the captives, others explored the mines, and the rest burnt glittering heaps of gold and silver stuffs, merely to obtain the metal, expecting to have to fight their way back to their ships at Chagres, and not wishing to be encumbered with unwieldy bundles on that toilsome and dangerous march. Morgan, complaining much of the fruitless labours of his foragers, at last placed himself at the head of 350 men, and sallied into the country to torture every wealthy Spaniard he could meet. The following anecdote presents us with such a complete picture of the demoralisation of a panic, that it reminds us of Thucydides' description of Athens during the plague, or Boccaccio's of Florence during the raging of the pest. On one occasion Morgan's men met with a poor Spaniard, who, during the general confusion, had strolled into a rich man's house and dressed himself in the costume of a merchant of rank. He had just stripped off his rags, and, first luxuriating in a change of costly Dutch linen, had slipped on a pair of breeches of fine red taffety, and picking up the silver key of some coffer, had tied it to one of his points. Esquemeling represents the man as a poor retainer of the house. He was still wondering childishly at his unwonted finery, when the Buccaneers broke into the house and seized him as a prize. Finding him richly dressed and in a fine house, they believed him at once to be the master. His story they treated as a subtle invention. In vain he pointed to the black rags he had thrown off--in vain he protested, by all the saints, that he lived on charity, and had wandered in there and put on the clothes by the merest chance, and without a motive but of venial theft. Spying the little key at his girdle they became sure that he lied, and they demanded where he had hid his cabinet. They had at first laughed at his ingenious story--they now grew angry at his denials of wealth. They stretched him on the rack and disjointed his arms, they twisted a cord round his wrinkled forehead "till his eyes appeared as big as eggs, and were ready to fall out," and as he still refused to answer, they hung him up and loaded him with stripes. They then cut off his nose and ears, singing his face with burning straw till he could not even groan or scream, and at last, despairing of obtaining a confession, gave him over to their attendant band of negroes to put him to death with their lances. "The common sport and recreation of the pirates," says Esquemeling, "being such cruelties." They spared no sex, age, or condition; priest or nun, peasant or noble, old man, maiden, and child were all stretched on the same bed of torture. They granted no quarter to any who could not pay a ransom, or who would not pay it speedily. The most beautiful of the prisoners became their mistresses, and the virtuous were treated with rigour and cruelty. Captain Morgan himself seduced the fairest by alternate presents and threats. There were women found base enough to forsake their religion and their homes to become the harlots of a pirate and a murderer. But to his iron heart love found a way, and enervated the mind of the man whom nothing before could soften. After ten days spent in the country beyond the walls, Morgan returned to Panama, and found a shipload of Spanish prisoners newly arrived. Amongst these was a woman of exquisite beauty, the wife of a Spanish merchant, then absent on business in Peru. He had left her in the care of some relations, with whom she was captured. Esquemeling says: "Her years were few, and her beauty so great, as, peradventure, I may doubt whether in all Christendom any could be found to surpass her perfections, either of comeliness or honesty." Oexmelin, a more skilful observer, and who saw her, being a sharer in the expedition, describes her hair as ink black, and her complexion of dazzling purity. Her eyes were piercing, and the Spanish pride, usually so cold and repulsive, served in her only as a foil to her surpassing beauty, and to attract respect. The roughest sailors and rudest hunters grew eloquent when they praised her. The common men would willingly have drawn swords for such a prize. But their commander was already the slave of her whom he had captured. His demeanour changed: he was no longer brutal and truculent: he became sociable in manner, and more attentive to the richness of his dress, for lovers grow either more careless or more regardful of their attire. The Buccaneer's aspect was changed. He separated the lady from the other prisoners, and treated her with marked respect. An old negress, who waited on her, served at once as an attendant and a spy. She was told to assure her mistress, that the Buccaneers were gentlemen and no thieves, and men who knew what politeness and gallantry were as well as any. The lady wept and entreated to be placed with the other prisoners, for she had heard that her relations were afraid of some plot against her good fame. The lady, like other Spanish women, had been told by their priests and husbands, that the Buccaneers had the shape of beasts and not of men. The more intelligent reported they were robbers, murderers, and heretics; men who forswore the Holy Trinity, and did not believe in Jesus Christ. "The _oaths_ of _Morgan_," says Esquemeling, with most commendable gravity, "_soon convinced her that he had heard of a God_." It was said, that a woman of Panama who had long desired to see a pirate, on their first entrance into the city cried out, "Jesu Maria, the thieves are men, like the Spaniards, after all;" and some volunteers, when they went out to meet Morgan's army, had promised to bring home a pirate's head as a curiosity. Morgan, refusing to restore the beauty to her friends, treated her with more flattering care than before. Tapestries, robes, jewels, and perfumes, lay at her disposal. Such kindness, after all, was cheap generosity, and part of this treasure may even have been her husband's. In her innocence, she began to think better of the Buccaneers. They might be thieves, but they were not, she found, atheists, nor very cruel, for Captain Morgan sent her dishes from his own table. She at first received his visits with gratitude and pleasure, surprised at the rough, frank kindness of the seaman, and loudly denounced his slanderers, that had so cruelly attempted to poison her mind against him, her guardian and protector. The snares were well set, and the bird was fluttering in. But Heaven preserved her, and she passed through the furnace unhurt. Morgan soon threw off his disguise, and offered her all the treasures of the Indies if she would become his mistress. She refused his presents of gold and pearl, and resisted all his artifices. In vain he tried alternately kindness and severity. He threatened her with a thousand cruelties, and she replied, that her life was in his hands, but that her body should remain pure, though her soul was torn from it. On his advancing nearer, and threatening violence, she drew out a poignard, and would have slain him or herself, had he not left her uninjured. Enraged at her pride, as he miscalled her virtue, he determined to break her spirit by suffering. She was stripped of her richest apparel, and thrown into a dark cellar, with scarcely enough food allowed her to support life, and the chief demanded 30,000 piastres as her ransom, to prevent her being sold as a slave in Jamaica. Under this hardship the lady prayed like a second Una daily to God, for constancy and patience. Morgan, now convinced of her purity, and afraid of his men, who already began to express openly their sympathy with her sufferings, to account for his cruelty, accused her to his council of having abused his kindness by corresponding with the Spaniards, and declared that he had intercepted a letter written in her own hand. "I myself," says Esquemeling, "was an eye-witness of the lady's sufferings, and could never have judged such constancy and chastity to be found in the world, if my own eyes and ears had not assured me thereof." Amid the blood, and dust, and vapour of smoke, the virtue of this incomparable lady shines out like a pale evening star, visible above all the murky crimson of an autumn sunset. A new danger now arose to Morgan from this adventure, for the seamen began to murmur, saying that the love of this beautiful Spaniard kept them lingering at Panama, and gave the Spaniards time to collect their forces, and surprise them on their return. But Morgan, having now stayed three weeks, and nothing more being left to plunder, gave orders to collect enough mules to carry the spoil to Cruz, where it could be shipped for Chagres, and so sent homeward. There can be no doubt that various causes had for some time been undermining the long subsisting attachment between Morgan and his men. He had shown himself a slave to the passions which enchained their own minds, and their riches perhaps made them independent, and therefore mutinous. It was while the mules were collecting that he became aware of the loaded mine over which he stood. A plot was discovered, in which there were 100 conspirators. They had resolved to seize the two vessels they had captured in the South Sea, and with these to take possession of an island, which they could fortify for a stronghold. They would then fit out the first large Spanish vessel they could obtain, and with a good pilot and a bold captain start privateering on their own account, and work home by the straits of Magellan. As the spoil had not yet been divided, it is probable that all these men had broken the Buccaneer oath, and had secreted part of the plunder. They had already hidden in private places, cannons, muskets, provisions, and ammunition. They were on the very point of raising the anchor, when one of them betrayed the scheme, and Morgan at once ordered the vessel to be dismasted and the rigging burnt. The vessels he would also have destroyed, but these he spared at the intercession of the friend he had appointed their captain. From this time all confidence seems to have ceased between Morgan and his men. Many a king has been made a tyrant by the detection of a conspiracy. The men dreaded his vengeance, and he their treachery. From this hour he appears to have resolved to enrich himself and his immediate friends at any risk, leaving the French to shift for themselves. It is not improbable but that the old French and English feud may have had something to do with this quarrel. In war it ceased, but rankled out again in peace. The French seem to have been his greatest enemies, and the English friendly or indifferent. This distinction is visible even in the historians, for Esquemeling speaks of him with mere distrust, and Oexmelin with bitter hatred. In a few days the mules were ready, and the gold packed in convenient bales, for Spanish or English gold it was all one to the mules. The costly church plate was beaten up into heavy shapeless lumps, and the heavier spoil was left behind or destroyed. Better burn it, they thought, than leave it to the accursed Spaniard, for we always hate those whom we have injured. The artillery of the town being carefully spiked, and all ready to depart, Morgan informed his prisoners that he was about to march, and that he should take with him all those who were either unable or unwilling at once to bring in their ransom. The sight was heart-rending, and the panic general. At his words, says the historian, there was not one but trembled, not one but hurried to write to his father, his brother, or his friends, praying for instant deliverance or it would be too late. The slaves were also priced, and hostages were sent to collect the money. While this was taking place, a party of 150 men were sent to Chagres to bring up the boats and to look out for ambuscades, it being reported that Don Juan Perez de Guzman, the fugitive president of Panama, had entrenched himself strongly at Cruz, and intended to dispute the passage. Some prisoners confessed that the president had indeed so intended, but could get no soldiers willing to fight, though he had sent for men as far as Carthagena; for the scattered troopers fled at the sight of even their own friends in the distance. Having waited four days impatiently for the ransom, Morgan at last set out on his return on the 24th of February, 1671. He took with him a large amount of baggage, 175 beasts of burden laden with gold, silver, and jewels, and about 600 prisoners, men, women, children, and slaves, having first spiked all the cannon and burnt the gun-carriages. He marched in good order for fear of attack, with a van and rear-guard, and the prisoners guarded between the two divisions. The departure was an affecting sight, as even the two historians, who were Buccaneers themselves and eye-witnesses, admit. Lamentations, cries, shrieks, and doleful sighs of women and children filled the air. The men wept silently, or muttered threats between their teeth, to avoid the blows of their unpitying drivers. Thirst and hunger added to their sufferings. Many of the women threw themselves on their knees at Morgan's feet and begged that he would permit them to return to Panama, there to live with their dear husbands and children in huts till the city could be rebuilt. But his fierce answer was, that he did not come there to hear lamentations, but to seek money, and that if that was not found, wherever it was hid, they should assuredly follow him to Jamaica. All the selfishness and all the goodness of each nature now came to the surface. The selfish fell into torpid and isolated despair--the good forgot their own sufferings in trying to relieve those of others. Some gazed at each other silently and hopelessly; others wailed and wept, a few cursed and raged. Here stood one mourning for a brother--there another lamenting a wife. Many believed that they should never see each other again; but would be sold as slaves in Jamaica. The first evening the army encamped in the middle of a green savannah on the banks of a cool and pleasant river. This was a great relief to the wretched prisoners, who had been dragged all day through the heat of a South American noon by men themselves insensible to climate--urged forward by the barrels of muskets and blows from the butts of pikes. Some of the women were here seen begging the Buccaneers, with tears in their eyes, for a drop of water, that they might moisten a little flour for their children, who hung crying at their parched and dried-up breasts. The next day, when they resumed the march, the shrieks and lamentations were more terrible than before. "They would have caused compassion in the hardest heart," says Esquemeling; "but Captain Morgan, as a man little given to mercy, was not moved in the least." The lagging Spaniards were driven on faster with blows, till some of the women swooned with the intense heat, and were left as dead by the road-side. Those who had husbands gave them the children to carry. The young and the beautiful fared best. The fair Spaniard was led between two Buccaneers, still apart from the rest. She wept as she walked along, crying that she had entrusted two priests in whom she relied to procure her ransom money, 30,000 piastres, from a certain hidden place, and that they had employed it in ransoming their friends. A slave had brought a letter to the lady and disclosed the treachery. Her complaint being told to Morgan he inquired into it, and found it to be true. The religious men confessed their crime, but declared they had only borrowed the money, intending to repay it in a week or so. He therefore at once released the lady, and detained the monks in her place, taking them on to Chagres and despatching two men to obtain their ransom. On arriving at Cruz the mules were unloaded, preparatory to embarkation. The Buccaneers encamped round the king's warehouse, where it was stored. Three days were given to collect the ransom. The Spaniards, tardy or unwilling in the collection, brought in the money the day after. Vast quantities of corn, rice, and maize were collected here for victualling the ships. Morgan embarked 150 slaves, and a few poor and obstinate Spaniards who had not yet paid their ransom. The monks were redeemed, and escaped happy enough. A part of the Buccaneers marched by land. Many tears of joy and sorrow were shed when the prisoners and those who were liberated took farewell. On reaching Barbacoa the division of the spoil began. Mustering his men, Morgan compelled them all to swear they had concealed nothing, even of the smallest value, and, what was more unusual, he ordered them all to be individually searched from top to toe, down even to the very soles of their shoes. This search was suspicious and insulting. The Frenchmen, hot-blooded and mutinous, would have openly resisted had they not been in the minority. Morgan allowed himself to be first searched to lessen the general discontent, and one man in every company was employed as searcher. No precautions were neglected that could be suggested by long experience of plundering. This unusual vigilance was a mere cloak for Morgan's own dishonesty. Every man was now compelled to discharge his musket before the searchers, that they might be sure no precious stones were hidden in the barrel. These searchers were generally the lieutenants of each crew, and had all taken an additional oath to perform their duty with fidelity. The murmurs against Morgan had now reached such a height, and were so hourly increasing, that many Frenchmen threatened to take his life before they reached Jamaica. The more temperate controlled the younger and the more impetuous, and the band reached Chagres without any revolt. They found the garrison short of provisions and glad to be relieved, but the wounded had nearly all died of their wounds. From Chagres Morgan sent a great boat to Porto Bello with all the St. Catherine's prisoners, and demanded a ransom for sparing the castle of Chagres. The people of Porto Bello replied they would not give one farthing, and he might burn it as he chose. The day after their arrival, Morgan divided the booty. It amounted to only 443,000 pounds, estimating at ten piastres the pound. The jewels were sold unfairly, the admiral and his cabal buying the greater part very cheap, having already, it was believed, retained all the best of the spoil. Every one had expected at least 1000 pieces each, and was disappointed and indignant at receiving only about 200. There was an end now to all co-operation between English and French adventurers, and the hopes of a Buccaneer republic were at an end for ever. The murmurs again rose incontrollably high, and some proposed to seize Morgan and force him to a fair division. The suspected admiral, trying in vain to pacify them, and finding he could obtain no price for Chagres, divided the provisions of the fort among the vessels, removed the cannon and ammunition, then demolished the fortifications, and burnt the buildings. Suddenly taking alarm, or more probably following a preconcerted plan, Morgan sailed out of the harbour without any signal or notice, and hurried to Jamaica, followed by four English vessels, whose captains had been his confidants. In the first paroxysm of their rage, the French adventurers would have pursued Morgan, and attacked his vessel, but he escaped while they were still hesitating. We shall find him finally settled in Jamaica, and married to the daughter of the chief person of the island, a sure proof, says the indignant and philosophical Oexmelin, that any one is esteemed in this world provided he has money. The same vivacious writer gives a lively picture of the rage of the crews at the treacherous flight of Morgan. They shouted, swore, stamped, clenched their fists, gnashed their teeth, and tore their hair, fired off their pistols in the air, and brandished their arms, with imprecations loud and deep. They longed for the plunder they had lost, and longed still more eagerly for revenge. They never now mentioned the Welsh name but with an execration. Strange anomaly of the human mind, that men who lived by robbery, should be astonished at a small theft committed by a comrade! In the first bitterness of their vexation, they drew their sabres, and hewed and thrust at their imaginary enemy. They bared their arms, and pointed out to each other the cicatrices of their half-healed wounds. Confirmations of the admiral's treachery reached them from every side. They remembered that Morgan had been latterly unusually reserved and unsociable, closeting himself with a few English confidants, to whom he had been seen whispering even during public conferences. He had, it was now recollected, grown silent during all discussions, and more particularly when the booty was mentioned. Oexmelin (a surgeon) also mentions, that on one occasion, as he was visiting a wounded Buccaneer, Morgan came up to the hammock, and said in English, thinking he could not be overheard, "Courage, get soon well, you have helped me to conquer, and you must help me to profit by the conquest." Another day, as Oexmelin was searching by the river for a medical herb, he turned round suddenly, and saw Morgan secreting something in the corner of a canoe, and looking frequently over his shoulder to see if he was observed. When he observed Oexmelin, he looked troubled, and, coming up, asked him what he was doing there, to which the surgeon made no answer, but, stooping down, picked the plant he was in search of, and began to tell him its properties. Morgan turned off the subject, beginning to converse on indifferent topics, and, although the proudest of men, insisted on accompanying him home. Oexmelin took care to find an opportunity afterwards to rummage the canoe, but found nothing; but this same canoe he always observed Morgan took great care of, and never permitted to row out of his sight. But these stories none had dared to utter, for since the victory of Panama, the admiral, always proud, sensual, and cruel, had grown every day more stern, and had rendered himself dreaded by his severities. The adventurers sought for a long time some means of avenging themselves on Morgan for his successful treachery. They at last heard that he had resolved to take possession of St. Catherine's island, being apprehensive of the governor of Jamaica. In this spot he had determined to fortify himself, renew his Buccaneering, and defy both open enemies and treacherous friends. The Buccaneers agreed to waylay him on his passage, and carry him off, with his wife, children, and ill-gotten treasure. They then planned either to kill him, or compel him to render an account of the spoil of Panama. But an unexpected accident saved Morgan, and defeated their scheme of vengeance. At the very crisis, a new governor, Lord G. Vaughan, arrived at Port Royal, and brought a royal order for Morgan to be sent to England to answer the complaints of the King of Spain and his subjects. Of his trial we hear nothing, but we soon after see the culprit knighted by Charles II., and appointed Commissioner of Admiralty for Jamaica. The king, who frolicked with Rochester, and smiled at the daring villany of Blood, had no scruples in disgracing knighthood by such an addition. In the autumn of 1680, the Earl of Carlisle, then governor of Jamaica, finding his constitution undermined by the climate, returned to England, leaving Morgan as his deputy. His opportunity of revenge had now come, and he remembered his old dangers of ruin and assassination. Many of the Buccaneers were hung by his authority, and some of them were delivered up to the governor of Carthagena. A new governor arrived, and terminated his cruelties, and the justice inspired by a personal hatred. He still remained commissioner. In the next reign he was thrown into prison, where he remained three years. Of his final fate we know nothing certain. CHAPTER III. THE COMPANIONS AND SUCCESSORS OF MORGAN. Dispersion of the fleet--Oexmelin's interview with the old Buccaneer--Adventure with Indians--Esquemeling's Escapes--1673. D'Ogeron's Escape from the Spaniards--1676. Buccaneers' Fight at Tobago against the Dutch--1678. Captain Cook captures a Spanish vessel--1679. Captains Coxen and Sharp begin their cruise. On the departure of Morgan, the Buccaneers, without food, and without leaders, underwent many sufferings, and remained uncertain what to do. Oexmelin and a few of his French friends being informed by a female slave that an old Buccaneer lived in the neighbourhood, determined to go to him and barter goods, as they were told that, although a Spaniard, such was his custom. Following the slave with great expectation, they reached the veteran's fort after about six hours' march. The Buccaneers' "peel" towers were scattered all over the West Indies, and Waterton mentions seeing the ruins of one near Demerara. This fort was defended by a fosse of immense depth, and by massy walls of an extraordinary thickness, flanked at each corner by a bastion well supplied with cannon. The Frenchmen displayed their colours and beat their drums as a greeting, yet no one appeared, and no one answered; but, at the end of a quarter of an hour, they saw a light in one of the bastions, and perceived a man about to discharge a cannon. Throwing themselves on their faces with professional dexterity, the shot flew over their heads, and they then rose and retreated out of range. Believing at once that they had been betrayed, for many dangers had made them suspicious, they were about to cut their guide to pieces, when, running from them, she cried to the gunner, "Why is your master false to his word? did he not promise to receive these gentlemen?" "It is true," cried the soldier, "but he has changed his mind; and if you and your people do not go off, I will blow out your brains." The Buccaneers, enraged at the insolence of this threat, and the capricious change of intention, were about to attempt to storm the place, when four Spaniards advanced and demanded a truce, in the name of their master. "We had," they explained, "been alarmed at your numbers, and feared foul play or treachery." The old adventurer was now willing to receive them, if they would send four of their band as ambassadors and hostages. Oexmelin was one of the four chosen. They found the old man, grey and venerable, seated between two others. He was so old and feeble that he could not speak audibly, but he smiled and moved his lips, and stroked his long white beard, as they entered, and they could observe that he was pleased to see once more the well-remembered dress of the Buccaneer seamen. His majestic bearing was impressive. Though he could not rise to welcome them, he bent his head in answer to their greetings, and beckoned to one of his attendants to speak for him. By his orders they were at once taken to his store-rooms, where they bartered their goods, and obtained all that they required. They first eagerly selected some brandy, and Oexmelin is never tired of repeating "ses gens l'aiment avec passion." On their way back to the ships with the guide, delighted at their success, the Spaniards who carried the goods they had bought told them their master's history. He was, it appeared, properly speaking, neither an adventurer nor a Castilian, but a Portuguese, who had lived long both with adventurers and with Spaniards. A Spanish ship had picked him up in a drifted canoe when quite a boy, and he had been employed among the slaves in a cocoa plantation, where he soon became a successful steward, and much beloved by his master. His patron sent every year a vessel to his plantation to be loaded with cocoa. One day, as the steward was on board superintending the lading, a sudden squall came on, snapped the cable, and drove them out to sea. He being a good pilot, and accustomed to navigation, attempted to put back to land as soon as the storm abated, but the slaves, with one voice, declared that they would not return, and that he should not take them, for they knew that their master would suspect, and would cruelly punish them. At that time the slightest offence of a slave was punished with death. The steward remonstrated with them; but the slaves resolved to be free, although they knew not where to steer. At this crisis the bark was pursued by a Buccaneer vessel, from which a storm for a short time released them, but they were eventually overtaken and captured. The Buccaneer captain brought these prisoners to the fortress they had just visited. Here he became again a faithful steward, and finally inherited the place at his master's death, and continued to trade with the Buccaneers, as his predecessor had done. The fortress had been originally built to repel the Spaniards, who had been several times beaten off with loss. It is very seldom that we can follow the Buccaneer to the last scene of all: he flashes across our scene from darkness to darkness, and we hear of him no more. In the present instance, Oexmelin enables us to fill up the vacuum and tell out the tale. In a subsequent voyage he returned to the old spot, the scene of an oft told story. Devastation had fallen upon the devastator, the fortress was completely demolished and no dwelling remained. He ascertained from the Spaniards that the old man had died and left his riches to his two sons, who, impatient of a slothful wealth, and with imaginations excited from their youth by the recital of Buccaneer adventures, had at last turned Flibustiers. Before their father's death they had often expressed a wish to conquer the country of the ferocious Bravo Indians, but he had always discouraged them from the dangerous and unprofitable expedition, being afraid of attacks from the Spaniards in their absence. They were never heard of again, but report was current that, having been shipwrecked, the two Buccaneers had been taken by the Indians, and killed and eaten. Leaving the Boca del Toro, about thirty leagues distant from Chagres, Oexmelin and his companions arrived at the country of the very dreaded Bravo Indians. These people were known to be warlike cannibals, cruel and very treacherous. They were expert archers, and could discharge their arrows, like the Parthians, even when in full retreat. They had axes and spears, and wore metal ornaments, the clash of which animated them to the charge. They carried tortoise-shells for shields, which covered their whole bodies, and were most to be dreaded when few in number and quite overpowered, for they would then throw themselves like wild-cats on the foe, and think only of destroying their enemy's life, regardless of their own. Morgan, who seems to have made every preparation for an extensive Buccaneer empire, had often sworn to totally destroy this nation which had slain so many shipwrecked men, and so frequently frustrated his plans. No Buccaneer historian ever seems to have reflected that these savages, rude as they were, fought as patriots defending their country. We sing of Tell and rave of Wallace, but we have no interest in a hero without breeches! These Indians had at first been friendly to the Buccaneers, who had sold them iron in exchange for food, but on one fatal occasion, at a Buccaneer debauch, a quarrel had arisen, and some Indians had been killed and their wives carried off. From this time irreconcilable hatred existed between the two people, and to be wrecked on the Bravo shore was equivalent to certain death. On reaching Cape Diego (so called, like many other points of land, from an old adventurer), Oexmelin was compelled by hunger to feed on crocodile eggs, which were found buried in the sand. Meeting here with some French adventurers, they all removed to an adjacent spot, where they caught turtle and salted it for the voyage. Ascending a river to obtain provisions, they surprised and killed two Indians, of whom one had a beard-case of tortoise-shell and another of beaten gold: the latter they took for a chief. Putting off from here, and meeting with contrary winds that drove them from Jamaica, they returned again to Chagres, and were pursued by a ship of Spanish build, which they feared had been sent from Carthagena to rebuild the fort. They attempted in vain to escape, and were clearing the decks, preparing to fight to the last, when the enemy hoisted the red flag, and proved to be one of their companions' vessels driven back by the _bise_, or north-east wind. They lost two days' sail by this accident, more than they could regain in a fortnight, and returned to the Boca del Toro to get provisions and kill sea-cows, and then passed on to the Boca del Drago. The islands here they knew to be inhabited, for the fragrance of the fruits was wafted on the sea wind. One day a fishing party gave chase to two Indians in a canoe, which they instantly drew ashore and carried with them into the woods. This boat, weighing above 2,000 lbs. and requiring 11 men afterwards to launch it, was made of wild cedar, roughly hewn; being nimble the savages both escaped the Buccaneers. A pilot who had been often in those parts, told them that a few years before, a Buccaneer squadron arriving in that place, the men went in canoes to catch the humming birds that swarmed round the flowering trees of the coast. They were observed by some Indians who had hid themselves in the trees, who, leaping down into the sea, carried off the boats and men before their companions could arrive to their aid. The admiral instantly landed 800 men to rescue the prisoners, but so many Indians collected that they found it necessary to retreat in haste to their ships. The next day the Buccaneers arrived at Rio de Zuera, but the Spaniards were all fled, leaving no provisions; they therefore filled their boats with plantains, coasting for a fortnight along the shore to find a convenient place to careen, for the vessel had now grown so leaky that slaves and men were obliged to work night and day at the pumps. Arriving at a port, called the Bay of Blevelt, from a Buccaneer who used to resort there, half the crew were employed to unload and careen the bark on the shore, and half to hunt in the woods--still much afraid of the Indians, though they had as yet seen none. The huntsmen shot several porcupines of great size, and many monkeys and pheasants. The men took great pleasure in the midst of their danger in this pursuit. They laughed to see the females carrying their little ones on their backs, just like the negro women, and they admired the love and fidelity which some showed when their friends were wounded, and were delighted when they pelted their pursuers with fruit and dead boughs. The men were obliged to shoot fifteen or sixteen to secure three or four, as even when dead they remained clinging to the trees, and remained so for several days, hanging by their fore-paws or their tails. When one was wounded the rest came chattering round him, and would lay their paws on the wound to stop the flow of blood, and others would gather moss from the tress to bandage the place, or, gathering certain healing herbs, chew them and apply them as a poultice. If a mother was killed the young ones would not leave the body till they were torn away. But these amusements were soon to come to an end. The Indians were upon their track. They had been now eight days hunting. It was the daybreak of the ninth day, and the fishermen and hunters were preparing their nets and guns to start for the sea and for the woods. The slaves were on the beach burning shells to make lime, which served instead of pitch for the vessels, and the women were drawing water at the wells which had been dug in the shore. A few of them were washing dishes, and others sewing, for they had risen earlier than usual. While the rest went to the wells, one of them lingered behind to pick some fruit that grew near the beach. Seeing suddenly some Indians running from the spot where she had left her companions, she ran to the tents, crying, "Indians, Indians, Christians, the Indians are come." The Buccaneers, running to arms, discovered that three of their female slaves were lying dead in the wood, pierced with fourteen or fifteen flint-headed arrows. These darts were about eight feet long, and as thick as a man's thumb; at one end was a wooden hook, tied on with a string, at the other, a case containing a few small stones. Searching the woods, no traces of Indians, or any canoes, were to be found, and the Buccaneers, fearing they should be surrounded and overpowered, re-embarked all their goods, and sailed in great haste and fear. They soon arrived at Cape Gracias à Dios, and rejoiced to find themselves once more among friendly Indians; and at a port where Buccaneer vessels often resorted, the rudest sailors giving thanks to God for having delivered them out of so many dangers, and brought them to a place of refuge. The Indians provided them with every necessary, and treated them with friendship. For an old knife or hatchet the men each bought an Indian woman, who supplied them with food. These people often went to sea with the Buccaneers, and, remaining several years, returned home with a good knowledge of French and English. They were used as fishermen, and for striking tortoises and manitees, one Indian being able to victual a vessel of 100 men. Oexmelin's crew having on board two sailors who could speak the Indian tongue, they were unusually well received. This nation was not more than 1700 in number, including a few negro slaves, who had swum ashore from a wreck, having murdered the Spanish crew, and, in their ignorance of navigation, stranded the vessel. Some of them cultivated the ground, and others wandered about hunting and fishing. They wore little clothes but a palm leaf hat, and a short apron, made of the bark of some tree. Their arms were spears, pointed with crocodile's teeth. They believed in a Supreme Being, and, as Esquemeling quaintly says, "believe not in nor serve the devil, as many other nations of America do, and hereby they are not so much tormented by him as other nations are." Their food was chiefly fruit and fish. They prepared pleasant and intoxicating liquors from the plantain, and from the seed of the palm, and at their banquets every guest was expected to empty a four-quart calabash full of achioc, as the palm drink was called, merely a whet to the feast to follow. Their achioc was as thick as gruel. When they were in love, they pierced themselves with arrows to prove their sincerity. When a youth wished to marry a maiden, the first question of the bride's father to the lover was, whether he could make arrows, or spin the thread with which they bound them. If he answered in the affirmative, the father called for a calabash of achioc, and he himself, the bride, and the bridegroom, all tasted of the beverage. When one of these hardy women was delivered, she rose, went to the nearest brook, washed and swathed the child, and went about her ordinary labour. When a husband died, the wife buried him, with all his spears, aprons, and ear jewels, and for fifteen moons after (a year) brought meat and drink daily to the grave. Some writers contend that the devil visited the graves, and carried away these offerings to the manes; but Esquemeling says, he knows to the contrary, having often taken away the food, which was always of the choicest and best sort. At the end of the year, an extraordinary custom prevailed. The widow had then to open the grave, and take out all the bones; she scraped, washed, and dried them in the sun; then placed them in a satchel, and for a whole year was obliged to carry them upon her back by day, and sleep upon them by night. At the end of the year, she hung up the bag at her door-post, or, if she was not mistress of her house, at the door of her nearest relation. A widow could not marry again till this painful ceremony was completed, and if an Indian woman married a pirate, the same custom prevailed. The negroes maintained the habits of their own countries. After refreshing themselves in this friendly region, the Buccaneers steered for the island de los Pinos, and, arriving in fifteen days, refitted their vessel, now become dangerously leaky. Half the crew were employed in careening, and half in fishing, and by the help of some of the Cape Gracias Indians who accompanied them they killed and salted a sufficient number of wild cattle and turtle to revictual the ship. In six hours they could capture fish sufficient for a thousand persons. "This abundance of provision," says Esquemeling, "made us forget the miseries we had lately endured, and we began to call one another again by the name of _brother_, which was customary among us, but had been disused in our miseries." They feasted here plentifully, and without fear of enemies, for the few Spaniards who were on the island were friendly, and past dangers grew mere dreams in the distance. Their only anxiety now was about the crocodiles, which swarmed in the island, and, when hungry, would devour men. On one occasion a Buccaneer and his negro slave, while hunting in the wood, were attacked by one of these monsters. With incredible agility it fastened upon the Englishman's leg, and brought him to the ground. The negro fled. The hunter, a robust and courageous man, drawing his knife, stabbed the crocodile to the heart, after a desperate fight, and then, tired with the combat and weak with loss of blood, fell senseless by its side. The negro, returning, from curiosity rather than compassion, to see how the duel had ended, lifted his master on his back and brought him to the sea-shore, a whole league distant, where he placed him in a canoe and rowed him aboard. After this, no Buccaneer dared to go into the woods alone, but the next day, sallying out in troops, they killed all the monsters they could meet. These animals would come every night to the sides of the vessel and attempt to climb up, attracted probably by the smell of food. One of these, when seized with an iron hook, instead of diving or swimming, began to mount the ladder of the ship, till they killed him with blows of pikes and axes. After remaining some time here they sailed for Jamaica, and arrived there in a few days after a prosperous voyage, being the first adventurers who had arrived there from Panama since Morgan. In 1673, when the war between the French and Hollanders (Dutch) was still raging, the inhabitants of the French West Indian colonies equipped a fleet to attack the Dutch settlements at Curaçoa, engaging all the Buccaneers that could be induced to join the white flag, either from hopes of plunder or from hatred to the Dutch. M. D'Ogeron, the Governor of Tortuga, the planner of this invasion, headed the fleet in a large vessel named after himself, built by himself, and manned by 500 picked adventurers. His unlucky star led them to misfortune. The new frigate ran upon the rocks near the Guadanillas Islands, and broke into a thousand pieces, during a storm near Porto Rico. Being at the time very near to land, the governor and all his men swam safe to shore. The next day, discovered by the Spaniards, they were attacked by a large force, who supposed they had come purposely to plunder the islands as the Buccaneers had done before. The whole country, alarmed, rose in arms. The shipwrecked men were surrounded by an overpowering army, who, finding them almost without arms, refused to give them quarter, slew the greater part without mercy, and made the remainder prisoners. Binding them with cords, two by two, they drove them through the woods into the open champaign. To all inquiries as to the fate of their commander, whom they could not distinguish from the rest, they replied that he had sunk with the wreck. D'Ogeron, following up this deception with French sagacity, behaved himself as a mere half-witted suttler, diverting the Spanish soldiers by his tricks and mimicry, and was the only Buccaneer whom they allowed to go at liberty. The troopers at their camp fires gave him scraps from their meals and rewarded him with more food than his companions. Among the prisoners there was also a French surgeon who had on former occasions done some service to the Spaniards, and him they also allowed to go at large. D'Ogeron agreed with him to attempt an escape at all risks, and after mature deliberation, they both agreed upon a plan, and succeeded in escaping safely into the woods, and in making their way to the sea-side. They determined to attempt to build a canoe, although unsupplied with any tool except a hatchet. By the evening they reached the sea-shore, to their great joy, and caught some shell fish on the beach from a shoal that ran in upon the sands in pursuit of their prey. Fire to roast them they obtained by rubbing two sticks together in the Indian fashion. The next morning early they began to cut down and prepare timber to build the canoe in which to escape to Vera Cruz. While they were toiling at their work they observed in the distance a large boat, which they supposed to contain an enemy, steering directly towards them. Retreating to the woods, they discovered as soon as it touched land that it held only two poor fishermen. These unsuspecting men they determined if possible to overpower, and to capture the boat. As the mulatto came on shore alone, with a string of calabashes on his back to draw water, they killed him with a blow of their axe, and then slew the Spaniard, who, alarmed at the sound of voices, was attempting in vain to push from the shore. Having filled the dead man's calabashes they set sail, using the precaution of taking the dead bodies with them out into the deep sea, in order to conceal their death from the Spaniards. They steered at once for Porto Rico, and passed on to Hispaniola. A fair wind soon brought them to Samana, where they found a party of their people. Leaving the surgeon to collect men at Samana, D'Ogeron sailed to Tortuga to collect vessels and crews to return and deliver his companions, and revenge his late disaster. He sailed eventually with 300 men, and took great precautions to prevent the Spaniards being aware of his coming, using only his lower sails in order that his masts should not rise above the horizon. In spite of this the Spaniards, informed of his approach, had placed troops of horse upon the shore at various assailable points. D'Ogeron landed his men under favour of a discharge from his great guns, which drove the horsemen into the woods, where, as he little suspected, the infantry lay in ambush. Eagerly pursuing, his men, who thought the victory their own, found themselves hemmed in on every side. Few escaped even to the ships. The Spaniards, cruel from the reaction of fear, cut off the limbs of the dead and carried them home as trophies. They lighted bonfires on the shore as tokens of defiance to the retreating fleet. The first prisoners were now treated worse than ever. Some of them were sent to Havannah and employed on the fortifications all day, and chained up like wild beasts at night to prevent their desperate attempts at escape. Many were sent to Cadiz, and from thence escaped over the Pyrenees into France, and, assembling together, like sworn members of a common brotherhood, returned by the first ship to Tortuga. These very men some time after equipped a small fleet, under command of Le Sieur Maubenon, which sacked Trinidad, and put the island to a ransom of 10,000 pieces of eight, and from thence proceeded to the Caraccas. The Buccaneers fought against the Dutch, in 1676, and helped the French to recover Cayenne, that had been taken by Vice-Admiral Binkes. After this conquest, M. D'Estrees attacked Tobago, but was repulsed with the loss of 150 killed, and 200 wounded. His ship, the _Glorieux_, of seventy guns, was blown up, and two others stranded; several of the Dutch vessels were, however, burnt. D'Estrees, returning to Brest, was ordered back to Tobago, with twenty sail of vessels of war, besides a great number of small craft. 1500 men were landed, and, approaching a fortified place called Le Cort, summoned Heer Binkes to surrender. The French began their attack by throwing fire-balls into the castle; the third grenade fell upon some loose powder in the path leading to the magazine, and blew it up. Heer Binkes and all his officers but one were killed. 500 French instantly stormed the works, killing all but 300 men, who were sent prisoners to France. D'Estrees then destroyed every fort and house in the island, and sailed away. It was in 1678 that the same Comte D'Estrees collected 1200 Buccaneers from Hispaniola, and twenty vessels of war, besides fire-ships, to capture Curaçoa, which could have been taken with 300 Buccaneers and three vessels. This fleet was, however, lost on the Isles d'Aves, as we shall describe in Dampier's voyage. In the year 1678, Captain Cook loaded his vessel with logwood, at Campeachy, and, while anchoring at the island of Rubia, on his way to Tobago, was captured by three Spanish men-of-war, who left his crew upon the shore, and carried off his ship and cargo. They had not lain there long before a Spanish sloop of sixteen men arrived, laden with cocoa and plate, and gave them opportunity for escape and for revenge. Borrowing muskets of the Dutch governor, they employed six of their men in seizing the sloop's boat as it came to land, and then embarked and took the larger vessel, leaving their prisoners bound upon the beach, to watch the combat that would decide their fate. Two men navigated, two more loaded the guns, and two others fired into the enemy as fast as they could pour their shot into the stern-ports. The Spaniards resisted stoutly for some time, but, seeing their priest and captain shot dead, threw their arms overboard, and cried for quarter. The Buccaneers gave the Dutch governor a handsome reward, with a recompence for the arms, and divided among themselves about £4,000 worth of plate. On arriving at Jamaica they burnt the prize, and embarked their goods for England. In the year of our Lord 1679, a Buccaneer fleet of five sail, commanded by Captains Coxen, Essex, Alliston, Rose, and Sharp, set sail from Port-Royal, and steered for the island of Pines, losing two vessels in their passage, at the Zamballos islands. They met a French ship, whose commission was only for three months, and showed its captain, with great exultation, their forged commission for three years, purchased for only ten pieces of eight. CHAPTER IV. THE CRUISES OF SAWKINS AND SHARP. Land at Darien--March Overland--Take Santa Maria--Sail to Panama--Ringrose is wrecked--Failure of Expedition--Driven off by Spanish Fleet--Coxen accused of cowardice--Sharp elected Commander--Plunder Hillo and take La Serena--Take Aries--Saved with difficulty--Conspiracy of slaves--Land at Antigua--Return to England--Sharp's trial--Seizes a French ship in the Downs, and returns to Jamaica. The cruises of Sawkins and Sharp are recorded in the travels of Ringrose, who was present at all their exploits. At this time the Buccaneers widened their field of operations, and passed from the South into the North Pacific. The whole coast of South America, on either side, met the fate of the West Indian islands. The gold mines of Peru were the next object of their speculation. A fleet which took Porto Bello a second time rendezvoused at Boca del Toro. A new expedition was then formed to follow Captain Bournano, a French commander, who had lately attacked Chepo, to Tocamora, a great and very rich place, whither the Darien Indians had offered to conduct him, in spite of a late treaty with the Spaniards. The vessels first dispersed into coves and creeks to careen and salt turtle, and then reunited at the Water key. The fleet consisted of nine vessels, with a total of 22 guns and 458 men, in the following order:--Captain Coxen, a ship of 80 tons, with 8 guns, and 197 men; Captain Harris, 150 tons, 5 guns, and 107 men; Captain Bournano, 90 tons, 6 guns, and 86 men; Captain Sawkins, 16 tons, 1 gun, and 35 men; Captain Sharp, 25 tons, 2 guns, and 40 men; Captain Cook, 35 tons, and 43 men; Captain Alleston, 18 tons, and 24 men; Captain Row, 20 tons, and 25 men; Captain Macket, 14 tons, and 20 men. The expedition sailed March 26, 1679. The first place to touch at was the Zemblas Islands, where they traded with the friendly Indians, who brought fruits and venison in exchange for beads, needles, knives, and hatchets. These Indians were quite naked, but richly decorated with gold and silver plates of a crescent form, and gold rings worn in the nose, which they had to lift up when they drank. They were generally painted with streaks of black and red, but were a handsome race, and frequently as fair as Europeans. The sailors believed that they could see better by night than by day. The Indians dissuaded the captains from the march upon Tocamora, and agreed to guide them to the vicinity of Panama. The way to Tocamora, they declared, was mountainous and uninhabited, and ran through wild places, where no provisions could be obtained. In this change of plan, Row and Bournano, whose crews were all French, separated, being unwilling to risk a long march by land, and remained at the Zemblas, while Andræas, an Indian chief, guided the remaining vessels to the Golden Island, a little to the westward of the mouth of the great river of Darien. There the seven remaining vessels rendezvoused April 3, 1680. They here agreed to follow the Indians' advice, and attack the town of Santa Maria, situated on the river of the same name, which runs into the South Sea by the gulf of St. Miguel. It was garrisoned by 400 soldiers, and from hence the gold gathered in the neighbouring mountains was carried to Panama, on which they could march if they could not find enough at Santa Maria. On the 5th of April they landed 331 men, leaving Captains Alleston and Macket to guard the ships in their absence. Each man carried with him three or four "dough-boys" (cakes), trusting to the rivers for drink. Captain Sharp, who went at their head, was still faint from a late sickness. His company carried a red flag and a bunch of white and green ribbons. The second division, led by Captain Richard Sawkins, had a red flag, striped with yellow. Captain Peter Harris, with the third and fourth divisions, had two green flags; Captain John Coxen, two red flags; while Captain Edmund Cook bore red colours, striped with yellow, with a hand and sword for the device. All the men carried fusees, pistols, and hangers. The Indian guides led them through a wood and over a bay two leagues up a woody valley, along a good path, with here and there old plantations. At a river, then nearly dry, they built huts to rest in. Another Indian chief, a man "of great parts," and called Captain Antonio, now promised to be their leader, as soon as his child, who was then sick, had died, which he expected would be next day. This Indian warned them against lying in the grass, which was full of large snakes. The men, breaking some of the stones washed down from the mountains, found them glitter like gold; but, in spite of this, several grew tired and returned to the ships, leaving only 327 sailors and six Indian guides. The next day they ascended a very steep hill, and found at the foot of it a river, on which Andræas told them Santa Maria was built. About noon they ascended another and higher mountain, by so perpendicular and narrow a path that only one man could pass at a time. Having marched eighteen miles, they halted that night on the banks of the same river, much rain falling during both nights. The next day they crossed the river, after wading sometimes up to the knee, sometimes to the middle, in a steep current. At noon they reached the Indian village, near which the king of Darien resided. The houses were neatly built of cabbage-tree, with the roofs of wild canes, thatched with palmito royal, and were surrounded by plantain walks; they had no upper storeys. The king, queen, and family, came to visit them in royal robes. Like most savages, he was all ornament and nakedness, gold and dirt. His crown was made with woven white reeds, lined with red silk. In the middle was a thin plate of gold, some beads, and several ostrich feathers; in each ear a gold ring; and in his nose a half-moon of the same metal. His robe was of thin white cotton, and in his hand he held a long bright lance, sharp as a knife. The queen wore several red blankets, and her two marriageable daughters and young child were loaded with coloured beads, and covered with strips of rag. The women seemed "free, easy, and brisk," but modest and afraid of their husbands. The king gave the sailors each three plantains and some sugar-canes to suck, but, after that regal munificence, did not disdain to sell his stores like his subjects, who proved very cunning dealers in their purchases of knives, pins, and needles. Resting here a day, Captain Sawkins was appointed to lead the forlorn hope of eighty men. Their march still lay along the river, and here and there they found a house. The Indians, standing at the doors, would present each with a ripe plantain or cassave root, or count them by dropping a grain of millet for each one that passed. They rested at night at some native houses. The next day Sharp, Coxen, and Cook, and ninety men, embarked in fourteen canoes to try how far the stream was navigable, Captain Andræas being with them, and two Indians in each canoe serving as guides. But the water proved more tedious than the land; for at the distance of every stone's-cast, they were constrained to get out of the boats and haul them over sands, rocks, or fallen trees, and sometimes over spits of land. That night they built huts on the bank, being worn out with fatigue. The next day proved a repetition of the past; at night a tiger came near them, but they dared not fire for fear of alarming the Spaniards. The following day was worse than before, and their men grew mutinous and suspicious of the Indians, who, they thought, had divided the troop in order to betray them. The fourth day, resting on "a beachy point of land," where another arm joined the river, they were joined by their companions, whom they had sent their Indians to seek, and who had grown alarmed at their continued absence. That night they prepared their arms for action. On the morrow they re-embarked, in all sixty-eight canoes and 327 Englishmen, with fifty Indian guides. They made themselves paddles, threw away the Indian poles, and rowed with all speed, meeting several boats laden with plantains. About midnight they arrived within half-a-mile of Santa Maria, and landed. The mud was so deep that they had to lay down their paddles and lift themselves up by the boughs of the trees; then cutting a way through the woods, they took up their lodging there for the night, hoping to surprise the Spaniards. At daybreak, to their disappointment, they were awoke by the discharge of a musket and the beating of a drum. The Spaniards had already prepared some lead for their reception, and had sent away their gold to Panama. Directly they emerged into the plain, the enemy ran into a large palisaded fort, twelve feet high, and began to fire quick and close. The vanguard, running up, pulled down part of the stockade and broke in and took them prisoners, the whole 280 men. A few English were wounded, not one being killed of the fifty men who led the attack. 200 other Spaniards were in the mines conveying away the gold, the mines there being the richest of the western world. Twenty-six Spaniards were killed in the fort and sixteen wounded, but the governor, priest, and chief men all escaped by flight. The town proved to be merely a few cane houses, built to check the Indians, who frequently rebelled. Some days before, three cwt. of gold had been sent in a bark to Panama, the same quantity being despatched twice or thrice a-year. During the fight the Indians, frightened at the whistling of the bullets, had hid themselves in a hollow; when all was over they entered the place, with great courage stabbing the prisoners with their lances, and putting about twenty to death in the woods, till the Buccaneers interfered. In the town the Indians found the eldest daughter of the Darien king, whom one of the garrison had carried off, and who was then with child by him. Rather than be left to the mercy of the Indians, this man offered to lead them to Panama, where they hoped to capture all the riches of Potosi and Peru. Sawkins in a canoe attempted in vain to overtake the governor and his officers, and rather than return empty-handed, resolved to go to Panama, to satisfy what Ringrose calls "their hungry appetite of gold and riches." Captain Coxen was chosen commander, and the booty and prisoners sent back to the ships under a guard of twelve men. The Indians, being rewarded with presents of needles and beads, also returned, all but the king. Captain Andræas, Captain Antonio, and the king's son, King Golden Cap (bonete d'oro), as the Spaniards called him, resolved to go on, desiring to see Panama sacked, and offering to aid them with a large body of men. The Spanish guide declared he would not only lead them into the town, but even to the very door of the governor of Panama's bed-chamber, and that they should take him by the hand, and seize him and the whole city, before they should be discovered by the Spaniards. After remaining two days at Santa Maria, they departed April 17th, 1680, for Panama. They embarked in thirty-five canoes and a piragua which they had found lying at anchor, rowing down the river to the gulf of Belona, where they would enter the South Sea and work round to Panama. At the request of the Indian king the fort, church, and town were all burnt. The Spanish prisoners, afraid of being put to death by the savages if left behind, collected some bark logs and leaky canoes, although the Buccaneers could scarcely find boats for themselves, and went with them. Ringrose and four other men were put in the heaviest and slowest canoe, and, getting entangled between a shoal two miles long, and obliged to wait for high water, the boat being too heavy to row against tide, were soon left behind. At night, it being again low water, they stuck up an oar in the river, and, in spite of a weltering rain, slept all night by turns in the canoe. The next morning, rowing two leagues, they overtook their companions filling water at an Indian hut, there being no more for six days' journey. Hurrying to a pond a quarter of a mile distant with their calabashes, they returned to their boats and found the rest again gone and out of sight. "Such," moralises Ringrose, "is the procedure of these wild men, that they care not in the least whom they lose of their company or leave behind. We were now more troubled in our minds than before, fearing lest we should fall into the same misfortune we had so lately overcome." They rowed after them as fast as possible, but in vain, and lost their way among the innumerable islands of the river's mouth; but at last, with much trouble and toil, hit the Bocca Chica, the desired passage. But though they saw the door, they could not pass through, the "young flood" running violently against them--although it was only a stone's-cast off, and not a league broad. Here, then, in despair they put ashore, fastening the rope to a tree, almost covered by a tide that flowed four fathoms deep. As soon as the tide turned, they rowed to an island about a league-and-a-half from the river's mouth, in the gulf of St. Miguel, in much danger from the waves, their boat being twenty feet long, but not quite a foot-and-a-half broad. Here they rested for the night, wet through with the continual and impetuous rain, without water to drink, and unable to light a fire, "for the loss of our company, and the dangers we were in," says Ringrose, "made it the sorrowfullest night that, until then, I ever experimented." None slept that tedious night, for a vast sea surrounded them on one side, and the mighty power of the Spaniards on the other. They were all without shoes, and their clothes were drenched through. They could see nothing but sea, mountain, and rock. At break of day they rowed past several islands to the Point St. Laurence, one man incessantly employed in baling. As they passed one of these islands, a huge sea overturned their boat, but they gained the beach, swimming for life, and the canoe came tumbling beside them. The arms fast lashed at the bottom of the boat, the locks cased and waxed down like the cartouche boxes, and powder horns, escaped uninjured, but the bread and fresh water were either spoiled or lost. While carefully wiping and cleaning their arms, for a Buccaneer's musket was as his wife and child to him, they saw another canoe tossed to shore, a little to leeward. This proved to be six of the Spanish prisoners, who had escaped in an old piragua which was split to pieces, the English boat, formed of wood, six inches thick, having escaped unhurt. A common misfortune makes all men friends, and the English and Spaniards sat down together and broiled their meat amicably at the same fire. They then held a council, discussing for two or three hours what course to take, and all the men but Ringrose were for returning and living with the Indians, if they could not reach the ships lying in the northern sea. With much ado, Ringrose prevailed on them to persist for one day longer, and, just as they were concluding their debate, the man on the look-out cried that he saw Indians. Pursued into the woods by two Buccaneers, they found that he was one of the expedition, and had arrived with seven others in a great canoe. They were glad to see them, and declared, to their joy, that, all in one canoe, they could overtake the boats in the course of a day. On seeing the Spaniards (Wankers they called them), they would have put them to death but for Ringrose's interposition, for his men stood by indifferent. They then insisted on keeping one as a slave. Ringrose, still fearing for their lives, gave the five Spaniards his own canoe, and bade them shift for their lives. Now in a large canoe, with a good sail, and a fresh and strong gale, they made brave way, with infinite joy and comfort of heart, the smooth and easy passage, and the pleasant, fresh ripple of the sea, filling them with hope and gladness; but that very evening it grew very dark, and rained heavily. Suddenly two fires were seen to blaze up from the opposite shore of the continent, and the Indians, thinking they must indicate the encampment of their people, shouted, "Captain Antonio, Captain Andræas," and made for the shore as fast as they could pull. The canoe, however, had hardly got amongst the breakers, before sixty Spaniards, armed with clubs, leaped from the woods; and, drawing the boat on land, made all the crew their prisoners. Ringrose seized his gun, and prepared for resistance, but was pulled down by four or five of the enemy. The Indians, leaping overboard, escaped nimbly into the woods. Ringrose spoke to his captors in French and English, without obtaining any answer. On addressing the strangers in Latin, he discovered that they were the Spanish prisoners from Santa Maria, who had been liberated, for fear they might escape when nearer Panama, and inform the city of the Buccaneers' approach. The Englishmen were presently taken with shouts of joy into a hut made of boughs, and examined by the Spanish captain, who meditated retaliating upon them the injuries inflicted on the town. At this critical juncture, the Spaniards whom Ringrose had liberated came in, and explained how they had been delivered from the Indians. On hearing this, the Spanish captain rose, and, embracing Ringrose, said, "The English were good people, and very friendly enemies, but the Indians very rogues, and a treacherous nation." He then made him sit down and eat with him, and consented, for the kindness he had shown his countrymen, to give him and all his men, and even the Indians, if they could find them, their lives and liberties, which otherwise would have been forfeited. Finally, giving them a canoe, the noble-hearted enemy bade them go in God's name, praying that they might be as fortunate as they had been generous. All that night they skirted a dangerous and iron coast, without daring to land. The next morning, after sailing, paddling, and rowing for a few hours, they saw a canoe suddenly making towards them. It was one of the English boats, which had mistaken them for a Spanish piragua. They at once conducted them to a deep bay, sheltered by rocks, where the rest lay at anchor. They were all delighted to see Ringrose and his men, having given them up as lost. They then made their way with all speed to a hilly island, about seven leagues distant, and surprised an old man, who was stationed there to watch. The road up to the hut was very steep, and the Buccaneers surrounded the old man, who did not see them till they had already entered his plantain walk. They were much encouraged by his declaration, that no tidings of their arrival had yet reached Panama. About dusk, two of their boats surprised a small bark that came and anchored outside the island. The crew had been absent eight days from the city, landing soldiers on the adjacent shore, to curb and drive back the Indians. The crews of the smaller canoes now crowded into this vessel to the number of 137 men, together with Captain Cook and Captain Sharp, the latter of whom Ringrose calls "a sea artist, and valiant commander." Next morning, rowing all day over shallow water, they chased a bark, which Captain Harris took after a sharp dispute, putting on board a prize crew of thirty men. During this pursuit the vessels scattered, and did not reunite till next day at the island of Chepillo, a preconcerted rendezvous. They again chased a bark, but with less success, and Captain Coxen's canoe missed the prize, owing to a breeze springing up, having one man killed and another wounded, and, what was worst of all, the vessel not only escaped, but spread the alarm at Panama. At Chepillo they took fourteen negro and mulatto prisoners, and secured two fat hogs, plenty of plantains, and some good water. Believing it useless now to attack Panama, the Buccaneers resolved to hurry on to the town to at least surprise some of the shipping. Their boats had the addition of another piragua, which they found lying at Chepillo. Before starting, the captains cruelly decided, for reasons which Ringrose could not fathom, to allow the Indians to murder all the Spanish prisoners before their eyes, the savages having long thirsted for their blood. But by a singular coincidence the prisoners, though without arms, forced their way by a sudden rush through all the Indian spears and arrows, and escaped unhurt into the woods, to the chagrin of both white and black savages. Staying only a few hours at Chepillo, the boats started at four o'clock in the evening, intending to reach Panama, which was only seven leagues distant, before the next morning. The next day (St. George's day), before sunrise they arrived at Panama, "a city," says Ringrose, "which has a very pleasant prospect seaward." They could see all the ships of the city lying at anchor at the island of Perico, two leagues distant, where storehouses had been built. There now rode at anchor five great ships and three smaller armadillas, (little men-of-war). This fleet, which had been hastily manned to defend the city, as soon as they saw the Buccaneers, weighed anchor, got under sail, and bore down at once upon them, directly before the wind, and with such velocity as to threaten to run them down. The Spanish admiral's vessel was manned by ninety Biscayans, agile seamen and stout soldiers. They were all volunteers, and had come out to show their valour under the command of Don Jacinto de Barahona, high-admiral of those seas. In the second were seventy-seven negroes, led by a brave old Andalusian, Don Francisco de Peralta. In the third, making 228 men in all, were sixty-five mulattoes, under Don Diego de Carabaxal. The Spaniards had strict orders given them to grant no quarter. To add to the disparity of numbers, only a few of the Buccaneers' boats were able to arrive in time. The first five canoes that came up, leaving the heavy piraguas still lagging behind, contained only thirty-seven men, and these were tired with rowing in the wind's eye, and trying to get close to the windward of the enemy. The lesser piragua coming up with thirty-two more men, made a total force of sixty Buccaneers, including the king of Darien, engaged in this daring resistance to an overwhelming force. Carabaxal's vessel, passing between Sawkins's and Ringrose's canoes, fired at both, wounding four men in the former and one in the latter, but being slow in tacking, the Spaniard paid dear for his passage, the first return volley killing several men upon his decks. Almost before they had time to reload, the admiral passed, but the Buccaneers' second volley quite disabled their giant antagonist, killing the man at the helm; and the ship ran into the wind and her sails lay aback. She fell now like a lamed elephant at the mercy of the hunters; the canoes, pulling under her stern, fired continually upon the deck, killing all who dared to touch the helm, and cutting asunder the mainsheet and mainbrace. Sawkins, whose canoe was disabled, went next into the piragua to meet Peralta, leaving the four canoes to harass the admiral. Between Sawkins and Peralta, lying alongside of each other, the fight was desperate, each crew trying to board, and firing as quick as they could load. In the mean time the first vessel tacked about and came to relieve the admiral, but the canoes, seeing the danger of being beaten from the admiral's stern and allowing him to rally, sent two of their number (Springer and Ringrose) to meet Peralta. The admiral stood upon his quarter-deck, waving his handkerchief as a signal for his captains to come at once to his help. The canoes pursued Peralta, and would have boarded him had he not given them the helm and made away. Giving a loud shout, the remaining boats wedged up the admiral's rudder and poured in a blinding volley, that killed the admiral and chief pilot. Two-thirds of the Spaniards being now killed, many wounded, and all disheartened at the bloody massacre of the Buccaneers' shot, cried for quarter, which they had been already several times offered, and at once surrendered. Captain Coxen then boarded the prize, taking with him Captain Harris, who had been shot through both legs as he was heading a boarding party. They put all their other wounded men on board, and, manning two canoes, hurried off to aid Sawkins, who had already been three times beaten off by Peralta. Coming close under his side and giving him a full volley, they were expecting a return, when suddenly a volcano of fire spouted up from the deck, and all the Spaniards abaft the mast were blown into the air or sea. While the brave captain, leaping overboard, was helping the drowning men in spite of the rain of shot and the pain of his own burns, another jar of powder blew up in the forecastle. Under cover of the smoke and confusion, Sawkins boarded and took the ship, or at least all that was left of it. Ringrose says it was a miserable sight, not a man but was either killed or desperately wounded, blind, or horribly burnt with the powder. In some cases the white wounds where the flesh had peeled to the bone, showed through the blackening of the powder. The admiral had but twenty-five men left out of eighty-six, and of these twenty-five only eight were now able to bear arms. The blood ran down the deck in streams, and every rope and plank was smeared with gore. Peralta, as prudent as he was brave, attempted by every possible argument, forgetful of his own wounds and the death of his men, to induce the Buccaneers not to attack the remaining vessels in the harbour. In the biggest alone he said there were 350 men, and the rest were well defended. But a dying sailor, lifting up his head from the deck, contradicted him, and said that they had not a man on board, all their crews being placed in the armadillas. Trusting to dying treason rather than living fidelity, the Buccaneers instantly proceeded to the island, and found the ships deserted. The largest, _La Santissima Trinidada_, had been set on fire, the crew, loosing her foresail, having pierced her bottom. The captains soon quenched the fire, and stopping the leak turned their prize into a floating hospital-ship. They found they had eighteen men killed and twenty-two wounded (only two of whom died) in this desperate sea battle, which began an hour after sunrise and ended at noon. The third vessel, it appeared, while running away had met with two others, but even with this reinforcement refused to fight. Their brave prisoner, Peralta, now that all was over, broke out into repeated praises of their courage, which was so congenial to his own. He said: "You Englishmen are the valiantest men in the whole world, always desiring to fight open, while all other nations invent all the ways imaginable to barricade themselves, and fight as close as possible." "Notwithstanding all this," adds Ringrose, "we killed more of our enemies than they of us." Two days after the battle the Buccaneers buried Captain Harris, a brave Englishman of the county of Kent, whose death was much lamented by the fleet. The new city of Panama, built four miles more easterly than that which Morgan burnt, had been three times destroyed by fire since that event. A few people still lived round the cathedral in the old town. The new city was bigger than the old one, and built chiefly of brick and stone, and was defended by a garrison of 300 soldiers and 1,000 militiamen. They afterwards learnt that the troops were then absent, and that if they had landed instead of attacking the fleet, they might have taken the place, all the best shots being on board the admiral's vessel. In the five vessels taken at Perico there was much spoil. The _Trinidada_ (400 tons) was laden with wine, sugar, sweetmeats, skins, and soap. The second, of 300 tons, partly laden with bars of iron, one of the richest commodities brought into the South Sea, was burnt by the Buccaneers, because the Spaniards would not redeem it. The third, of 180 tons, laden with sugar, was given to Captain Cook; the fourth, an old vessel (60 tons), laden with meal, was burnt as useless, with all her cargo. The fifth, of 50 tons, with a piragua, fell to the lot of Captain Coxen. The two armadillas, the rigging and sails being saved, and a bark laden with poultry, were also burnt. Captain Coxen, indignant at charges made against him of cowardice in the late action, determined to rejoin the ships in the northern seas, together with seventy men who had assisted in his election. The Indian king, Don Andræas, and Don Antonio, returned with him. The king left his son and nephew in the care of Captain Sawkins, who was now commander-in-chief, and desired him not to spare the Spaniards. A few days after Captain Sharp returned from the King's islands, having taken a Spanish vessel and burnt his own. Captain Harris's crew had also taken a vessel, and, dismasting their own, turned their prisoners adrift in the hulk, and soon after taking a poultry vessel, the meanest of the Spaniards were treated in the same way. Having remained now ten days at Panama, the fleet steered to the island of Tavoga, where they found a village of 100 houses quite deserted, and many of these were burnt by the carelessness of a drunken sailor. The Panama merchants came here to sell the Buccaneers commodities and to purchase the plunder from their own vessels, giving 200 pieces of eight for every negro. Staying eight days, they captured a vessel from Truxillo laden with money to pay the garrison of Panama, while in the hold were 2,000 jars of wine and fifty jars of gunpowder. A flour vessel from the same place informed them that a ship was coming in a few days laden with 100,000 more pieces of eight. To a message from the President, who sent by some merchants to ask why they came into those parts, Captain Sawkins replied, that he came to assist the King of Darien, the true lord of the country, and he required a ransom of 500 pieces of eight for each sailor, and 1,000 for the commander. He must also promise not to molest the Indians, who were the natural owners of the soil. Hearing from the messengers that a certain priest, now bishop of Panama, formerly of Santa Martha, lay in the city, Sawkins, remembering that he had been his prisoner when he took that city five years before, sent him two loaves of sugar as a present. The next day the bishop replied by forwarding him a gold ring. The President, at the same time, sent another letter, desiring to see his commission, that he might know to what power to complain. Sawkins replied, that as yet all his men were not come together, but when they had met, they would come up to Panama, and bring their commissions on the muzzles of their guns, at which time he should read them as plain as the flame of gunpowder would let him. The men growing now mutinous for fresh meat, Sawkins was compelled to give up his hopes of capturing the rich vessel from Peru, and to sail to the island of Otoque, to buy fowls and hogs, losing two barks, one with seven, and the other with fifteen men. While lying off the pearl fishery of Cayboa, Sawkins and Sharp made an unfortunate attack with sixty men on the town of Puebla Nueva. They were piloted up the river in canoes by a negro prisoner. A mile below the town, great trees had been laid to block up the stream, and before the town three strong breastworks were thrown up. Sawkins, running furiously up the sloping ramparts, was shot dead, and his men driven back to their boats, two men being killed, and three wounded, in the retreat, which was made in pretty good order. They soon after, however, captured a vessel laden with indigo, and burnt two others. This Captain Sawkins, Ringrose says, was as valiant and courageous as any, and, next to Captain Sharp, the best beloved. His death was much lamented, and occasioned another overland expedition. Sharp, surrendering his last prize to Captain Cook, took his vessel and gave it to the sixty-three men who wished to return home. They led with them all the Indians to serve as guides overland. Before they started, Sharp, in full council on board the _Trinidada_, offered to insure to all who would carry out Sawkins's scheme, and go home by the Straits of Magellan, a £1000 profit, but none would stay. Ringrose himself acknowledges he should have left with them, but was afraid of the Indians, and the long and dangerous journey in the rainy season. At Cayboa, the men took in water and cut wood, killing alligators, and salting deer and turtle. Here two "remarkable events" happened to Ringrose. In the first place, he ate an oyster so large that he found it necessary to cut it into four large mouthfuls: secondly, as he was washing himself in a pond, some drops fell on him from a mançanilla tree, and these drops broke out into a red eruption that lasted a week. Here Sharp burnt one of his prizes for the sake of the iron work, and received Captain Cook, whose men had revolted, on board his own ship, making John Cox, a New Englander, commander in his stead. Sharp now determined to careen at the island of Gorgona, and then to proceed to Guayaquil, where Captain Juan, the captain of the Tavoga money ship, assured them they might throw away their silver and lade with gold. They selected Gorgona, because, on account of the perpetual rain, the Spaniards seldom touched there. The sailors, who had lost their money at gambling, were impatient of these delays, and declared that the Spaniards would now gain time, and the whole coast be alarmed, and on the defensive. But the richer men, wanting rest, decided for Gorgona. In this island, they fished their mainmast, shot at whales, killed monkeys, snakes, and turtle for food, being short of provision, caught a large sloth, and killed a serpent, fourteen inches thick, and twelve feet long. While moored here, Joseph Gabriel, the Chilian, who stole the Indian king's daughter, died of a malignant calenture. He had been very faithful, and discovered many plots and conspiracies among the prisoners of intended escapes and murders. Sharp now abandoned the design on Guayaquil, and resolved to attack Arica, the dépôt of all the Potosi plate. An old man who had served much with the Spaniards, promised them £2000 a-man. After a fortnight's sail they arrived at the island of Plate, so called from Drake dividing his plunder there among his men. The Spaniards had a tradition, that he took twelve score tons of plate in the galleon armada, and that each of his forty-five men had sixteen bowls full of coined money--his ships being so full that they were obliged to throw much of it overboard. In the adjoining bay of Manta, in Cromwell's time, a Lima vessel, laden with thirty millions of dollars, on its way as a present to Charles I., was lost by keeping too near the shore. While catching goats on this island, on which the cross of the first Spanish discoverer still stood, they were joined by Captain Cox, whom they had lost a fortnight before, as they feared, irrecoverably. They killed and salted on this island 100 goats in a day, and one man alone, in a few hours, in one small bay turned seventeen turtle. Peralta congratulated them on getting as far to windward in two weeks as the Spanish captains did in three months, from their keeping boldly so far from the shore. While passing Guayaquil, they espied a Spanish vessel and gave chase. Being hailed in Spanish by an Indian prisoner, to lower their topsails, the enemy replied they would pull down the Englishman's first, and answered with their arquebuses to the Buccaneers' muskets, till, one bullet killing the man at the helm and another cutting their maintop halliards, they cried out for quarter. There were thirty-five men on board, including twenty-four Spaniards and several persons of quality. The captain's brother, since the death of Don Jacinto de Barahona at Panama, was admiral of the armada. The Buccaneers' rigging was much cut during the fight, and two men were wounded, besides a sailor who was shot by an accident. The captain, it appears, had in a bravado sworn to attack their fleet if he could meet it. The Spaniard, a very "civil and meek gentleman," informed them that the governor of Lima, hearing of their visit to Panama, had collected five ships and 750 sailors; while two other vessels and 400 soldiers, furnished by the viceroy, were preparing to start. A patache with twenty-four guns was also lying at Callao, ready to remove the king's plate from Arica. At Guayaquil they had built two forts, and mustered 850 men of all colours. The same day the English unrigged their new prize and sank her. Reckoning up the pillage, they found they had now 3,276 pieces of eight, which were at once divided. The same day they punished a Spanish friar, who was chaplain in the last prize, and, shooting him on the deck, flung him overboard before he was dead. "Such cruelties," says Ringrose, "though I abhorred very much in my heart, yet here I was forced to hold my tongue and not contradict them, as having no authority to oversway them." The prisoners now confessed they had killed a boat full of the Buccaneers' men, lost near Cayboa, and had discovered from the only survivor the plan on Guayaquil. Captain Cox's vessel being so slow as to require towing, they sank it, so there were now 140 men and boys and fifty-five prisoners in one and the same bottom. While to the leeward of Tumbes, Peralta told them a legend of a priest having once landed there in the face of 10,000 Indians, who stared at his uplifted cross. As he stepped out of his boat on the shore, before the water could efface his footprints, two lions and two tigers came out of the woods to meet him, but when he gently laid the cross on their backs, they fell down and worshipped it, upon which all the Indians came forward and were baptised. The night they passed Paita they espied a sail and gave chase, following it by the lights which it showed through negligence. Scantiness of provisions made them more eager in the pursuit, and coming up the Spaniard instantly lowered all her sails and surrendered. The Buccaneers casting dice as to who should first board, the lot fell to the larboard watch. The vessel contained fifty packs of cocoa, and a great deal of raw silk and India cloth, besides many bales of thread stockings. The prize being plundered and dismasted, the prisoners were turned adrift in it, supplied with only a foresail, some water, and a little flour. The chief prisoners, as Don Thomas de Argandona, commander of the Guayaquil vessel, and his friends Don Christoval and Don Baltazar, gentlemen of quality, Captain Peralta, Moreno, a pilot, and twelve slaves, to do the drudgery, were still kept. The next day the sailor wounded in taking the Guayaquil vessel, died, and was buried with ceremony, three French volleys being fired as the body was let down into the deep. Their next expedition was to attack Arica with 112 men, first sending five boats to capture some fishermen at the river of Juan Diaz, whom they might employ as spies. To their great chagrin they found the landing impracticable, and the whole coast in arms. Troops of horse covered the low hills round the bay, and close beneath six ships rode at anchor. Abandoning this project, these indefatigable marauders (more pirates than real Buccaneers) despatched four canoes and fifty men, to plunder the town of Hillo. On the shore the English were met by some horsemen, who fled after a few volleys. Marching to the town, they forced their way through a small breastwork of clay and sandbags, and took the town. Keeping good watch for fear of surprise, a dying Indian, wounded in the skirmish, told them that the townspeople had heard from Lima nine days before, and expected their coming. In the town they found pitch, wine, oil, and flour, and sixty of the ablest men were sent up the adjoining valley to reconnoitre. They found it beautifully planted with fig, lemon, lime, olive, and orange trees, and four miles up came to a sugar-mill, the greater part of the sugar having been removed. The Spaniards, watching them from the hills, rolled stones upon them, but hid themselves when a musket-shot was fired in retaliation. Captain Cox and a Dutch interpreter being despatched with a flag of truce to the Spaniards, they agreed to give eighty beeves as a ransom for the mill, and a message was despatched to Captain Sharp not to injure the drivers of the oxen when they came. Hearing that sixteen beeves had already arrived at the port, the men, contrary to Ringrose's opinion, returned to the ships laden with sugar, and found the whole story of the oxen's arrival a mere _ruse de guerre_. The Spaniards being appealed to promised the cattle should arrive that night, but at last declared the wind was so high they could not drive the herds. Enraged at this delay, the Buccaneers, who had now taken in water, marched 100 men up the valley, and burned the house, the mill, and the canes, carried off the sugar, broke the oil jars, and cracked the copper wheels. Near the shore they were charged by a body of 300 horsemen, who took them by surprise, but not before they had thrown down the sugar and taken up their arms. Ringrose shall tell the rest: "We being in good rank and order," he says, "fairly proffered them battle upon the bay; but as we advanced to meet them, they retired and rid towards the mountains, to surround us, and take the rocks from us, if possibly they could. Hereupon, perceiving their intentions, we returned back and possessed ourselves of the said rocks, and also of the lower town, as the Spaniards themselves did of the upper town (at the distance of half-a-mile from the lower), the hills and the woods adjoining thereunto. The horsemen being now in possession of those quarters, we could perceive as far as we could see, more and more men resort unto them, so that their forces increased hourly to considerable numbers. We fired at one another as long as we could see, and the day would permit. But in the mean time we observed that several of them rid to the watch hill and looked out often to the seaward. This gave us occasion to fear that they had more strength and forces coming that way, which they expected every minute. Hereupon, lest we should speed worse than we had done before, we resolved to embark silently in the dark of the night." They carried off a great chest of sugar (seven pounds and a-half to each man), thirty jars of oil, and much fruit, wild and cultivated. From appearances next morning they believed the enemy had also fled in the night, as only fifty men could be seen. The prisoners, seeing a comet at dusk, told the Englishmen that many such appearances had preceded the arrival of the Buccaneers in the South Sea. Their brave prisoner, Captain Peralta, began at this time to show signs of insanity, his mind being shaken by continued hardship and despair at his long imprisonment. The Buccaneers next landed 100 men, hoping to take by surprise the city of La Serena. Here, too, they found the Spaniards vigilant, and had to break through 100 horsemen to reach the town, killing three officers and wounding four men. The town contained seven great churches and many rich merchants' houses surrounded by gardens. The inhabitants had fled, and either carried away or buried all their treasures, and a Chilian prisoner said the Spaniards had killed most of their negro and even their Chilian slaves, for fear of their revolting and joining the Buccaneers. A party of forty men, with a Chilian guide, searched the woods in vain to secure prisoners for guides. The Spaniards, sending a flag of truce, agreed to pay 95,000 pieces of eight as ransom for the town; but, not bringing it in, the place was set on fire. Taking advantage of an earthquake, the Spaniards opened the sluices and inundated the streets. Every house, Ringrose says, was separately fired to render the conflagration complete. Two parties were then despatched laden with booty to the ships, who on their way beat up an ambuscade of 250 Spanish horse. During their absence, a daring attempt was made to burn their ship. The enemy hired a man who floated under the stern of the ship on a horse's hide, blown out like a bladder. He then stuffed oakum and brimstone between the keel and the stern-post, and set the rudder on fire. The men, alarmed at the smoke, ran up and down, not knowing where the fire could be, and believing the prisoners had done it in order to escape. The source of the evil was at last discovered, and the flames extinguished. The Buccaneers, before sailing, released all their prisoners, not knowing what to do with them, and fearing that they would revolt or perhaps try to burn the ship. On reaching the island of Juan Fernandez, they solemnized the festival of Christmas by discharging three volleys of shot, and killing sixty goats in one day. The shore was covered so thick with seals that they were obliged to shoot a few in order to land. They then filled 200 water-jars, and were nearly lost in a place called "False Wild Harbour," where they killed several sea-lions. Their beds they made of fern. It was on this island, their pilot told them, a deserted sailor (Alexander Selkirk) had lived five years. The men now in the midst of storms and dangers, were all in a mutiny. Some were for going back to England or the plantations, and returning by the straits of Magellan; others for continuing longer in those seas. All agreed to depose Captain Sharp and elect John Watling, an old privateer, "and a stout seaman." The next Sunday was the first, says Ringrose, that had been kept by common consent since the death of Sawkins, who would throw the dice overboard if he found any in use on that day. Juan Fernandez abounded in cabbage palms and building timber. The fish swarmed in such quantities that they could be caught with the bare hook, one sailor in a few hours capturing enough for the whole crew. Shoals a mile long were seen in the bay. While busily employed in catching fish, shooting goats, and cutting timber, the hunters suddenly gave the alarm of three Spanish men-of-war approaching the island, and, slipping their cables, the Buccaneers put out hurriedly to sea. In the confusion, William, a Mosquito Indian, who could not be found at the time, was left behind to endure the hardships that a few days before he may have heard the pilot relate as experienced by the celebrated Alexander Selkirk (the prototype of Robinson Crusoe). The three Spanish vessels proved to be the _El Santo Christo_, of 800 tons, carrying twelve guns; the _San Francisco_, of 600 tons, with ten guns; and a third of 350 tons. As soon as they came in sight, they hung out "bloody flags;" and the Buccaneers, nothing daunted, did the same. The English, keeping close under the wind, were very unwilling to fight, as the Spaniards held together, and their new commander, Watling, showed a faint heart. The trio eventually sheered off, glad to escape uninjured. Determining to pay a second visit to Arica, twenty-five men and two canoes were despatched to obtain guides from the island of Yqueque. On the shore of the mainland they found a hut built of whales' bones, a cross, and some broken jars. They brought away from the island, which they could not at first discover, two old white men and two Indians. The people of Arica, they found, came to this place to buy clay, and the natives were obliged to fetch all the water they used from the mainland. The Indians wore no clothes, and chewed leaves which dyed their teeth green. One of the old prisoners being examined was shot to death by order of the commander, who believed him to be lying, although, as it afterwards appeared, he told nothing but the truth. Sharp was troubled and dissatisfied at this cruel and rash order, and, taking water and washing his hands, he said, "Gentlemen, I am clear of the blood of this old man, and will warrant you a hot day for this piece of cruelty whenever we come to fight at Arica." The other prisoner said that he was the superintendent of fifty slaves belonging to the governor of the town. These slaves caught fish and sold them when dried in the inland towns. There were then three Chilian ships and a bark in the harbour, and a fortification of twelve guns in the town. The people had already, he said, heard from Coquimbo of their arrival, and removed and buried their treasure. There were also, they heard, breast-works round the town, and barricades in every street. Disregarding these warnings, the Buccaneers embarked next day in a launch and four canoes, rowing and sailing all night, in hopes of surprising Arica. At daybreak they hid themselves under the cliffs for fear of being seen, and at night began again to row. On Sunday (Jan. 30), 1680--"sacred to the memory of King Charles the Martyr"--they landed among some rocks four miles to the south of the town, ninety-two men going on shore, the rest staying to defend the boats. The signal agreed on was, that at one smoke, they should come up to the harbour in one canoe; but if there were two smokes, they should "bring all away, leaving only fifteen men with the boats." Mounting a steep hill, they could see no Spaniards, and hoped that the surprise was complete; but as they were descending the other side, three horsemen on the look-out hill rode down at full speed and alarmed the city. The forty men who attacked the fort with hand grenades, seeing their companions overpowered, ran down into the valley to join them. "Here the battle was very desperate, and they killed and wounded two more of our men from their outworks before we could gain upon them. But our rage increasing with our wounds, we still advanced, and at last beat the enemy out of all, and filled every street in the city with dead bodies. The enemy made several retreats from one breast-work to another, but, we had not a sufficient number of men to man all places taken. Insomuch, that we had no sooner beat them out of one place but they came another way, and manned it again with new forces and fresh men." So says Ringrose. Imprudently overburdening themselves with prisoners, they found there were in the place 400 soldiers from Lima, 200 armed townsmen, and 300 men garrisoning the fort. Being now nearly masters of the place, the English sent to demand the surrender of the fort, and, receiving no answer, advanced to the attack. Several times repulsed, the Buccaneers at last mounted the top of a neighbouring house and fired down into the castle; but, being again surrounded by the enemy, they were obliged to desist. The number and vigour of the enemy increased hourly, and, almost overpowered, the English were compelled to retreat to the hospital where the surgeons were tending the wounded. Captain Watling and both quartermasters were killed, and many were disabled. We will let Ringrose tell the rest:-- "So that now, the enemy rallying against us, and beating us from place to place, we were in a very distracted condition, and in more likelihood to perish, every man, than escape the bloodshed of that day. Now we found the words of Captain Sharp true, being all very sensible that we had a day too hot for us, after that cruel heat in killing and murdering in cold blood the old Mestizo Indian. "Being surrounded with difficulties on all sides, and in great disorder, having nobody to give orders, what was to be done? We were glad to have our eyes upon our good old commander, Captain Bartholomew Sharp, and beg of him very earnestly to commiserate our condition, and carry us off. It was a great while before he would take any notice of our request, so much was he displeased with the former mutiny of our people against him, all which had been occasioned by the instigation of Mr. Cook. "But Mr. Sharp is a man of an undaunted courage, and excellent conduct, not fearing in the least to look an insulting enemy in the face, and a person that knows both the theory and practice of navigation as well as most do. Hereupon, at our earnest request and petition, he took upon him the command in chief again, and began to distribute his orders for our safety. He would have brought off our surgeons, but they, having been drinking while we assaulted the fort, would not come with us when they were called. They killed and took of our number twenty-eight men, besides eighteen that we brought off, who were desperately wounded. At that time we were all extremely faint for want of water and victuals, whereof we had none all that day. We were likewise almost choked with the dust of the town, being so much raised by the work that their guns had made, that we could scarce see each other. They beat us out of the town, then followed us into the savannahs, still charging as fast as they could. But when they saw that we rallied, again resolving to die one by another, they ran from us into the town, and sheltered themselves under their breast-works. Thus we retreated in as good order as we possibly could observe in that confusion. But their horsemen followed us as we retired, and fired at us all the way, though they would not come within reach of our guns, for theirs reached further than ours, and outshot us above one-third. We took the sea-side for our greater security, which when the enemy saw, they betook themselves to the hills, rolling down great stones and whole rocks to destroy us. Meanwhile, those of the town examined our surgeons, and other men whom they had made prisoners. These gave them our signs that we had left to our boats that were behind us, so that they immediately blew up two fires, which were perceived by the canoes. This was the greatest of our dangers; for had we not come at that instant that we did to the sea-side, our boats had been gone, they being already under sail, and we had inevitably perished every man. Thus we put off from the shore, and got on board about ten at night, having been involved in a bloody fight with the enemy all the day." The Buccaneers, thus cruelly baffled, plied for some time outside the port, hoping to be revenged on the three ships, but they did not venture out. Arica Ringrose describes as a square place, with the castle at one corner. The houses were only eleven feet high, and built of earth. It was the place of embarkation for all minerals sent to Lima. Of the English prisoners, only ten survived. The Spaniards lost more than seventy men, three times as many being wounded, and of forty-five allies from Hillo only two returned alive. On dividing the plate, they found only thirty-seven pieces of eight fell to each man. Landing at Guasco, they took in 500 jars of water, and carried off 120 sheep, 80 goats, and 200 bushels of flour. At Hillo they surprised the townsmen asleep, and heard a false report that 5000 Englishmen had taken Panama. They carried off eighteen jars of wine and some new figs, and, ascending to the sugar-work they had before visited, laded seven mules with molasses and sugar. The townsmen told them, that the owner of the mill had brought an action against them for having done him more injury than the Buccaneers. A few days after this another mutiny broke out, and forty-seven men, refusing to serve any longer under Captain Sharp, landed near the island of Plate, with five Indian slaves to serve as guides. Near the island of Chica they captured two Spanish vessels, one of them the very ship they had captured before at Panama. They heard here that some of their overland parties had taken a good ship at Porto Bello. Capturing some Spanish shipwrights at this place, they employed them for a fortnight in altering their vessel, and then set them at liberty, with some others of their prisoners, giving them one of their prizes, and manning the other with six men and two slaves. They now agreed in council to bear up for Golfo Dolce, there to careen their vessels, and then to cruise about under the equinoctial. They landed in Golfo Dolce, and, treating kindly some Indians whom they took prisoners, bought honey and plantains of them. Here they learned that the Spaniards, having treacherously captured forty Darien chiefs, had forced the natives into a peace. Having careened here, they soon after captured a rich prize, the _San Pedro_, bound from Truxillo to Panama, deeply laden with 37,000 pieces of eight, in chest and bags, besides plate. This was the same vessel they had taken the year before, and it was now their prize a second time in fourteen months. The crew consisted of forty men, besides friars and merchants. Taking out part of her lading of cocoa, they cut down her masts and turned her adrift with all the old slaves, as "_a reward for good service_," taking new ones from the prize. Francisco, a negro, who had attempted to escape by swimming on shore in the Golfo Dolce, they retained as a prisoner, as a punishment for his insubordination. From this prize each Buccaneer received 234 pieces of eight, much being left for a future division. They learnt from this vessel that a new Viceroy of Peru, arrived at Panama, had not dared to venture to Lima in his ship of twenty-five guns, but had waited for the armada as a convoy. A few days later, they captured the packet that ran between Lima and Panama. A friar and five negroes escaped on shore, but two white women were captured. Rummaging the boat, they found nothing of value but a letter announcing the departure of the viceroy with four ships. The prisoners and the boat were then released. "That week," says Ringrose, "we stood out to sea all night long, most of our men being fuddled." The next day they captured a Spanish vessel that had at first frightened them by its size. The volleys of the Buccaneers soon drove the Spaniards into the hold and made them cry for quarter, having killed the captain at the first fire, and wounded the boatswain. Captain Sharp and twelve others were the first to board. She proved to be _El Santo Rosario_, commanded by Don Diego Lopez, bound from Callao to Panama. The crew were forty in number. She was deeply laden with plate and coined money, and carried 620 jars of wine and brandy. At Cape Passao Sharp sank the bark taken at Nicoya, preserving her rigging, and disabling the last prize set the prisoners adrift in it, keeping only the one man, named Francisco, who had described himself as the best pilot in those seas. They then divided the booty, which came to ninety-four pieces of eight a man. From these prisoners they learned that their men taken at Arica had been kindly treated at Callao. Of the last party that one had been captured, and the rest had had to fight their way overland through Indians and Spaniards. Ten Buccaneers were also announced as about to enter the South Sea. In August they landed again to kill goats on the island of Plate, where Ringrose and James Chappel, a quartermaster, fought a duel on shore, with what result we do not know. The same evening a conspiracy of the slaves was detected, in which they had plotted to slay all their masters when in drink, not sparing any. The ringleader, San Jago, a prisoner from Yqueque, leaped overboard when the plot was discovered, and was shot by the captain. The rest, being terrified at his death, were forgiven, and the same night the usual debauch took place in spite of the danger. From their pilot they heard that a Lima vessel bound for Guayaquil had run ashore lately on Santa Clara, losing 100,000 pieces of eight, that would have been their prize. They heard also that the Viceroy of Peru had beheaded the great Admiral Ponce for not destroying the Buccaneer fleet while at Gorgona. They next made a descent on Paita, but found the place garrisoned by three companies horse and foot, well armed, from Puira, twelve leagues up the country. 150 musketeers and 400 lancers occupied a hill and a breast-work, and fired upon the canoes. Had they suffered them to land they might have killed them to a man. Finding the whole coast now alarmed, they bore at once away for the Straits of Magellan. Touching at some unknown islands, they were almost inclined to winter there. Here they shot geese, made broth of limpets, and one of the boats captured an Indian and shot another dead. The prisoner was clad in a seal's skin, and carried a net to catch penguins. He was so strong as to be able to open mussels with his fingers, and they kept him as a slave, and called him Orson. They then proceeded to divide eight chests of money still unallotted, and each man received 322 pieces of eight. On December 7th Captain Sharp received intelligence of a conspiracy to shoot him during the ensuing festivities of Christmas-day. The only precaution he took was at once to divide all the wine in store, believing that no sober man would attempt so dastardly an act. Each mess received three jars. The cold grew now so intense that several of the negro slaves had their feet mortify, and some died. Christmas-day was celebrated by killing a fat sow, this being the first flesh the men had eaten since they left the island of Plata. By January 16th the days grew very hot again, and the nights cool and dewy. The men, weary of the voyage, offered a piece of eight "each man" to him who first discovered land. The sight of birds soon indicated this, and January 28th the look-out spied Barbadoes; but hearing of peace they dared not put in for fear of being seized, and therefore steered for Antigua, much afraid of frigates, and shunning even a Bristol interloper that lay in the offing. Ringrose says: "Here I cannot easily express the infinite joy we were possessed with all this day, to see our own countrymen again." They then freed a negro shoemaker, whom they had kept as a prisoner, and who had been very serviceable during the voyage. To Captain Sharp the men gave a mulatto boy as slave, for a token of the respect of his whole company to him for having led them safely through so many dangerous adventures. They then divided the last parcels of money, and received twenty-four pieces of eight a man. A little Spanish shock dog, taken from a prize, was also sold at the mast by public outcry, for forty pieces of eight, the owner promising all he gained should be devoted to a general feast. Captain Sharp bought the dog, saying he would eat it if they did not soon get leave to land. 100 pieces of eight was also added to the store, the boatswain, carpenter, and quartermaster having quarrelled about the last dividend. On reaching Antigua Sharp sent a canoe ashore to buy tobacco and other necessaries, and to ask leave of the governor to land. The conclusion of Ringrose's book tells the rest: "The gentry of the place and common people were very willing and desirous to receive us, but on Wednesday, February 1st, the governor flatly refused us entry, at which all the gentry were much troubled, showing themselves very kind to us; hereupon we agreed among ourselves to give the ship to those of our company who had no money left them of all their purchase in this voyage, having lost it at play, and then put ourselves on board two ships bound for England. So I myself and thirteen more of our company went on board Captain Robert Porteen's ship called the _Lisbon Merchant_, set sail from La Antigua February 11th, and landed in England March 26th, anno 1682." On his arrival in England Captain Sharp was tried for piracy and acquitted. He at once resolved to return to the West Indies, but all the merchant ships refused to carry him, afraid he would tempt their men to revolt against their master, and run away with the ship for a privateer, as he had done before. No promises or entreaties could avail, and he seemed doomed to remain a prisoner in an island for which he entertained no filial affection. He therefore hit upon a desperate scheme, worthy of such a man. Collecting a little money he bought an old, half-rotten boat, lying near London-bridge, for £20, and embarked with sixteen desperadoes equally fearless as himself, carrying a supply of butter and cheese, and two dozen pieces of salt beef. He sailed down the river and reached the Downs, and there he boarded and captured a French vessel and sank his boat. By a foray on Romney Marsh he supplied himself with cattle, and sailed away like a bold Buccaneer as he was, to die no one knows where. CHAPTER V. DAMPIER'S VOYAGES. Leaves Captain Sharp--Land march over the Isthmus--Joins Captain Wright--Wreck of the French fleet--Returns to England--Second voyage with Captain Cook--Guinea coast--Juan Fernandez--Takes Ampalla--Takes Paita--Dampier's scheme of seizing the mines--Attacks Manilla galleon--Captain Swan--Death unknown. Van Horn--Captures galleons--Takes Vera Cruz--Killed in a duel by Le Graff. Dampier, one of the wisest and best of English travellers, was himself a Buccaneer. Son of a Somersetshire farmer, he went early to sea, and became a freebooter without much compunction, just at the time when the brothers of the coast were sinking into mere pirates. "No peace beyond the line" was their early motto; "Friends to God and enemies to all mankind," was the later. The flag, once reddened by the Spaniards' blood, grew now black with the shadows of death and of the grave. Dampier was among those who left Captain Sharp after the dreadful repulse from Arica. His party consisted of forty-four Englishmen and two Mosquito Indians, who determined to re-cross the Isthmus of Darien, and return to the North Pacific Ocean. They carried with them a large quantity of flour and chocolate mixed with sugar, and took a mutual and terrible oath, that if any of their number sank from fatigue, he should be shot by his comrades, rather than allow him to fall into the hands of the Spaniards, who would not only torture him horribly, but compel him to betray his companions. In a fortnight after leaving the vessels they landed at the mouth of a river in the Bay of St. Michael, where unloading their provisions and arms they sank their boats; and while preparing for the inland journey, the Indians caught fish, and built huts for them to sleep in. The next day they struck into an Indian path and reached a village, but found, to their alarm, that the Spaniards had placed armed ships at the mouths of all the navigable rivers to intercept them on their return. Hiring an Indian guide, they reached the day after a native house, but the savage would neither give them food nor information. At any other time the Buccaneers would have at once put him on the rack, or hung him at his own door, but they felt this was no place to be angry, for their lives lay in the enemy's hands. Neither dollars, hatchets, nor knives, would move this stubborn man, till a sailor pulled a sky blue petticoat from his bag and threw it over the head of the Indian's wife. Delighted with the gift, she coaxed her husband till he gave them information and found a guide. It had rained hard for two days, the country was difficult and fatiguing, and there was no path that even an Indian eye could discover. They guided themselves by day by the rivers, and at night by the stars. They had frequently to ford the rivers twenty or thirty times in twelve hours. Rain, cold, fatigue, and hunger made them forget even the Spaniards. In a few days they reached the house of a young Spanish Indian, who had lived with the bishop of Panama, and who received them kindly. Here, while resting to dry their arms and powder, their surgeon, Mr. Wafer, had his knee burnt by an accidental explosion. After dragging himself along with pain for another day, he determined to remain behind with two or three more. He stayed five months with the Indians, and the published account of his experiences still exists. The rainy season that frightened Mr. Ringrose had now set in, and the thunder and lightning was frequent and violent. The valleys and river banks were overflowed, and the Buccaneers had to sleep in trees or under their shade, instead of building warm and sheltering huts. In the very height of their misery, the slaves fled and carried away all they could. Dampier, whose only anxiety was to preserve his journal, placed it in a bamboo, closed at both ends with wax. In fording one of the rivers, a Buccaneer, who carried 300 dollars on his back, was swept down the stream and drowned, but the survivors were too hopeless and weary to look for either body or gold. In eighteen days the English reached the river Concepcion, and, obtaining Indian canoes, rowed to Le Sound's Key, one of the Samballas islands, where Buccaneers rendezvoused. Here they embarked on board a French privateer, commanded by Captain Tristian, dismissing their Indian guides with presents of money, beads, and hatchets. At Springer's Key, Tristian joined them with other vessels, and would have attacked Panama had not Dampier and his men deterred them. For a week the council deliberated about the available towns worth plundering from Trinidad to Vera Cruz. The French and English could not agree, but at last all sailed for Carpenter's River, touching at the isle of St. Andreas. The ships separated in a gale; and Dampier taking a dislike to his French commander, induced Captain Wright, an Englishman, to fit out a small vessel and cruise for provisions along the coast. While the sailors shot pecary, deer, parrots, pigeons, monkeys, and cuvassow birds, their Mosquito Indians struck turtle for their use. On returning to Le Sound's Key they were joined by Mr. Wafer, who had escaped from the Darien Indians, but he was so painted and bedizened that it was some time before they could recognize him. An Indian chief had offered him his daughter in marriage, and he had only got away by pretending to go in search of English dogs for hunting. Passing Carthagena, they cast wistful eyes at the convent dedicated to the Virgin, situated on a steep hill behind the town. There was immense wealth hoarded in this place, rich offerings being frequently made to it, and many miracles worked by our Lady. Any misfortune that befel the Buccaneer was attributed to this Lady's doing, and the Spaniards reported that she was abroad that night the _Oxford_ man-of-war blew up at the isle of Vaca, and that she came home all wet, and with clothes soiled and torn. Captain Wright's company pillaged several small places about the Rio de la Hache and the Rancherias pearl fisheries, and captured, after a smart engagement, an armed ship of twelve guns and forty men, laden with sugar, tobacco, and marmalade, bound to Carthagena from Santiago, in Cuba. The Dutch governor of Curaçoa, having much trade with the Spaniards, would not openly buy the cargo, but offered, if it was sent among the Danes of St. Thomas, to purchase it through his agents. The rovers, declining this, sold it at another Dutch colony, and then sailed for the isle of Aves, so called from the quantity of boobies and men-of-war birds. On a coral reef, near this island, Count d'Estrees had shortly before lost the whole French fleet. He himself had first run ashore, and firing guns to warn the rest of the danger, they hurried on to the same shoal, thinking, in the darkness, that he had been attacked by the enemy. The ships held together till the next day, and many men were saved. The ordinary seamen died of hunger and fatigue, but the Buccaneers, hardier, and accustomed to frequent wrecks, made the escape an excuse for revel and debauchery. As Dampier says, they, "being used to such accidents, lived merrily, and if they had gone to Jamaica with £30 in their pockets, could not have enjoyed themselves more; for they kept a gang by themselves and watched when the ships broke up, to get the goods that came out of them, and, though much was staved against the rocks, yet abundance of wine and brandy floated over the reef where they waited to take it up." * * "There were about forty Frenchmen on board one of the ships, in which was good store of liquor, till the after part of her broke, and floated over the reef and was carried away to sea, with all the men drinking and singing, who, being in drink, did not mind the danger, but were never heard of afterwards." This wreck having left the Bird Island a storehouse of masts and spars, the Buccaneer vessels had begun to repair thither to careen and refit. Among others, a Captain Pan, a Frenchman, had been there. A Dutch vessel of twenty guns, despatched from Curaçoa to fish up the sunken cannon, observing the privateer, resolved to capture him before he began his diving. Pan, afraid of the Dutchman's superior force, abandoned his vessel, and, landing his guns, prepared to throw up a redoubt. While thus engaged, a Dutch sloop entered the road, and at night anchored at the opposite end of the island. In the night, Pan, with two canoes, boarded the ship, and made off, leaving his empty hulk for the Dutch man-of-war. At this island, Dampier's men careened their largest vessel, scrubbed the sugar prize, and recovered two guns from the wreck. At the island of Rocas, a Knight of Malta, captain of a French thirty-six gun ship, bought ten tons of their sugar. Failing to sell any more sugar at Petit Guaves, they sailed for Blanco, an uninhabited island, full of lignum-vitæ trees, and teeming with iguanas, that were to be found in the swamps, among the bushes, or in the trees. Their eggs were eaten by the Buccaneers, who made soup of the flesh for their sick. While cruising on the Caraccas coast, they landed in some of the bays, and took seven or eight tons of cocoa, and three barks laden with hides, brandy, earthenware, and European goods. Returning to the Rocas, they divided the spoil, and Dampier and nineteen others embarking in one of the prizes, reached Virginia July 1682. Dampier's next voyage was with a Creole, named Cook, who arrived at Virginia with a French vessel he had captured by a trick at Petit Guaves. He had been quartermaster, or second in command, under a French Flibustier named Gandy. By the usual Buccaneer law, he had been made captain of a large Spanish prize. The French commanders in the same fleet, jealous of this promotion, seized the ship, plundered the English prize crew, and sent them ashore. Tristan, another French captain, took ten of them with him to Petit Guaves. Cook and his nine companions, taking advantage of a day when Tristan and many of his men were absent, overpowered the rest of the crew, sent them ashore, and sailed to the Isle à la Vache. Here he picked up a crew of English Buccaneers, and steered for Virginia, taking two prizes by the way, one of which was a French vessel, laden with wines. He then sold his wine and two of the ships, and equipped the largest, the _Revenge_, with eighteen guns. Amongst the crew were Dampier, Wafer, and Cowley, all of whom have written narratives of their voyages. They sailed from the Chesapeak on the 23rd of August 1683, and captured a Dutch vessel, laden with wine and provisions. At the Cape de Verd islands they encountered a dreadful storm, that lasted a week. While the ship scudded before wind and sea under bare poles, she was suddenly broached to by order of the master, and would have foundered but for Dampier and another man who, going aloft and spreading out the flaps of their coats, righted the ship. At the isle of Sal, the sailors feasted on flamingo tongues. These birds stood in ranks round the feeding ponds, so as to resemble a new brick wall. They purchased here some ambergris, which Dampier says he had in a lump of 100 lbs. weight. Its origin was at that time unknown; it is now believed to be a secretion of the whale. The governor and his court at this island rejoiced in rags, their revenues being small, and drawn principally from the salt ponds, from which the island derives its name. Having dug wells, watered, and careened, they went to Mayo to obtain provisions, but were not allowed to land, as only about a week before Captain Bond, a pirate of Bristol, had carried off the governor and some of his people. Steering to the Straits of Magellan, they were driven to the Guinea coast, and there captured a Danish ship by a stratagem. Captain Cook, concealing his men under deck, approached the Dane like a weak, unarmed merchant vessel. When quite close, he commanded in a loud voice the helm to be put one way, while by a preconcerted plan the steersman shifted into another, and fell on board the Dane, which was captured with the loss of only five men. She was double their size, carried thirty-six guns, and was equipped and victualled for a long voyage. This vessel they called _The Bachelor's Delight_, and they at once burned the _Revenge_, that she might "tell no tales." During frequent tornadoes near the straits, being short of fresh meat, the sailors caught sharks during the calms, and boiling their flesh, stewed it with pepper and vinegar. When they reached the Falkland, or Sebald de Weist islands, as they were then called, Dampier proposed to the captain to reach Juan Fernandez by Cape Horn, avoiding the straits. Their men being privateers, wilful, and not much in command, he feared would not give sufficient attention in a passage so difficult, and, though he owns they were more than usually obedient, he says he could not expect to find them at an instant's call in critical moments. At these islands they found the sea for a mile round red with shoals of small, scarlet-shelled lobsters. Dampier's advice was not taken, but on entering the South Sea they met the _Nicholas_, of London, a vessel fitted out ostensibly as a trader, but being in reality a Buccaneer. The captain came on board, related his adventures, and gave them a supply of bread and beef. They reached Juan Fernandez together, and heard from the _Nicholas_ of a vessel from London, called the _Cygnet_, commanded by Captain Swan, which was sailing in those latitudes. It was a trader, holding a licence from the Duke of York, then High Admiral of England. The crews discovered on the island the Mosquito Indian left behind by Captain Watling, in Lussan's expedition, because he was hunting goats when the vessel sailed. He was warmly greeted by Dampier, a fellow-countryman named Robin, and some old messmates. Robin, running up to him, fell flat on his face at his feet, and then rose and embraced him. They found he had killed three goats, and prepared some cabbage palms, to feast his visitors. The interview, writes Dampier, was tender, solemn, and affecting. When abandoned, William had nothing with him but his gun and a knife, some powder, and some shot. By notching his knife into a saw, he cut his gun barrel into pieces. These he hammered in the fire, and ground them into lances, harpoons, hooks, and knives. He hunted goats, fished, and killed seals. His clothes he made of skins, and with these also he had lined his hut; and he had contrived to elude the search of the Spaniards. Wild goats, originally brought by the Spaniard, abounded on the hills and in the grassy valleys. There was abundance of water and good timber, and the bays abounded with seals and sea-lions, that covered the sea for a mile. Remaining here sixteen days, for the sake of the sick and those ill with the scurvy, and getting in water and provision, Cook then steered for the American coast, standing out fourteen or fifteen leagues to escape the notice of the Spaniard. The ridges were blue and mountainous. They soon captured a timber ship from Guayaquil laden with timber for Lima, from whose crew they heard that their arrival was known. They anchored next at the sandy islet of Lobos de la Mar, and scrubbed their ships. Captain Eaton, of the _Nicholas_, proposing to march with them in their descents, and the two vessels mustering 108 able men, Cook soon took another prize, and Eaton two more, which he pursued. They were laden with flour from Lima for Panama, and in one of them was eight tons of quince marmalade. The prisoners informed them that, on the rumour of their approach, 800,000 pieces of eight had been landed at an intermediate port. They sailed next to the Galapagos islands, abandoning a design on Truxillo, which they heard had been lately fortified. On these rocky, barren shores they feasted on turtle, pigeons, fish, and the leaves of the mammee tree. Off Cape Blanco, Captain Cook died, and was buried on land. Capturing some Spanish Indians who had been sent as spies by the Governor of Panama, they used them as guides, and landed on the coast in search of cattle. Here a few of the men were surprised by fifty armed Spaniards, and their boat burned. The sailors thus imperilled waded out neck deep to an insulated rock near the shore, and remained there for seven hours exposed to the Spanish bullets, till they were taken off by a boat from their ship just as the tide was rising to devour them. The Spanish, lurking in ambush, made no attempt to resist the rescue. The quartermaster, Edward Davis, was now elected commander; and after cutting lancewood for the handles of their oars, they bore away for Ria Lexa, steering for a high volcano that rises above the town and the island that forms the harbour. But here, too, the Spaniards had thrown up breast-works and placed sentinels, and the Buccaneers sailed for the Gulf of Ampalla and the island of Mangera. Davis captured the padre of a village and two Indian boys, and, proceeding to Ampalla, informed the people that he commanded a Biscay ship, sent by the King of Spain to clear those seas of pirates, and that he had come there to careen. The sailors were well received, and entertained with feasts and music, and they all repaired together to celebrate a festival by torchlight in the church. Here Davis hoped to cage them till he could dictate a ransom, but the impatience of one of his men frustrated the plan. Pushing in a lingering Indian, the man spread an alarm, the people all fled, and the Buccaneers, firing, killed one of their chiefs. They remained, however, good friends, and these very Indians soon after helped to store the ship with cattle belonging to a nunnery, situated on an island in the gulf. On leaving, Davis gave them one of his prize ships, and a quantity of flour, and released the priest who had helped him in his first stratagem. The crews now quarrelled, and Davis, who claimed the largest share of the common plunder, left them, taking Dampier with him. Eaton touched at Cocos island, purchased a store of flour, and took in water and cocoa nuts. Davis landed at Manta, a village near Cape St. Lorenzo, and captured two old women, in order to obtain information. They learnt that many Buccaneers had lately crossed the isthmus, and were coming along the coast in canoes and piraguas. The viceroy had left no means untried to check them; the goats on the uninhabited islands had been destroyed, provisions were removed from the shore, and ships even burnt to save them from the enemy. At La Plata, Davis was joined by Captain Swan in the _Cygnet_, who had turned freebooter in self-defence. He had been joined by Peter Harris, who commanded a small bark, and was nephew of the Buccaneer commander killed in a sea-fight at Panama three years before. They now sent for Eaton, but found from a letter at the rendezvous at Lobos, that he had already sailed for the East Indies. While the ships were refitting at La Plata, a small bark taken by Davis, after the Spaniards had set it on fire, captured a Spaniard of 400 tons, laden with timber, and brought word that the viceroy was fitting out ten frigates to sweep them from the seas. Captain Swan, at this crisis, turned wholly freebooter, and cleared his ship of goods by selling them to every Buccaneer on credit. The bulky bales he threw overboard, the silks and muslins he kept, and retained the iron bars for ballast. In compensation for these sacrifices, the Buccaneers agreed to set aside ten shares of all booty for Captain Swan's owners. Having cleaned the vessels and fitted up a fire-ship, the squadron landed at Paita, but found it deserted. Anchoring off the place, they demanded as ransom 300 pecks of flour, 3000 pounds of sugar, twenty-five jars of wine, and 1000 of water, and having coasted six days and obtained nothing, they burnt the town in revenge, and sailed away. They found afterwards that Eaton had been there not long before, landed his prisoners, and burnt a ship in the road. Burning Harris's vessel, which proved unseaworthy, the squadron steered for the island of Lobos del Tierra, and, being short of food, took in a supply of seals, penguins, and boobies, their Mosquito men supplying them with turtle, while the ships were cleaned and provided with firewood, preparatory to a descent upon Guayaquil. Embarking in their canoes, they captured in the bay a small ship laden with Quito cloth and two vessels full of negroes. One of these they dismasted, and a few only of the slaves they took with them. From disagreement between the two crews, the expedition failed. Having lain in the woods all night, and cut a road with great difficulty, they abandoned the scheme without firing a shot, when almost within a mile of the town, which they believed was alarmed, and on the watch. Dampier now proposed a scheme as feasible and grand as any of Raleigh's. He declared that they never had a greater opportunity of enriching themselves. His bold plan was, with the 1000 negroes lying in the three prizes, to go and work the gold mines of St. Martha. The Indians would at once join them from their hatred of the Spaniards. For provision they had 200 tons of flour laid up in the Galapagos islands; the North Sea would be open to them; thousands of Buccaneers would join them from all parts of the West Indies; united they would be a match for all the forces of Peru, and might be at once masters of the west coast as high as Quito. This golden cloud melted into mere fog. The Buccaneers returned to La Plata, divided the Quito cloth, and turned the Guayaquil vessel into a tender for the _Swan_. The old Buccaneers of Davis now quarrelled with the new recruits in the _Swan_, accused them of cowardice and of having baulked the attempt on Guayaquil, and complained of having to supply them with flour and turtle, for they had neither provisions nor Indian fishermen. Unable to divorce, the ill-assorted pair proceeded to attack together Lavelia, in the Bay of Panama. From charts found in the prizes they checked the deceptions and errors of the Spanish and Indian prisoners whom they employed as pilots. Their object was now to search for canoes in rivers unvisited by the Spaniards, where their schemes might remain still undiscovered. Such rivers abounded from the equinoctial line to the Gulf of St. Michael. When five days out from La Plata they made a sudden swoop on the village of Tomaco, and captured a vessel laden with timber, with a Spanish knight, eight sailors, and a canoe containing twelve jars of old wine. A boat party that rowed up the St. Jago river visited a house belonging to a lady of Lima, whose servants traded with the Indians for gold, several ounces of which were found left by them in their calabashes when they fled. The twin vessels next sailed for the island of Gallo, capturing by the way a packet boat from Lima, fishing up the letters, which the Spaniards had thrown overboard attached to a buoy. From these they learnt that the governor of Panama was hastening the departure of the triennial plate fleet from Callo to Panama, where it would be carried on mules across the isthmus. To intercept this fleet and to grow millionaires in a day was now their only dream. They proceeded at once to careen their ships at the Pearl islands in the bay of Panama. Their force consisted of two ships, three barks, a fire-ship, and two small tenders. Near the uninhabited island of Gorgona they captured a flour ship, and landing most of their prisoners at Gorgona, they proceeded to the bay, captured a small provision boat, and continued their watch, cruising round the city. Having cut off all communication between Panama and the islands in the bay, Davis proposed an exchange of prisoners, surrendering forty monks, whom he was glad to get rid of, for one of Harris's band and a sailor who had been surprised while hunting on an island. The Lima fleet still delaying, the Buccaneers anchored at Tavoga, an island abounding in cocoa and mammee trees, and beautiful water. About this time they were nearly ensnared by a Spanish ship, sent to the island at midnight under pretence of clandestine traffic. This scheme originated in Captain Bond, an English pirate who had deserted to the enemy. The squadron, which had scattered in alarm, to avoid the fire-ship, were just re-uniting and looking for their abandoned anchors, when a cry rose that a fleet of armed canoes were steering direct towards them through the island channel. This was the French Flibustiers of which we have given an account in the adventures of Ravenau de Lussan. After joining in the sea-fight off Panama, and the descent upon Leon and Ria Lexa, the Buccaneers again split into small parties. Dampier joined Swan and Townley, who determined to cruise along the shores of the mine country of Mexico, and then, sailing as high as the south-west point of California, cross the Pacific, and return to England by India. At Guatalico, famous for its blowing rock, they landed their sick for a few days, and obtained provisions, and, in a descent near Acapulco, stopped a string of sixty laden mules and killed eighteen beeves, carrying off all the cattle safely to their ships. To obtain provisions, Swan sacked the town of St. Pecaque, on the coast of New Gallicia, where large stores were kept for the use of the slaves of the neighbouring mines. A great many of these he carried off the first day on horseback and on the shoulders of his men. These visits were repeated--a party of Buccaneers keeping the town till the Spaniards had collected a force. Of this Captain Swan gave his men due warning, exhorting them, on their way to their canoes with the burdens of maize, to keep together in a compact body, but they chose to follow their own course, every man straggling singly while leading his horse, or carrying a load on his shoulder. They accordingly fell into the ambush the Spaniards had laid for them, and to the amount of fifty were surprised and mercilessly butchered. The Spaniards, seizing their arms and loaded horses, fled, before Swan, who heard the distant firing, could come to the assistance of his men. Fifty-four Englishmen and nine blacks fell in this affair, which was the most severe the Buccaneers had encountered in the South Sea. Dampier relates that Captain Swan had been warned of this disaster by an astrologer he had consulted before he sailed from England. Many of the men, too, had foreboded the misfortune; and the previous night, while lying in the church of St. Pecaque, had been disturbed by frequent groanings which kept them from sleeping. This disaster drove Swan from the coast to careen at Cape St. Lucas, the south point of California--in revenge for his loss leaving his pilot and prisoners on an uninhabited island. While lying here, Dampier was cured of dropsy by being buried all but his head in hot sand. The whole 150 men were now living on short allowances of maize, and the fish the Indians struck salted for store. One meal a-day was now the rule, and the victuals were served out by the quartermaster with the exactness of gold. Yet, even in this distress, two dogs and two cats received their daily shares. They now started for their cruise among the Philippines. In a long run of 7,302 miles they saw no living thing--neither bird, fish, nor insect, except one solitary flight of boobies. At the end of the voyage the men were almost in mutiny at the want of food, and had secretly resolved to kill and eat their captain (Swan), and afterwards, in regular order, all who had promoted the voyage. At the island of Gualan, where there was a Spanish fort and a garrison of thirty men, the Buccaneers traded with the natives, who took them for Spaniards from Acapulco. Captain Eaton, who had visited the island before them on his way to India, had, at the instigation of the Spaniards, plundered and killed many of the natives, and driven the rest to emigration. While trading here the Acapulco vessel arrived, and, being signalled by the governor, took to flight; but in her hurry to escape ran upon a shoal, from which she was with difficulty extricated. Swan, who now grew anxious for quiet commerce, discouraged the pursuit, and proceeded quietly on his voyage. At Mindanao, Captain Swan and thirty-six men were left behind by his crew, who were only anxious for plunder, and soon after captured a Spanish vessel bound for Manilla. Captain Swan was eventually drowned while attempting to escape to a Dutch vessel lying in the river. Weary of the mean robberies of the crew, who now turned mere pirates, Dampier left them at the Nicobar islands, and, embarking in canoes, reached Sumatra, and eventually sailed for England. The Buccaneers left behind in the South Sea prospered, and made many successful descents. At Lavelia Townley captured the treasure and merchandise landed from the Lima ship in the former year, for which Swan had watched so long in vain, and for which the Buccaneers had fought in the Bay of Panama. Townley died of his wounds. Harris followed Swan across the Pacific; and Knight, another English Buccaneer, satiated with plunder, returned home laden with Spanish gold; and off Cape Corrientes they lay in wait in vain for the Manilla ship, the great prize aimed at by all adventurers. Soon after, a malignant fever breaking out among the crews, many left the squadron and returned towards Panama, carrying back the Darien Indians, but leaving the Mosquito Indians in the _Cygnet_. Davis sailed from Guayaquil to careen at the Galapagos islands, which were in the South Pacific what Tortuga was in the North, the harbour and sanctuary of the Buccaneers. In returning by Cape Horn, Davis discovered Easter island, and left five of his men and five negro slaves on Juan Fernandez. These men had been stripped at the gambling-table, and were unwilling to return empty-handed. The _Bachelor's Delight_ eventually doubled Cape Horn, and he reached the West Indies just in time to avail himself of a pardon offered by royal proclamation. Dampier reached England in 1691, and having published his travels, was sent out in 1691 by William III. on a voyage of discovery to New Holland, and was wrecked near Ascension. In Queen Anne's reign, during the war of the succession, he commanded two privateers, and cruised against the Spaniards in the South Sea. His objects were to capture the Spanish plate vessels sailing from Buenos Ayres, to lie in wait for the gold ship from Boldivia to Lima, and to seize the Manilla galleon. Off Juan Fernandez he fought a French Buccaneer vessel for seven hours, but parted without effecting a capture. So strong were his old Flibustier habits upon him, that he confesses it with reluctance he attacked any vessel not a Spaniard. Before they reached the proper latitude the Boldivia vessel had sailed. Captain Stradling, the commander of his companion ship, parted company. A surprise of Santa Maria, in the bay of Panama, failed, but Dampier made a few small prizes. While lying in the gulf of Nicoya, his chief mate, John Clipperton, mutinied, and, seizing his tender, with its ammunition and stores, put out to sea. A worse disappointment awaited the commander--off the Fort de Narida he came suddenly upon the Manilla galleon, and gave her several broadsides before she could clear for action. But even at this disadvantage the Spaniards' twenty-four pounders soon silenced Dampier's five pounders, drove in the rotten planks of his vessel, the _St. George_, and compelled him to sheer off--the galleon's crew quadrupling that of the English. The men growing despondent and weary of the voyage, Dampier put thirty-four of them into a prize brigantine of seventy tons, and appointed one named Funnel as their commander. Allowing them to sail for India, he with twenty-nine men returned to Peru and plundered the town of Puna. The vessel being no longer fit for sea, they abandoned her at Lobos de la Mar, and embarking in a Spanish brigantine crossed the Pacific. In India, Dampier, having had his commission stolen by some of his deserters, was imprisoned by the Dutch. When he reached England at last, he found that Funnel had returned and published his voyage to the West Indies. A few of his men who had lost their money in gambling remained in the _Bachelor's Delight_ with Davis. It is supposed he now fell into very extreme poverty, for in 1708 we find him acting as pilot to the two Bristol privateers that circumnavigated the globe, and were as successful as he had been unfortunate. At Juan Fernandez the commander, Woodes Rogers, brought off the celebrated Alexander Selkirk, who had been abandoned here four years before, by Dampier's mutinous consort, Captain Stradling, and, by the traveller's advice, the poor outcast was made second mate of the _Duke_. At Guayaquil, where Dampier commanded the artillery, they obtained plunder to the value of £21,000, besides 27,000 dollars, as ransom for the town. Off Cape Lucas they captured a rich Manilla ship, laden with merchandise, and containing £12,000 in gold and silver. They also encountered the great Manilla galleon, but were beaten off after a severe engagement with a loss of twenty-five men. After a run of two months they reached Gualan, and obtained provisions by anchoring under Spanish colours. Visiting Batavia, they waited a long time at the Cape for a home-bound fleet, and in July, 1711, entered the Texel five-and-twenty sail, Dutch and English; and in October sailed up the Thames with booty valued at £150,000. Of the great Dampier we hear no more, and his very burial place is unknown. VAN HORN was originally a common Dutch sailor, who, having, by dint of the prudence of his nation, saved 200 dollars, entered into partnership with a messmate who had laid by the same sum, and, going to France, obtained a privateer's commission, and fitted up a fishing-boat with a crew of thirty men. Cruising first as Dutch, he then purchased a large vessel at Ostend, and, hoisting the French flag, made war on all nations. The French court ordered M. d'Estrees to detain this Flying Dutchman, whose commission had now expired, and a ship was sent for the purpose; but as the commander had no orders to proceed to extremities, and Van Horn was determined not to go alive, he was suffered to escape. Quite undaunted he proceeded to Puerto Rico, entered the bay, sounding his trumpets, and, sending on shore, told the governor that he had come to offer his services to escort the galleons which were then ready to sail. The governor accepted the offer, and Van Horn sailed off with them; but being soon joined by some Buccaneer companions, he turned on the prey, seized the richest, sank some others, and pursued the rest. Such was the commencement of this adventurer's career. His after life was worthy of such a beginning. Van Horn was immensely rich. He usually wore a string of pearls of extraordinary size, and a large ruby of great beauty. His widow lived afterwards at Ostend. In 1683, Van Horn, who had all his life fought under French colours, though not very scrupulous about what nation a vessel was, so it were rich, having gone to St. Domingo to sell negroes, had his ship confiscated by the Spanish governor. The Buccaneer's ungovernable passions could no more brook such an insult than a knight would have borne a blow. Buccaneer pride desired revenge; Buccaneer cupidity desired redress. Resolved on vengeance, the angry Dutchman hastened to Petit Guaves, and took out a commission from the governor of Tortuga, and at once enrolled 300 of the bravest Buccaneers, with a determination of attacking Vera Cruz. Among his crew were enrolled several of the leading Buccaneer chiefs. Grammont, who had lately lost his ship at the Isles des Aves, lately a commander, was now a mere volunteer. Such were the vicissitudes of Buccaneer life. Laurence de Graff was also there. He was a Dutchman like Van Horn, but one came from Ostend and the other from Dort. Among the less celebrated were Godefroy and Jonqué. Their numbers soon swelled to 1,200 picked men, in six vessels, under the command of Van Horn and De Graff, who had each a frigate of fifty guns, while the rest had simple barks. Their common aim was Vera Cruz, the emporium of all the riches of New Spain, and they needed no other incitement to urge them to speed and unity. From some Spanish prisoners they heard that two large vessels laden with cocoa were hourly expected at Vera Cruz from the Caraccas. The Buccaneer leaders instantly fitted up two of their largest ships in the Spanish fashion, and, hoisting the Spanish flag, sent them boldly into the harbour, as if just returning as peaceful but armed traders from a long and successful voyage. It was the eve of the Assumption, crowds of sailors and townsmen lined the quays, and the expectant populace cheered the rich merchantmen as they steered with a stately sweep into the haven. The keener eyes, however, soon observed that the Caraccas vessels advanced very slowly, although the wind was good, and their suspicions became excited almost before the Buccaneers could work into port. Some even ran to tell the governor that all was not right, but Don Luis de Cordova told them that their fears were foolish, the two vessels he knew by unmistakable signs to be the two vessels he expected; and he returned the same answer to the commander of the fort at St. Jean d'Ulloa, who also sent to bid him be upon his guard. About midnight the French, under cover of the dark, landed at the old town, about three leagues to the west of the more modern city. They obtained easy access to the place, and surprised the governor in his bed. The drowsy sentinels once overpowered, the small fortress with its twelve guns was in the possession of their men. At every corner pickets were placed. The surprise was so complete, that when the tocsin rang at daybreak, the watchmen being alarmed at some musket shots they heard, they found the town already bound hand and foot. At the first clang of the bell, the garrison rushed out of their barracks, and ranged themselves under their colours, but saw the French already in arms at the head of all the principal streets. They were surrounded and helpless. When the day broke, nobody dare show themselves, for all those who ran out armed were instantly struck down. Sentinels were placed at every door in the principal streets, a barrel of powder with the lid off by their sides, ready to fire the train that connected one with the other at the least signal of danger. We believe it was on this occasion that Van Horn forced a monk into the cathedral, who preached to the people on the vanity of worldly riches, and the necessity of abandoning them to the spoiler. The Buccaneers then drove all the Spaniards into their houses, and forced the women and children into the churches. Here they remained, crowded together, weeping and hungry, for three days, while their enemies collected the booty. The Buccaneers, now safe, abandoned themselves, as usual, to debauchery and gluttony--some dying from immoderate gluttony. Fortunately for this wretched people, the bishop of the town, happening to be near Vera Cruz at the time, began to treat for their ransom. It was fixed at two million piastres, of which a part was paid the very same day--the Buccaneers only dispensing with the remaining million, as the Vice-Royal was already approaching the town at the head of a large force. Dangers were now hemming in the Dutchman and his band. About eleven o'clock in the morning, the look-out on the tower of St. Catherine's reported that a fleet of fourteen sail was approaching the city. The Buccaneers, alarmed, sprang to arms. Aghast at this intelligence, the French, dreading to be shut in between two fires, decided upon an immediate retreat. The townspeople, terrified at the prospect of being massacred by their infuriated and despairing enemies, were as apprehensive of danger as the Buccaneers themselves. Van Horn embarked with speed all the plate and cochineal, and the more valuable and portable of the spoil, and waited eagerly for the ransom which was now almost in sight. It, however, never arrived, for the drivers of the mules, hearing the firing, halted till the fleet came within sight. The Buccaneers had no time to lose, and compensated themselves by carrying off 1,500 slaves to their vessels, which lay moored at some leagues' distance, at Grijaluc, a place of safety. They spent the night in great disorder, in continual apprehension of being attacked by the Spanish fleet, which was, at the same time, congratulating itself on reaching Vera Cruz unharmed. The danger of the Buccaneers was indeed not yet removed, for they had neither water nor sufficient provisions, and some 1,500 prisoners were on board. About these hostages the leaders differed in opinion, and words ran high. The two chiefs fought, and Van Horn received a sword thrust in the arm from De Graff. The several crews took up their captains' quarrels, and would have come to blows, had not De Graff divided the prey, and at once set sail. Van Horn followed, but died on the passage, a gangrene having formed upon a wound at first very slight. He was devotedly beloved by his men, says Charlevoix, though he was in the habit of cutting down any sailor whom he saw flinch at his guns. He left his frigate with his dying breath to Grammont, who reached St. Domingo, after dreadful sufferings, having lost three-fourths of his prisoners by famine--his patache being cast away and taken by the Spaniards. De Graff's vessel was also wrecked, but the crew made their way one by one to St. Domingo, where, in spite of the ill reception of the governor, they were welcomed by the hospitality of the inhabitants, who longed to share the treasure of Vera Cruz. The governor, M. de Franquesnoy, without fortress or garrison, and exposed to the inroads of the Spaniards, could make no resistance to these wild refugees, who, on one occasion, hearing that he intended to seize upon part of the Vera Cruz booty, surrounded his house to the number of 120 men, and threatened his life. At this time, a general outbreak of the French was expected. It was in the very next year that the governor of Carthagena, hearing that Michael le Basque and Jonqué were cruising near his port, sent two vessels against them, one of 48 guns and 300 men, and the other of 40 guns and 250 men, with a small bark as a decoy. The Buccaneer chiefs each commanded a vessel of 30 guns and 200 men. They both grappled the Spaniards, held them for an hour and a-half, swept their decks with musketry, tortured them with hand grenades and missiles, and eventually bore them off in triumph. All the Spaniards who were not killed were put on shore with a note to the governor, thanking him for having sent them two such good vessels, as their own had long been unfit for service. They, moreover, promised to wait fifteen days off Carthagena for any other vessel he might wish to get rid of, provided he would send money in them, of which they were in great need. END OF VOL. II. LONDON: SERCOMBE AND JACK, 16 GREAT WINDMILL STREET. 
973	----	HOWARD PYLE'S BOOK OF PIRATES Fiction, Fact & Fancy concerning the Buccaneers & Marooners of the Spanish Main: From the writing & Pictures of Howard Pyle: Compiled by Merle Johnson CONTENTS FOREWORD BY MERLE JOHNSON PREFACE I. BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN II. THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND III. WITH THE BUCCANEERS IV. TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX V. JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES VI. BLUESKIN THE PIRATE VII. CAPTAIN SCARFIELD FOREWORD PIRATES, Buccaneers, Marooners, those cruel but picturesque sea wolves who once infested the Spanish Main, all live in present-day conceptions in great degree as drawn by the pen and pencil of Howard Pyle. Pyle, artist-author, living in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth, had the fine faculty of transposing himself into any chosen period of history and making its people flesh and blood again--not just historical puppets. His characters were sketched with both words and picture; with both words and picture he ranks as a master, with a rich personality which makes his work individual and attractive in either medium. He was one of the founders of present-day American illustration, and his pupils and grand-pupils pervade that field to-day. While he bore no such important part in the world of letters, his stories are modern in treatment, and yet widely read. His range included historical treatises concerning his favorite Pirates (Quaker though he was); fiction, with the same Pirates as principals; Americanized version of Old World fairy tales; boy stories of the Middle Ages, still best sellers to growing lads; stories of the occult, such as In Tenebras and To the Soil of the Earth, which, if newly published, would be hailed as contributions to our latest cult. In all these fields Pyle's work may be equaled, surpassed, save in one. It is improbable that anyone else will ever bring his combination of interest and talent to the depiction of these old-time Pirates, any more than there could be a second Remington to paint the now extinct Indians and gun-fighters of the Great West. Important and interesting to the student of history, the adventure-lover, and the artist, as they are, these Pirate stories and pictures have been scattered through many magazines and books. Here, in this volume, they are gathered together for the first time, perhaps not just as Mr. Pyle would have done, but with a completeness and appreciation of the real value of the material which the author's modesty might not have permitted. MERLE JOHNSON. PREFACE WHY is it that a little spice of deviltry lends not an unpleasantly titillating twang to the great mass of respectable flour that goes to make up the pudding of our modern civilization? And pertinent to this question another--Why is it that the pirate has, and always has had, a certain lurid glamour of the heroical enveloping him round about? Is there, deep under the accumulated debris of culture, a hidden groundwork of the old-time savage? Is there even in these well-regulated times an unsubdued nature in the respectable mental household of every one of us that still kicks against the pricks of law and order? To make my meaning more clear, would not every boy, for instance--that is, every boy of any account--rather be a pirate captain than a Member of Parliament? And we ourselves--would we not rather read such a story as that of Captain Avery's capture of the East Indian treasure ship, with its beautiful princess and load of jewels (which gems he sold by the handful, history sayeth, to a Bristol merchant), than, say, one of Bishop Atterbury's sermons, or the goodly Master Robert Boyle's religious romance of "Theodora and Didymus"? It is to be apprehended that to the unregenerate nature of most of us there can be but one answer to such a query. In the pleasurable warmth the heart feels in answer to tales of derring-do Nelson's battles are all mightily interesting, but, even in spite of their romance of splendid courage, I fancy that the majority of us would rather turn back over the leaves of history to read how Drake captured the Spanish treasure ship in the South Sea, and of how he divided such a quantity of booty in the Island of Plate (so named because of the tremendous dividend there declared) that it had to be measured in quart bowls, being too considerable to be counted. Courage and daring, no matter how mad and ungodly, have always a redundancy of vim and life to recommend them to the nether man that lies within us, and no doubt his desperate courage, his battle against the tremendous odds of all the civilized world of law and order, have had much to do in making a popular hero of our friend of the black flag. But it is not altogether courage and daring that endear him to our hearts. There is another and perhaps a greater kinship in that lust for wealth that makes one's fancy revel more pleasantly in the story of the division of treasure in the pirate's island retreat, the hiding of his godless gains somewhere in the sandy stretch of tropic beach, there to remain hidden until the time should come to rake the doubloons up again and to spend them like a lord in polite society, than in the most thrilling tales of his wonderful escapes from commissioned cruisers through tortuous channels between the coral reefs. And what a life of adventure is his, to be sure! A life of constant alertness, constant danger, constant escape! An ocean Ishmaelite, he wanders forever aimlessly, homelessly; now unheard of for months, now careening his boat on some lonely uninhabited shore, now appearing suddenly to swoop down on some merchant vessel with rattle of musketry, shouting, yells, and a hell of unbridled passions let loose to rend and tear. What a Carlislean hero! What a setting of blood and lust and flame and rapine for such a hero! Piracy, such as was practiced in the flower of its days--that is, during the early eighteenth century--was no sudden growth. It was an evolution, from the semi-lawful buccaneering of the sixteenth century, just as buccaneering was upon its part, in a certain sense, an evolution from the unorganized, unauthorized warfare of the Tudor period. For there was a deal of piratical smack in the anti-Spanish ventures of Elizabethan days. Many of the adventurers--of the Sir Francis Drake school, for instance--actually overstepped again and again the bounds of international law, entering into the realms of de facto piracy. Nevertheless, while their doings were not recognized officially by the government, the perpetrators were neither punished nor reprimanded for their excursions against Spanish commerce at home or in the West Indies; rather were they commended, and it was considered not altogether a discreditable thing for men to get rich upon the spoils taken from Spanish galleons in times of nominal peace. Many of the most reputable citizens and merchants of London, when they felt that the queen failed in her duty of pushing the fight against the great Catholic Power, fitted out fleets upon their own account and sent them to levy good Protestant war of a private nature upon the Pope's anointed. Some of the treasures captured in such ventures were immense, stupendous, unbelievable. For an example, one can hardly credit the truth of the "purchase" gained by Drake in the famous capture of the plate ship in the South Sea. One of the old buccaneer writers of a century later says: "The Spaniards affirm to this day that he took at that time twelvescore tons of plate and sixteen bowls of coined money a man (his number being then forty-five men in all), insomuch that they were forced to heave much of it overboard, because his ship could not carry it all." Maybe this was a very greatly exaggerated statement put by the author and his Spanish authorities, nevertheless there was enough truth in it to prove very conclusively to the bold minds of the age that tremendous profits--"purchases" they called them--were to be made from piracy. The Western World is filled with the names of daring mariners of those old days, who came flitting across the great trackless ocean in their little tublike boats of a few hundred tons burden, partly to explore unknown seas, partly--largely, perhaps--in pursuit of Spanish treasure: Frobisher, Davis, Drake, and a score of others. In this left-handed war against Catholic Spain many of the adventurers were, no doubt, stirred and incited by a grim, Calvinistic, puritanical zeal for Protestantism. But equally beyond doubt the gold and silver and plate of the "Scarlet Woman" had much to do with the persistent energy with which these hardy mariners braved the mysterious, unknown terrors of the great unknown ocean that stretched away to the sunset, there in faraway waters to attack the huge, unwieldy, treasure-laden galleons that sailed up and down the Caribbean Sea and through the Bahama Channel. Of all ghastly and terrible things old-time religious war was the most ghastly and terrible. One can hardly credit nowadays the cold, callous cruelty of those times. Generally death was the least penalty that capture entailed. When the Spaniards made prisoners of the English, the Inquisition took them in hand, and what that meant all the world knows. When the English captured a Spanish vessel the prisoners were tortured, either for the sake of revenge or to compel them to disclose where treasure lay hidden. Cruelty begat cruelty, and it would be hard to say whether the Anglo-Saxon or the Latin showed himself to be most proficient in torturing his victim. When Cobham, for instance, captured the Spanish ship in the Bay of Biscay, after all resistance was over and the heat of the battle had cooled, he ordered his crew to bind the captain and all of the crew and every Spaniard aboard--whether in arms or not--to sew them up in the mainsail and to fling them overboard. There were some twenty dead bodies in the sail when a few days later it was washed up on the shore. Of course such acts were not likely to go unavenged, and many an innocent life was sacrificed to pay the debt of Cobham's cruelty. Nothing could be more piratical than all this. Nevertheless, as was said, it was winked at, condoned, if not sanctioned, by the law; and it was not beneath people of family and respectability to take part in it. But by and by Protestantism and Catholicism began to be at somewhat less deadly enmity with each other; religious wars were still far enough from being ended, but the scabbard of the sword was no longer flung away when the blade was drawn. And so followed a time of nominal peace, and a generation arose with whom it was no longer respectable and worthy--one might say a matter of duty--to fight a country with which one's own land was not at war. Nevertheless, the seed had been sown; it had been demonstrated that it was feasible to practice piracy against Spain and not to suffer therefor. Blood had been shed and cruelty practiced, and, once indulged, no lust seems stronger than that of shedding blood and practicing cruelty. Though Spain might be ever so well grounded in peace at home, in the West Indies she was always at war with the whole world--English, French, Dutch. It was almost a matter of life or death with her to keep her hold upon the New World. At home she was bankrupt and, upon the earthquake of the Reformation, her power was already beginning to totter and to crumble to pieces. America was her treasure house, and from it alone could she hope to keep her leaking purse full of gold and silver. So it was that she strove strenuously, desperately, to keep out the world from her American possessions--a bootless task, for the old order upon which her power rested was broken and crumbled forever. But still she strove, fighting against fate, and so it was that in the tropical America it was one continual war between her and all the world. Thus it came that, long after piracy ceased to be allowed at home, it continued in those far-away seas with unabated vigor, recruiting to its service all that lawless malign element which gathers together in every newly opened country where the only law is lawlessness, where might is right and where a living is to be gained with no more trouble than cutting a throat. {signature Howard Pyle His Mark} HOWARD PILE'S BOOK OF PIRATES Chapter I. BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN JUST above the northwestern shore of the old island of Hispaniola--the Santo Domingo of our day--and separated from it only by a narrow channel of some five or six miles in width, lies a queer little hunch of an island, known, because of a distant resemblance to that animal, as the Tortuga de Mar, or sea turtle. It is not more than twenty miles in length by perhaps seven or eight in breadth; it is only a little spot of land, and as you look at it upon the map a pin's head would almost cover it; yet from that spot, as from a center of inflammation, a burning fire of human wickedness and ruthlessness and lust overran the world, and spread terror and death throughout the Spanish West Indies, from St. Augustine to the island of Trinidad, and from Panama to the coasts of Peru. About the middle of the seventeenth century certain French adventurers set out from the fortified island of St. Christopher in longboats and hoys, directing their course to the westward, there to discover new islands. Sighting Hispaniola "with abundance of joy," they landed, and went into the country, where they found great quantities of wild cattle, horses, and swine. Now vessels on the return voyage to Europe from the West Indies needed revictualing, and food, especially flesh, was at a premium in the islands of the Spanish Main; wherefore a great profit was to be turned in preserving beef and pork, and selling the flesh to homeward-bound vessels. The northwestern shore of Hispaniola, lying as it does at the eastern outlet of the old Bahama Channel, running between the island of Cuba and the great Bahama Banks, lay almost in the very main stream of travel. The pioneer Frenchmen were not slow to discover the double advantage to be reaped from the wild cattle that cost them nothing to procure, and a market for the flesh ready found for them. So down upon Hispaniola they came by boatloads and shiploads, gathering like a swarm of mosquitoes, and overrunning the whole western end of the island. There they established themselves, spending the time alternately in hunting the wild cattle and buccanning(1) the meat, and squandering their hardly earned gains in wild debauchery, the opportunities for which were never lacking in the Spanish West Indies. (1) Buccanning, by which the "buccaneers" gained their name, was of process of curing thin strips of meat by salting, smoking, and drying in the sun. At first the Spaniards thought nothing of the few travel-worn Frenchmen who dragged their longboats and hoys up on the beach, and shot a wild bullock or two to keep body and soul together; but when the few grew to dozens, and the dozens to scores, and the scores to hundreds, it was a very different matter, and wrathful grumblings and mutterings began to be heard among the original settlers. But of this the careless buccaneers thought never a whit, the only thing that troubled them being the lack of a more convenient shipping point than the main island afforded them. This lack was at last filled by a party of hunters who ventured across the narrow channel that separated the main island from Tortuga. Here they found exactly what they needed--a good harbor, just at the junction of the Windward Channel with the old Bahama Channel--a spot where four-fifths of the Spanish-Indian trade would pass by their very wharves. There were a few Spaniards upon the island, but they were a quiet folk, and well disposed to make friends with the strangers; but when more Frenchmen and still more Frenchmen crossed the narrow channel, until they overran the Tortuga and turned it into one great curing house for the beef which they shot upon the neighboring island, the Spaniards grew restive over the matter, just as they had done upon the larger island. Accordingly, one fine day there came half a dozen great boatloads of armed Spaniards, who landed upon the Turtle's Back and sent the Frenchmen flying to the woods and fastnesses of rocks as the chaff flies before the thunder gust. That night the Spaniards drank themselves mad and shouted themselves hoarse over their victory, while the beaten Frenchmen sullenly paddled their canoes back to the main island again, and the Sea Turtle was Spanish once more. But the Spaniards were not contented with such a petty triumph as that of sweeping the island of Tortuga free from the obnoxious strangers, down upon Hispaniola they came, flushed with their easy victory, and determined to root out every Frenchman, until not one single buccaneer remained. For a time they had an easy thing of it, for each French hunter roamed the woods by himself, with no better company than his half-wild dogs, so that when two or three Spaniards would meet such a one, he seldom if ever came out of the woods again, for even his resting place was lost. But the very success of the Spaniards brought their ruin along with it, for the buccaneers began to combine together for self-protection, and out of that combination arose a strange union of lawless man with lawless man, so near, so close, that it can scarce be compared to any other than that of husband and wife. When two entered upon this comradeship, articles were drawn up and signed by both parties, a common stock was made of all their possessions, and out into the woods they went to seek their fortunes; thenceforth they were as one man; they lived together by day, they slept together by night; what one suffered, the other suffered; what one gained, the other gained. The only separation that came betwixt them was death, and then the survivor inherited all that the other left. And now it was another thing with Spanish buccaneer hunting, for two buccaneers, reckless of life, quick of eye, and true of aim, were worth any half dozen of Spanish islanders. By and by, as the French became more strongly organized for mutual self-protection, they assumed the offensive. Then down they came upon Tortuga, and now it was the turn of the Spanish to be hunted off the island like vermin, and the turn of the French to shout their victory. Having firmly established themselves, a governor was sent to the French of Tortuga, one M. le Passeur, from the island of St. Christopher; the Sea Turtle was fortified, and colonists, consisting of men of doubtful character and women of whose character there could be no doubt whatever, began pouring in upon the island, for it was said that the buccaneers thought no more of a doubloon than of a Lima bean, so that this was the place for the brothel and the brandy shop to reap their golden harvest, and the island remained French. Hitherto the Tortugans had been content to gain as much as possible from the homeward-bound vessels through the orderly channels of legitimate trade. It was reserved for Pierre le Grand to introduce piracy as a quicker and more easy road to wealth than the semi-honest exchange they had been used to practice. Gathering together eight-and-twenty other spirits as hardy and reckless as himself, he put boldly out to sea in a boat hardly large enough to hold his crew, and running down the Windward Channel and out into the Caribbean Sea, he lay in wait for such a prize as might be worth the risks of winning. For a while their luck was steadily against them; their provisions and water began to fail, and they saw nothing before them but starvation or a humiliating return. In this extremity they sighted a Spanish ship belonging to a "flota" which had become separated from her consorts. The boat in which the buccaneers sailed might, perhaps, have served for the great ship's longboat; the Spaniards out-numbered them three to one, and Pierre and his men were armed only with pistols and cutlasses; nevertheless this was their one and their only chance, and they determined to take the Spanish ship or to die in the attempt. Down upon the Spaniard they bore through the dusk of the night, and giving orders to the "chirurgeon" to scuttle their craft under them as they were leaving it, they swarmed up the side of the unsuspecting ship and upon its decks in a torrent--pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other. A part of them ran to the gun room and secured the arms and ammunition, pistoling or cutting down all such as stood in their way or offered opposition; the other party burst into the great cabin at the heels of Pierre le Grand, found the captain and a party of his friends at cards, set a pistol to his breast, and demanded him to deliver up the ship. Nothing remained for the Spaniard but to yield, for there was no alternative between surrender and death. And so the great prize was won. It was not long before the news of this great exploit and of the vast treasure gained reached the ears of the buccaneers of Tortuga and Hispaniola. Then what a hubbub and an uproar and a tumult there was! Hunting wild cattle and buccanning the meat was at a discount, and the one and only thing to do was to go a-pirating; for where one such prize had been won, others were to be had. In a short time freebooting assumed all of the routine of a regular business. Articles were drawn up betwixt captain and crew, compacts were sealed, and agreements entered into by the one party and the other. In all professions there are those who make their mark, those who succeed only moderately well, and those who fail more or less entirely. Nor did pirating differ from this general rule, for in it were men who rose to distinction, men whose names, something tarnished and rusted by the lapse of years, have come down even to us of the present day. Pierre Francois, who, with his boatload of six-and-twenty desperadoes, ran boldly into the midst of the pearl fleet off the coast of South America, attacked the vice admiral under the very guns of two men-of-war, captured his ship, though she was armed with eight guns and manned with threescore men, and would have got her safely away, only that having to put on sail, their mainmast went by the board, whereupon the men-of-war came up with them, and the prize was lost. But even though there were two men-of-war against all that remained of six-and-twenty buccaneers, the Spaniards were glad enough to make terms with them for the surrender of the vessel, whereby Pierre Francois and his men came off scot-free. Bartholomew Portuguese was a worthy of even more note. In a boat manned with thirty fellow adventurers he fell upon a great ship off Cape Corrientes, manned with threescore and ten men, all told. Her he assaulted again and again, beaten off with the very pressure of numbers only to renew the assault, until the Spaniards who survived, some fifty in all, surrendered to twenty living pirates, who poured upon their decks like a score of blood-stained, powder-grimed devils. They lost their vessel by recapture, and Bartholomew Portuguese barely escaped with his life through a series of almost unbelievable adventures. But no sooner had he fairly escaped from the clutches of the Spaniards than, gathering together another band of adventurers, he fell upon the very same vessel in the gloom of the night, recaptured her when she rode at anchor in the harbor of Campeche under the guns of the fort, slipped the cable, and was away without the loss of a single man. He lost her in a hurricane soon afterward, just off the Isle of Pines; but the deed was none the less daring for all that. Another notable no less famous than these two worthies was Roch Braziliano, the truculent Dutchman who came up from the coast of Brazil to the Spanish Main with a name ready-made for him. Upon the very first adventure which he undertook he captured a plate ship of fabulous value, and brought her safely into Jamaica; and when at last captured by the Spaniards, he fairly frightened them into letting him go by truculent threats of vengeance from his followers. Such were three of the pirate buccaneers who infested the Spanish Main. There were hundreds no less desperate, no less reckless, no less insatiate in their lust for plunder, than they. The effects of this freebooting soon became apparent. The risks to be assumed by the owners of vessels and the shippers of merchandise became so enormous that Spanish commerce was practically swept away from these waters. No vessel dared to venture out of port excepting under escort of powerful men-of-war, and even then they were not always secure from molestation. Exports from Central and South America were sent to Europe by way of the Strait of Magellan, and little or none went through the passes between the Bahamas and the Caribbees. So at last "buccaneering," as it had come to be generically called, ceased to pay the vast dividends that it had done at first. The cream was skimmed off, and only very thin milk was left in the dish. Fabulous fortunes were no longer earned in a ten days' cruise, but what money was won hardly paid for the risks of the winning. There must be a new departure, or buccaneering would cease to exist. Then arose one who showed the buccaneers a new way to squeeze money out of the Spaniards. This man was an Englishman--Lewis Scot. The stoppage of commerce on the Spanish Main had naturally tended to accumulate all the wealth gathered and produced into the chief fortified cities and towns of the West Indies. As there no longer existed prizes upon the sea, they must be gained upon the land, if they were to be gained at all. Lewis Scot was the first to appreciate this fact. Gathering together a large and powerful body of men as hungry for plunder and as desperate as himself, he descended upon the town of Campeche, which he captured and sacked, stripping it of everything that could possibly be carried away. When the town was cleared to the bare walls Scot threatened to set the torch to every house in the place if it was not ransomed by a large sum of money which he demanded. With this booty he set sail for Tortuga, where he arrived safely--and the problem was solved. After him came one Mansvelt, a buccaneer of lesser note, who first made a descent upon the isle of Saint Catharine, now Old Providence, which he took, and, with this as a base, made an unsuccessful descent upon Neuva Granada and Cartagena. His name might not have been handed down to us along with others of greater fame had he not been the master of that most apt of pupils, the great Captain Henry Morgan, most famous of all the buccaneers, one time governor of Jamaica, and knighted by King Charles II. After Mansvelt followed the bold John Davis, native of Jamaica, where he sucked in the lust of piracy with his mother's milk. With only fourscore men, he swooped down upon the great city of Nicaragua in the darkness of the night, silenced the sentry with the thrust of a knife, and then fell to pillaging the churches and houses "without any respect or veneration." Of course it was but a short time until the whole town was in an uproar of alarm, and there was nothing left for the little handful of men to do but to make the best of their way to their boats. They were in the town but a short time, but in that time they were able to gather together and to carry away money and jewels to the value of fifty thousand pieces of eight, besides dragging off with them a dozen or more notable prisoners, whom they held for ransom. And now one appeared upon the scene who reached a far greater height than any had arisen to before. This was Francois l'Olonoise, who sacked the great city of Maracaibo and the town of Gibraltar. Cold, unimpassioned, pitiless, his sluggish blood was never moved by one single pulse of human warmth, his icy heart was never touched by one ray of mercy or one spark of pity for the hapless wretches who chanced to fall into his bloody hands. Against him the governor of Havana sent out a great war vessel, and with it a negro executioner, so that there might be no inconvenient delays of law after the pirates had been captured. But l'Olonoise did not wait for the coming of the war vessel; he went out to meet it, and he found it where it lay riding at anchor in the mouth of the river Estra. At the dawn of the morning he made his attack sharp, unexpected, decisive. In a little while the Spaniards were forced below the hatches, and the vessel was taken. Then came the end. One by one the poor shrieking wretches were dragged up from below, and one by one they were butchered in cold blood, while l'Olonoise stood upon the poop deck and looked coldly down upon what was being done. Among the rest the negro was dragged upon the deck. He begged and implored that his life might be spared, promising to tell all that might be asked of him. L'Olonoise questioned him, and when he had squeezed him dry, waved his hand coldly, and the poor black went with the rest. Only one man was spared; him he sent to the governor of Havana with a message that henceforth he would give no quarter to any Spaniard whom he might meet in arms--a message which was not an empty threat. The rise of l'Olonoise was by no means rapid. He worked his way up by dint of hard labor and through much ill fortune. But by and by, after many reverses, the tide turned, and carried him with it from one success to another, without let or stay, to the bitter end. Cruising off Maracaibo, he captured a rich prize laden with a vast amount of plate and ready money, and there conceived the design of descending upon the powerful town of Maracaibo itself. Without loss of time he gathered together five hundred picked scoundrels from Tortuga, and taking with him one Michael de Basco as land captain, and two hundred more buccaneers whom he commanded, down he came into the Gulf of Venezuela and upon the doomed city like a blast of the plague. Leaving their vessels, the buccaneers made a land attack upon the fort that stood at the mouth of the inlet that led into Lake Maracaibo and guarded the city. The Spaniards held out well, and fought with all the might that Spaniards possess; but after a fight of three hours all was given up and the garrison fled, spreading terror and confusion before them. As many of the inhabitants of the city as could do so escaped in boats to Gibraltar, which lies to the southward, on the shores of Lake Maracaibo, at the distance of some forty leagues or more. Then the pirates marched into the town, and what followed may be conceived. It was a holocaust of lust, of passion, and of blood such as even the Spanish West Indies had never seen before. Houses and churches were sacked until nothing was left but the bare walls; men and women were tortured to compel them to disclose where more treasure lay hidden. Then, having wrenched all that they could from Maracaibo, they entered the lake and descended upon Gibraltar, where the rest of the panic-stricken inhabitants were huddled together in a blind terror. The governor of Merida, a brave soldier who had served his king in Flanders, had gathered together a troop of eight hundred men, had fortified the town, and now lay in wait for the coming of the pirates. The pirates came all in good time, and then, in spite of the brave defense, Gibraltar also fell. Then followed a repetition of the scenes that had been enacted in Maracaibo for the past fifteen days, only here they remained for four horrible weeks, extorting money--money! ever money!--from the poor poverty-stricken, pest-ridden souls crowded into that fever hole of a town. Then they left, but before they went they demanded still more money--ten thousand pieces of eight--as a ransom for the town, which otherwise should be given to the flames. There was some hesitation on the part of the Spaniards, some disposition to haggle, but there was no hesitation on the part of l'Olonoise. The torch WAS set to the town as he had promised, whereupon the money was promptly paid, and the pirates were piteously begged to help quench the spreading flames. This they were pleased to do, but in spite of all their efforts nearly half of the town was consumed. After that they returned to Maracaibo again, where they demanded a ransom of thirty thousand pieces of eight for the city. There was no haggling here, thanks to the fate of Gibraltar; only it was utterly impossible to raise that much money in all of the poverty-stricken region. But at last the matter was compromised, and the town was redeemed for twenty thousand pieces of eight and five hundred head of cattle, and tortured Maracaibo was quit of them. In the Ile de la Vache the buccaneers shared among themselves two hundred and sixty thousand pieces of eight, besides jewels and bales of silk and linen and miscellaneous plunder to a vast amount. Such was the one great deed of l'Olonoise; from that time his star steadily declined--for even nature seemed fighting against such a monster--until at last he died a miserable, nameless death at the hands of an unknown tribe of Indians upon the Isthmus of Darien. And now we come to the greatest of all the buccaneers, he who stands pre-eminent among them, and whose name even to this day is a charm to call up his deeds of daring, his dauntless courage, his truculent cruelty, and his insatiate and unappeasable lust for gold--Capt. Henry Morgan, the bold Welshman, who brought buccaneering to the height and flower of its glory. Having sold himself, after the manner of the times, for his passage across the seas, he worked out his time of servitude at the Barbados. As soon as he had regained his liberty he entered upon the trade of piracy, wherein he soon reached a position of considerable prominence. He was associated with Mansvelt at the time of the latter's descent upon Saint Catharine's Isle, the importance of which spot, as a center of operations against the neighboring coasts, Morgan never lost sight of. The first attempt that Capt. Henry Morgan ever made against any town in the Spanish Indies was the bold descent upon the city of Puerto del Principe in the island of Cuba, with a mere handful of men. It was a deed the boldness of which has never been outdone by any of a like nature--not even the famous attack upon Panama itself. Thence they returned to their boats in the very face of the whole island of Cuba, aroused and determined upon their extermination. Not only did they make good their escape, but they brought away with them a vast amount of plunder, computed at three hundred thousand pieces of eight, besides five hundred head of cattle and many prisoners held for ransom. But when the division of all this wealth came to be made, lo! there were only fifty thousand pieces of eight to be found. What had become of the rest no man could tell but Capt. Henry Morgan himself. Honesty among thieves was never an axiom with him. Rude, truculent, and dishonest as Captain Morgan was, he seems to have had a wonderful power of persuading the wild buccaneers under him to submit everything to his judgment, and to rely entirely upon his word. In spite of the vast sum of money that he had very evidently made away with, recruits poured in upon him, until his band was larger and better equipped than ever. And now it was determined that the plunder harvest was ripe at Porto Bello, and that city's doom was sealed. The town was defended by two strong castles thoroughly manned, and officered by as gallant a soldier as ever carried Toledo steel at his side. But strong castles and gallant soldiers weighed not a barleycorn with the buccaneers when their blood was stirred by the lust of gold. Landing at Puerto Naso, a town some ten leagues westward of Porto Bello, they marched to the latter town, and coming before the castle, boldly demanded its surrender. It was refused, whereupon Morgan threatened that no quarter should be given. Still surrender was refused; and then the castle was attacked, and after a bitter struggle was captured. Morgan was as good as his word: every man in the castle was shut in the guard room, the match was set to the powder magazine, and soldiers, castle, and all were blown into the air, while through all the smoke and the dust the buccaneers poured into the town. Still the governor held out in the other castle, and might have made good his defense, but that he was betrayed by the soldiers under him. Into the castle poured the howling buccaneers. But still the governor fought on, with his wife and daughter clinging to his knees and beseeching him to surrender, and the blood from his wounded forehead trickling down over his white collar, until a merciful bullet put an end to the vain struggle. Here were enacted the old scenes. Everything plundered that could be taken, and then a ransom set upon the town itself. This time an honest, or an apparently honest, division was made of the spoils, which amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand pieces of eight, besides merchandise and jewels. The next towns to suffer were poor Maracaibo and Gibraltar, now just beginning to recover from the desolation wrought by l'Olonoise. Once more both towns were plundered of every bale of merchandise and of every plaster, and once more both were ransomed until everything was squeezed from the wretched inhabitants. Here affairs were like to have taken a turn, for when Captain Morgan came up from Gibraltar he found three great men-of-war lying in the entrance to the lake awaiting his coming. Seeing that he was hemmed in in the narrow sheet of water, Captain Morgan was inclined to compromise matters, even offering to relinquish all the plunder he had gained if he were allowed to depart in peace. But no; the Spanish admiral would hear nothing of this. Having the pirates, as he thought, securely in his grasp, he would relinquish nothing, but would sweep them from the face of the sea once and forever. That was an unlucky determination for the Spaniards to reach, for instead of paralyzing the pirates with fear, as he expected it would do, it simply turned their mad courage into as mad desperation. A great vessel that they had taken with the town of Maracaibo was converted into a fire ship, manned with logs of wood in montera caps and sailor jackets, and filled with brimstone, pitch, and palm leaves soaked in oil. Then out of the lake the pirates sailed to meet the Spaniards, the fire ship leading the way, and bearing down directly upon the admiral's vessel. At the helm stood volunteers, the most desperate and the bravest of all the pirate gang, and at the ports stood the logs of wood in montera caps. So they came up with the admiral, and grappled with his ship in spite of the thunder of all his great guns, and then the Spaniard saw, all too late, what his opponent really was. He tried to swing loose, but clouds of smoke and almost instantly a mass of roaring flames enveloped both vessels, and the admiral was lost. The second vessel, not wishing to wait for the coming of the pirates, bore down upon the fort, under the guns of which the cowardly crew sank her, and made the best of their way to the shore. The third vessel, not having an opportunity to escape, was taken by the pirates without the slightest resistance, and the passage from the lake was cleared. So the buccaneers sailed away, leaving Maracaibo and Gibraltar prostrate a second time. And now Captain Morgan determined to undertake another venture, the like of which had never been equaled in all of the annals of buccaneering. This was nothing less than the descent upon and the capture of Panama, which was, next to Cartagena, perhaps, the most powerful and the most strongly fortified city in the West Indies. In preparation for this venture he obtained letters of marque from the governor of Jamaica, by virtue of which elastic commission he began immediately to gather around him all material necessary for the undertaking. When it became known abroad that the great Captain Morgan was about undertaking an adventure that was to eclipse all that was ever done before, great numbers came flocking to his standard, until he had gathered together an army of two thousand or more desperadoes and pirates wherewith to prosecute his adventure, albeit the venture itself was kept a total secret from everyone. Port Couillon, in the island of Hispaniola, over against the Ile de la Vache, was the place of muster, and thither the motley band gathered from all quarters. Provisions had been plundered from the mainland wherever they could be obtained, and by the 24th of October, 1670 (O. S.), everything was in readiness. The island of Saint Catharine, as it may be remembered, was at one time captured by Mansvelt, Morgan's master in his trade of piracy. It had been retaken by the Spaniards, and was now thoroughly fortified by them. Almost the first attempt that Morgan had made as a master pirate was the retaking of Saint Catharine's Isle. In that undertaking he had failed; but now, as there was an absolute need of some such place as a base of operations, he determined that the place must be taken. And it was taken. The Spaniards, during the time of their possession, had fortified it most thoroughly and completely, and had the governor thereof been as brave as he who met his death in the castle of Porto Bello, there might have been a different tale to tell. As it was, he surrendered it in a most cowardly fashion, merely stipulating that there should be a sham attack by the buccaneers, whereby his credit might be saved. And so Saint Catharine was won. The next step to be taken was the capture of the castle of Chagres, which guarded the mouth of the river of that name, up which river the buccaneers would be compelled to transport their troops and provisions for the attack upon the city of Panama. This adventure was undertaken by four hundred picked men under command of Captain Morgan himself. The castle of Chagres, known as San Lorenzo by the Spaniards, stood upon the top of an abrupt rock at the mouth of the river, and was one of the strongest fortresses for its size in all of the West Indies. This stronghold Morgan must have if he ever hoped to win Panama. The attack of the castle and the defense of it were equally fierce, bloody, and desperate. Again and again the buccaneers assaulted, and again and again they were beaten back. So the morning came, and it seemed as though the pirates had been baffled this time. But just at this juncture the thatch of palm leaves on the roofs of some of the buildings inside the fortifications took fire, a conflagration followed, which caused the explosion of one of the magazines, and in the paralysis of terror that followed, the pirates forced their way into the fortifications, and the castle was won. Most of the Spaniards flung themselves from the castle walls into the river or upon the rocks beneath, preferring death to capture and possible torture; many who were left were put to the sword, and some few were spared and held as prisoners. So fell the castle of Chagres, and nothing now lay between the buccaneers and the city of Panama but the intervening and trackless forests. And now the name of the town whose doom was sealed was no secret. Up the river of Chagres went Capt. Henry Morgan and twelve hundred men, packed closely in their canoes; they never stopped, saving now and then to rest their stiffened legs, until they had come to a place known as Cruz de San Juan Gallego, where they were compelled to leave their boats on account of the shallowness of the water. Leaving a guard of one hundred and sixty men to protect their boats as a place of refuge in case they should be worsted before Panama, they turned and plunged into the wilderness before them. There a more powerful foe awaited them than a host of Spaniards with match, powder, and lead--starvation. They met but little or no opposition in their progress; but wherever they turned they found every fiber of meat, every grain of maize, every ounce of bread or meal, swept away or destroyed utterly before them. Even when the buccaneers had successfully overcome an ambuscade or an attack, and had sent the Spaniards flying, the fugitives took the time to strip their dead comrades of every grain of food in their leathern sacks, leaving nothing but the empty bags. Says the narrator of these events, himself one of the expedition, "They afterward fell to eating those leathern bags, as affording something to the ferment of their stomachs." Ten days they struggled through this bitter privation, doggedly forcing their way onward, faint with hunger and haggard with weakness and fever. Then, from the high hill and over the tops of the forest trees, they saw the steeples of Panama, and nothing remained between them and their goal but the fighting of four Spaniards to every one of them--a simple thing which they had done over and over again. Down they poured upon Panama, and out came the Spaniards to meet them; four hundred horse, two thousand five hundred foot, and two thousand wild bulls which had been herded together to be driven over the buccaneers so that their ranks might be disordered and broken. The buccaneers were only eight hundred strong; the others had either fallen in battle or had dropped along the dreary pathway through the wilderness; but in the space of two hours the Spaniards were flying madly over the plain, minus six hundred who lay dead or dying behind them. As for the bulls, as many of them as were shot served as food there and then for the half-famished pirates, for the buccaneers were never more at home than in the slaughter of cattle. Then they marched toward the city. Three hours' more fighting and they were in the streets, howling, yelling, plundering, gorging, dram-drinking, and giving full vent to all the vile and nameless lusts that burned in their hearts like a hell of fire. And now followed the usual sequence of events--rapine, cruelty, and extortion; only this time there was no town to ransom, for Morgan had given orders that it should be destroyed. The torch was set to it, and Panama, one of the greatest cities in the New World, was swept from the face of the earth. Why the deed was done, no man but Morgan could tell. Perhaps it was that all the secret hiding places for treasure might be brought to light; but whatever the reason was, it lay hidden in the breast of the great buccaneer himself. For three weeks Morgan and his men abode in this dreadful place; and they marched away with ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE beasts of burden loaded with treasures of gold and silver and jewels, besides great quantities of merchandise, and six hundred prisoners held for ransom. Whatever became of all that vast wealth, and what it amounted to, no man but Morgan ever knew, for when a division was made it was found that there was only TWO HUNDRED PIECES OF EIGHT TO EACH MAN. When this dividend was declared a howl of execration went up, under which even Capt. Henry Morgan quailed. At night he and four other commanders slipped their cables and ran out to sea, and it was said that these divided the greater part of the booty among themselves. But the wealth plundered at Panama could hardly have fallen short of a million and a half of dollars. Computing it at this reasonable figure, the various prizes won by Henry Morgan in the West Indies would stand as follows: Panama, $1,500,000; Porto Bello, $800,000; Puerto del Principe, $700,000; Maracaibo and Gibraltar, $400,000; various piracies, $250,000--making a grand total of $3,650,000 as the vast harvest of plunder. With this fabulous wealth, wrenched from the Spaniards by means of the rack and the cord, and pilfered from his companions by the meanest of thieving, Capt. Henry Morgan retired from business, honored of all, rendered famous by his deeds, knighted by the good King Charles II, and finally appointed governor of the rich island of Jamaica. Other buccaneers followed him. Campeche was taken and sacked, and even Cartagena itself fell; but with Henry Morgan culminated the glory of the buccaneers, and from that time they declined in power and wealth and wickedness until they were finally swept away. The buccaneers became bolder and bolder. In fact, so daring were their crimes that the home governments, stirred at last by these outrageous barbarities, seriously undertook the suppression of the freebooters, lopping and trimming the main trunk until its members were scattered hither and thither, and it was thought that the organization was exterminated. But, so far from being exterminated, the individual members were merely scattered north, south, east, and west, each forming a nucleus around which gathered and clustered the very worst of the offscouring of humanity. The result was that when the seventeenth century was fairly packed away with its lavender in the store chest of the past, a score or more bands of freebooters were cruising along the Atlantic seaboard in armed vessels, each with a black flag with its skull and crossbones at the fore, and with a nondescript crew made up of the tags and remnants of civilized and semicivilized humanity (white, black, red, and yellow), known generally as marooners, swarming upon the decks below. Nor did these offshoots from the old buccaneer stem confine their depredations to the American seas alone; the East Indies and the African coast also witnessed their doings, and suffered from them, and even the Bay of Biscay had good cause to remember more than one visit from them. Worthy sprigs from so worthy a stem improved variously upon the parent methods; for while the buccaneers were content to prey upon the Spaniards alone, the marooners reaped the harvest from the commerce of all nations. So up and down the Atlantic seaboard they cruised, and for the fifty years that marooning was in the flower of its glory it was a sorrowful time for the coasters of New England, the middle provinces, and the Virginias, sailing to the West Indies with their cargoes of salt fish, grain, and tobacco. Trading became almost as dangerous as privateering, and sea captains were chosen as much for their knowledge of the flintlock and the cutlass as for their seamanship. As by far the largest part of the trading in American waters was conducted by these Yankee coasters, so by far the heaviest blows, and those most keenly felt, fell upon them. Bulletin after bulletin came to port with its doleful tale of this vessel burned or that vessel scuttled, this one held by the pirates for their own use or that one stripped of its goods and sent into port as empty as an eggshell from which the yolk had been sucked. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston suffered alike, and worthy ship owners had to leave off counting their losses upon their fingers and take to the slate to keep the dismal record. "Maroon--to put ashore on a desert isle, as a sailor, under pretense of having committed some great crime." Thus our good Noah Webster gives us the dry bones, the anatomy, upon which the imagination may construct a specimen to suit itself. It is thence that the marooners took their name, for marooning was one of their most effective instruments of punishment or revenge. If a pirate broke one of the many rules which governed the particular band to which he belonged, he was marooned; did a captain defend his ship to such a degree as to be unpleasant to the pirates attacking it, he was marooned; even the pirate captain himself, if he displeased his followers by the severity of his rule, was in danger of having the same punishment visited upon him which he had perhaps more than once visited upon another. The process of marooning was as simple as terrible. A suitable place was chosen (generally some desert isle as far removed as possible from the pathway of commerce), and the condemned man was rowed from the ship to the beach. Out he was bundled upon the sand spit; a gun, a half dozen bullets, a few pinches of powder, and a bottle of water were chucked ashore after him, and away rowed the boat's crew back to the ship, leaving the poor wretch alone to rave away his life in madness, or to sit sunken in his gloomy despair till death mercifully released him from torment. It rarely if ever happened that anything was known of him after having been marooned. A boat's crew from some vessel, sailing by chance that way, might perhaps find a few chalky bones bleaching upon the white sand in the garish glare of the sunlight, but that was all. And such were marooners. By far the largest number of pirate captains were Englishmen, for, from the days of good Queen Bess, English sea captains seemed to have a natural turn for any species of venture that had a smack of piracy in it, and from the great Admiral Drake of the old, old days, to the truculent Morgan of buccaneering times, the Englishman did the boldest and wickedest deeds, and wrought the most damage. First of all upon the list of pirates stands the bold Captain Avary, one of the institutors of marooning. Him we see but dimly, half hidden by the glamouring mists of legends and tradition. Others who came afterward outstripped him far enough in their doings, but he stands pre-eminent as the first of marooners of whom actual history has been handed down to us of the present day. When the English, Dutch, and Spanish entered into an alliance to suppress buccaneering in the West Indies, certain worthies of Bristol, in old England, fitted out two vessels to assist in this laudable project; for doubtless Bristol trade suffered smartly from the Morgans and the l'Olonoises of that old time. One of these vessels was named the Duke, of which a certain Captain Gibson was the commander and Avary the mate. Away they sailed to the West Indies, and there Avary became impressed by the advantages offered by piracy, and by the amount of good things that were to be gained by very little striving. One night the captain (who was one of those fellows mightily addicted to punch), instead of going ashore to saturate himself with rum at the ordinary, had his drink in his cabin in private. While he lay snoring away the effects of his rum in the cabin, Avary and a few other conspirators heaved the anchor very leisurely, and sailed out of the harbor of Corunna, and through the midst of the allied fleet riding at anchor in the darkness. By and by, when the morning came, the captain was awakened by the pitching and tossing of the vessel, the rattle and clatter of the tackle overhead, and the noise of footsteps passing and repassing hither and thither across the deck. Perhaps he lay for a while turning the matter over and over in his muddled head, but he presently rang the bell, and Avary and another fellow answered the call. "What's the matter?" bawls the captain from his berth. "Nothing," says Avary, coolly. "Something's the matter with the ship," says the captain. "Does she drive? What weather is it?" "Oh no," says Avary; "we are at sea." "At sea?" "Come, come!" says Avary: "I'll tell you; you must know that I'm the captain of the ship now, and you must be packing from this here cabin. We are bound to Madagascar, to make all of our fortunes, and if you're a mind to ship for the cruise, why, we'll be glad to have you, if you will be sober and mind your own business; if not, there is a boat alongside, and I'll have you set ashore." The poor half-tipsy captain had no relish to go a-pirating under the command of his backsliding mate, so out of the ship he bundled, and away he rowed with four or five of the crew, who, like him, refused to join with their jolly shipmates. The rest of them sailed away to the East Indies, to try their fortunes in those waters, for our Captain Avary was of a high spirit, and had no mind to fritter away his time in the West Indies squeezed dry by buccaneer Morgan and others of lesser note. No, he would make a bold stroke for it at once, and make or lose at a single cast. On his way he picked up a couple of like kind with himself--two sloops off Madagascar. With these he sailed away to the coast of India, and for a time his name was lost in the obscurity of uncertain history. But only for a time, for suddenly it flamed out in a blaze of glory. It was reported that a vessel belonging to the Great Mogul, laden with treasure and bearing the monarch's own daughter upon a holy pilgrimage to Mecca (they being Mohammedans), had fallen in with the pirates, and after a short resistance had been surrendered, with the damsel, her court, and all the diamonds, pearls, silk, silver, and gold aboard. It was rumored that the Great Mogul, raging at the insult offered to him through his own flesh and blood, had threatened to wipe out of existence the few English settlements scattered along the coast; whereat the honorable East India Company was in a pretty state of fuss and feathers. Rumor, growing with the telling, has it that Avary is going to marry the Indian princess, willy-nilly, and will turn rajah, and eschew piracy as indecent. As for the treasure itself, there was no end to the extent to which it grew as it passed from mouth to mouth. Cracking the nut of romance and exaggeration, we come to the kernel of the story--that Avary did fall in with an Indian vessel laden with great treasure (and possibly with the Mogul's daughter), which he captured, and thereby gained a vast prize. Having concluded that he had earned enough money by the trade he had undertaken, he determined to retire and live decently for the rest of his life upon what he already had. As a step toward this object, he set about cheating his Madagascar partners out of their share of what had been gained. He persuaded them to store all the treasure in his vessel, it being the largest of the three; and so, having it safely in hand, he altered the course of his ship one fine night, and when the morning came the Madagascar sloops found themselves floating upon a wide ocean without a farthing of the treasure for which they had fought so hard, and for which they might whistle for all the good it would do them. At first Avary had a great part of a mind to settle at Boston, in Massachusetts, and had that little town been one whit less bleak and forbidding, it might have had the honor of being the home of this famous man. As it was, he did not like the looks of it, so he sailed away to the eastward, to Ireland, where he settled himself at Biddeford, in hopes of an easy life of it for the rest of his days. Here he found himself the possessor of a plentiful stock of jewels, such as pearls, diamonds, rubies, etc., but with hardly a score of honest farthings to jingle in his breeches pocket. He consulted with a certain merchant of Bristol concerning the disposal of the stones--a fellow not much more cleanly in his habits of honesty than Avary himself. This worthy undertook to act as Avary's broker. Off he marched with the jewels, and that was the last that the pirate saw of his Indian treasure. Perhaps the most famous of all the piratical names to American ears are those of Capt. Robert Kidd and Capt. Edward Teach, or "Blackbeard." Nothing will be ventured in regard to Kidd at this time, nor in regard to the pros and cons as to whether he really was or was not a pirate, after all. For many years he was the very hero of heroes of piratical fame, there was hardly a creek or stream or point of land along our coast, hardly a convenient bit of good sandy beach, or hump of rock, or water-washed cave, where fabulous treasures were not said to have been hidden by this worthy marooner. Now we are assured that he never was a pirate, and never did bury any treasure, excepting a certain chest, which he was compelled to hide upon Gardiner's Island--and perhaps even it was mythical. So poor Kidd must be relegated to the dull ranks of simply respectable people, or semirespectable people at best. But with "Blackbeard" it is different, for in him we have a real, ranting, raging, roaring pirate per se--one who really did bury treasure, who made more than one captain walk the plank, and who committed more private murders than he could number on the fingers of both hands; one who fills, and will continue to fill, the place to which he has been assigned for generations, and who may be depended upon to hold his place in the confidence of others for generations to come. Captain Teach was a Bristol man born, and learned his trade on board of sundry privateers in the East Indies during the old French war--that of 1702--and a better apprenticeship could no man serve. At last, somewhere about the latter part of the year 1716, a privateering captain, one Benjamin Hornigold, raised him from the ranks and put him in command of a sloop--a lately captured prize and Blackbeard's fortune was made. It was a very slight step, and but the change of a few letters, to convert "privateer" into "pirate," and it was a very short time before Teach made that change. Not only did he make it himself, but he persuaded his old captain to join with him. And now fairly began that series of bold and lawless depredations which have made his name so justly famous, and which placed him among the very greatest of marooning freebooters. "Our hero," says the old historian who sings of the arms and bravery of this great man--"our hero assumed the cognomen of Blackbeard from that large quantity of hair which, like a frightful meteor, covered his whole face, and frightened America more than any comet that appeared there in a long time. He was accustomed to twist it with ribbons into small tails, after the manner of our Ramillies wig, and turn them about his ears. In time of action he wore a sling over his shoulders, with three brace of pistols, hanging in holsters like bandoleers; he stuck lighted matches under his hat, which, appearing on each side of his face, and his eyes naturally looking fierce and wild, made him altogether such a figure that imagination cannot form an idea of a Fury from hell to look more frightful." The night before the day of the action in which he was killed he sat up drinking with some congenial company until broad daylight. One of them asked him if his poor young wife knew where his treasure was hidden. "No," says Blackbeard; "nobody but the devil and I knows where it is, and the longest liver shall have all." As for that poor young wife of his, the life that he and his rum-crazy shipmates led her was too terrible to be told. For a time Blackbeard worked at his trade down on the Spanish Main, gathering, in the few years he was there, a very neat little fortune in the booty captured from sundry vessels; but by and by he took it into his head to try his luck along the coast of the Carolinas; so off he sailed to the northward, with quite a respectable little fleet, consisting of his own vessel and two captured sloops. From that time he was actively engaged in the making of American history in his small way. He first appeared off the bar of Charleston Harbor, to the no small excitement of the worthy town of that ilk, and there he lay for five or six days, blockading the port, and stopping incoming and outgoing vessels at his pleasure, so that, for the time, the commerce of the province was entirely paralyzed. All the vessels so stopped he held as prizes, and all the crews and passengers (among the latter of whom was more than one provincial worthy of the day) he retained as though they were prisoners of war. And it was a mightily awkward thing for the good folk of Charleston to behold day after day a black flag with its white skull and crossbones fluttering at the fore of the pirate captain's craft, over across the level stretch of green salt marshes; and it was mightily unpleasant, too, to know that this or that prominent citizen was crowded down with the other prisoners under the hatches. One morning Captain Blackbeard finds that his stock of medicine is low. "Tut!" says he, "we'll turn no hair gray for that." So up he calls the bold Captain Richards, the commander of his consort the Revenge sloop, and bids him take Mr. Marks (one of his prisoners), and go up to Charleston and get the medicine. There was no task that suited our Captain Richards better than that. Up to the town he rowed, as bold as brass. "Look ye," says he to the governor, rolling his quid of tobacco from one cheek to another--"look ye, we're after this and that, and if we don't get it, why, I'll tell you plain, we'll burn them bloody crafts of yours that we've took over yonder, and cut the weasand of every clodpoll aboard of 'em." There was no answering an argument of such force as this, and the worshipful governor and the good folk of Charleston knew very well that Blackbeard and his crew were the men to do as they promised. So Blackbeard got his medicine, and though it cost the colony two thousand dollars, it was worth that much to the town to be quit of him. They say that while Captain Richards was conducting his negotiations with the governor his boat's crew were stumping around the streets of the town, having a glorious time of it, while the good folk glowered wrathfully at them, but dared venture nothing in speech or act. Having gained a booty of between seven and eight thousand dollars from the prizes captured, the pirates sailed away from Charleston Harbor to the coast of North Carolina. And now Blackbeard, following the plan adopted by so many others of his kind, began to cudgel his brains for means to cheat his fellows out of their share of the booty. At Topsail Inlet he ran his own vessel aground, as though by accident. Hands, the captain of one of the consorts, pretending to come to his assistance, also grounded HIS sloop. Nothing now remained but for those who were able to get away in the other craft, which was all that was now left of the little fleet. This did Blackbeard with some forty of his favorites. The rest of the pirates were left on the sand spit to await the return of their companions--which never happened. As for Blackbeard and those who were with him, they were that much richer, for there were so many the fewer pockets to fill. But even yet there were too many to share the booty, in Blackbeard's opinion, and so he marooned a parcel more of them--some eighteen or twenty--upon a naked sand bank, from which they were afterward mercifully rescued by another freebooter who chanced that way--a certain Major Stede Bonnet, of whom more will presently be said. About that time a royal proclamation had been issued offering pardon to all pirates in arms who would surrender to the king's authority before a given date. So up goes Master Blackbeard to the Governor of North Carolina and makes his neck safe by surrendering to the proclamation--albeit he kept tight clutch upon what he had already gained. And now we find our bold Captain Blackbeard established in the good province of North Carolina, where he and His Worship the Governor struck up a vast deal of intimacy, as profitable as it was pleasant. There is something very pretty in the thought of the bold sea rover giving up his adventurous life (excepting now and then an excursion against a trader or two in the neighboring sound, when the need of money was pressing); settling quietly down into the routine of old colonial life, with a young wife of sixteen at his side, who made the fourteenth that he had in various ports here and there in the world. Becoming tired of an inactive life, Blackbeard afterward resumed his piratical career. He cruised around in the rivers and inlets and sounds of North Carolina for a while, ruling the roost and with never a one to say him nay, until there was no bearing with such a pest any longer. So they sent a deputation up to the Governor of Virginia asking if he would be pleased to help them in their trouble. There were two men-of-war lying at Kicquetan, in the James River, at the time. To them the Governor of Virginia applies, and plucky Lieutenant Maynard, of the Pearl, was sent to Ocracoke Inlet to fight this pirate who ruled it down there so like the cock of a walk. There he found Blackbeard waiting for him, and as ready for a fight as ever the lieutenant himself could be. Fight they did, and while it lasted it was as pretty a piece of business of its kind as one could wish to see. Blackbeard drained a glass of grog, wishing the lieutenant luck in getting aboard of him, fired a broadside, blew some twenty of the lieutenant's men out of existence, and totally crippled one of his little sloops for the balance of the fight. After that, and under cover of the smoke, the pirate and his men boarded the other sloop, and then followed a fine old-fashioned hand-to-hand conflict betwixt him and the lieutenant. First they fired their pistols, and then they took to it with cutlasses--right, left, up and down, cut and slash--until the lieutenant's cutlass broke short off at the hilt. Then Blackbeard would have finished him off handsomely, only up steps one of the lieutenant's men and fetches him a great slash over the neck, so that the lieutenant came off with no more hurt than a cut across the knuckles. At the very first discharge of their pistols Blackbeard had been shot through the body, but he was not for giving up for that--not he. As said before, he was of the true roaring, raging breed of pirates, and stood up to it until he received twenty more cutlass cuts and five additional shots, and then fell dead while trying to fire off an empty pistol. After that the lieutenant cut off the pirate's head, and sailed away in triumph, with the bloody trophy nailed to the bow of his battered sloop. Those of Blackbeard's men who were not killed were carried off to Virginia, and all of them tried and hanged but one or two, their names, no doubt, still standing in a row in the provincial records. But did Blackbeard really bury treasures, as tradition says, along the sandy shores he haunted? Master Clement Downing, midshipman aboard the Salisbury, wrote a book after his return from the cruise to Madagascar, whither the Salisbury had been ordered, to put an end to the piracy with which those waters were infested. He says: "At Guzarat I met with a Portuguese named Anthony de Sylvestre; he came with two other Portuguese and two Dutchmen to take on in the Moor's service, as many Europeans do. This Anthony told me he had been among the pirates, and that he belonged to one of the sloops in Virginia when Blackbeard was taken. He informed me that if it should be my lot ever to go to York River or Maryland, near an island called Mulberry Island, provided we went on shore at the watering place, where the shipping used most commonly to ride, that there the pirates had buried considerable sums of money in great chests well clamped with iron plates. As to my part, I never was that way, nor much acquainted with any that ever used those parts; but I have made inquiry, and am informed that there is such a place as Mulberry Island. If any person who uses those parts should think it worth while to dig a little way at the upper end of a small cove, where it is convenient to land, he would soon find whether the information I had was well grounded. Fronting the landing place are five trees, among which, he said, the money was hid. I cannot warrant the truth of this account; but if I was ever to go there, I should find some means or other to satisfy myself, as it could not be a great deal out of my way. If anybody should obtain the benefit of this account, if it please God that they ever come to England, 'tis hoped they will remember whence they had this information." Another worthy was Capt. Edward Low, who learned his trade of sail-making at good old Boston town, and piracy at Honduras. No one stood higher in the trade than he, and no one mounted to more lofty altitudes of bloodthirsty and unscrupulous wickedness. 'Tis strange that so little has been written and sung of this man of might, for he was as worthy of story and of song as was Blackbeard. It was under a Yankee captain that he made his first cruise--down to Honduras, for a cargo of logwood, which in those times was no better than stolen from the Spanish folk. One day, lying off the shore, in the Gulf of Honduras, comes Master Low and the crew of the whaleboat rowing across from the beach, where they had been all morning chopping logwood. "What are you after?" says the captain, for they were coming back with nothing but themselves in the boat. "We're after our dinner," says Low, as spokesman of the party. "You'll have no dinner," says the captain, "until you fetch off another load." "Dinner or no dinner, we'll pay for it," says Low, wherewith he up with a musket, squinted along the barrel, and pulled the trigger. Luckily the gun hung fire, and the Yankee captain was spared to steal logwood a while longer. All the same, that was no place for Ned Low to make a longer stay, so off he and his messmates rowed in a whaleboat, captured a brig out at sea, and turned pirates. He presently fell in with the notorious Captain Lowther, a fellow after his own kidney, who put the finishing touches to his education and taught him what wickedness he did not already know. And so he became a master pirate, and a famous hand at his craft, and thereafter forever bore an inveterate hatred of all Yankees because of the dinner he had lost, and never failed to smite whatever one of them luck put within his reach. Once he fell in with a ship off South Carolina--the Amsterdam Merchant, Captain Williamson, commander--a Yankee craft and a Yankee master. He slit the nose and cropped the ears of the captain, and then sailed merrily away, feeling the better for having marred a Yankee. New York and New England had more than one visit from the doughty captain, each of which visits they had good cause to remember, for he made them smart for it. Along in the year 1722 thirteen vessels were riding at anchor in front of the good town of Marblehead. Into the harbor sailed a strange craft. "Who is she?" say the townsfolk, for the coming of a new vessel was no small matter in those days. Who the strangers were was not long a matter of doubt. Up goes the black flag, and the skull and crossbones to the fore. "'Tis the bloody Low," say one and all; and straightway all was flutter and commotion, as in a duck pond when a hawk pitches and strikes in the midst. It was a glorious thing for our captain, for here were thirteen Yankee crafts at one and the same time. So he took what he wanted, and then sailed away, and it was many a day before Marblehead forgot that visit. Some time after this he and his consort fell foul of an English sloop of war, the Greyhound, whereby they were so roughly handled that Low was glad enough to slip away, leaving his consort and her crew behind him, as a sop to the powers of law and order. And lucky for them if no worse fate awaited them than to walk the dreadful plank with a bandage around the blinded eyes and a rope around the elbows. So the consort was taken, and the crew tried and hanged in chains, and Low sailed off in as pretty a bit of rage as ever a pirate fell into. The end of this worthy is lost in the fogs of the past: some say that he died of a yellow fever down in New Orleans; it was not at the end of a hempen cord, more's the pity. Here fittingly with our strictly American pirates should stand Major Stede Bonnet along with the rest. But in truth he was only a poor half-and-half fellow of his kind, and even after his hand was fairly turned to the business he had undertaken, a qualm of conscience would now and then come across him, and he would make vast promises to forswear his evil courses. However, he jogged along in his course of piracy snugly enough until he fell foul of the gallant Colonel Rhett, off Charleston Harbor, whereupon his luck and his courage both were suddenly snuffed out with a puff of powder smoke and a good rattling broadside. Down came the "Black Roger" with its skull and crossbones from the fore, and Colonel Rhett had the glory of fetching back as pretty a cargo of scoundrels and cutthroats as the town ever saw. After the next assizes they were strung up, all in a row--evil apples ready for the roasting. "Ned" England was a fellow of different blood--only he snapped his whip across the back of society over in the East Indies and along the hot shores of Hindustan. The name of Capt. Howel Davis stands high among his fellows. He was the Ulysses of pirates, the beloved not only of Mercury, but of Minerva. He it was who hoodwinked the captain of a French ship of double the size and strength of his own, and fairly cheated him into the surrender of his craft without the firing of a single pistol or the striking of a single blow; he it was who sailed boldly into the port of Gambia, on the coast of Guinea, and under the guns of the castle, proclaiming himself as a merchant trading for slaves. The cheat was kept up until the fruit of mischief was ripe for the picking; then, when the governor and the guards of the castle were lulled into entire security, and when Davis's band was scattered about wherever each man could do the most good, it was out pistol, up cutlass, and death if a finger moved. They tied the soldiers back to back, and the governor to his own armchair, and then rifled wherever it pleased them. After that they sailed away, and though they had not made the fortune they had hoped to glean, it was a good snug round sum that they shared among them. Their courage growing high with success, they determined to attempt the island of Del Principe--a prosperous Portuguese settlement on the coast. The plan for taking the place was cleverly laid, and would have succeeded, only that a Portuguese negro among the pirate crew turned traitor and carried the news ashore to the governor of the fort. Accordingly, the next day, when Captain Davis came ashore, he found there a good strong guard drawn up as though to honor his coming. But after he and those with him were fairly out of their boat, and well away from the water side, there was a sudden rattle of musketry, a cloud of smoke, and a dull groan or two. Only one man ran out from under that pungent cloud, jumped into the boat, and rowed away; and when it lifted, there lay Captain Davis and his companions all of a heap, like a pile of old clothes. Capt. Bartholomew Roberts was the particular and especial pupil of Davis, and when that worthy met his death so suddenly and so unexpectedly in the unfortunate manner above narrated, he was chosen unanimously as the captain of the fleet, and he was a worthy pupil of a worthy master. Many were the poor fluttering merchant ducks that this sea hawk swooped upon and struck; and cleanly and cleverly were they plucked before his savage clutch loosened its hold upon them. "He made a gallant figure," says the old narrator, "being dressed in a rich crimson waistcoat and breeches and red feather in his hat, a gold chain around his neck, with a diamond cross hanging to it, a sword in his hand, and two pair of pistols hanging at the end of a silk sling flung over his shoulders according to the fashion of the pyrates." Thus he appeared in the last engagement which he fought--that with the Swallow--a royal sloop of war. A gallant fight they made of it, those bulldog pirates, for, finding themselves caught in a trap betwixt the man-of-war and the shore, they determined to bear down upon the king's vessel, fire a slapping broadside into her, and then try to get away, trusting to luck in the doing, and hoping that their enemy might be crippled by their fire. Captain Roberts himself was the first to fall at the return fire of the Swallow; a grapeshot struck him in the neck, and he fell forward across the gun near to which he was standing at the time. A certain fellow named Stevenson, who was at the helm, saw him fall, and thought he was wounded. At the lifting of the arm the body rolled over upon the deck, and the man saw that the captain was dead. "Whereupon," says the old history, "he" [Stevenson] "gushed into tears, and wished that the next shot might be his portion." After their captain's death the pirate crew had no stomach for more fighting; the "Black Roger" was struck, and one and all surrendered to justice and the gallows. Such is a brief and bald account of the most famous of these pirates. But they are only a few of a long list of notables, such as Captain Martel, Capt. Charles Vane (who led the gallant Colonel Rhett, of South Carolina, such a wild-goose chase in and out among the sluggish creeks and inlets along the coast), Capt. John Rackam, and Captain Anstis, Captain Worley, and Evans, and Philips, and others--a score or more of wild fellows whose very names made ship captains tremble in their shoes in those good old times. And such is that black chapter of history of the past--an evil chapter, lurid with cruelty and suffering, stained with blood and smoke. Yet it is a written chapter, and it must be read. He who chooses may read betwixt the lines of history this great truth: Evil itself is an instrument toward the shaping of good. Therefore the history of evil as well as the history of good should be read, considered, and digested. Chapter II. THE GHOST OF CAPTAIN BRAND IT is not so easy to tell why discredit should be cast upon a man because of something that his grandfather may have done amiss, but the world, which is never overnice in its discrimination as to where to lay the blame, is often pleased to make the innocent suffer in the place of the guilty. Barnaby True was a good, honest, biddable lad, as boys go, but yet he was not ever allowed altogether to forget that his grandfather had been that very famous pirate, Capt. William Brand, who, after so many marvelous adventures (if one may believe the catchpenny stories and ballads that were written about him), was murdered in Jamaica by Capt. John Malyoe, the commander of his own consort, the Adventure galley. It has never been denied, that ever I heard, that up to the time of Captain Brand's being commissioned against the South Sea pirates he had always been esteemed as honest, reputable a sea captain as could be. When he started out upon that adventure it was with a ship, the Royal Sovereign, fitted out by some of the most decent merchants of New York. The governor himself had subscribed to the adventure, and had himself signed Captain Brand's commission. So, if the unfortunate man went astray, he must have had great temptation to do so, many others behaving no better when the opportunity offered in those far-away seas where so many rich purchases might very easily be taken and no one the wiser. To be sure, those stories and ballads made our captain to be a most wicked, profane wretch; and if he were, why, God knows he suffered and paid for it, for he laid his bones in Jamaica, and never saw his home or his wife and daughter again after he had sailed away on the Royal Sovereign on that long misfortunate voyage, leaving them in New York to the care of strangers. At the time when he met his fate in Port Royal Harbor he had obtained two vessels under his command--the Royal Sovereign, which was the boat fitted out for him in New York, and the Adventure galley, which he was said to have taken somewhere in the South Seas. With these he lay in those waters of Jamaica for over a month after his return from the coasts of Africa, waiting for news from home, which, when it came, was of the very blackest; for the colonial authorities were at that time stirred up very hot against him to take him and hang him for a pirate, so as to clear their own skirts for having to do with such a fellow. So maybe it seemed better to our captain to hide his ill-gotten treasure there in those far-away parts, and afterward to try and bargain with it for his life when he should reach New York, rather than to sail straight for the Americas with what he had earned by his piracies, and so risk losing life and money both. However that might be, the story was that Captain Brand and his gunner, and Captain Malyoe of the Adventure and the sailing master of the Adventure all went ashore together with a chest of money (no one of them choosing to trust the other three in so nice an affair), and buried the treasure somewhere on the beach of Port Royal Harbor. The story then has it that they fell a-quarreling about a future division or the money, and that, as a wind-up to the affair, Captain Malyoe shot Captain Brand through the head, while the sailing master of the Adventure served the gunner of the Royal Sovereign after the same fashion through the body, and that the murderers then went away, leaving the two stretched out in their own blood on the sand in the staring sun, with no one to know where the money was hid but they two who had served their comrades so. It is a mighty great pity that anyone should have a grandfather who ended his days in such a sort as this, but it was no fault of Barnaby True's, nor could he have done anything to prevent it, seeing that he was not even born into the world at the time that his grandfather turned pirate, and was only one year old when he so met his tragical end. Nevertheless, the boys with whom he went to school never tired of calling him "Pirate," and would sometimes sing for his benefit that famous catchpenny song beginning thus: Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing, And a-sailing; Oh, my name was Captain Brand, A-sailing free. Oh, my name was Captain Brand, And I sinned by sea and land, For I broke God's just command, A-sailing free. 'Twas a vile thing to sing at the grandson of so misfortunate a man, and oftentimes little Barnaby True would double up his fists and would fight his tormentors at great odds, and would sometimes go back home with a bloody nose to have his poor mother cry over him and grieve for him. Not that his days were all of teasing and torment, neither; for if his comrades did treat him so, why, then, there were other times when he and they were as great friends as could be, and would go in swimming together where there was a bit of sandy strand along the East River above Fort George, and that in the most amicable fashion. Or, maybe the very next day after he had fought so with his fellows, he would go a-rambling with them up the Bowerie Road, perhaps to help them steal cherries from some old Dutch farmer, forgetting in such adventure what a thief his own grandfather had been. Well, when Barnaby True was between sixteen and seventeen years old he was taken into employment in the countinghouse of Mr. Roger Hartright, the well-known West India merchant, and Barnaby's own stepfather. It was the kindness of this good man that not only found a place for Barnaby in the countinghouse, but advanced him so fast that against our hero was twenty-one years old he had made four voyages as supercargo to the West Indies in Mr. Hartright's ship, the Belle Helen, and soon after he was twenty-one undertook a fifth. Nor was it in any such subordinate position as mere supercargo that he acted, but rather as the confidential agent of Mr. Hartright, who, having no children of his own, was very jealous to advance our hero into a position of trust and responsibility in the countinghouse, as though he were indeed a son, so that even the captain of the ship had scarcely more consideration aboard than he, young as he was in years. As for the agents and correspondents of Mr. Hartright throughout these parts, they also, knowing how the good man had adopted his interests, were very polite and obliging to Master Barnaby--especially, be it mentioned, Mr. Ambrose Greenfield, of Kingston, Jamaica, who, upon the occasions of his visits to those parts, did all that he could to make Barnaby's stay in that town agreeable and pleasant to him. So much for the history of our hero to the time of the beginning of this story, without which you shall hardly be able to understand the purport of those most extraordinary adventures that befell him shortly after he came of age, nor the logic of their consequence after they had occurred. For it was during his fifth voyage to the West Indies that the first of those extraordinary adventures happened of which I shall have presently to tell. At that time he had been in Kingston for the best part of four weeks, lodging at the house of a very decent, respectable widow, by name Mrs. Anne Bolles, who, with three pleasant and agreeable daughters, kept a very clean and well-served lodging house in the outskirts of the town. One morning, as our hero sat sipping his coffee, clad only in loose cotton drawers, a shirt, and a jacket, and with slippers upon his feet, as is the custom in that country, where everyone endeavors to keep as cool as may be while he sat thus sipping his coffee Miss Eliza, the youngest of the three daughters, came and gave him a note, which, she said, a stranger had just handed in at the door, going away again without waiting for a reply. You may judge of Barnaby's surprise when he opened the note and read as follows: MR. BARNABY TRUE. SIR,--Though you don't know me, I know you, and I tell you this: if you will be at Pratt's Ordinary on Harbor Street on Friday next at eight o'clock of the evening, and will accompany the man who shall say to you, "The Royal Sovereign is come in," you shall learn something the most to your advantage that ever befell you. Sir, keep this note, and show it to him who shall address these words to you, so to certify that you are the man he seeks. Such was the wording of the note, which was without address, and without any superscription whatever. The first emotion that stirred Barnaby was one of extreme and profound amazement. Then the thought came into his mind that some witty fellow, of whom he knew a good many in that town--and wild, waggish pranks they were was attempting to play off some smart jest upon him. But all that Miss Eliza could tell him when he questioned her concerning the messenger was that the bearer of the note was a tall, stout man, with a red neckerchief around his neck and copper buckles to his shoes, and that he had the appearance of a sailorman, having a great big queue hanging down his back. But, Lord! what was such a description as that in a busy seaport town, full of scores of men to fit such a likeness? Accordingly, our hero put away the note into his wallet, determining to show it to his good friend Mr. Greenfield that evening, and to ask his advice upon it. So he did show it, and that gentleman's opinion was the same as his--that some wag was minded to play off a hoax upon him, and that the matter of the letter was all nothing but smoke. Nevertheless, though Barnaby was thus confirmed in his opinion as to the nature of the communication he had received, he yet determined in his own mind that he would see the business through to the end, and would be at Pratt's Ordinary, as the note demanded, upon the day and at the time specified therein. Pratt's Ordinary was at that time a very fine and well-known place of its sort, with good tobacco and the best rum that ever I tasted, and had a garden behind it that, sloping down to the harbor front, was planted pretty thick with palms and ferns grouped into clusters with flowers and plants. Here were a number of little tables, some in little grottoes, like our Vauxhall in New York, and with red and blue and white paper lanterns hung among the foliage, whither gentlemen and ladies used sometimes to go of an evening to sit and drink lime juice and sugar and water (and sometimes a taste of something stronger), and to look out across the water at the shipping in the cool of the night. Thither, accordingly, our hero went, a little before the time appointed in the note, and passing directly through the Ordinary and the garden beyond, chose a table at the lower end of the garden and close to the water's edge, where he would not be easily seen by anyone coming into the place. Then, ordering some rum and water and a pipe of tobacco, he composed himself to watch for the appearance of those witty fellows whom he suspected would presently come thither to see the end of their prank and to enjoy his confusion. The spot was pleasant enough; for the land breeze, blowing strong and full, set the leaves of the palm tree above his head to rattling and clattering continually against the sky, where, the moon then being about full, they shone every now and then like blades of steel. The waves also were splashing up against the little landing place at the foot of the garden, sounding very cool in the night, and sparkling all over the harbor where the moon caught the edges of the water. A great many vessels were lying at anchor in their ridings, with the dark, prodigious form of a man-of-war looming up above them in the moonlight. There our hero sat for the best part of an hour, smoking his pipe of tobacco and sipping his grog, and seeing not so much as a single thing that might concern the note he had received. It was not far from half an hour after the time appointed in the note, when a rowboat came suddenly out of the night and pulled up to the landing place at the foot of the garden above mentioned, and three or four men came ashore in the darkness. Without saying a word among themselves they chose a near-by table and, sitting down, ordered rum and water, and began drinking their grog in silence. They might have sat there about five minutes, when, by and by, Barnaby True became aware that they were observing him very curiously; and then almost immediately one, who was plainly the leader of the party, called out to him: "How now, messmate! Won't you come and drink a dram of rum with us?" "Why, no," says Barnaby, answering very civilly; "I have drunk enough already, and more would only heat my blood." "All the same," quoth the stranger, "I think you will come and drink with us; for, unless I am mistook, you are Mr. Barnaby True, and I am come here to tell you that the Royal Sovereign is come in." Now I may honestly say that Barnaby True was never more struck aback in all his life than he was at hearing these words uttered in so unexpected a manner. He had been looking to hear them under such different circumstances that, now that his ears heard them addressed to him, and that so seriously, by a perfect stranger, who, with others, had thus mysteriously come ashore out of the darkness, he could scarce believe that his ears heard aright. His heart suddenly began beating at a tremendous rate, and had he been an older and wiser man, I do believe he would have declined the adventure, instead of leaping blindly, as he did, into that of which he could see neither the beginning nor the ending. But being barely one-and-twenty years of age, and having an adventurous disposition that would have carried him into almost anything that possessed a smack of uncertainty or danger about it, he contrived to say, in a pretty easy tone (though God knows how it was put on for the occasion): "Well, then, if that be so, and if the Royal Sovereign is indeed come in, why, I'll join you, since you are so kind as to ask me." And therewith he went across to the other table, carrying his pipe with him, and sat down and began smoking, with all the appearance of ease he could assume upon the occasion. "Well, Mr. Barnaby True," said the man who had before addressed him, so soon as Barnaby had settled himself, speaking in a low tone of voice, so there would be no danger of any others hearing the words--"Well, Mr. Barnaby True--for I shall call you by your name, to show you that though I know you, you don't know me I am glad to see that you are man enough to enter thus into an affair, though you can't see to the bottom of it. For it shows me that you are a man of mettle, and are deserving of the fortune that is to befall you to-night. Nevertheless, first of all, I am bid to say that you must show me a piece of paper that you have about you before we go a step farther." "Very well," said Barnaby; "I have it here safe and sound, and see it you shall." And thereupon and without more ado he fetched out his wallet, opened it, and handed his interlocutor the mysterious note he had received the day or two before. Whereupon the other, drawing to him the candle, burning there for the convenience of those who would smoke tobacco, began immediately reading it. This gave Barnaby True a moment or two to look at him. He was a tall, stout man, with a red handkerchief tied around his neck, and with copper buckles on his shoes, so that Barnaby True could not but wonder whether he was not the very same man who had given the note to Miss Eliza Bolles at the door of his lodging house. "'Tis all right and straight as it should be," the other said, after he had so glanced his eyes over the note. "And now that the paper is read" (suiting his action to his words), "I'll just burn it, for safety's sake." And so he did, twisting it up and setting it to the flame of the candle. "And now," he said, continuing his address, "I'll tell you what I am here for. I was sent to ask you if you're man enough to take your life in your own hands and to go with me in that boat down there? Say 'Yes,' and we'll start away without wasting more time, for the devil is ashore here at Jamaica--though you don't know what that means--and if he gets ahead of us, why, then we may whistle for what we are after. Say 'No,' and I go away again, and I promise you you shall never be troubled again in this sort. So now speak up plain, young gentleman, and tell us what is your mind in this business, and whether you will adventure any farther or not." If our hero hesitated it was not for long. I cannot say that his courage did not waver for a moment; but if it did, it was, I say, not for long, and when he spoke up it was with a voice as steady as could be. "To be sure I'm man enough to go with you," he said; "and if you mean me any harm I can look out for myself; and if I can't, why, here is something can look out for me," and therewith he lifted up the flap of his coat pocket and showed the butt of a pistol he had fetched with him when he had set out from his lodging house that evening. At this the other burst out a-laughing. "Come," says he, "you are indeed of right mettle, and I like your spirit. All the same, no one in all the world means you less ill than I, and so, if you have to use that barker, 'twill not be upon us who are your friends, but only upon one who is more wicked than the devil himself. So come, and let us get away." Thereupon he and the others, who had not spoken a single word for all this time, rose from the table, and he having paid the scores of all, they all went down together to the boat that still lay at the landing place at the bottom of the garden. Thus coming to it, our hero could see that it was a large yawl boat manned with half a score of black men for rowers, and there were two lanterns in the stern sheets, and three or four iron shovels. The man who had conducted the conversation with Barnaby True for all this time, and who was, as has been said, plainly the captain of the party, stepped immediately down into the boat; our hero followed, and the others followed after him; and instantly they were seated the boat was shoved off and the black men began pulling straight out into the harbor, and so, at some distance away, around under the stern of the man-of-war. Not a word was spoken after they had thus left the shore, and presently they might all have been ghosts, for the silence of the party. Barnaby True was too full of his own thoughts to talk--and serious enough thoughts they were by this time, with crimps to trepan a man at every turn, and press gangs to carry a man off so that he might never be heard of again. As for the others, they did not seem to choose to say anything now that they had him fairly embarked upon their enterprise. And so the crew pulled on in perfect silence for the best part of an hour, the leader of the expedition directing the course of the boat straight across the harbor, as though toward the mouth of the Rio Cobra River. Indeed, this was their destination, as Barnaby could after a while see, by the low point of land with a great long row of coconut palms upon it (the appearance of which he knew very well), which by and by began to loom up out of the milky dimness of the moonlight. As they approached the river they found the tide was running strong out of it, so that some distance away from the stream it gurgled and rippled alongside the boat as the crew of black men pulled strongly against it. Thus they came up under what was either a point of land or an islet covered with a thick growth of mangrove trees. But still no one spoke a single word as to their destination, or what was the business they had in hand. The night, now that they were close to the shore, was loud with the noise of running tide-water, and the air was heavy with the smell of mud and marsh, and over all the whiteness of the moonlight, with a few stars pricking out here and there in the sky; and all so strange and silent and mysterious that Barnaby could not divest himself of the feeling that it was all a dream. So, the rowers bending to the oars, the boat came slowly around from under the clump of mangrove bushes and out into the open water again. Instantly it did so the leader of the expedition called out in a sharp voice, and the black men instantly lay on their oars. Almost at the same instant Barnaby True became aware that there was another boat coming down the river toward where they lay, now drifting with the strong tide out into the harbor again, and he knew that it was because of the approach of that boat that the other had called upon his men to cease rowing. The other boat, as well as he could see in the distance, was full of men, some of whom appeared to be armed, for even in the dusk of the darkness the shine of the moonlight glimmered sharply now and then on the barrels of muskets or pistols, and in the silence that followed after their own rowing had ceased Barnaby True could hear the chug! chug! of the oars sounding louder and louder through the watery stillness of the night as the boat drew nearer and nearer. But he knew nothing of what it all meant, nor whether these others were friends or enemies, or what was to happen next. The oarsmen of the approaching boat did not for a moment cease their rowing, not till they had come pretty close to Barnaby and his companions. Then a man who sat in the stern ordered them to cease rowing, and as they lay on their oars he stood up. As they passed by, Barnaby True could see him very plain, the moonlight shining full upon him--a large, stout gentleman with a round red face, and clad in a fine laced coat of red cloth. Amidship of the boat was a box or chest about the bigness of a middle-sized traveling trunk, but covered all over with cakes of sand and dirt. In the act of passing, the gentleman, still standing, pointed at it with an elegant gold-headed cane which he held in his hand. "Are you come after this, Abraham Dawling?" says he, and thereat his countenance broke into as evil, malignant a grin as ever Barnaby True saw in all of his life. The other did not immediately reply so much as a single word, but sat as still as any stone. Then, at last, the other boat having gone by, he suddenly appeared to regain his wits, for he bawled out after it, "Very well, Jack Malyoe! very well, Jack Malyoe! you've got ahead of us this time again, but next time is the third, and then it shall be our turn, even if William Brand must come back from hell to settle with you." This he shouted out as the other boat passed farther and farther away, but to it my fine gentleman made no reply except to burst out into a great roaring fit of laughter. There was another man among the armed men in the stern of the passing boat--a villainous, lean man with lantern jaws, and the top of his head as bald as the palm of my hand. As the boat went away into the night with the tide and the headway the oars had given it, he grinned so that the moonlight shone white on his big teeth. Then, flourishing a great big pistol, he said, and Barnaby could hear every word he spoke, "Do but give me the word, Your Honor, and I'll put another bullet through the son of a sea cook." But the gentleman said some words to forbid him, and therewith the boat was gone away into the night, and presently Barnaby could hear that the men at the oars had begun rowing again, leaving them lying there, without a single word being said for a long time. By and by one of those in Barnaby's boat spoke up. "Where shall you go now?" he said. At this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come back to himself, and to find his voice again. "Go?" he roared out. "Go to the devil! Go? Go where you choose! Go? Go back again--that's where we'll go!" and therewith he fell a-cursing and swearing until he foamed at the lips, as though he had gone clean crazy, while the black men began rowing back again across the harbor as fast as ever they could lay oars into the water. They put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom house; but so bewildered and shaken was he by all that had happened, and by what he had seen, and by the names that he heard spoken, that he was scarcely conscious of any of the familiar things among which he found himself thus standing. And so he walked up the moonlit street toward his lodging like one drunk or bewildered; for "John Malyoe" was the name of the captain of the Adventure galley--he who had shot Barnaby's own grandfather--and "Abraham Dawling" was the name of the gunner of the Royal Sovereign who had been shot at the same time with the pirate captain, and who, with him, had been left stretched out in the staring sun by the murderers. The whole business had occupied hardly two hours, but it was as though that time was no part of Barnaby's life, but all a part of some other life, so dark and strange and mysterious that it in no wise belonged to him. As for that box covered all over with mud, he could only guess at that time what it contained and what the finding of it signified. But of this our hero said nothing to anyone, nor did he tell a single living soul what he had seen that night, but nursed it in his own mind, where it lay so big for a while that he could think of little or nothing else for days after. Mr. Greenfield, Mr. Hartright's correspondent and agent in these parts, lived in a fine brick house just out of the town, on the Mona Road, his family consisting of a wife and two daughters--brisk, lively young ladies with black hair and eyes, and very fine bright teeth that shone whenever they laughed, and with a plenty to say for themselves. Thither Barnaby True was often asked to a family dinner; and, indeed, it was a pleasant home to visit, and to sit upon the veranda and smoke a cigarro with the good old gentleman and look out toward the mountains, while the young ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the guitar and sang. And oftentimes so it was strongly upon Barnaby's mind to speak to the good gentleman and tell him what he had beheld that night out in the harbor; but always he would think better of it and hold his peace, falling to thinking, and smoking away upon his cigarro at a great rate. A day or two before the Belle Helen sailed from Kingston Mr. Greenfield stopped Barnaby True as he was going through the office to bid him to come to dinner that night (for there within the tropics they breakfast at eleven o'clock and take dinner in the cool of the evening, because of the heat, and not at midday, as we do in more temperate latitudes). "I would have you meet," says Mr. Greenfield, "your chief passenger for New York, and his granddaughter, for whom the state cabin and the two staterooms are to be fitted as here ordered [showing a letter]--Sir John Malyoe and Miss Marjorie Malyoe. Did you ever hear tell of Capt. Jack Malyoe, Master Barnaby?" Now I do believe that Mr. Greenfield had no notion at all that old Captain Brand was Barnaby True's own grandfather and Capt. John Malyoe his murderer, but when he so thrust at him the name of that man, what with that in itself and the late adventure through which he himself had just passed, and with his brooding upon it until it was so prodigiously big in his mind, it was like hitting him a blow to so fling the questions at him. Nevertheless, he was able to reply, with a pretty straight face, that he had heard of Captain Malyoe and who he was. "Well," says Mr. Greenfield, "if Jack Malyoe was a desperate pirate and a wild, reckless blade twenty years ago, why, he is Sir John Malyoe now and the owner of a fine estate in Devonshire. Well, Master Barnaby, when one is a baronet and come into the inheritance of a fine estate (though I do hear it is vastly cumbered with debts), the world will wink its eye to much that he may have done twenty years ago. I do hear say, though, that his own kin still turn the cold shoulder to him." To this address Barnaby answered nothing, but sat smoking away at his cigarro at a great rate. And so that night Barnaby True came face to face for the first time with the man who murdered his own grandfather--the greatest beast of a man that ever he met in all of his life. That time in the harbor he had seen Sir John Malyoe at a distance and in the darkness; now that he beheld him near by it seemed to him that he had never looked at a more evil face in all his life. Not that the man was altogether ugly, for he had a good nose and a fine double chin; but his eyes stood out like balls and were red and watery, and he winked them continually, as though they were always smarting; and his lips were thick and purple-red, and his fat, red cheeks were mottled here and there with little clots of purple veins; and when he spoke his voice rattled so in his throat that it made one wish to clear one's own throat to listen to him. So, what with a pair of fat, white hands, and that hoarse voice, and his swollen face, and his thick lips sticking out, it seemed to Barnaby True he had never seen a countenance so distasteful to him as that one into which he then looked. But if Sir John Malyoe was so displeasing to our hero's taste, why, the granddaughter, even this first time he beheld her, seemed to him to be the most beautiful, lovely young lady that ever he saw. She had a thin, fair skin, red lips, and yellow hair--though it was then powdered pretty white for the occasion--and the bluest eyes that Barnaby beheld in all of his life. A sweet, timid creature, who seemed not to dare so much as to speak a word for herself without looking to Sir John for leave to do so, and would shrink and shudder whenever he would speak of a sudden to her or direct a sudden glance upon her. When she did speak, it was in so low a voice that one had to bend his head to hear her, and even if she smiled would catch herself and look up as though to see if she had leave to be cheerful. As for Sir John, he sat at dinner like a pig, and gobbled and ate and drank, smacking his lips all the while, but with hardly a word to either her or Mrs. Greenfield or to Barnaby True; but with a sour, sullen air, as though he would say, "Your damned victuals and drink are no better than they should be, but I must eat 'em or nothing." A great bloated beast of a man! Only after dinner was over and the young lady and the two misses sat off in a corner together did Barnaby hear her talk with any ease. Then, to be sure, her tongue became loose, and she prattled away at a great rate, though hardly above her breath, until of a sudden her grandfather called out, in his hoarse, rattling voice, that it was time to go. Whereupon she stopped short in what she was saying and jumped up from her chair, looking as frightened as though she had been caught in something amiss, and was to be punished for it. Barnaby True and Mr. Greenfield both went out to see the two into their coach, where Sir John's man stood holding the lantern. And who should he be, to be sure, but that same lean villain with bald head who had offered to shoot the leader of our hero's expedition out on the harbor that night! For, one of the circles of light from the lantern shining up into his face, Barnaby True knew him the moment he clapped eyes upon him. Though he could not have recognized our hero, he grinned at him in the most impudent, familiar fashion, and never so much as touched his hat either to him or to Mr. Greenfield; but as soon as his master and his young mistress had entered the coach, banged to the door and scrambled up on the seat alongside the driver, and so away without a word, but with another impudent grin, this time favoring both Barnaby and the old gentleman. Such were these two, master and man, and what Barnaby saw of them then was only confirmed by further observation--the most hateful couple he ever knew; though, God knows, what they afterward suffered should wipe out all complaint against them. The next day Sir John Malyoe's belongings began to come aboard the Belle Helen, and in the afternoon that same lean, villainous manservant comes skipping across the gangplank as nimble as a goat, with two black men behind him lugging a great sea chest. "What!" he cried out, "and so you is the supercargo, is you? Why, I thought you was more account when I saw you last night a-sitting talking with His Honor like his equal. Well, no matter; 'tis something to have a brisk, genteel young fellow for a supercargo. So come, my hearty, lend a hand, will you, and help me set His Honor's cabin to rights." What a speech was this to endure from such a fellow, to be sure! and Barnaby so high in his own esteem, and holding himself a gentleman! Well, what with his distaste for the villain, and what with such odious familiarity, you can guess into what temper so impudent an address must have cast him. "You'll find the steward in yonder," he said, "and he'll show you the cabin," and therewith turned and walked away with prodigious dignity, leaving the other standing where he was. As he entered his own cabin he could not but see, out of the tail of his eye, that the fellow was still standing where he had left him, regarding him with a most evil, malevolent countenance, so that he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had made one enemy during that voyage who was not very likely to forgive or forget what he must regard as a slight put upon him. The next day Sir John Malyoe himself came aboard, accompanied by his granddaughter, and followed by this man, and he followed again by four black men, who carried among them two trunks, not large in size, but prodigious heavy in weight, and toward which Sir John and his follower devoted the utmost solicitude and care to see that they were properly carried into the state cabin he was to occupy. Barnaby True was standing in the great cabin as they passed close by him; but though Sir John Malyoe looked hard at him and straight in the face, he never so much as spoke a single word, or showed by a look or a sign that he knew who our hero was. At this the serving man, who saw it all with eyes as quick as a cat's, fell to grinning and chuckling to see Barnaby in his turn so slighted. The young lady, who also saw it all, flushed up red, then in the instant of passing looked straight at our hero, and bowed and smiled at him with a most sweet and gracious affability, then the next moment recovering herself, as though mightily frightened at what she had done. The same day the Belle Helen sailed, with as beautiful, sweet weather as ever a body could wish for. There were only two other passengers aboard, the Rev. Simon Styles, the master of a flourishing academy in Spanish Town, and his wife, a good, worthy old couple, but very quiet, and would sit in the great cabin by the hour together reading, so that, what with Sir John Malyoe staying all the time in his own cabin with those two trunks he held so precious, it fell upon Barnaby True in great part to show attention to the young lady; and glad enough he was of the opportunity, as anyone may guess. For when you consider a brisk, lively young man of one-and-twenty and a sweet, beautiful miss of seventeen so thrown together day after day for two weeks, the weather being very fair, as I have said, and the ship tossing and bowling along before a fine humming breeze that sent white caps all over the sea, and with nothing to do but sit and look at that blue sea and the bright sky overhead, it is not hard to suppose what was to befall, and what pleasure it was to Barnaby True to show attention to her. But, oh! those days when a man is young, and, whether wisely or no, fallen in love! How often during that voyage did our hero lie awake in his berth at night, tossing this way and that without sleep--not that he wanted to sleep if he could, but would rather lie so awake thinking about her and staring into the darkness! Poor fool! He might have known that the end must come to such a fool's paradise before very long. For who was he to look up to Sir John Malyoe's granddaughter, he, the supercargo of a merchant ship, and she the granddaughter of a baronet. Nevertheless, things went along very smooth and pleasant, until one evening, when all came of a sudden to an end. At that time he and the young lady had been standing for a long while together, leaning over the rail and looking out across the water through the dusk toward the westward, where the sky was still of a lingering brightness. She had been mightily quiet and dull all that evening, but now of a sudden she began, without any preface whatever, to tell Barnaby about herself and her affairs. She said that she and her grandfather were going to New York that they might take passage thence to Boston town, there to meet her cousin Captain Malyoe, who was stationed in garrison at that place. Then she went on to say that Captain Malyoe was the next heir to the Devonshire estate, and that she and he were to be married in the fall. But, poor Barnaby! what a fool was he, to be sure! Methinks when she first began to speak about Captain Malyoe he knew what was coming. But now that she had told him, he could say nothing, but stood there staring across the ocean, his breath coming hot and dry as ashes in his throat. She, poor thing, went on to say, in a very low voice, that she had liked him from the very first moment she had seen him, and had been very happy for these days, and would always think of him as a dear friend who had been very kind to her, who had so little pleasure in life, and so would always remember him. Then they were both silent, until at last Barnaby made shift to say, though in a hoarse and croaking voice, that Captain Malyoe must be a very happy man, and that if he were in Captain Malyoe's place he would be the happiest man in the world. Thus, having spoken, and so found his tongue, he went on to tell her, with his head all in a whirl, that he, too, loved her, and that what she had told him struck him to the heart, and made him the most miserable, unhappy wretch in the whole world. She was not angry at what he said, nor did she turn to look at him, but only said, in a low voice, he should not talk so, for that it could only be a pain to them both to speak of such things, and that whether she would or no, she must do everything as her grandfather bade her, for that he was indeed a terrible man. To this poor Barnaby could only repeat that he loved her with all his heart, that he had hoped for nothing in his love, but that he was now the most miserable man in the world. It was at this moment, so tragic for him, that some one who had been hiding nigh them all the while suddenly moved away, and Barnaby True could see in the gathering darkness that it was that villain manservant of Sir John Malyoe's and knew that he must have overheard all that had been said. The man went straight to the great cabin, and poor Barnaby, his brain all atingle, stood looking after him, feeling that now indeed the last drop of bitterness had been added to his trouble to have such a wretch overhear what he had said. The young lady could not have seen the fellow, for she continued leaning over the rail, and Barnaby True, standing at her side, not moving, but in such a tumult of many passions that he was like one bewildered, and his heart beating as though to smother him. So they stood for I know not how long when, of a sudden, Sir John Malyoe comes running out of the cabin, without his hat, but carrying his gold-headed cane, and so straight across the deck to where Barnaby and the young lady stood, that spying wretch close at his heels, grinning like an imp. "You hussy!" bawled out Sir John, so soon as he had come pretty near them, and in so loud a voice that all on deck might have heard the words; and as he spoke he waved his cane back and forth as though he would have struck the young lady, who, shrinking back almost upon the deck, crouched as though to escape such a blow. "You hussy!" he bawled out with vile oaths, too horrible here to be set down. "What do you do here with this Yankee supercargo, not fit for a gentlewoman to wipe her feet upon? Get to your cabin, you hussy" (only it was something worse he called her this time), "before I lay this cane across your shoulders!" What with the whirling of Barnaby's brains and the passion into which he was already melted, what with his despair and his love, and his anger at this address, a man gone mad could scarcely be less accountable for his actions than was he at that moment. Hardly knowing what he did, he put his hand against Sir John Malyoe's breast and thrust him violently back, crying out upon him in a great, loud, hoarse voice for threatening a young lady, and saying that for a farthing he would wrench the stick out of his hand and throw it overboard. Sir John went staggering back with the push Barnaby gave him, and then caught himself up again. Then, with a great bellow, ran roaring at our hero, whirling his cane about, and I do believe would have struck him (and God knows then what might have happened) had not his manservant caught him and held him back. "Keep back!" cried out our hero, still mighty hoarse. "Keep back! If you strike me with that stick I'll fling you overboard!" By this time, what with the sound of loud voices and the stamping of feet, some of the crew and others aboard were hurrying up, and the next moment Captain Manly and the first mate, Mr. Freesden, came running out of the cabin. But Barnaby, who was by this fairly set agoing, could not now stop himself. "And who are you, anyhow," he cried out, "to threaten to strike me and to insult me, who am as good as you? You dare not strike me! You may shoot a man from behind, as you shot poor Captain Brand on the Rio Cobra River, but you won't dare strike me face to face. I know who you are and what you are!" By this time Sir John Malyoe had ceased to endeavor to strike him, but stood stock-still, his great bulging eyes staring as though they would pop out of his head. "What's all this?" cries Captain Manly, bustling up to them with Mr. Freesden. "What does all this mean?" But, as I have said, our hero was too far gone now to contain himself until all that he had to say was out. "The damned villain insulted me and insulted the young lady," he cried out, panting in the extremity of his passion, "and then he threatened to strike me with his cane. But I know who he is and what he is. I know what he's got in his cabin in those two trunks, and where he found it, and whom it belongs to. He found it on the shores of the Rio Cobra River, and I have only to open my mouth and tell what I know about it." At this Captain Manly clapped his hand upon our hero's shoulder and fell to shaking him so that he could scarcely stand, calling out to him the while to be silent. "What do you mean?" he cried. "An officer of this ship to quarrel with a passenger of mine! Go straight to your cabin, and stay there till I give you leave to come out again." At this Master Barnaby came somewhat back to himself and into his wits again with a jump. "But he threatened to strike me with his cane, Captain," he cried out, "and that I won't stand from any man!" "No matter what he did," said Captain Manly, very sternly. "Go to your cabin, as I bid you, and stay there till I tell you to come out again, and when we get to New York I'll take pains to tell your stepfather of how you have behaved. I'll have no such rioting as this aboard my ship." Barnaby True looked around him, but the young lady was gone. Nor, in the blindness of his frenzy, had he seen when she had gone nor whither she went. As for Sir John Malyoe, he stood in the light of a lantern, his face gone as white as ashes, and I do believe if a look could kill, the dreadful malevolent stare he fixed upon Barnaby True would have slain him where he stood. After Captain Manly had so shaken some wits into poor Barnaby he, unhappy wretch, went to his cabin, as he was bidden to do, and there, shutting the door upon himself, and flinging himself down, all dressed as he was, upon his berth, yielded himself over to the profoundest passion of humiliation and despair. There he lay for I know not how long, staring into the darkness, until by and by, in spite of his suffering and his despair, he dozed off into a loose sleep, that was more like waking than sleep, being possessed continually by the most vivid and distasteful dreams, from which he would awaken only to doze off and to dream again. It was from the midst of one of these extravagant dreams that he was suddenly aroused by the noise of a pistol shot, and then the noise of another and another, and then a great bump and a grinding jar, and then the sound of many footsteps running across the deck and down into the great cabin. Then came a tremendous uproar of voices in the great cabin, the struggling as of men's bodies being tossed about, striking violently against the partitions and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a screaming of women's voices, and one voice, and that Sir John Malyoe's, crying out as in the greatest extremity: "You villains! You damned villains!" and with the sudden detonation of a pistol fired into the close space of the great cabin. Barnaby was out in the middle of his cabin in a moment, and taking only time enough to snatch down one of the pistols that hung at the head of his berth, flung out into the great cabin, to find it as black as night, the lantern slung there having been either blown out or dashed out into darkness. The prodigiously dark space was full of uproar, the hubbub and confusion pierced through and through by that keen sound of women's voices screaming, one in the cabin and the other in the stateroom beyond. Almost immediately Barnaby pitched headlong over two or three struggling men scuffling together upon the deck, falling with a great clatter and the loss of his pistol, which, however, he regained almost immediately. What all the uproar meant he could not tell, but he presently heard Captain Manly's voice from somewhere suddenly calling out, "You bloody pirate, would you choke me to death?" wherewith some notion of what had happened came to him like a dash, and that they had been attacked in the night by pirates. Looking toward the companionway, he saw, outlined against the darkness of the night without, the blacker form of a man's figure, standing still and motionless as a statue in the midst of all this hubbub, and so by some instinct he knew in a moment that that must be the master maker of all this devil's brew. Therewith, still kneeling upon the deck, he covered the bosom of that shadowy figure pointblank, as he thought, with his pistol, and instantly pulled the trigger. In the flash of red light, and in the instant stunning report of the pistol shot, Barnaby saw, as stamped upon the blackness, a broad, flat face with fishy eyes, a lean, bony forehead with what appeared to be a great blotch of blood upon the side, a cocked hat trimmed with gold lace, a red scarf across the breast, and the gleam of brass buttons. Then the darkness, very thick and black, swallowed everything again. But in the instant Sir John Malyoe called out, in a great loud voice: "My God! 'Tis William Brand!" Therewith came the sound of some one falling heavily down. The next moment, Barnaby's sight coming back to him again in the darkness, he beheld that dark and motionless figure still standing exactly where it had stood before, and so knew either that he had missed it or else that it was of so supernatural a sort that a leaden bullet might do it no harm. Though if it was indeed an apparition that Barnaby beheld in that moment, there is this to say, that he saw it as plain as ever he saw a living man in all of his life. This was the last our hero knew, for the next moment somebody--whether by accident or design he never knew--struck him such a terrible violent blow upon the side of the head that he saw forty thousand stars flash before his eyeballs, and then, with a great humming in his head, swooned dead away. When Barnaby True came back to his senses again it was to find himself being cared for with great skill and nicety, his head bathed with cold water, and a bandage being bound about it as carefully as though a chirurgeon was attending to him. He could not immediately recall what had happened to him, nor until he had opened his eyes to find himself in a strange cabin, extremely well fitted and painted with white and gold, the light of a lantern shining in his eyes, together with the gray of the early daylight through the dead-eye. Two men were bending over him--one, a negro in a striped shirt, with a yellow handkerchief around his head and silver earrings in his ears; the other, a white man, clad in a strange outlandish dress of a foreign make, and with great mustachios hanging down, and with gold earrings in his ears. It was the latter who was attending to Barnaby's hurt with such extreme care and gentleness. All this Barnaby saw with his first clear consciousness after his swoon. Then remembering what had befallen him, and his head beating as though it would split asunder, he shut his eyes again, contriving with great effort to keep himself from groaning aloud, and wondering as to what sort of pirates these could be who would first knock a man in the head so terrible a blow as that which he had suffered, and then take such care to fetch him back to life again, and to make him easy and comfortable. Nor did he open his eyes again, but lay there gathering his wits together and wondering thus until the bandage was properly tied about his head and sewed together. Then once more he opened his eyes, and looked up to ask where he was. Either they who were attending to him did not choose to reply, or else they could not speak English, for they made no answer, excepting by signs; for the white man, seeing that he was now able to speak, and so was come back into his senses again, nodded his head three or four times, and smiled with a grin of his white teeth, and then pointed, as though toward a saloon beyond. At the same time the negro held up our hero's coat and beckoned for him to put it on, so that Barnaby, seeing that it was required of him to meet some one without, arose, though with a good deal of effort, and permitted the negro to help him on with his coat, still feeling mightily dizzy and uncertain upon his legs, his head beating fit to split, and the vessel rolling and pitching at a great rate, as though upon a heavy ground swell. So, still sick and dizzy, he went out into what was indeed a fine saloon beyond, painted in white and gilt like the cabin he had just quitted, and fitted in the nicest fashion, a mahogany table, polished very bright, extending the length of the room, and a quantity of bottles, together with glasses of clear crystal, arranged in a hanging rack above. Here at the table a man was sitting with his back to our hero, clad in a rough pea-jacket, and with a red handkerchief tied around his throat, his feet stretched out before him, and he smoking a pipe of tobacco with all the ease and comfort in the world. As Barnaby came in he turned round, and, to the profound astonishment of our hero, presented toward him in the light of the lantern, the dawn shining pretty strong through the skylight, the face of that very man who had conducted the mysterious expedition that night across Kingston Harbor to the Rio Cobra River. This man looked steadily at Barnaby True for a moment or two, and then burst out laughing; and, indeed, Barnaby, standing there with the bandage about his head, must have looked a very droll picture of that astonishment he felt so profoundly at finding who was this pirate into whose hands he had fallen. "Well," says the other, "and so you be up at last, and no great harm done, I'll be bound. And how does your head feel by now, my young master?" To this Barnaby made no reply, but, what with wonder and the dizziness of his head, seated himself at the table over against the speaker, who pushed a bottle of rum toward him, together with a glass from the swinging shelf above. He watched Barnaby fill his glass, and so soon as he had done so began immediately by saying: "I do suppose you think you were treated mightily ill to be so handled last night. Well, so you were treated ill enough--though who hit you that crack upon the head I know no more than a child unborn. Well, I am sorry for the way you were handled, but there is this much to say, and of that you may believe me, that nothing was meant to you but kindness, and before you are through with us all you will believe that well enough." Here he helped himself to a taste of grog, and sucking in his lips, went on again with what he had to say. "Do you remember," said he, "that expedition of ours in Kingston Harbor, and how we were all of us balked that night?" "Why, yes," said Barnaby True, "nor am I likely to forget it." "And do you remember what I said to that villain, Jack Malyoe, that night as his boat went by us?" "As to that," said Barnaby True, "I do not know that I can say yes or no, but if you will tell me, I will maybe answer you in kind." "Why, I mean this," said the other. "I said that the villain had got the better of us once again, but that next time it would be our turn, even if William Brand himself had to come back from hell to put the business through." "I remember something of the sort," said Barnaby, "now that you speak of it, but still I am all in the dark as to what you are driving at." The other looked at him very cunningly for a little while, his head on one side, and his eyes half shut. Then, as if satisfied, he suddenly burst out laughing. "Look hither," said he, "and I'll show you something," and therewith, moving to one side, disclosed a couple of traveling cases or small trunks with brass studs, so exactly like those that Sir John Malyoe had fetched aboard at Jamaica that Barnaby, putting this and that together, knew that they must be the same. Our hero had a strong enough suspicion as to what those two cases contained, and his suspicions had become a certainty when he saw Sir John Malyoe struck all white at being threatened about them, and his face lowering so malevolently as to look murder had he dared do it. But, Lord! what were suspicions or even certainty to what Barnaby True's two eyes beheld when that man lifted the lids of the two cases--the locks thereof having already been forced--and, flinging back first one lid and then the other, displayed to Barnaby's astonished sight a great treasure of gold and silver! Most of it tied up in leathern bags, to be sure, but many of the coins, big and little, yellow and white, lying loose and scattered about like so many beans, brimming the cases to the very top. Barnaby sat dumb-struck at what he beheld; as to whether he breathed or no, I cannot tell; but this I know, that he sat staring at that marvelous treasure like a man in a trance, until, after a few seconds of this golden display, the other banged down the lids again and burst out laughing, whereupon he came back to himself with a jump. "Well, and what do you think of that?" said the other. "Is it not enough for a man to turn pirate for? But," he continued, "it is not for the sake of showing you this that I have been waiting for you here so long a while, but to tell you that you are not the only passenger aboard, but that there is another, whom I am to confide to your care and attention, according to orders I have received; so, if you are ready, Master Barnaby, I'll fetch her in directly." He waited for a moment, as though for Barnaby to speak, but our hero not replying, he arose and, putting away the bottle of rum and the glasses, crossed the saloon to a door like that from which Barnaby had come a little while before. This he opened, and after a moment's delay and a few words spoken to some one within, ushered thence a young lady, who came out very slowly into the saloon where Barnaby still sat at the table. It was Miss Marjorie Malyoe, very white, and looking as though stunned or bewildered by all that had befallen her. Barnaby True could never tell whether the amazing strange voyage that followed was of long or of short duration; whether it occupied three days or ten days. For conceive, if you choose, two people of flesh and blood moving and living continually in all the circumstances and surroundings as of a nightmare dream, yet they two so happy together that all the universe beside was of no moment to them! How was anyone to tell whether in such circumstances any time appeared to be long or short? Does a dream appear to be long or to be short? The vessel in which they sailed was a brigantine of good size and build, but manned by a considerable crew, the most strange and outlandish in their appearance that Barnaby had ever beheld--some white, some yellow, some black, and all tricked out with gay colors, and gold earrings in their ears, and some with great long mustachios, and others with handkerchiefs tied around their heads, and all talking a language together of which Barnaby True could understand not a single word, but which might have been Portuguese from one or two phrases he caught. Nor did this strange, mysterious crew, of God knows what sort of men, seem to pay any attention whatever to Barnaby or to the young lady. They might now and then have looked at him and her out of the corners of their yellow eyes, but that was all; otherwise they were indeed like the creatures of a nightmare dream. Only he who was the captain of this outlandish crew would maybe speak to Barnaby a few words as to the weather or what not when he would come down into the saloon to mix a glass of grog or to light a pipe of tobacco, and then to go on deck again about his business. Otherwise our hero and the young lady were left to themselves, to do as they pleased, with no one to interfere with them. As for her, she at no time showed any great sign of terror or of fear, only for a little while was singularly numb and quiet, as though dazed with what had happened to her. Indeed, methinks that wild beast, her grandfather, had so crushed her spirit by his tyranny and his violence that nothing that happened to her might seem sharp and keen, as it does to others of an ordinary sort. But this was only at first, for afterward her face began to grow singularly clear, as with a white light, and she would sit quite still, permitting Barnaby to gaze, I know not how long, into her eyes, her face so transfigured and her lips smiling, and they, as it were, neither of them breathing, but hearing, as in another far-distant place, the outlandish jargon of the crew talking together in the warm, bright sunlight, or the sound of creaking block and tackle as they hauled upon the sheets. Is it, then, any wonder that Barnaby True could never remember whether such a voyage as this was long or short? It was as though they might have sailed so upon that wonderful voyage forever. You may guess how amazed was Barnaby True when, coming upon deck one morning, he found the brigantine riding upon an even keel, at anchor off Staten Island, a small village on the shore, and the well-known roofs and chimneys of New York town in plain sight across the water. 'Twas the last place in the world he had expected to see. And, indeed, it did seem strange to lie there alongside Staten Island all that day, with New York town so nigh at hand and yet so impossible to reach. For whether he desired to escape or no, Barnaby True could not but observe that both he and the young lady were so closely watched that they might as well have been prisoners, tied hand and foot and laid in the hold, so far as any hope of getting away was concerned. All that day there was a deal of mysterious coming and going aboard the brigantine, and in the afternoon a sailboat went up to the town, carrying the captain, and a great load covered over with a tarpaulin in the stern. What was so taken up to the town Barnaby did not then guess, but the boat did not return again till about sundown. For the sun was just dropping below the water when the captain came aboard once more and, finding Barnaby on deck, bade him come down into the saloon, where they found the young lady sitting, the broad light of the evening shining in through the skylight, and making it all pretty bright within. The captain commanded Barnaby to be seated, for he had something of moment to say to him; whereupon, as soon as Barnaby had taken his place alongside the young lady, he began very seriously, with a preface somewhat thus: "Though you may think me the captain of this brigantine, young gentleman, I am not really so, but am under orders, and so have only carried out those orders of a superior in all these things that I have done." Having so begun, he went on to say that there was one thing yet remaining for him to do, and that the greatest thing of all. He said that Barnaby and the young lady had not been fetched away from the Belle Helen as they were by any mere chance of accident, but that 'twas all a plan laid by a head wiser than his, and carried out by one whom he must obey in all things. He said that he hoped that both Barnaby and the young lady would perform willingly what they would be now called upon to do, but that whether they did it willingly or no, they must, for that those were the orders of one who was not to be disobeyed. You may guess how our hero held his breath at all this; but whatever might have been his expectations, the very wildest of them all did not reach to that which was demanded of him. "My orders are these," said the other, continuing: "I am to take you and the young lady ashore, and to see that you are married before I quit you; and to that end a very good, decent, honest minister who lives ashore yonder in the village was chosen and hath been spoken to and is now, no doubt, waiting for you to come. Such are my orders, and this is the last thing I am set to do; so now I will leave you alone together for five minutes to talk it over, but be quick about it, for whether willing or not, this thing must be done." Thereupon he went away, as he had promised, leaving those two alone together, Barnaby like one turned into stone, and the young lady, her face turned away, flaming as red as fire in the fading light. Nor can I tell what Barnaby said to her, nor what words he used, but only, all in a tumult, with neither beginning nor end he told her that God knew he loved her, and that with all his heart and soul, and that there was nothing in all the world for him but her; but, nevertheless, if she would not have it as had been ordered, and if she were not willing to marry him as she was bidden to do, he would rather die than lend himself to forcing her to do such a thing against her will. Nevertheless, he told her she must speak up and tell him yes or no, and that God knew he would give all the world if she would say "yes." All this and more he said in such a tumult of words that there was no order in their speaking, and she sitting there, her bosom rising and falling as though her breath stifled her. Nor may I tell what she replied to him, only this, that she said she would marry him. At this he took her into his arms and set his lips to hers, his heart all melting away in his bosom. So presently came the captain back into the saloon again, to find Barnaby sitting there holding her hand, she with her face turned away, and his heart beating like a trip hammer, and so saw that all was settled as he would have it. Wherewith he wished them both joy, and gave Barnaby his hand. The yawlboat belonging to the brigantine was ready and waiting alongside when they came upon deck, and immediately they descended to it and took their seats. So they landed, and in a little while were walking up the village street in the darkness, she clinging to his arm as though she would swoon, and the captain of the brigantine and two other men from aboard following after them. And so to the minister's house, finding him waiting for them, smoking his pipe in the warm evening, and walking up and down in front of his own door. He immediately conducted them into the house, where, his wife having fetched a candle, and two others of the village folk being present, the good man having asked several questions as to their names and their age and where they were from, the ceremony was performed, and the certificate duly signed by those present--excepting the men who had come ashore from the brigantine, and who refused to set their hands to any paper. The same sailboat that had taken the captain up to the town in the afternoon was waiting for them at the landing place, whence, the captain, having wished them Godspeed, and having shaken Barnaby very heartily by the hand, they pushed off, and, coming about, ran away with the slant of the wind, dropping the shore and those strange beings alike behind them into the night. As they sped away through the darkness they could hear the creaking of the sails being hoisted aboard of the brigantine, and so knew that she was about to put to sea once more. Nor did Barnaby True ever set eyes upon those beings again, nor did anyone else that I ever heard tell of. It was nigh midnight when they made Mr. Hartright's wharf at the foot of Wall Street, and so the streets were all dark and silent and deserted as they walked up to Barnaby's home. You may conceive of the wonder and amazement of Barnaby's dear stepfather when, clad in a dressing gown and carrying a lighted candle in his hand, he unlocked and unbarred the door, and so saw who it was had aroused him at such an hour of the night, and the young and beautiful lady whom Barnaby had fetched with him. The first thought of the good man was that the Belle Helen had come into port; nor did Barnaby undeceive him as he led the way into the house, but waited until they were all safe and sound in privily together before he should unfold his strange and wonderful story. "This was left for you by two foreign sailors this afternoon, Barnaby," the good old man said, as he led the way through the hall, holding up the candle at the same time, so that Barnaby might see an object that stood against the wainscoting by the door of the dining room. Nor could Barnaby refrain from crying out with amazement when he saw that it was one of the two chests of treasure that Sir John Malyoe had fetched from Jamaica, and which the pirates had taken from the Belle Helen. As for Mr. Hartright, he guessed no more what was in it than the man in the moon. The next day but one brought the Belle Helen herself into port, with the terrible news not only of having been attacked at night by pirates, but also that Sir John Malyoe was dead. For whether it was the sudden shock of the sight of his old captain's face--whom he himself had murdered and thought dead and buried--flashing so out against the darkness, or whether it was the strain of passion that overset his brains, certain it is that when the pirates left the Belle Helen, carrying with them the young lady and Barnaby and the traveling trunks, those left aboard the Belle Helen found Sir John Malyoe lying in a fit upon the floor, frothing at the mouth and black in the face, as though he had been choked, and so took him away to his berth, where, the next morning about ten o'clock, he died, without once having opened his eyes or spoken a single word. As for the villain manservant, no one ever saw him afterward; though whether he jumped overboard, or whether the pirates who so attacked the ship had carried him away bodily, who shall say? Mr. Hartright, after he had heard Barnaby's story, had been very uncertain as to the ownership of the chest of treasure that had been left by those men for Barnaby, but the news of the death of Sir John Malyoe made the matter very easy for him to decide. For surely if that treasure did not belong to Barnaby, there could be no doubt that it must belong to his wife, she being Sir John Malyoe's legal heir. And so it was that that great fortune (in actual computation amounting to upward of sixty-three thousand pounds) came to Barnaby True, the grandson of that famous pirate, William Brand; the English estate in Devonshire, in default of male issue of Sir John Malyoe, descended to Captain Malyoe, whom the young lady was to have married. As for the other case of treasure, it was never heard of again, nor could Barnaby ever guess whether it was divided as booty among the pirates, or whether they had carried it away with them to some strange and foreign land, there to share it among themselves. And so the ending of the story, with only this to observe, that whether that strange appearance of Captain Brand's face by the light of the pistol was a ghostly and spiritual appearance, or whether he was present in flesh and blood, there is only to say that he was never heard of again; nor had he ever been heard of till that time since the day he was so shot from behind by Capt. John Malyoe on the banks of the Rio Cobra River in the year 1733. Chapter III. WITH THE BUCCANEERS Being an Account of Certain Adventures that Befell Henry Mostyn Under Capt. H. Morgan in the Year 1665-66 I. ALTHOUGH this narration has more particularly to do with the taking of the Spanish vice admiral in the harbor of Porto Bello, and of the rescue therefrom of Le Sieur Simon, his wife and daughter (the adventure of which was successfully achieved by Captain Morgan, the famous buccaneer), we shall, nevertheless, premise something of the earlier history of Master Harry Mostyn, whom you may, if you please, consider as the hero of the several circumstances recounted in these pages. In the year 1664 our hero's father embarked from Portsmouth, in England, for the Barbados, where he owned a considerable sugar plantation. Thither to those parts of America he transported with himself his whole family, of whom our Master Harry was the fifth of eight children--a great lusty fellow as little fitted for the Church (for which he was designed) as could be. At the time of this story, though not above sixteen years old, Master Harry Mostyn was as big and well-grown as many a man of twenty, and of such a reckless and dare-devil spirit that no adventure was too dangerous or too mischievous for him to embark upon. At this time there was a deal of talk in those parts of the Americas concerning Captain Morgan, and the prodigious successes he was having pirating against the Spaniards. This man had once been an indentured servant with Mr. Rolls, a sugar factor at the Barbados. Having served out his time, and being of lawless disposition, possessing also a prodigious appetite for adventure, he joined with others of his kidney, and, purchasing a caravel of three guns, embarked fairly upon that career of piracy the most successful that ever was heard of in the world. Master Harry had known this man very well while he was still with Mr. Rolls, serving as a clerk at that gentleman's sugar wharf, a tall, broad-shouldered, strapping fellow, with red cheeks, and thick red lips, and rolling blue eyes, and hair as red as any chestnut. Many knew him for a bold, gruff-spoken man, but no one at that time suspected that he had it in him to become so famous and renowned as he afterward grew to be. The fame of his exploits had been the talk of those parts for above a twelvemonth, when, in the latter part of the year 1665, Captain Morgan, having made a very successful expedition against the Spaniards into the Gulf of Campeche--where he took several important purchases from the plate fleet--came to the Barbados, there to fit out another such venture, and to enlist recruits. He and certain other adventurers had purchased a vessel of some five hundred tons, which they proposed to convert into a pirate by cutting portholes for cannon, and running three or four carronades across her main deck. The name of this ship, be it mentioned, was the Good Samaritan, as ill-fitting a name as could be for such a craft, which, instead of being designed for the healing of wounds, was intended to inflict such devastation as those wicked men proposed. Here was a piece of mischief exactly fitted to our hero's tastes; wherefore, having made up a bundle of clothes, and with not above a shilling in his pocket, he made an excursion into the town to seek for Captain Morgan. There he found the great pirate established at an ordinary, with a little court of ragamuffins and swashbucklers gathered about him, all talking very loud, and drinking healths in raw rum as though it were sugared water. And what a fine figure our buccaneer had grown, to be sure! How different from the poor, humble clerk upon the sugar wharf! What a deal of gold braid! What a fine, silver-hilled Spanish sword! What a gay velvet sling, hung with three silver-mounted pistols! If Master Harry's mind had not been made up before, to be sure such a spectacle of glory would have determined it. This figure of war our hero asked to step aside with him, and when they had come into a corner, proposed to the other what he intended, and that he had a mind to enlist as a gentleman adventurer upon this expedition. Upon this our rogue of a buccaneer captain burst out a-laughing, and fetching Master Harry a great thump upon the back, swore roundly that he would make a man of him, and that it was a pity to make a parson out of so good a piece of stuff. Nor was Captain Morgan less good than his word, for when the Good Samaritan set sail with a favoring wind for the island of Jamaica, Master Harry found himself established as one of the adventurers aboard. II Could you but have seen the town of Port Royal as it appeared in the year 1665 you would have beheld a sight very well worth while looking upon. There were no fine houses at that time, and no great counting houses built of brick, such as you may find nowadays, but a crowd of board and wattled huts huddled along the streets, and all so gay with flags and bits of color that Vanity Fair itself could not have been gayer. To this place came all the pirates and buccaneers that infested those parts, and men shouted and swore and gambled, and poured out money like water, and then maybe wound up their merrymaking by dying of fever. For the sky in these torrid latitudes is all full of clouds overhead, and as hot as any blanket, and when the sun shone forth it streamed down upon the smoking sands so that the houses were ovens and the streets were furnaces; so it was little wonder that men died like rats in a hole. But little they appeared to care for that; so that everywhere you might behold a multitude of painted women and Jews and merchants and pirates, gaudy with red scarfs and gold braid and all sorts of odds and ends of foolish finery, all fighting and gambling and bartering for that ill-gotten treasure of the be-robbed Spaniard. Here, arriving, Captain Morgan found a hearty welcome, and a message from the governor awaiting him, the message bidding him attend His Excellency upon the earliest occasion that offered. Whereupon, taking our hero (of whom he had grown prodigiously fond) along with him, our pirate went, without any loss of time, to visit Sir Thomas Modiford, who was then the royal governor of all this devil's brew of wickedness. They found His Excellency seated in a great easy-chair, under the shadow of a slatted veranda, the floor whereof was paved with brick. He was clad, for the sake of coolness, only in his shirt, breeches, and stockings, and he wore slippers on his feet. He was smoking a great cigarro of tobacco, and a goblet of lime juice and water and rum stood at his elbow on a table. Here, out of the glare of the heat, it was all very cool and pleasant, with a sea breeze blowing violently in through the slats, setting them a-rattling now and then, and stirring Sir Thomas's long hair, which he had pushed back for the sake of coolness. The purport of this interview, I may tell you, concerned the rescue of one Le Sieur Simon, who, together with his wife and daughter, was held captive by the Spaniards. This gentleman adventurer (Le Sieur Simon) had, a few years before, been set up by the buccaneers as governor of the island of Santa Catharina. This place, though well fortified by the Spaniards, the buccaneers had seized upon, establishing themselves thereon, and so infesting the commerce of those seas that no Spanish fleet was safe from them. At last the Spaniards, no longer able to endure these assaults against their commerce, sent a great force against the freebooters to drive them out of their island stronghold. This they did, retaking Santa Catharina, together with its governor, his wife, and daughter, as well as the whole garrison of buccaneers. This garrison was sent by their conquerors, some to the galleys, some to the mines, some to no man knows where. The governor himself--Le Sieur Simon--was to be sent to Spain, there to stand his trial for piracy. The news of all this, I may tell you, had only just been received in Jamaica, having been brought thither by a Spanish captain, one Don Roderiguez Sylvia, who was, besides, the bearer of dispatches to the Spanish authorities relating the whole affair. Such, in fine, was the purport of this interview, and as our hero and his captain walked back together from the governor's house to the ordinary where they had taken up their inn, the buccaneer assured his companion that he purposed to obtain those dispatches from the Spanish captain that very afternoon, even if he had to use force to seize them. All this, you are to understand, was undertaken only because of the friendship that the governor and Captain Morgan entertained for Le Sieur Simon. And, indeed, it was wonderful how honest and how faithful were these wicked men in their dealings with one another. For you must know that Governor Modiford and Le Sieur Simon and the buccaneers were all of one kidney--all taking a share in the piracies of those times, and all holding by one another as though they were the honestest men in the world. Hence it was they were all so determined to rescue Le Sieur Simon from the Spaniards. III Having reached his ordinary after his interview with the governor, Captain Morgan found there a number of his companions, such as usually gathered at that place to be in attendance upon him--some, those belonging to the Good Samaritan; others, those who hoped to obtain benefits from him; others, those ragamuffins who gathered around him because he was famous, and because it pleased them to be of his court and to be called his followers. For nearly always your successful pirate had such a little court surrounding him. Finding a dozen or more of these rascals gathered there, Captain Morgan informed them of his present purpose that he was going to find the Spanish captain to demand his papers of him, and calling upon them to accompany him. With this following at his heels, our buccaneer started off down the street, his lieutenant, a Cornishman named Bartholomew Davis, upon one hand and our hero upon the other. So they paraded the streets for the best part of an hour before they found the Spanish captain. For whether he had got wind that Captain Morgan was searching for him, or whether, finding himself in a place so full of his enemies, he had buried himself in some place of hiding, it is certain that the buccaneers had traversed pretty nearly the whole town before they discovered that he was lying at a certain auberge kept by a Portuguese Jew. Thither they went, and thither Captain Morgan entered with the utmost coolness and composure of demeanor, his followers crowding noisily in at his heels. The space within was very dark, being lighted only by the doorway and by two large slatted windows or openings in the front. In this dark, hot place not over-roomy at the best--were gathered twelve or fifteen villainous-appearing men, sitting at tables and drinking together, waited upon by the Jew and his wife. Our hero had no trouble in discovering which of this lot of men was Captain Sylvia, for not only did Captain Morgan direct his glance full of war upon him, but the Spaniard was clad with more particularity and with more show of finery than any of the others who were there. Him Captain Morgan approached and demanded his papers, whereunto the other replied with such a jabber of Spanish and English that no man could have understood what he said. To this Captain Morgan in turn replied that he must have those papers, no matter what it might cost him to obtain them, and thereupon drew a pistol from his sling and presented it at the other's head. At this threatening action the innkeeper's wife fell a-screaming, and the Jew, as in a frenzy, besought them not to tear the house down about his ears. Our hero could hardly tell what followed, only that all of a sudden there was a prodigious uproar of combat. Knives flashed everywhere, and then a pistol was fired so close to his head that he stood like one stunned, hearing some one crying out in a loud voice, but not knowing whether it was a friend or a foe who had been shot. Then another pistol shot so deafened what was left of Master Harry's hearing that his ears rang for above an hour afterward. By this time the whole place was full of gunpowder smoke, and there was the sound of blows and oaths and outcrying and the clashing of knives. As Master Harry, who had no great stomach for such a combat, and no very particular interest in the quarrel, was making for the door, a little Portuguese, as withered and as nimble as an ape, came ducking under the table and plunged at his stomach with a great long knife, which, had it effected its object, would surely have ended his adventures then and there. Finding himself in such danger, Master Harry snatched up a heavy chair, and, flinging it at his enemy, who was preparing for another attack, he fairly ran for it out of the door, expecting every instant to feel the thrust of the blade betwixt his ribs. A considerable crowd had gathered outside, and others, hearing the uproar, were coming running to join them. With these our hero stood, trembling like a leaf, and with cold chills running up and down his back like water at the narrow escape from the danger that had threatened him. Nor shall you think him a coward, for you must remember he was hardly sixteen years old at the time, and that this was the first affair of the sort he had encountered. Afterward, as you shall learn, he showed that he could exhibit courage enough at a pinch. While he stood there, endeavoring to recover his composure, the while the tumult continued within, suddenly two men came running almost together out of the door, a crowd of the combatants at their heels. The first of these men was Captain Sylvia; the other, who was pursuing him, was Captain Morgan. As the crowd about the door parted before the sudden appearing of these, the Spanish captain, perceiving, as he supposed, a way of escape opened to him, darted across the street with incredible swiftness toward an alleyway upon the other side. Upon this, seeing his prey like to get away from him, Captain Morgan snatched a pistol out of his sling, and resting it for an instant across his arm, fired at the flying Spaniard, and that with so true an aim that, though the street was now full of people, the other went tumbling over and over all of a heap in the kennel, where he lay, after a twitch or two, as still as a log. At the sound of the shot and the fall of the man the crowd scattered upon all sides, yelling and screaming, and the street being thus pretty clear, Captain Morgan ran across the way to where his victim lay, his smoking pistol still in his hand, and our hero following close at his heels. Our poor Harry had never before beheld a man killed thus in an instant who a moment before had been so full of life and activity, for when Captain Morgan turned the body over upon its back he could perceive at a glance, little as he knew of such matters, that the man was stone-dead. And, indeed, it was a dreadful sight for him who was hardly more than a child. He stood rooted for he knew not how long, staring down at the dead face with twitching fingers and shuddering limbs. Meantime a great crowd was gathering about them again. As for Captain Morgan, he went about his work with the utmost coolness and deliberation imaginable, unbuttoning the waistcoat and the shirt of the man he had murdered with fingers that neither twitched nor shook. There were a gold cross and a bunch of silver medals hung by a whipcord about the neck of the dead man. This Captain Morgan broke away with a snap, reaching the jingling baubles to Harry, who took them in his nerveless hand and fingers that he could hardly close upon what they held. The papers Captain Morgan found in a wallet in an inner breast pocket of the Spaniard's waistcoat. These he examined one by one, and finding them to his satisfaction, tied them up again, and slipped the wallet and its contents into his own pocket. Then for the first time he appeared to observe Master Harry, who, indeed, must have been standing, the perfect picture of horror and dismay. Whereupon, bursting out a-laughing, and slipping the pistol he had used back into its sling again, he fetched poor Harry a great slap upon the back, bidding him be a man, for that he would see many such sights as this. But indeed, it was no laughing matter for poor Master Harry, for it was many a day before his imagination could rid itself of the image of the dead Spaniard's face; and as he walked away down the street with his companions, leaving the crowd behind them, and the dead body where it lay for its friends to look after, his ears humming and ringing from the deafening noise of the pistol shots fired in the close room, and the sweat trickling down his face in drops, he knew not whether all that had passed had been real, or whether it was a dream from which he might presently awaken. IV The papers Captain Morgan had thus seized upon as the fruit of the murder he had committed must have been as perfectly satisfactory to him as could be, for having paid a second visit that evening to Governor Modiford, the pirate lifted anchor the next morning and made sail toward the Gulf of Darien. There, after cruising about in those waters for about a fortnight without falling in with a vessel of any sort, at the end of that time they overhauled a caravel bound from Porto Bello to Cartagena, which vessel they took, and finding her loaded with nothing better than raw hides, scuttled and sank her, being then about twenty leagues from the main of Cartagena. From the captain of this vessel they learned that the plate fleet was then lying in the harbor of Porto Bello, not yet having set sail thence, but waiting for the change of the winds before embarking for Spain. Besides this, which was a good deal more to their purpose, the Spaniards told the pirates that the Sieur Simon, his wife, and daughter were confined aboard the vice admiral of that fleet, and that the name of the vice admiral was the Santa Maria y Valladolid. So soon as Captain Morgan had obtained the information he desired he directed his course straight for the Bay of Santo Blaso, where he might lie safely within the cape of that name without any danger of discovery (that part of the mainland being entirely uninhabited) and yet be within twenty or twenty-five leagues of Porto Bello. Having come safely to this anchorage, he at once declared his intentions to his companions, which were as follows: That it was entirely impossible for them to hope to sail their vessel into the harbor of Porto Bello, and to attack the Spanish vice admiral where he lay in the midst of the armed flota; wherefore, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be undertaken by some subtle design rather than by open-handed boldness. Having so prefaced what he had to say, he now declared that it was his purpose to take one of the ship's boats and to go in that to Porto Bello, trusting for some opportunity to occur to aid him either in the accomplishment of his aims or in the gaining of some further information. Having thus delivered himself, he invited any who dared to do so to volunteer for the expedition, telling them plainly that he would constrain no man to go against his will, for that at best it was a desperate enterprise, possessing only the recommendation that in its achievement the few who undertook it would gain great renown, and perhaps a very considerable booty. And such was the incredible influence of this bold man over his companions, and such was their confidence in his skill and cunning, that not above a dozen of all those aboard hung back from the undertaking, but nearly every man desired to be taken. Of these volunteers Captain Morgan chose twenty--among others our Master Harry--and having arranged with his lieutenant that if nothing was heard from the expedition at the end of three days he should sail for Jamaica to await news, he embarked upon that enterprise, which, though never heretofore published, was perhaps the boldest and the most desperate of all those that have since made his name so famous. For what could be a more unparalleled undertaking than for a little open boat, containing but twenty men, to enter the harbor of the third strongest fortress of the Spanish mainland with the intention of cutting out the Spanish vice admiral from the midst of a whole fleet of powerfully armed vessels, and how many men in all the world do you suppose would venture such a thing? But there is this to be said of that great buccaneer: that if he undertook enterprises so desperate as this, he yet laid his plans so well that they never went altogether amiss. Moreover, the very desperation of his successes was of such a nature that no man could suspect that he would dare to undertake such things, and accordingly his enemies were never prepared to guard against his attacks. Aye, had he but worn the king's colors and served under the rules of honest war, he might have become as great and as renowned as Admiral Blake himself. But all that is neither here nor there; what I have to tell you now is that Captain Morgan in this open boat with his twenty mates reached the Cape of Salmedina toward the fall of day. Arriving within view of the harbor they discovered the plate fleet at anchor, with two men-of-war and an armed galley riding as a guard at the mouth of the harbor, scarce half a league distant from the other ships. Having spied the fleet in this posture, the pirates presently pulled down their sails and rowed along the coast, feigning to be a Spanish vessel from Nombre de Dios. So hugging the shore, they came boldly within the harbor, upon the opposite side of which you might see the fortress a considerable distance away. Being now come so near to the consummation of their adventure, Captain Morgan required every man to make an oath to stand by him to the last, whereunto our hero swore as heartily as any man aboard, although his heart, I must needs confess, was beating at a great rate at the approach of what was to happen. Having thus received the oaths of all his followers, Captain Morgan commanded the surgeon of the expedition that, when the order was given, he, the medico, was to bore six holes in the boat, so that, it sinking under them, they might all be compelled to push forward, with no chance of retreat. And such was the ascendancy of this man over his followers, and such was their awe of him, that not one of them uttered even so much as a murmur, though what he had commanded the surgeon to do pledged them either to victory or to death, with no chance to choose between. Nor did the surgeon question the orders he had received, much less did he dream of disobeying them. By now it had fallen pretty dusk, whereupon, spying two fishermen in a canoe at a little distance, Captain Morgan demanded of them in Spanish which vessel of those at anchor in the harbor was the vice admiral, for that he had dispatches for the captain thereof. Whereupon the fishermen, suspecting nothing, pointed to them a galleon of great size riding at anchor not half a league distant. Toward this vessel accordingly the pirates directed their course, and when they had come pretty nigh, Captain Morgan called upon the surgeon that now it was time for him to perform the duty that had been laid upon him. Whereupon the other did as he was ordered, and that so thoroughly that the water presently came gushing into the boat in great streams, whereat all hands pulled for the galleon as though every next moment was to be their last. And what do you suppose were our hero's emotions at this time? Like all in the boat, his awe of Captain Morgan was so great that I do believe he would rather have gone to the bottom than have questioned his command, even when it was to scuttle the boat. Nevertheless, when he felt the cold water gushing about his feet (for he had taken off his shoes and stockings) he became possessed with such a fear of being drowned that even the Spanish galleon had no terrors for him if he could only feel the solid planks thereof beneath his feet. Indeed, all the crew appeared to be possessed of a like dismay, for they pulled at the oars with such an incredible force that they were under the quarter of the galleon before the boat was half filled with water. Here, as they approached, it then being pretty dark and the moon not yet having risen, the watch upon the deck hailed them, whereupon Captain Morgan called out in Spanish that he was Capt. Alvarez Mendazo, and that he brought dispatches for the vice admiral. But at that moment, the boat being now so full of water as to be logged, it suddenly tilted upon one side as though to sink beneath them, whereupon all hands, without further orders, went scrambling up the side, as nimble as so many monkeys, each armed with a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, and so were upon deck before the watch could collect his wits to utter any outcry or to give any other alarm than to cry out, "Jesu bless us! who are these?" at which words somebody knocked him down with the butt of a pistol, though who it was our hero could not tell in the darkness and the hurry. Before any of those upon deck could recover from their alarm or those from below come up upon deck, a part of the pirates, under the carpenter and the surgeon, had run to the gun room and had taken possession of the arms, while Captain Morgan, with Master Harry and a Portuguese called Murillo Braziliano, had flown with the speed of the wind into the great cabin. Here they found the captain of the vice admiral playing at cards with the Sieur Simon and a friend, Madam Simon and her daughter being present. Captain Morgan instantly set his pistol at the breast of the Spanish captain, swearing with a most horrible fierce countenance that if he spake a word or made any outcry he was a dead man. As for our hero, having now got his hand into the game, he performed the same service for the Spaniard's friend, declaring he would shoot him dead if he opened his lips or lifted so much as a single finger. All this while the ladies, not comprehending what had occurred, had sat as mute as stones; but now having so far recovered themselves as to find a voice, the younger of the two fell to screaming, at which the Sieur Simon called out to her to be still, for these were friends who had come to help them, and not enemies who had come to harm them. All this, you are to understand, occupied only a little while, for in less than a minute three or four of the pirates had come into the cabin, who, together with the Portuguese, proceeded at once to bind the two Spaniards hand and foot, and to gag them. This being done to our buccaneer's satisfaction, and the Spanish captain being stretched out in the corner of the cabin, he instantly cleared his countenance of its terrors, and bursting forth into a great loud laugh, clapped his hand to the Sieur Simon's, which he wrung with the best will in the world. Having done this, and being in a fine humor after this his first success, he turned to the two ladies. "And this, ladies," said he, taking our hero by the hand and presenting him, "is a young gentleman who has embarked with me to learn the trade of piracy. I recommend him to your politeness." Think what a confusion this threw our Master Harry into, to be sure, who at his best was never easy in the company of strange ladies! You may suppose what must have been his emotions to find himself thus introduced to the attention of Madam Simon and her daughter, being at the time in his bare feet, clad only in his shirt and breeches, and with no hat upon his head, a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. However, he was not left for long to his embarrassments, for almost immediately after he had thus far relaxed, Captain Morgan fell of a sudden serious again, and bidding the Sieur Simon to get his ladies away into some place of safety, for the most hazardous part of this adventure was yet to occur, he quitted the cabin with Master Harry and the other pirates (for you may call him a pirate now) at his heels. Having come upon deck, our hero beheld that a part of the Spanish crew were huddled forward in a flock like so many sheep (the others being crowded below with the hatches fastened upon them), and such was the terror of the pirates, and so dreadful the name of Henry Morgan, that not one of those poor wretches dared to lift up his voice to give any alarm, nor even to attempt an escape by jumping overboard. At Captain Morgan's orders, these men, together with certain of his own company, ran nimbly aloft and began setting the sails, which, the night now having fallen pretty thick, was not for a good while observed by any of the vessels riding at anchor about them. Indeed, the pirates might have made good their escape, with at most only a shot or two from the men-of-war, had it not then been about the full of the moon, which, having arisen, presently discovered to those of the fleet that lay closest about them what was being done aboard the vice admiral. At this one of the vessels hailed them, and then after a while, having no reply, hailed them again. Even then the Spaniards might not immediately have suspected anything was amiss but only that the vice admiral for some reason best known to himself was shifting his anchorage, had not one of the Spaniards aloft--but who it was Captain Morgan was never able to discover--answered the hail by crying out that the vice admiral had been seized by the pirates. At this the alarm was instantly given and the mischief done, for presently there was a tremendous bustle through that part of the fleet lying nighest the vice admiral--a deal of shouting of orders, a beating of drums, and the running hither and thither of the crews. But by this time the sails of the vice admiral had filled with a strong land breeze that was blowing up the harbor, whereupon the carpenter, at Captain Morgan's orders, having cut away both anchors, the galleon presently bore away up the harbor, gathering headway every moment with the wind nearly dead astern. The nearest vessel was the only one that for the moment was able to offer any hindrance. This ship, having by this time cleared away one of its guns, was able to fire a parting shot against the vice-admiral, striking her somewhere forward, as our hero could see by a great shower of splinters that flew up in the moonlight. At the sound of the shot all the vessels of the flota not yet disturbed by the alarm were aroused at once, so that the pirates had the satisfaction of knowing that they would have to run the gantlet of all the ships between them and the open sea before they could reckon themselves escaped. And, indeed, to our hero's mind it seemed that the battle which followed must have been the most terrific cannonade that was ever heard in the world. It was not so ill at first, for it was some while before the Spaniards could get their guns clear for action, they being not the least in the world prepared for such an occasion as this. But by and by first one and then another ship opened fire upon the galleon, until it seemed to our hero that all the thunders of heaven let loose upon them could not have created a more prodigious uproar, and that it was not possible that they could any of them escape destruction. By now the moon had risen full and round, so that the clouds of smoke that rose in the air appeared as white as snow. The air seemed full of the hiss and screaming of shot, each one of which, when it struck the galleon, was magnified by our hero's imagination into ten times its magnitude from the crash which it delivered and from the cloud of splinters it would cast up into the moonlight. At last he suddenly beheld one poor man knocked sprawling across the deck, who, as he raised his arm from behind the mast, disclosed that the hand was gone from it, and that the shirt sleeve was red with blood in the moonlight. At this sight all the strength fell away from poor Harry, and he felt sure that a like fate or even a worse must be in store for him. But, after all, this was nothing to what it might have been in broad daylight, for what with the darkness of night, and the little preparation the Spaniards could make for such a business, and the extreme haste with which they discharged their guns (many not understanding what was the occasion of all this uproar), nearly all the shot flew so wide of the mark that not above one in twenty struck that at which it was aimed. Meantime Captain Morgan, with the Sieur Simon, who had followed him upon deck, stood just above where our hero lay behind the shelter of the bulwark. The captain had lit a pipe of tobacco, and he stood now in the bright moonlight close to the rail, with his hands behind him, looking out ahead with the utmost coolness imaginable, and paying no more attention to the din of battle than though it were twenty leagues away. Now and then he would take his pipe from his lips to utter an order to the man at the wheel. Excepting this he stood there hardly moving at all, the wind blowing his long red hair over his shoulders. Had it not been for the armed galley the pirates might have got the galleon away with no great harm done in spite of all this cannonading, for the man-of-war which rode at anchor nighest to them at the mouth of the harbor was still so far away that they might have passed it by hugging pretty close to the shore, and that without any great harm being done to them in the darkness. But just at this moment, when the open water lay in sight, came this galley pulling out from behind the point of the shore in such a manner as either to head our pirates off entirely or else to compel them to approach so near to the man-of-war that that latter vessel could bring its guns to bear with more effect. This galley, I must tell you, was like others of its kind such as you may find in these waters, the hull being long and cut low to the water so as to allow the oars to dip freely. The bow was sharp and projected far out ahead, mounting a swivel upon it, while at the stern a number of galleries built one above another into a castle gave shelter to several companies of musketeers as well as the officers commanding them. Our hero could behold the approach of this galley from above the starboard bulwarks, and it appeared to him impossible for them to hope to escape either it or the man-of-war. But still Captain Morgan maintained the same composure that he had exhibited all the while, only now and then delivering an order to the man at the wheel, who, putting the helm over, threw the bows of the galleon around more to the larboard, as though to escape the bow of the galley and get into the open water beyond. This course brought the pirates ever closer and closer to the man-of-war, which now began to add its thunder to the din of the battle, and with so much more effect that at every discharge you might hear the crashing and crackling of splintered wood, and now and then the outcry or groaning of some man who was hurt. Indeed, had it been daylight, they must at this juncture all have perished, though, as was said, what with the night and the confusion and the hurry, they escaped entire destruction, though more by a miracle than through any policy upon their own part. Meantime the galley, steering as though to come aboard of them, had now come so near that it, too, presently began to open its musketry fire upon them, so that the humming and rattling of bullets were presently added to the din of cannonading. In two minutes more it would have been aboard of them, when in a moment Captain Morgan roared out of a sudden to the man at the helm to put it hard a starboard. In response the man ran the wheel over with the utmost quickness, and the galleon, obeying her helm very readily, came around upon a course which, if continued, would certainly bring them into collision with their enemy. It is possible at first the Spaniards imagined the pirates intended to escape past their stern, for they instantly began backing oars to keep them from getting past, so that the water was all of a foam about them, at the same time they did this they poured in such a fire of musketry that it was a miracle that no more execution was accomplished than happened. As for our hero, methinks for the moment he forgot all about everything else than as to whether or no his captain's maneuver would succeed, for in the very first moment he divined, as by some instinct, what Captain Morgan purposed doing. At this moment, so particular in the execution of this nice design, a bullet suddenly struck down the man at the wheel. Hearing the sharp outcry, our Harry turned to see him fall forward, and then to his hands and knees upon the deck, the blood running in a black pool beneath him, while the wheel, escaping from his hands, spun over until the spokes were all of a mist. In a moment the ship would have fallen off before the wind had not our hero, leaping to the wheel (even as Captain Morgan shouted an order for some one to do so), seized the flying spokes, whirling them back again, and so bringing the bow of the galleon up to its former course. In the first moment of this effort he had reckoned of nothing but of carrying out his captain's designs. He neither thought of cannon balls nor of bullets. But now that his task was accomplished, he came suddenly back to himself to find the galleries of the galley aflame with musket shots, and to become aware with a most horrible sinking of the spirits that all the shots therefrom were intended for him. He cast his eyes about him with despair, but no one came to ease him of his task, which, having undertaken, he had too much spirit to resign from carrying through to the end, though he was well aware that the very next instant might mean his sudden and violent death. His ears hummed and rang, and his brain swam as light as a feather. I know not whether he breathed, but he shut his eyes tight as though that might save him from the bullets that were raining about him. At this moment the Spaniards must have discovered for the first time the pirates' design, for of a sudden they ceased firing, and began to shout out a multitude of orders, while the oars lashed the water all about with a foam. But it was too late then for them to escape, for within a couple of seconds the galleon struck her enemy a blow so violent upon the larboard quarter as nearly to hurl our Harry upon the deck, and then with a dreadful, horrible crackling of wood, commingled with a yelling of men's voices, the galley was swung around upon her side, and the galleon, sailing into the open sea, left nothing of her immediate enemy but a sinking wreck, and the water dotted all over with bobbing heads and waving hands in the moonlight. And now, indeed, that all danger was past and gone, there were plenty to come running to help our hero at the wheel. As for Captain Morgan, having come down upon the main deck, he fetches the young helmsman a clap upon the back. "Well, Master Harry," says he, "and did I not tell you I would make a man of you?" Whereat our poor Harry fell a-laughing, but with a sad catch in his voice, for his hands trembled as with an ague, and were as cold as ice. As for his emotions, God knows he was nearer crying than laughing, if Captain Morgan had but known it. Nevertheless, though undertaken under the spur of the moment, I protest it was indeed a brave deed, and I cannot but wonder how many young gentlemen of sixteen there are to-day who, upon a like occasion, would act as well as our Harry. V The balance of our hero's adventures were of a lighter sort than those already recounted, for the next morning the Spanish captain (a very polite and well-bred gentleman) having fitted him out with a shift of his own clothes, Master Harry was presented in a proper form to the ladies. For Captain Morgan, if he had felt a liking for the young man before, could not now show sufficient regard for him. He ate in the great cabin and was petted by all. Madam Simon, who was a fat and red-faced lady, was forever praising him, and the young miss, who was extremely well-looking, was as continually making eyes at him. She and Master Harry, I must tell you, would spend hours together, she making pretense of teaching him French, although he was so possessed with a passion of love that he was nigh suffocated with it. She, upon her part, perceiving his emotions, responded with extreme good nature and complacency, so that had our hero been older, and the voyage proved longer, he might have become entirely enmeshed in the toils of his fair siren. For all this while, you are to understand, the pirates were making sail straight for Jamaica, which they reached upon the third day in perfect safety. In that time, however, the pirates had well-nigh gone crazy for joy; for when they came to examine their purchase they discovered her cargo to consist of plate to the prodigious sum of L180,000 in value. 'Twas a wonder they did not all make themselves drunk for joy. No doubt they would have done so had not Captain Morgan, knowing they were still in the exact track of the Spanish fleets, threatened them that the first man among them who touched a drop of rum without his permission he would shoot him dead upon the deck. This threat had such effect that they all remained entirely sober until they had reached Port Royal Harbor, which they did about nine o'clock in the morning. And now it was that our hero's romance came all tumbling down about his ears with a run. For they had hardly come to anchor in the harbor when a boat came from a man-of-war, and who should come stepping aboard but Lieutenant Grantley (a particular friend of our hero's father) and his own eldest brother Thomas, who, putting on a very stern face, informed Master Harry that he was a desperate and hardened villain who was sure to end at the gallows, and that he was to go immediately back to his home again. He told our embryo pirate that his family had nigh gone distracted because of his wicked and ungrateful conduct. Nor could our hero move him from his inflexible purpose. "What," says our Harry, "and will you not then let me wait until our prize is divided and I get my share?" "Prize, indeed!" says his brother. "And do you then really think that your father would consent to your having a share in this terrible bloody and murthering business?" And so, after a good deal of argument, our hero was constrained to go; nor did he even have an opportunity to bid adieu to his inamorata. Nor did he see her any more, except from a distance, she standing on the poop deck as he was rowed away from her, her face all stained with crying. For himself, he felt that there was no more joy in life; nevertheless, standing up in the stern of the boat, he made shift, though with an aching heart, to deliver her a fine bow with the hat he had borrowed from the Spanish captain, before his brother bade him sit down again. And so to the ending of this story, with only this to relate, that our Master Harry, so far from going to the gallows, became in good time a respectable and wealthy sugar merchant with an English wife and a fine family of children, whereunto, when the mood was upon him, he has sometimes told these adventures (and sundry others not here recounted), as I have told them unto you. Chapter IV. TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX An Old-time Story of the Days of Captain Kidd I TO tell about Tom Chist, and how he got his name, and how he came to be living at the little settlement of Henlopen, just inside the mouth of the Delaware Bay, the story must begin as far back as 1686, when a great storm swept the Atlantic coast from end to end. During the heaviest part of the hurricane a bark went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals, just below Cape Henlopen and at the mouth of the Delaware Bay, and Tom Chist was the only soul of all those on board the ill-fated vessel who escaped alive. This story must first be told, because it was on account of the strange and miraculous escape that happened to him at that time that he gained the name that was given to him. Even as late as that time of the American colonies, the little scattered settlement at Henlopen, made up of English, with a few Dutch and Swedish people, was still only a spot upon the face of the great American wilderness that spread away, with swamp and forest, no man knew how far to the westward. That wilderness was not only full of wild beasts, but of Indian savages, who every fall would come in wandering tribes to spend the winter along the shores of the fresh-water lakes below Henlopen. There for four or five months they would live upon fish and clams and wild ducks and geese, chipping their arrowheads, and making their earthenware pots and pans under the lee of the sand hills and pine woods below the Capes. Sometimes on Sundays, when the Rev. Hillary Jones would be preaching in the little log church back in the woods, these half-clad red savages would come in from the cold, and sit squatting in the back part of the church, listening stolidly to the words that had no meaning for them. But about the wreck of the bark in 1686. Such a wreck as that which then went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals was a godsend to the poor and needy settlers in the wilderness where so few good things ever came. For the vessel went to pieces during the night, and the next morning the beach was strewn with wreckage--boxes and barrels, chests and spars, timbers and planks, a plentiful and bountiful harvest, to be gathered up by the settlers as they chose, with no one to forbid or prevent them. The name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water barrels and sea chests, was the Bristol Merchant, and she no doubt hailed from England. As was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was Tom Chist. A settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly, found Tom. He was washed up on the beach among the wreckage, in a great wooden box which had been securely tied around with a rope and lashed between two spars--apparently for better protection in beating through the surf. Matt Abrahamson thought he had found something of more than usual value when he came upon this chest; but when he cut the cords and broke open the box with his broadax, he could not have been more astonished had he beheld a salamander instead of a baby of nine or ten months old lying half smothered in the blankets that covered the bottom of the chest. Matt Abrahamson's daughter Molly had had a baby who had died a month or so before. So when she saw the little one lying there in the bottom of the chest, she cried out in a great loud voice that the Good Man had sent her another baby in place of her own. The rain was driving before the hurricane storm in dim, slanting sheets, and so she wrapped up the baby in the man's coat she wore and ran off home without waiting to gather up any more of the wreckage. It was Parson Jones who gave the foundling his name. When the news came to his ears of what Matt Abrahamson had found he went over to the fisherman's cabin to see the child. He examined the clothes in which the baby was dressed. They were of fine linen and handsomely stitched, and the reverend gentleman opined that the foundling's parents must have been of quality. A kerchief had been wrapped around the baby's neck and under its arms and tied behind, and in the corner, marked with very fine needlework, were the initials T. C. "What d'ye call him, Molly?" said Parson Jones. He was standing, as he spoke, with his back to the fire, warming his palms before the blaze. The pocket of the greatcoat he wore bulged out with a big case bottle of spirits which he had gathered up out of the wreck that afternoon. "What d'ye call him, Molly?" "I'll call him Tom, after my own baby." "That goes very well with the initial on the kerchief," said Parson Jones. "But what other name d'ye give him? Let it be something to go with the C." "I don't know," said Molly. "Why not call him 'Chist,' since he was born in a chist out of the sea? 'Tom Chist'--the name goes off like a flash in the pan." And so "Tom Chist" he was called and "Tom Chist" he was christened. So much for the beginning of the history of Tom Chist. The story of Captain Kidd's treasure box does not begin until the late spring of 1699. That was the year that the famous pirate captain, coming up from the West Indies, sailed his sloop into the Delaware Bay, where he lay for over a month waiting for news from his friends in New York. For he had sent word to that town asking if the coast was clear for him to return home with the rich prize he had brought from the Indian seas and the coast of Africa, and meantime he lay there in the Delaware Bay waiting for a reply. Before he left he turned the whole of Tom Chist's life topsy-turvy with something that he brought ashore. By that time Tom Chist had grown into a strong-limbed, thick-jointed boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. It was a miserable dog's life he lived with old Matt Abrahamson, for the old fisherman was in his cups more than half the time, and when he was so there was hardly a day passed that he did not give Tom a curse or a buffet or, as like as not, an actual beating. One would have thought that such treatment would have broken the spirit of the poor little foundling, but it had just the opposite effect upon Tom Chist, who was one of your stubborn, sturdy, stiff-willed fellows who only grow harder and more tough the more they are ill-treated. It had been a long time now since he had made any outcry or complaint at the hard usage he suffered from old Matt. At such times he would shut his teeth and bear whatever came to him, until sometimes the half-drunken old man would be driven almost mad by his stubborn silence. Maybe he would stop in the midst of the beating he was administering, and, grinding his teeth, would cry out: "Won't ye say naught? Won't ye say naught? Well, then, I'll see if I can't make ye say naught." When things had reached such a pass as this Molly would generally interfere to protect her foster son, and then she and Tom would together fight the old man until they had wrenched the stick or the strap out of his hand. Then old Matt would chase them out of doors and around and around the house for maybe half an hour, until his anger was cool, when he would go back again, and for a time the storm would be over. Besides his foster mother, Tom Chist had a very good friend in Parson Jones, who used to come over every now and then to Abrahamson's hut upon the chance of getting a half dozen fish for breakfast. He always had a kind word or two for Tom, who during the winter evenings would go over to the good man's house to learn his letters, and to read and write and cipher a little, so that by now he was able to spell the words out of the Bible and the almanac, and knew enough to change tuppence into four ha'pennies. This is the sort of boy Tom Chist was, and this is the sort of life he led. In the late spring or early summer of 1699 Captain Kidd's sloop sailed into the mouth of the Delaware Bay and changed the whole fortune of his life. And this is how you come to the story of Captain Kidd's treasure box. II Old Matt Abrahamson kept the flat-bottomed boat in which he went fishing some distance down the shore, and in the neighborhood of the old wreck that had been sunk on the Shoals. This was the usual fishing ground of the settlers, and here old Matt's boat generally lay drawn up on the sand. There had been a thunderstorm that afternoon, and Tom had gone down the beach to bale out the boat in readiness for the morning's fishing. It was full moonlight now, as he was returning, and the night sky was full of floating clouds. Now and then there was a dull flash to the westward, and once a muttering growl of thunder, promising another storm to come. All that day the pirate sloop had been lying just off the shore back of the Capes, and now Tom Chist could see the sails glimmering pallidly in the moonlight, spread for drying after the storm. He was walking up the shore homeward when he became aware that at some distance ahead of him there was a ship's boat drawn up on the little narrow beach, and a group of men clustered about it. He hurried forward with a good deal of curiosity to see who had landed, but it was not until he had come close to them that he could distinguish who and what they were. Then he knew that it must be a party who had come off the pirate sloop. They had evidently just landed, and two men were lifting out a chest from the boat. One of them was a negro, naked to the waist, and the other was a white man in his shirt sleeves, wearing petticoat breeches, a Monterey cap upon his head, a red bandanna handkerchief around his neck, and gold earrings in his ears. He had a long, plaited queue hanging down his back, and a great sheath knife dangling from his side. Another man, evidently the captain of the party, stood at a little distance as they lifted the chest out of the boat. He had a cane in one hand and a lighted lantern in the other, although the moon was shining as bright as day. He wore jack boots and a handsome laced coat, and he had a long, drooping mustache that curled down below his chin. He wore a fine, feathered hat, and his long black hair hung down upon his shoulders. All this Tom Chist could see in the moonlight that glinted and twinkled upon the gilt buttons of his coat. They were so busy lifting the chest from the boat that at first they did not observe that Tom Chist had come up and was standing there. It was the white man with the long, plaited queue and the gold earrings that spoke to him. "Boy, what do you want here, boy?" he said, in a rough, hoarse voice. "Where d'ye come from?" And then dropping his end of the chest, and without giving Tom time to answer, he pointed off down the beach, and said, "You'd better be going about your own business, if you know what's good for you; and don't you come back, or you'll find what you don't want waiting for you." Tom saw in a glance that the pirates were all looking at him, and then, without saying a word, he turned and walked away. The man who had spoken to him followed him threateningly for some little distance, as though to see that he had gone away as he was bidden to do. But presently he stopped, and Tom hurried on alone, until the boat and the crew and all were dropped away behind and lost in the moonlight night. Then he himself stopped also, turned, and looked back whence he had come. There had been something very strange in the appearance of the men he had just seen, something very mysterious in their actions, and he wondered what it all meant, and what they were going to do. He stood for a little while thus looking and listening. He could see nothing, and could hear only the sound of distant talking. What were they doing on the lonely shore thus at night? Then, following a sudden impulse, he turned and cut off across the sand hummocks, skirting around inland, but keeping pretty close to the shore, his object being to spy upon them, and to watch what they were about from the back of the low sand hills that fronted the beach. He had gone along some distance in his circuitous return when he became aware of the sound of voices that seemed to be drawing closer to him as he came toward the speakers. He stopped and stood listening, and instantly, as he stopped, the voices stopped also. He crouched there silently in the bright, glimmering moonlight, surrounded by the silent stretches of sand, and the stillness seemed to press upon him like a heavy hand. Then suddenly the sound of a man's voice began again, and as Tom listened he could hear some one slowly counting. "Ninety-one," the voice began, "ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred and one"--the slow, monotonous count coming nearer and nearer; "one hundred and two, one hundred and three, one hundred and four," and so on in its monotonous reckoning. Suddenly he saw three heads appear above the sand hill, so close to him that he crouched down quickly with a keen thrill, close beside the hummock near which he stood. His first fear was that they might have seen him in the moonlight; but they had not, and his heart rose again as the counting voice went steadily on. "One hundred and twenty," it was saying--"and twenty-one, and twenty-two, and twenty-three, and twenty-four," and then he who was counting came out from behind the little sandy rise into the white and open level of shimmering brightness. It was the man with the cane whom Tom had seen some time before the captain of the party who had landed. He carried his cane under his arm now, and was holding his lantern close to something that he held in his hand, and upon which he looked narrowly as he walked with a slow and measured tread in a perfectly straight line across the sand, counting each step as he took it. "And twenty-five, and twenty-six, and twenty-seven, and twenty-eight, and twenty-nine, and thirty." Behind him walked two other figures; one was the half-naked negro, the other the man with the plaited queue and the earrings, whom Tom had seen lifting the chest out of the boat. Now they were carrying the heavy box between them, laboring through the sand with shuffling tread as they bore it onward. As he who was counting pronounced the word "thirty," the two men set the chest down on the sand with a grunt, the white man panting and blowing and wiping his sleeve across his forehead. And immediately he who counted took out a slip of paper and marked something down upon it. They stood there for a long time, during which Tom lay behind the sand hummock watching them, and for a while the silence was uninterrupted. In the perfect stillness Tom could hear the washing of the little waves beating upon the distant beach, and once the far-away sound of a laugh from one of those who stood by the ship's boat. One, two, three minutes passed, and then the men picked up the chest and started on again; and then again the other man began his counting. "Thirty and one, and thirty and two, and thirty and three, and thirty and four"--he walked straight across the level open, still looking intently at that which he held in his hand--"and thirty and five, and thirty and six, and thirty and seven," and so on, until the three figures disappeared in the little hollow between the two sand hills on the opposite side of the open, and still Tom could hear the sound of the counting voice in the distance. Just as they disappeared behind the hill there was a sudden faint flash of light; and by and by, as Tom lay still listening to the counting, he heard, after a long interval, a far-away muffled rumble of distant thunder. He waited for a while, and then arose and stepped to the top of the sand hummock behind which he had been lying. He looked all about him, but there was no one else to be seen. Then he stepped down from the hummock and followed in the direction which the pirate captain and the two men carrying the chest had gone. He crept along cautiously, stopping now and then to make sure that he still heard the counting voice, and when it ceased he lay down upon the sand and waited until it began again. Presently, so following the pirates, he saw the three figures again in the distance, and, skirting around back of a hill of sand covered with coarse sedge grass, he came to where he overlooked a little open level space gleaming white in the moonlight. The three had been crossing the level of sand, and were now not more than twenty-five paces from him. They had again set down the chest, upon which the white man with the long queue and the gold earrings had seated to rest himself, the negro standing close beside him. The moon shone as bright as day and full upon his face. It was looking directly at Tom Chist, every line as keen cut with white lights and black shadows as though it had been carved in ivory and jet. He sat perfectly motionless, and Tom drew back with a start, almost thinking he had been discovered. He lay silent, his heart beating heavily in his throat; but there was no alarm, and presently he heard the counting begin again, and when he looked once more he saw they were going away straight across the little open. A soft, sliding hillock of sand lay directly in front of them. They did not turn aside, but went straight over it, the leader helping himself up the sandy slope with his cane, still counting and still keeping his eyes fixed upon that which he held in his hand. Then they disappeared again behind the white crest on the other side. So Tom followed them cautiously until they had gone almost half a mile inland. When next he saw them clearly it was from a little sandy rise which looked down like the crest of a bowl upon the floor of sand below. Upon this smooth, white floor the moon beat with almost dazzling brightness. The white man who had helped to carry the chest was now kneeling, busied at some work, though what it was Tom at first could not see. He was whittling the point of a stick into a long wooden peg, and when, by and by, he had finished what he was about, he arose and stepped to where he who seemed to be the captain had stuck his cane upright into the ground as though to mark some particular spot. He drew the cane out of the sand, thrusting the stick down in its stead. Then he drove the long peg down with a wooden mallet which the negro handed to him. The sharp rapping of the mallet upon the top of the peg sounded loud the perfect stillness, and Tom lay watching and wondering what it all meant. The man, with quick-repeated blows, drove the peg farther and farther down into the sand until it showed only two or three inches above the surface. As he finished his work there was another faint flash of light, and by and by another smothered rumble of thunder, and Tom, as he looked out toward the westward, saw the silver rim of the round and sharply outlined thundercloud rising slowly up into the sky and pushing the other and broken drifting clouds before it. The two white men were now stooping over the peg, the negro man watching them. Then presently the man with the cane started straight away from the peg, carrying the end of a measuring line with him, the other end of which the man with the plaited queue held against the top of the peg. When the pirate captain had reached the end of the measuring line he marked a cross upon the sand, and then again they measured out another stretch of space. So they measured a distance five times over, and then, from where Tom lay, he could see the man with the queue drive another peg just at the foot of a sloping rise of sand that swept up beyond into a tall white dune marked sharp and clear against the night sky behind. As soon as the man with the plaited queue had driven the second peg into the ground they began measuring again, and so, still measuring, disappeared in another direction which took them in behind the sand dune where Tom no longer could see what they were doing. The negro still sat by the chest where the two had left him, and so bright was the moonlight that from where he lay Tom could see the glint of it twinkling in the whites of his eyeballs. Presently from behind the hill there came, for the third time, the sharp rapping sound of the mallet driving still another peg, and then after a while the two pirates emerged from behind the sloping whiteness into the space of moonlight again. They came direct to where the chest lay, and the white man and the black man lifting it once more, they walked away across the level of open sand, and so on behind the edge of the hill and out of Tom's sight. III Tom Chist could no longer see what the pirates were doing, neither did he dare to cross over the open space of sand that now lay between them and him. He lay there speculating as to what they were about, and meantime the storm cloud was rising higher and higher above the horizon, with louder and louder mutterings of thunder following each dull flash from out the cloudy, cavernous depths. In the silence he could hear an occasional click as of some iron implement, and he opined that the pirates were burying the chest, though just where they were at work he could neither see nor tell. Still he lay there watching and listening, and by and by a puff of warm air blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder thunder leaped from out the belly of the storm cloud, which every minute was coming nearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay watching. Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, the three figures reappeared from behind the sand hill, the pirate captain leading the way, and the negro and white man following close behind him. They had gone about halfway across the white, sandy level between the hill and the hummock behind which Tom Chist lay, when the white man stopped and bent over as though to tie his shoe. This brought the negro a few steps in front of his companion. That which then followed happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so swiftly, that Tom Chist had hardly time to realize what it all meant before it was over. As the negro passed him the white man arose suddenly and silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white moonlight glint upon the blade of a great dirk knife which he now held in his hand. He took one, two silent, catlike steps behind the unsuspecting negro. Then there was a sweeping flash of the blade in the pallid light, and a blow, the thump of which Tom could distinctly hear even from where he lay stretched out upon the sand. There was an instant echoing yell from the black man, who ran stumbling forward, who stopped, who regained his footing, and then stood for an instant as though rooted to the spot. Tom had distinctly seen the knife enter his back, and even thought that he had seen the glint of the point as it came out from the breast. Meantime the pirate captain had stopped, and now stood with his hand resting upon his cane looking impassively on. Then the black man started to run. The white man stood for a while glaring after him; then he, too, started after his victim upon the run. The black man was not very far from Tom when he staggered and fell. He tried to rise, then fell forward again, and lay at length. At that instant the first edge of the cloud cut across the moon, and there was a sudden darkness; but in the silence Tom heard the sound of another blow and a groan, and then presently a voice calling to the pirate captain that it was all over. He saw the dim form of the captain crossing the level sand, and then, as the moon sailed out from behind the cloud, he saw the white man standing over a black figure that lay motionless upon the sand. Then Tom Chist scrambled up and ran away, plunging down into the hollow of sand that lay in the shadows below. Over the next rise he ran, and down again into the next black hollow, and so on over the sliding, shifting ground, panting and gasping. It seemed to him that he could hear footsteps following, and in the terror that possessed him he almost expected every instant to feel the cold knife blade slide between his own ribs in such a thrust from behind as he had seen given to the poor black man. So he ran on like one in a nightmare. His feet grew heavy like lead, he panted and gasped, his breath came hot and dry in his throat. But still he ran and ran until at last he found himself in front of old Matt Abrahamson's cabin, gasping, panting, and sobbing for breath, his knees relaxed and his thighs trembling with weakness. As he opened the door and dashed into the darkened cabin (for both Matt and Molly were long ago asleep in bed) there was a flash of light, and even as he slammed to the door behind him there was an instant peal of thunder, heavy as though a great weight had been dropped upon the roof of the sky, so that the doors and windows of the cabin rattled. IV Then Tom Chist crept to bed, trembling, shuddering, bathed in sweat, his heart beating like a trip hammer, and his brain dizzy from that long, terror-inspired race through the soft sand in which he had striven to outstrip he knew not what pursuing horror. For a long, long time he lay awake, trembling and chattering with nervous chills, and when he did fall asleep it was only to drop into monstrous dreams in which he once again saw ever enacted, with various grotesque variations, the tragic drama which his waking eyes had beheld the night before. Then came the dawning of the broad, wet daylight, and before the rising of the sun Tom was up and out of doors to find the young day dripping with the rain of overnight. His first act was to climb the nearest sand hill and to gaze out toward the offing where the pirate ship had been the day before. It was no longer there. Soon afterward Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he called to Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them to be away fishing. All that morning the recollection of the night before hung over Tom Chist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the confined area of the little boat and spread over the entire wide spaces of sky and sea that surrounded them. Not for a moment was it lifted. Even when he was hauling in his wet and dripping line with a struggling fish at the end of it a recurrent memory of what he had seen would suddenly come upon him, and he would groan in spirit at the recollection. He looked at Matt Abrahamson's leathery face, at his lantern jaws cavernously and stolidly chewing at a tobacco leaf, and it seemed monstrous to him that the old man should be so unconscious of the black cloud that wrapped them all about. When the boat reached the shore again he leaped scrambling to the beach, and as soon as his dinner was eaten he hurried away to find the Dominie Jones. He ran all the way from Abrahamson's hut to the parson's house, hardly stopping once, and when he knocked at the door he was panting and sobbing for breath. The good man was sitting on the back-kitchen doorstep smoking his long pipe of tobacco out into the sunlight, while his wife within was rattling about among the pans and dishes in preparation of their supper, of which a strong, porky smell already filled the air. Then Tom Chist told his story, panting, hurrying, tumbling one word over another in his haste, and Parson Jones listened, breaking every now and then into an ejaculation of wonder. The light in his pipe went out and the bowl turned cold. "And I don't see why they should have killed the poor black man," said Tom, as he finished his narrative. "Why, that is very easy enough to understand," said the good reverend man. "'Twas a treasure box they buried!" In his agitation Mr. Jones had risen from his seat and was now stumping up and down, puffing at his empty tobacco pipe as though it were still alight. "A treasure box!" cried out Tom. "Aye, a treasure box! And that was why they killed the poor black man. He was the only one, d'ye see, besides they two who knew the place where 'twas hid, and now that they've killed him out of the way, there's nobody but themselves knows. The villains--Tut, tut, look at that now!" In his excitement the dominie had snapped the stem of his tobacco pipe in two. "Why, then," said Tom, "if that is so, 'tis indeed a wicked, bloody treasure, and fit to bring a curse upon anybody who finds it!" "'Tis more like to bring a curse upon the soul who buried it," said Parson Jones, "and it may be a blessing to him who finds it. But tell me, Tom, do you think you could find the place again where 'twas hid?" "I can't tell that," said Tom, "'twas all in among the sand humps, d'ye see, and it was at night into the bargain. Maybe we could find the marks of their feet in the sand," he added. "'Tis not likely," said the reverend gentleman, "for the storm last night would have washed all that away." "I could find the place," said Tom, "where the boat was drawn up on the beach." "Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom," said his friend. "If we can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there." "If I was certain it was a treasure box," cried out Tom Chist, "I would rake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it." "'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack," said the Rev. Hilary Jones. As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of gloom had been rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were to go treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardly wait for the time to come. V The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together upon the expedition that made Tom's fortune forever. Tom carried a spade over his shoulder and the reverend gentleman walked along beside him with his cane. As they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the only thing they could talk about--the treasure box. "And how big did you say 'twas?" quoth the good gentleman. "About so long," said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade, "and about so wide, and this deep." "And what if it should be full of money, Tom?" said the reverend gentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in the excitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly. "Suppose it should be full of money, what then?" "By Moses!" said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, "I'd buy a ship for myself, I would, and I'd trade to Injyy and to Chiny to my own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, and suppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d'ye suppose, to buy a ship?" "To be sure there would be enough, Tom, enough and to spare, and a good big lump over." "And if I find it 'tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?" "Why, to be sure it would be yours!" cried out the parson, in a loud voice. "To be sure it would be yours!" He knew nothing of the law, but the doubt of the question began at once to ferment in his brain, and he strode along in silence for a while. "Whose else would it be but yours if you find it?" he burst out. "Can you tell me that?" "If ever I have a ship of my own," said Tom Chist, "and if ever I sail to Injy in her, I'll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that ever was fetched from Cochin Chiny." Parson Jones burst out laughing. "Thankee, Tom," he said; "and I'll thankee again when I get my chist of tea. But tell me, Tom, didst thou ever hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they were hatched?" It was thus they talked as they hurried along up the beach together, and so came to a place at last where Tom stopped short and stood looking about him. "'Twas just here," he said, "I saw the boat last night. I know 'twas here, for I mind me of that bit of wreck yonder, and that there was a tall stake drove in the sand just where yon stake stands." Parson Jones put on his barnacles and went over to the stake toward which Tom pointed. As soon as he had looked at it carefully he called out: "Why, Tom, this hath been just drove down into the sand. 'Tis a brand-new stake of wood, and the pirates must have set it here themselves as a mark, just as they drove the pegs you spoke about down into the sand." Tom came over and looked at the stake. It was a stout piece of oak nearly two inches thick; it had been shaped with some care, and the top of it had been painted red. He shook the stake and tried to move it, but it had been driven or planted so deeply into the sand that he could not stir it. "Aye, sir," he said, "it must have been set here for a mark, for I'm sure 'twas not here yesterday or the day before." He stood looking about him to see if there were other signs of the pirates' presence. At some little distance there was the corner of something white sticking up out of the sand. He could see that it was a scrap of paper, and he pointed to it, calling out: "Yonder is a piece of paper, sir. I wonder if they left that behind them?" It was a miraculous chance that placed that paper there. There was only an inch of it showing, and if it had not been for Tom's sharp eyes, it would certainly have been overlooked and passed by. The next windstorm would have covered it up, and all that afterward happened never would have occurred. "Look, sir," he said, as he struck the sand from it, "it hath writing on it." "Let me see it," said Parson Jones. He adjusted the spectacles a little more firmly astride of his nose as he took the paper in his hand and began conning it. "What's all this?" he said; "a whole lot of figures and nothing else." And then he read aloud, "'Mark--S. S. W. S. by S.' What d'ye suppose that means, Tom?" "I don't know, sir," said Tom. "But maybe we can understand it better if you read on." "'Tis all a great lot of figures," said Parson Jones, "without a grain of meaning in them so far as I can see, unless they be sailing directions." And then he began reading again: "'Mark--S. S. W. by S. 40, 72, 91, 130, 151, 177, 202, 232, 256, 271'--d'ye see, it must be sailing directions--'299, 335, 362, 386, 415, 446, 469, 491, 522, 544, 571, 598'--what a lot of them there be '626, 652, 676, 695, 724, 851, 876, 905, 940, 967. Peg. S. E. by E. 269 foot. Peg. S. S. W. by S. 427 foot. Peg. Dig to the west of this six foot.'" "What's that about a peg?" exclaimed Tom. "What's that about a peg? And then there's something about digging, too!" It was as though a sudden light began shining into his brain. He felt himself growing quickly very excited. "Read that over again, sir," he cried. "Why, sir, you remember I told you they drove a peg into the sand. And don't they say to dig close to it? Read it over again, sir--read it over again!" "Peg?" said the good gentleman. "To be sure it was about a peg. Let's look again. Yes, here it is. 'Peg S. E. by E. 269 foot.'" "Aye!" cried out Tom Chist again, in great excitement. "Don't you remember what I told you, sir, 269 foot? Sure that must be what I saw 'em measuring with the line." Parson Jones had now caught the flame of excitement that was blazing up so strongly in Tom's breast. He felt as though some wonderful thing was about to happen to them. "To be sure, to be sure!" he called out, in a great big voice. "And then they measured out 427 foot south-southwest by south, and they then drove another peg, and then they buried the box six foot to the west of it. Why, Tom--why, Tom Chist! if we've read this aright, thy fortune is made." Tom Chist stood staring straight at the old gentleman's excited face, and seeing nothing but it in all the bright infinity of sunshine. Were they, indeed, about to find the treasure chest? He felt the sun very hot upon his shoulders, and he heard the harsh, insistent jarring of a tern that hovered and circled with forked tail and sharp white wings in the sunlight just above their heads; but all the time he stood staring into the good old gentleman's face. It was Parson Jones who first spoke. "But what do all these figures mean?" And Tom observed how the paper shook and rustled in the tremor of excitement that shook his hand. He raised the paper to the focus of his spectacles and began to read again. "'Mark 40, 72, 91--'" "Mark?" cried out Tom, almost screaming. "Why, that must mean the stake yonder; that must be the mark." And he pointed to the oaken stick with its red tip blazing against the white shimmer of sand behind it. "And the 40 and 72 and 91," cried the old gentleman, in a voice equally shrill--"why, that must mean the number of steps the pirate was counting when you heard him." "To be sure that's what they mean!" cried Tom Chist. "That is it, and it can be nothing else. Oh, come, sir--come, sir; let us make haste and find it!" "Stay! stay!" said the good gentleman, holding up his hand; and again Tom Chist noticed how it trembled and shook. His voice was steady enough, though very hoarse, but his hand shook and trembled as though with a palsy. "Stay! stay! First of all, we must follow these measurements. And 'tis a marvelous thing," he croaked, after a little pause, "how this paper ever came to be here." "Maybe it was blown here by the storm," suggested Tom Chist. "Like enough; like enough," said Parson Jones. "Like enough, after the wretches had buried the chest and killed the poor black man, they were so buffeted and bowsed about by the storm that it was shook out of the man's pocket, and thus blew away from him without his knowing aught of it." "But let us find the box!" cried out Tom Chist, flaming with his excitement. "Aye, aye," said the good man; "only stay a little, my boy, until we make sure what we're about. I've got my pocket compass here, but we must have something to measure off the feet when we have found the peg. You run across to Tom Brooke's house and fetch that measuring rod he used to lay out his new byre. While you're gone I'll pace off the distance marked on the paper with my pocket compass here." VI Tom Chist was gone for almost an hour, though he ran nearly all the way and back, upborne as on the wings of the wind. When he returned, panting, Parson Jones was nowhere to be seen, but Tom saw his footsteps leading away inland, and he followed the scuffling marks in the smooth surface across the sand humps and down into the hollows, and by and by found the good gentleman in a spot he at once knew as soon as he laid his eyes upon it. It was the open space where the pirates had driven their first peg, and where Tom Chist had afterward seen them kill the poor black man. Tom Chist gazed around as though expecting to see some sign of the tragedy, but the space was as smooth and as undisturbed as a floor, excepting where, midway across it, Parson Jones, who was now stooping over something on the ground, had trampled it all around about. When Tom Chist saw him he was still bending over, scraping away from something he had found. It was the first peg! Inside of half an hour they had found the second and third pegs, and Tom Chist stripped off his coat, and began digging like mad down into the sand, Parson Jones standing over him watching him. The sun was sloping well toward the west when the blade of Tom Chist's spade struck upon something hard. If it had been his own heart that he had hit in the sand his breast could hardly have thrilled more sharply. It was the treasure box! Parson Jones himself leaped down into the hole, and began scraping away the sand with his hands as though he had gone crazy. At last, with some difficulty, they tugged and hauled the chest up out of the sand to the surface, where it lay covered all over with the grit that clung to it. It was securely locked and fastened with a padlock, and it took a good many blows with the blade of the spade to burst the bolt. Parson Jones himself lifted the lid. Tom Chist leaned forward and gazed down into the open box. He would not have been surprised to have seen it filled full of yellow gold and bright jewels. It was filled half full of books and papers, and half full of canvas bags tied safely and securely around and around with cords of string. Parson Jones lifted out one of the bags, and it jingled as he did so. It was full of money. He cut the string, and with trembling, shaking hands handed the bag to Tom, who, in an ecstasy of wonder and dizzy with delight, poured out with swimming sight upon the coat spread on the ground a cataract of shining silver money that rang and twinkled and jingled as it fell in a shining heap upon the coarse cloth. Parson Jones held up both hands into the air, and Tom stared at what he saw, wondering whether it was all so, and whether he was really awake. It seemed to him as though he was in a dream. There were two-and-twenty bags in all in the chest: ten of them full of silver money, eight of them full of gold money, three of them full of gold dust, and one small bag with jewels wrapped up in wad cotton and paper. "'Tis enough," cried out Parson Jones, "to make us both rich men as long as we live." The burning summer sun, though sloping in the sky, beat down upon them as hot as fire; but neither of them noticed it. Neither did they notice hunger nor thirst nor fatigue, but sat there as though in a trance, with the bags of money scattered on the sand around them, a great pile of money heaped upon the coat, and the open chest beside them. It was an hour of sundown before Parson Jones had begun fairly to examine the books and papers in the chest. Of the three books, two were evidently log books of the pirates who had been lying off the mouth of the Delaware Bay all this time. The other book was written in Spanish, and was evidently the log book of some captured prize. It was then, sitting there upon the sand, the good old gentleman reading in his high, cracking voice, that they first learned from the bloody records in those two books who it was who had been lying inside the Cape all this time, and that it was the famous Captain Kidd. Every now and then the reverend gentleman would stop to exclaim, "Oh, the bloody wretch!" or, "Oh, the desperate, cruel villains!" and then would go on reading again a scrap here and a scrap there. And all the while Tom Chist sat and listened, every now and then reaching out furtively and touching the heap of money still lying upon the coat. One might be inclined to wonder why Captain Kidd had kept those bloody records. He had probably laid them away because they so incriminated many of the great people of the colony of New York that, with the books in evidence, it would have been impossible to bring the pirate to justice without dragging a dozen or more fine gentlemen into the dock along with him. If he could have kept them in his own possession they would doubtless have been a great weapon of defense to protect him from the gallows. Indeed, when Captain Kidd was finally brought to conviction and hung, he was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinous seaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him. The authorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really hung because he was a pirate, and we know that it was the log books that Tom Chist brought to New York that did the business for him; he was accused and convicted of manslaughter for killing of his own ship carpenter with a bucket. So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read through these terrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile of gold and silver money beside him, sat and listened to him. What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were alone, with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide white stretch of sand a desert around them. The sun sank lower and lower, until there was only time to glance through the other papers in the chest. They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor of certain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson Jones, as he read over the names, knew of nearly all the gentlemen by hearsay. Aye, here was this gentleman; he thought that name would be among 'em. What? Here is Mr. So-and-so. Well, if all they say is true, the villain has robbed one of his own best friends. "I wonder," he said, "why the wretch should have hidden these papers so carefully away with the other treasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering his own question: "Like enough because these will give him a hold over the gentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a good bargain for his own neck before he gives the bills back to their owners. I tell you what it is, Tom," he continued, "it is you yourself shall go to New York and bargain for the return of these papers. 'Twill be as good as another fortune to you." The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of the richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with the news of what we have found." "When shall I go?" said Tom Chist. "You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the parson. He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and was now fingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out upon the coat. "I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a score or so of these doubloons?" "You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting with gratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure. "You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom," said the parson, "and I'll thank you to the last day of my life." Tom scooped up a double handful of silver money. "Take it sir," he said, "and you may have as much more as you want of it." He poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands, and the parson made a motion as though to empty it into his pocket. Then he stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to him. "I don't know that 'tis fit for me to take this pirate money, after all," he said. "But you are welcome to it," said Tom. Still the parson hesitated. "Nay," he burst out, "I'll not take it; 'tis blood money." And as he spoke he chucked the whole double handful into the now empty chest, then arose and dusted the sand from his breeches. Then, with a great deal of bustling energy, he helped to tie the bags again and put them all back into the chest. They reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it, and then the parson folded the precious paper of directions, placed it carefully in his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket. "Tom," he said, for the twentieth time, "your fortune has been made this day." And Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half dozen doubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what his friend had said was true. As the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom Chist suddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him. "'Twas just here," he said, digging his heel down into the sand, "that they killed the poor black man." "And here he lies buried for all time," said Parson Jones; and as he spoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered. He would not have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had struck something soft beneath that level surface. But it did not, nor was any sign of that tragedy ever seen again. For, whether the pirates had carried away what they had done and buried it elsewhere, or whether the storm in blowing the sand had completely leveled off and hidden all sign of that tragedy where it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sight again--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones ever knew. VII This is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is to conclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of him in the end. He did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson. Parson Jones had now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and Tom did not have to go back to the fisherman's hut. Old Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in his cups and harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast protestation of what he would do to Tom--if he ever caught him--for running away. But Tom on all these occasions kept carefully out of his way, and nothing came of the old man's threatenings. Tom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but always when the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used to warn him to keep out of her father's way. "He's in as vile a humor as ever I see, Tom," she said; "he sits sulking all day long, and 'tis my belief he'd kill ye if he caught ye." Of course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and he and the reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to themselves. About three weeks later Parson Jones managed to get him shipped aboard of a vessel bound for New York town, and a few days later Tom Chist landed at that place. He had never been in such a town before, and he could not sufficiently wonder and marvel at the number of brick houses, at the multitude of people coming and going along the fine, hard, earthen sidewalk, at the shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows, and, most of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point, at the rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentries pacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful, and so were the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor. It was like a new world, so different was it from the sand hills and the sedgy levels of Henlopen. Tom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town hall, and thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by Parson Jones to Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy returned with a message, asking Tom to come up to Mr. Chillingsworth's house that afternoon at two o'clock. Tom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart fell away altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house, three stories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the front. The counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of Mr. Jones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where the great rich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a leather-covered armchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a bottle of fine old Madeira close to his elbow. Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked. "Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have to tell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got what's-his-name--Mr. Jones's--letter, and now I am ready to hear what you have to say." But if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at first, he soon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not spoken twenty words when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect changed. He straightened himself up in his seat, laid aside his pipe, pushed away his glass of Madeira, and bade Tom take a chair. He listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried treasure, of how he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how he and Parson Jones had recovered the chest again. Only once did Mr. Chillingsworth interrupt the narrative. "And to think," he cried, "that the villain this very day walks about New York town as though he were an honest man, ruffling it with the best of us! But if we can only get hold of these log books you speak of. Go on; tell me more of this." When Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's bearing was as different as daylight is from dark. He asked a thousand questions, all in the most polite and gracious tone imaginable, and not only urged a glass of his fine old Madeira upon Tom, but asked him to stay to supper. There was nobody to be there, he said, but his wife and daughter. Tom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies, sturdily refused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr. Chillingsworth offered him. He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he should live. "And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself." "I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I was washed up out of the sea." "Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why, how was that? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all." Thereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the very beginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had often told it to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's interest changed into an appearance of stronger and stronger excitement. Suddenly he jumped up out of his chair and began to walk up and down the room. "Stop! stop!" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom was saying. "Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the vessel that was wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?" "I've heard it said," said Tom Chist, "'twas the Bristol Merchant." "I knew it! I knew it!" exclaimed the great man, in a loud voice, flinging his hands up into the air. "I felt it was so the moment you began the story. But tell me this, was there nothing found with you with a mark or a name upon it?" "There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C." "Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it! I knew it! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening as this! Boy! boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own brother's son. His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to come. So Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called--did stay to supper, after all. This is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist became rich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his pretty cousin Theodosia (who had been named for his own mother, drowned in the Bristol Merchant). He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New York to live. As to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of ten pounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well with him, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbings he had suffered. The treasure box was brought on to New York, and if Tom Chist did not get all the money there was in it (as Parson Jones had opined he would) he got at least a good big lump of it. And it is my belief that those log books did more to get Captain Kidd arrested in Boston town and hanged in London than anything else that was brought up against him. Chapter V. JACK BALLISTER'S FORTUNES I WE, of these times, protected as we are by the laws and by the number of people about us, can hardly comprehend such a life as that of the American colonies in the early part of the eighteenth century, when it was possible for a pirate like Capt. Teach, known as Blackbeard, to exist, and for the governor and the secretary of the province in which he lived perhaps to share his plunder, and to shelter and to protect him against the law. At that time the American colonists were in general a rough, rugged people, knowing nothing of the finer things of life. They lived mostly in little settlements, separated by long distances from one another, so that they could neither make nor enforce laws to protect themselves. Each man or little group of men had to depend upon his or their own strength to keep what belonged to them, and to prevent fierce men or groups of men from seizing what did not belong to them. It is the natural disposition of everyone to get all that he can. Little children, for instance, always try to take away from others that which they want, and to keep it for their own. It is only by constant teaching that they learn that they must not do so; that they must not take by force what does not belong to them. So it is only by teaching and training that people learn to be honest and not to take what is not theirs. When this teaching is not sufficient to make a man learn to be honest, or when there is something in the man's nature that makes him not able to learn, then he only lacks the opportunity to seize upon the things he wants, just as he would do if he were a little child. In the colonies at that time, as was just said, men were too few and scattered to protect themselves against those who had made up their minds to take by force that which they wanted, and so it was that men lived an unrestrained and lawless life, such as we of these times of better government can hardly comprehend. The usual means of commerce between province and province was by water in coasting vessels. These coasting vessels were so defenseless, and the different colonial governments were so ill able to protect them, that those who chose to rob them could do it almost without danger to themselves. So it was that all the western world was, in those days, infested with armed bands of cruising freebooters or pirates, who used to stop merchant vessels and take from them what they chose. Each province in those days was ruled over by a royal governor appointed by the king. Each governor, at one time, was free to do almost as he pleased in his own province. He was accountable only to the king and his government, and England was so distant that he was really responsible almost to nobody but himself. The governors were naturally just as desirous to get rich quickly, just as desirous of getting all that they could for themselves, as was anybody else only they had been taught and had been able to learn that it was not right to be an actual pirate or robber. They wanted to be rich easily and quickly, but the desire was not strong enough to lead them to dishonor themselves in their own opinion and in the opinion of others by gratifying their selfishness. They would even have stopped the pirates from doing what they did if they could, but their provincial governments were too weak to prevent the freebooters from robbing merchant vessels, or to punish them when they came ashore. The provinces had no navies, and they really had no armies; neither were there enough people living within the community to enforce the laws against those stronger and fiercer men who were not honest. After the things the pirates seized from merchant vessels were once stolen they were altogether lost. Almost never did any owner apply for them, for it would be useless to do so. The stolen goods and merchandise lay in the storehouses of the pirates, seemingly without any owner excepting the pirates themselves. The governors and the secretaries of the colonies would not dishonor themselves by pirating upon merchant vessels, but it did not seem so wicked after the goods were stolen--and so altogether lost--to take a part of that which seemed to have no owner. A child is taught that it is a very wicked thing to take, for instance, by force, a lump of sugar from another child; but when a wicked child has seized the sugar from another and taken it around the corner, and that other child from whom he has seized it has gone home crying, it does not seem so wicked for the third child to take a bite of the sugar when it is offered to him, even if he thinks it has been taken from some one else. It was just so, no doubt, that it did not seem so wicked to Governor Eden and Secretary Knight of North Carolina, or to Governor Fletcher of New York, or to other colonial governors, to take a part of the booty that the pirates, such as Blackbeard, had stolen. It did not even seem very wicked to compel such pirates to give up a part of what was not theirs, and which seemed to have no owner. In Governor Eden's time, however, the colonies had begun to be more thickly peopled, and the laws had gradually become stronger and stronger to protect men in the possession of what was theirs. Governor Eden was the last of the colonial governors who had dealings with the pirates, and Blackbeard was almost the last of the pirates who, with his banded men, was savage and powerful enough to come and go as he chose among the people whom he plundered. Virginia, at that time, was the greatest and the richest of all the American colonies, and upon the farther side of North Carolina was the province of South Carolina, also strong and rich. It was these two colonies that suffered the most from Blackbeard, and it began to be that the honest men that lived in them could endure no longer to be plundered. The merchants and traders and others who suffered cried out loudly for protection, so loudly that the governors of these provinces could not help hearing them. Governor Eden was petitioned to act against the pirates, but he would do nothing, for he felt very friendly toward Blackbeard--just as a child who has had a taste of the stolen sugar feels friendly toward the child who gives it to him. At last, when Blackbeard sailed up into the very heart of Virginia, and seized upon and carried away the daughter of that colony's foremost people, the governor of Virginia, finding that the governor of North Carolina would do nothing to punish the outrage, took the matter into his own hands and issued a proclamation offering a reward of one hundred pounds for Blackbeard, alive or dead, and different sums for the other pirates who were his followers. Governor Spottiswood had the right to issue the proclamation, but he had no right to commission Lieutenant Maynard, as he did, to take down an armed force into the neighboring province and to attack the pirates in the waters of the North Carolina sounds. It was all a part of the rude and lawless condition of the colonies at the time that such a thing could have been done. The governor's proclamation against the pirates was issued upon the eleventh day of November. It was read in the churches the Sunday following and was posted upon the doors of all the government custom offices in lower Virginia. Lieutenant Maynard, in the boats that Colonel Parker had already fitted out to go against the pirates, set sail upon the seventeenth of the month for Ocracoke. Five days later the battle was fought. Blackbeard's sloop was lying inside of Ocracoke Inlet among the shoals and sand bars when he first heard of Governor Spottiswood's proclamation. There had been a storm, and a good many vessels had run into the inlet for shelter. Blackbeard knew nearly all of the captains of these vessels, and it was from them that he first heard of the proclamation. He had gone aboard one of the vessels--a coaster from Boston. The wind was still blowing pretty hard from the southeast. There were maybe a dozen vessels lying within the inlet at that time, and the captain of one of them was paying the Boston skipper a visit when Blackbeard came aboard. The two captains had been talking together. They instantly ceased when the pirate came down into the cabin, but he had heard enough of their conversation to catch its drift. "Why d'ye stop?" he said. "I heard what you said. Well, what then? D'ye think I mind it at all? Spottiswood is going to send his bullies down here after me. That's what you were saying. Well, what then? You don't think I'm afraid of his bullies, do you?" "Why, no, Captain, I didn't say you was afraid," said the visiting captain. "And what right has he got to send down here against me in North Carolina, I should like to ask you?" "He's got none at all," said the Boston captain, soothingly. "Won't you take a taste of Hollands, Captain?" "He's no more right to come blustering down here into Governor Eden's province than I have to come aboard of your schooner here, Tom Burley, and to carry off two or three kegs of this prime Hollands for my own drinking." Captain Burley--the Boston man--laughed a loud, forced laugh. "Why, Captain," he said, "as for two or three kegs of Hollands, you won't find that aboard. But if you'd like to have a keg of it for your own drinking, I'll send it to you and be glad enough to do so for old acquaintance' sake." "But I tell you what 'tis, Captain," said the visiting skipper to Blackbeard, "they're determined and set against you this time. I tell you, Captain, Governor Spottiswood hath issued a hot proclamation against you, and 't hath been read out in all the churches. I myself saw it posted in Yorktown upon the customhouse door and read it there myself. The governor offers one hundred pounds for you, and fifty pounds for your officers, and twenty pounds each for your men." "Well, then," said Blackbeard, holding up his glass, "here, I wish 'em good luck, and when they get their hundred pounds for me they'll be in a poor way to spend it. As for the Hollands," said he, turning to Captain Burley, "I know what you've got aboard here and what you haven't. D'ye suppose ye can blind me? Very well, you send over two kegs, and I'll let you go without search." The two captains were very silent. "As for that Lieutenant Maynard you're all talking about," said Blackbeard, "why, I know him very well. He was the one who was so busy with the pirates down Madagascar way. I believe you'd all like to see him blow me out of the water, but he can't do it. There's nobody in His Majesty's service I'd rather meet than Lieutenant Maynard. I'd teach him pretty briskly that North Carolina isn't Madagascar." On the evening of the twenty-second the two vessels under command of Lieutenant Maynard came into the mouth of Ocracoke Inlet and there dropped anchor. Meantime the weather had cleared, and all the vessels but one had gone from the inlet. The one vessel that remained was a New Yorker. It had been there over a night and a day, and the captain and Blackbeard had become very good friends. The same night that Maynard came into the inlet a wedding was held on the shore. A number of men and women came up the beach in oxcarts and sledges; others had come in boats from more distant points and across the water. The captain of the New Yorker and Blackbeard went ashore together a little after dark. The New Yorker had been aboard of the pirate's sloop for all the latter part of the afternoon, and he and Blackbeard had been drinking together in the cabin. The New York man was now a little tipsy, and he laughed and talked foolishly as he and Blackbeard were rowed ashore. The pirate sat grim and silent. It was nearly dark when they stepped ashore on the beach. The New York captain stumbled and fell headlong, rolling over and over, and the crew of the boat burst out laughing. The people had already begun to dance in an open shed fronting upon the shore. There were fires of pine knots in front of the building, lighting up the interior with a red glare. A negro was playing a fiddle somewhere inside, and the shed was filled with a crowd of grotesque dancing figures--men and women. Now and then they called with loud voices as they danced, and the squeaking of the fiddle sounded incessantly through the noise of outcries and the stamp and shuffling of feet. Captain Teach and the New York captain stood looking on. The New York man had tilted himself against a post and stood there holding one arm around it, supporting himself. He waved the other hand foolishly in time to the music, now and then snapping his thumb and finger. The young woman who had just been married approached the two. She had been dancing, and she was warm and red, her hair blowzed about her head. "Hi, Captain, won't you dance with me?" she said to Blackbeard. Blackbeard stared at her. "Who be you?" he said. She burst out laughing. "You look as if you'd eat a body," she cried. Blackbeard's face gradually relaxed. "Why, to be sure, you're a brazen one, for all the world," he said. "Well, I'll dance with you, that I will. I'll dance the heart out of you." He pushed forward, thrusting aside with his elbow the newly made husband. The man, who saw that Blackbeard had been drinking, burst out laughing, and the other men and women who had been standing around drew away, so that in a little while the floor was pretty well cleared. One could see the negro now; he sat on a barrel at the end of the room. He grinned with his white teeth and, without stopping in his fiddling, scraped his bow harshly across the strings, and then instantly changed the tune to a lively jig. Blackbeard jumped up into the air and clapped his heels together, giving, as he did so, a sharp, short yell. Then he began instantly dancing grotesquely and violently. The woman danced opposite to him, this way and that, with her knuckles on her hips. Everybody burst out laughing at Blackbeard's grotesque antics. They laughed again and again, clapping their hands, and the negro scraped away on his fiddle like fury. The woman's hair came tumbling down her back. She tucked it back, laughing and panting, and the sweat ran down her face. She danced and danced. At last she burst out laughing and stopped, panting. Blackbeard again jumped up in the air and clapped his heels. Again he yelled, and as he did so, he struck his heels upon the floor and spun around. Once more everybody burst out laughing, clapping their hands, and the negro stopped fiddling. Near by was a shanty or cabin where they were selling spirits, and by and by Blackbeard went there with the New York captain, and presently they began drinking again. "Hi, Captain!" called one of the men, "Maynard's out yonder in the inlet. Jack Bishop's just come across from t'other side. He says Mr. Maynard hailed him and asked for a pilot to fetch him in." "Well, here's luck to him, and he can't come in quick enough for me!" cried out Blackbeard in his hoarse, husky voice. "Well, Captain," called a voice, "will ye fight him to-morrow?" "Aye," shouted the pirate, "if he can get in to me, I'll try to give 'em what they seek, and all they want of it into the bargain. As for a pilot, I tell ye what 'tis--if any man hereabouts goes out there to pilot that villain in 'twill be the worst day's work he ever did in all of his life. 'Twon't be fit for him to live in these parts of America if I am living here at the same time." There was a burst of laughter. "Give us a toast, Captain! Give us something to drink to! Aye, Captain, a toast! A toast!" a half dozen voices were calling out at the same time. "Well," cried out the pirate captain, "here's to a good, hot fight to-morrow, and the best dog on top! 'Twill be, Bang! bang!--this way!" He began pulling a pistol out of his pocket, but it stuck in the lining, and he struggled and tugged at it. The men ducked and scrambled away from before him, and then the next moment he had the pistol out of his pocket. He swung it around and around. There was perfect silence. Suddenly there was a flash and a stunning report, and instantly a crash and tinkle of broken glass. One of the men cried out, and began picking and jerking at the back of his neck. "He's broken that bottle all down my neck," he called out. "That's the way 'twill be," said Blackbeard. "Lookee," said the owner of the place, "I won't serve out another drop if 'tis going to be like that. If there's any more trouble I'll blow out the lantern." The sound of the squeaking and scraping of the fiddle and the shouts and the scuffling feet still came from the shed where the dancing was going on. "Suppose you get your dose to-morrow, Captain," some one called out, "what then?" "Why, if I do," said Blackbeard, "I get it, and that's all there is of it." "Your wife'll be a rich widdy then, won't she?" cried one of the men; and there was a burst of laughter. "Why," said the New York captain,--"why, has a--a bloody p-pirate like you a wife then--a--like any honest man?" "She'll be no richer than she is now," said Blackbeard. "She knows where you've hid your money, anyways. Don't she, Captain?" called out a voice. "The civil knows where I've hid my money," said Blackbeard, "and I know where I've hid it; and the longest liver of the twain will git it all. And that's all there is of it." The gray of early day was beginning to show in the east when Blackbeard and the New York captain came down to the landing together. The New York captain swayed and toppled this way and that as he walked, now falling against Blackbeard, and now staggering away from him. II Early in the morning--perhaps eight o'clock--Lieutenant Maynard sent a boat from the schooner over to the settlement, which lay some four or five miles distant. A number of men stood lounging on the landing, watching the approach of the boat. The men rowed close up to the wharf, and there lay upon their oars, while the boatswain of the schooner, who was in command of the boat, stood up and asked if there was any man there who could pilot them over the shoals. Nobody answered, but all stared stupidly at him. After a while one of the men at last took his pipe out of his mouth. "There ben't any pilot here, master," said he; "we ben't pilots." "Why, what a story you do tell!" roared the boatswain. "D'ye suppose I've never been down here before, not to know that every man about here knows the passes of the shoals?" The fellow still held his pipe in his hand. He looked at another one of the men. "Do you know the passes in over the shoals, Jem?" said he. The man to whom he spoke was a young fellow with long, shaggy, sunburnt hair hanging over his eyes in an unkempt mass. He shook his head, grunting, "Na--I don't know naught about t' shoals." "'Tis Lieutenant Maynard of His Majesty's navy in command of them vessels out there," said the boatswain. "He'll give any man five pound to pilot him in." The men on the wharf looked at one another, but still no one spoke, and the boatswain stood looking at them. He saw that they did not choose to answer him. "Why," he said, "I believe you've not got right wits--that's what I believe is the matter with you. Pull me up to the landing, men, and I'll go ashore and see if I can find anybody that's willing to make five pound for such a little bit of piloting as that." After the boatswain had gone ashore the loungers still stood on the wharf, looking down into the boat, and began talking to one another for the men below to hear them. "They're coming in," said one, "to blow poor Blackbeard out of the water." "Aye," said another, "he's so peaceable, too, he is; he'll just lay still and let 'em blow and blow, he will." "There's a young fellow there," said another of the men; "he don't look fit to die yet, he don't. Why, I wouldn't be in his place for a thousand pound." "I do suppose Blackbeard's so afraid he don't know how to see," said the first speaker. At last one of the men in the boat spoke up. "Maybe he don't know how to see," said he, "but maybe we'll blow some daylight into him afore we get through with him." Some more of the settlers had come out from the shore to the end of the wharf, and there was now quite a crowd gathering there, all looking at the men in the boat. "What do them Virginny 'baccy-eaters do down here in Caroliny, anyway?" said one of the newcomers. "They've got no call to be down here in North Caroliny waters." "Maybe you can keep us away from coming, and maybe you can't," said a voice from the boat. "Why," answered the man on the wharf, "we could keep you away easy enough, but you ben't worth the trouble, and that's the truth." There was a heavy iron bolt lying near the edge of the landing. One of the men upon the wharf slyly thrust it out with the end of his foot. It hung for a moment and then fell into the boat below with a crash. "What d'ye mean by that?" roared the man in charge of the boat. "What d'ye mean, ye villains? D'ye mean to stave a hole in us?" "Why," said the man who had pushed it, "you saw 'twasn't done a purpose, didn't you?" "Well, you try it again, and somebody'll get hurt," said the man in the boat, showing the butt end of his pistol. The men on the wharf began laughing. Just then the boatswain came down from the settlement again, and out along the landing. The threatened turbulence quieted as he approached, and the crowd moved sullenly aside to let him pass. He did not bring any pilot with him, and he jumped down into the stern of the boat, saying, briefly, "Push off." The crowd of loungers stood looking after them as they rowed away, and when the boat was some distance from the landing they burst out into a volley of derisive yells. "The villains!" said the boatswain, "they are all in league together. They wouldn't even let me go up into the settlement to look for a pilot." The lieutenant and his sailing master stood watching the boat as it approached. "Couldn't you, then, get a pilot, Baldwin?" said Mr. Maynard, as the boatswain scrambled aboard. "No, I couldn't, sir," said the man. "Either they're all banded together, or else they're all afraid of the villains. They wouldn't even let me go up into the settlement to find one." "Well, then," said Mr. Maynard, "we'll make shift to work in as best we may by ourselves. 'Twill be high tide against one o'clock. We'll run in then with sail as far as we can, and then we'll send you ahead with the boat to sound for a pass, and we'll follow with the sweeps. You know the waters pretty well, you say." "They were saying ashore that the villain hath forty men aboard," said the boatswain.(2) (2) The pirate captain had really only twenty-five men aboard of his ship at the time of the battle. Lieutenant Maynard's force consisted of thirty-five men in the schooner and twenty-five men in the sloop. He carried neither cannons nor carronades, and neither of his vessels was very well fitted for the purpose for which they were designed. The schooner, which he himself commanded, offered almost no protection to the crew. The rail was not more than a foot high in the waist, and the men on the deck were almost entirely exposed. The rail of the sloop was perhaps a little higher, but it, too, was hardly better adapted for fighting. Indeed, the lieutenant depended more upon the moral force of official authority to overawe the pirates than upon any real force of arms or men. He never believed, until the very last moment, that the pirates would show any real fight. It is very possible that they might not have done so had they not thought that the lieutenant had actually no legal right supporting him in his attack upon them in North Carolina waters. It was about noon when anchor was hoisted, and, with the schooner leading, both vessels ran slowly in before a light wind that had begun to blow toward midday. In each vessel a man stood in the bows, sounding continually with lead and line. As they slowly opened up the harbor within the inlet, they could see the pirate sloop lying about three miles away. There was a boat just putting off from it to the shore. The lieutenant and his sailing master stood together on the roof of the cabin deckhouse. The sailing master held a glass to his eye. "She carries a long gun, sir," he said, "and four carronades. She'll be hard to beat, sir, I do suppose, armed as we are with only light arms for close fighting." The lieutenant laughed. "Why, Brookes," he said, "you seem to think forever of these men showing fight. You don't know them as I know them. They have a deal of bluster and make a deal of noise, but when you seize them and hold them with a strong hand, there's naught of fight left in them. 'Tis like enough there'll not be so much as a musket fired to-day. I've had to do with 'em often enough before to know my gentlemen well by this time." Nor, as was said, was it until the very last that the lieutenant could be brought to believe that the pirates had any stomach for a fight. The two vessels had reached perhaps within a mile of the pirate sloop before they found the water too shoal to venture any farther with the sail. It was then that the boat was lowered as the lieutenant had planned, and the boatswain went ahead to sound, the two vessels, with their sails still hoisted but empty of wind, pulling in after with sweeps. The pirate had also hoisted sail, but lay as though waiting for the approach of the schooner and the sloop. The boat in which the boatswain was sounding had run in a considerable distance ahead of the two vessels, which were gradually creeping up with the sweeps until they had reached to within less than half a mile of the pirates--the boat with the boatswain maybe a quarter of a mile closer. Suddenly there was a puff of smoke from the pirate sloop, and then another and another, and the next moment there came the three reports of muskets up the wind. "By zounds!" said the lieutenant. "I do believe they're firing on the boat!" And then he saw the boat turn and begin pulling toward them. The boat with the boatswain aboard came rowing rapidly. Again there were three or four puffs of smoke and three or four subsequent reports from the distant vessel. Then, in a little while, the boat was alongside, and the boatswain came scrambling aboard. "Never mind hoisting the boat," said the lieutenant; "we'll just take her in tow. Come aboard as quick as you can." Then, turning to the sailing master, "Well, Brookes, you'll have to do the best you can to get in over the shoals under half sail." "But, sir," said the master, "we'll be sure to run aground." "Very well, sir," said the lieutenant, "you heard my orders. If we run aground we run aground, and that's all there is of it." "I sounded as far as maybe a little over a fathom," said the mate, "but the villains would let me go no nearer. I think I was in the channel, though. 'Tis more open inside, as I mind me of it. There's a kind of a hole there, and if we get in over the shoals just beyond where I was we'll be all right." "Very well, then, you take the wheel, Baldwin," said the lieutenant, "and do the best you can for us." Lieutenant Maynard stood looking out forward at the pirate vessel, which they were now steadily nearing under half sail. He could see that there were signs of bustle aboard and of men running around upon the deck. Then he walked aft and around the cabin. The sloop was some distance astern. It appeared to have run aground, and they were trying to push it off with the sweeps. The lieutenant looked down into the water over the stern, and saw that the schooner was already raising the mud in her wane. Then he went forward along the deck. His men were crouching down along by the low rail, and there was a tense quietness of expectation about them. The lieutenant looked them over as he passed them. "Johnson," he said, "do you take the lead and line and go forward and sound a bit." Then to the others: "Now, my men, the moment we run her aboard, you get aboard of her as quick as you can, do you understand? Don't wait for the sloop or think about her, but just see that the grappling irons are fast, and then get aboard. If any man offers to resist you, shoot him down. Are you ready, Mr. Cringle?" "Aye, aye, sir," said the gunner. "Very well, then, be ready, men; we'll be aboard 'em in a minute or two." "There's less than a fathom of water here, sir," sang out Johnson from the bows. As he spoke there was a sudden soft jar and jerk, then the schooner was still. They were aground. "Push her off to the lee there! Let go your sheets!" roared the boatswain from the wheel. "Push her off to the lee." He spun the wheel around as he spoke. A half a dozen men sprang up, seized the sweeps, and plunged them into the water. Others ran to help them, but the sweeps only sank into the mud without moving the schooner. The sails had fallen off and they were flapping and thumping and clapping in the wind. Others of the crew had scrambled to their feet and ran to help those at the sweeps. The lieutenant had walked quickly aft again. They were very close now to the pirate sloop, and suddenly some one hailed him from aboard of her. When he turned he saw that there was a man standing up on the rail of the pirate sloop, holding by the back stays. "Who are you?" he called, from the distance, "and whence come you? What do you seek here? What d'ye mean, coming down on us this way?" The lieutenant heard somebody say, "That's Blackbeard hisself." And he looked with great interest at the distant figure. The pirate stood out boldly against the cloudy sky. Somebody seemed to speak to him from behind. He turned his head and then he turned round again. "We're only peaceful merchantmen!" he called out. "What authority have you got to come down upon us this way? If you'll come aboard I'll show you my papers and that we're only peaceful merchantmen." "The villains!" said the lieutenant to the master, who stood beside him. "They're peaceful merchantmen, are they! They look like peaceful merchantmen, with four carronades and a long gun aboard!" Then he called out across the water, "I'll come aboard with my schooner as soon as I can push her off here." "If you undertake to come aboard of me," called the pirate, "I'll shoot into you. You've got no authority to board me, and I won't have you do it. If you undertake it 'twill be at your own risk, for I'll neither ask quarter of you nor give none." "Very well," said the lieutenant, "if you choose to try that, you may do as you please; for I'm coming aboard of you as sure as heaven." "Push off the bow there!" called the boatswain at the wheel. "Look alive! Why don't you push off the bow?" "She's hard aground!" answered the gunner. "We can't budge her an inch." "If they was to fire into us now," said the sailing master, "they'd smash us to pieces." "They won't fire into us," said the lieutenant. "They won't dare to." He jumped down from the cabin deckhouse as he spoke, and went forward to urge the men in pushing off the boat. It was already beginning to move. At that moment the sailing master suddenly called out, "Mr. Maynard! Mr. Maynard! they're going to give us a broadside!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, before Lieutenant Maynard could turn, there came a loud and deafening crash, and then instantly another, and a third, and almost as instantly a crackling and rending of broken wood. There were clean yellow splinters flying everywhere. A man fell violently against the lieutenant, nearly overturning him, but he caught at the stays and so saved himself. For one tense moment he stood holding his breath. Then all about him arose a sudden outcry of groans and shouts and oaths. The man who had fallen against him was lying face down upon the deck. His thighs were quivering, and a pool of blood was spreading and running out from under him. There were other men down, all about the deck. Some were rising; some were trying to rise; some only moved. There was a distant sound of yelling and cheering and shouting. It was from the pirate sloop. The pirates were rushing about upon her decks. They had pulled the cannon back, and, through the grunting sound of the groans about him, the lieutenant could distinctly hear the thud and punch of the rammers, and he knew they were going to shoot again. The low rail afforded almost no shelter against such a broadside, and there was nothing for it but to order all hands below for the time being. "Get below!" roared out the lieutenant. "All hands get below and lie snug for further orders!" In obedience the men ran scrambling below into the hold, and in a little while the decks were nearly clear except for the three dead men and some three or four wounded. The boatswain, crouching down close to the wheel, and the lieutenant himself were the only others upon deck. Everywhere there were smears and sprinkles of blood. "Where's Brookes?" the lieutenant called out. "He's hurt in the arm, sir, and he's gone below," said the boatswain. Thereupon the lieutenant himself walked over to the forecastle hatch, and, hailing the gunner, ordered him to get up another ladder, so that the men could be run up on deck if the pirates should undertake to come aboard. At that moment the boatswain at the wheel called out that the villains were going to shoot again, and the lieutenant, turning, saw the gunner aboard of the pirate sloop in the act of touching the iron to the touchhole. He stooped down. There was another loud and deafening crash of cannon, one, two, three--four--the last two almost together--and almost instantly the boatswain called out, "'Tis the sloop, sir! look at the sloop!" The sloop had got afloat again, and had been coming up to the aid of the schooner, when the pirates fired their second broadside now at her. When the lieutenant looked at her she was quivering with the impact of the shot, and the next moment she began falling off to the wind, and he could see the wounded men rising and falling and struggling upon her decks. At the same moment the boatswain called out that the enemy was coming aboard, and even as he spoke the pirate sloop came drifting out from the cloud of smoke that enveloped her, looming up larger and larger as she came down upon them. The lieutenant still crouched down under the rail, looking out at them. Suddenly, a little distance away, she came about, broadside on, and then drifted. She was close aboard now. Something came flying through the air--another and another. They were bottles. One of them broke with a crash upon the deck. The others rolled over to the farther rail. In each of them a quick-match was smoking. Almost instantly there was a flash and a terrific report, and the air was full of the whiz and singing of broken particles of glass and iron. There was another report, and then the whole air seemed full of gunpowder smoke. "They're aboard of us!" shouted the boatswain, and even as he spoke the lieutenant roared out, "All hands to repel boarders!" A second later there came the heavy, thumping bump of the vessels coming together. Lieutenant Maynard, as he called out the order, ran forward through the smoke, snatching one of his pistols out of his pocket and the cutlass out of its sheath as he did so. Behind him the men were coming, swarming up from below. There was a sudden stunning report of a pistol, and then another and another, almost together. There was a groan and the fall of a heavy body, and then a figure came jumping over the rail, with two or three more directly following. The lieutenant was in the midst of the gun powder smoke, when suddenly Blackbeard was before him. The pirate captain had stripped himself naked to the waist. His shaggy black hair was falling over his eyes, and he looked like a demon fresh from the pit, with his frantic face. Almost with the blindness of instinct the lieutenant thrust out his pistol, firing it as he did so. The pirate staggered back: he was down--no; he was up again. He had a pistol in each hand; but there was a stream of blood running down his naked ribs. Suddenly, the mouth of a pistol was pointing straight at the lieutenant's head. He ducked instinctively, striking upward with his cutlass as he did so. There was a stunning, deafening report almost in his ear. He struck again blindly with his cutlass. He saw the flash of a sword and flung up his guard almost instinctively, meeting the crash of the descending blade. Somebody shot from behind him, and at the same moment he saw some one else strike the pirate. Blackbeard staggered again, and this time there was a great gash upon his neck. Then one of Maynard's own men tumbled headlong upon him. He fell with the man, but almost instantly he had scrambled to his feet again, and as he did so he saw that the pirate sloop had drifted a little away from them, and that their grappling irons had evidently parted. His hand was smarting as though struck with the lash of a whip. He looked around him; the pirate captain was nowhere to be seen--yes, there he was, lying by the rail. He raised himself upon his elbow, and the lieutenant saw that he was trying to point a pistol at him, with an arm that wavered and swayed blindly, the pistol nearly falling from his fingers. Suddenly his other elbow gave way and he fell down upon his face. He tried to raise himself--he fell down again. There was a report and a cloud of smoke, and when it cleared away Blackbeard had staggered up again. He was a terrible figure his head nodding down upon his breast. Somebody shot again, and then the swaying figure toppled and fell. It lay still for a moment--then rolled over--then lay still again. There was a loud splash of men jumping overboard, and then, almost instantly, the cry of "Quarter! quarter!" The lieutenant ran to the edge of the vessel. It was as he had thought: the grappling irons of the pirate sloop had parted, and it had drifted away. The few pirates who had been left aboard of the schooner had jumped overboard and were now holding up their hands. "Quarter!" they cried. "Don't shoot!--quarter!" And the fight was over. The lieutenant looked down at his hand, and then he saw, for the first time, that there was a great cutlass gash across the back of it, and that his arm and shirt sleeve were wet with blood. He went aft, holding the wrist of his wounded hand. The boatswain was still at the wheel. "By zounds!" said the lieutenant, with a nervous, quavering laugh, "I didn't know there was such fight in the villains." His wounded and shattered sloop was again coming up toward him under sail, but the pirates had surrendered, and the fight was over. Chapter VI. BLUESKIN THE PIRATE I CAPE MAY and Cape Henlopen form, as it were, the upper and lower jaws of a gigantic mouth, which disgorges from its monstrous gullet the cloudy waters of the Delaware Bay into the heaving, sparkling blue-green of the Atlantic Ocean. From Cape Henlopen as the lower jaw there juts out a long, curving fang of high, smooth-rolling sand dunes, cutting sharp and clean against the still, blue sky above silent, naked, utterly deserted, excepting for the squat, white-walled lighthouse standing upon the crest of the highest hill. Within this curving, sheltering hook of sand hills lie the smooth waters of Lewes Harbor, and, set a little back from the shore, the quaint old town, with its dingy wooden houses of clapboard and shingle, looks sleepily out through the masts of the shipping lying at anchor in the harbor, to the purple, clean-cut, level thread of the ocean horizon beyond. Lewes is a queer, odd, old-fashioned little town, smelling fragrant of salt marsh and sea breeze. It is rarely visited by strangers. The people who live there are the progeny of people who have lived there for many generations, and it is the very place to nurse, and preserve, and care for old legends and traditions of bygone times, until they grow from bits of gossip and news into local history of considerable size. As in the busier world men talk of last year's elections, here these old bits, and scraps, and odds and ends of history are retailed to the listener who cares to listen--traditions of the War of 1812, when Beresford's fleet lay off the harbor threatening to bombard the town; tales of the Revolution and of Earl Howe's warships, tarrying for a while in the quiet harbor before they sailed up the river to shake old Philadelphia town with the thunders of their guns at Red Bank and Fort Mifflin. With these substantial and sober threads of real history, other and more lurid colors are interwoven into the web of local lore--legends of the dark doings of famous pirates, of their mysterious, sinister comings and goings, of treasures buried in the sand dunes and pine barrens back of the cape and along the Atlantic beach to the southward. Of such is the story of Blueskin, the pirate. II It was in the fall and the early winter of the year 1750, and again in the summer of the year following, that the famous pirate, Blueskin, became especially identified with Lewes as a part of its traditional history. For some time--for three or four years--rumors and reports of Blueskin's doings in the West Indies and off the Carolinas had been brought in now and then by sea captains. There was no more cruel, bloody, desperate, devilish pirate than he in all those pirate-infested waters. All kinds of wild and bloody stories were current concerning him, but it never occurred to the good folk of Lewes that such stories were some time to be a part of their own history. But one day a schooner came drifting into Lewes harbor--shattered, wounded, her forecastle splintered, her foremast shot half away, and three great tattered holes in her mainsail. The mate with one of the crew came ashore in the boat for help and a doctor. He reported that the captain and the cook were dead and there were three wounded men aboard. The story he told to the gathering crowd brought a very peculiar thrill to those who heard it. They had fallen in with Blueskin, he said, off Fenwick's Island (some twenty or thirty miles below the capes), and the pirates had come aboard of them; but, finding that the cargo of the schooner consisted only of cypress shingles and lumber, had soon quitted their prize. Perhaps Blueskin was disappointed at not finding a more valuable capture; perhaps the spirit of deviltry was hotter in him that morning than usual; anyhow, as the pirate craft bore away she fired three broadsides at short range into the helpless coaster. The captain had been killed at the first fire, the cook had died on the way up, three of the crew were wounded, and the vessel was leaking fast, betwixt wind and water. Such was the mate's story. It spread like wildfire, and in half an hour all the town was in a ferment. Fenwick's Island was very near home; Blueskin might come sailing into the harbor at any minute and then--! In an hour Sheriff Jones had called together most of the able-bodied men of the town, muskets and rifles were taken down from the chimney places, and every preparation was made to defend the place against the pirates, should they come into the harbor and attempt to land. But Blueskin did not come that day, nor did he come the next or the next. But on the afternoon of the third the news went suddenly flying over the town that the pirates were inside the capes. As the report spread the people came running--men, women, and children--to the green before the tavern, where a little knot of old seamen were gathered together, looking fixedly out toward the offing, talking in low voices. Two vessels, one bark-rigged, the other and smaller a sloop, were slowly creeping up the bay, a couple of miles or so away and just inside the cape. There appeared nothing remarkable about the two crafts, but the little crowd that continued gathering upon the green stood looking out across the bay at them none the less anxiously for that. They were sailing close-hauled to the wind, the sloop following in the wake of her consort as the pilot fish follows in the wake of the shark. But the course they held did not lie toward the harbor, but rather bore away toward the Jersey shore, and by and by it began to be apparent that Blueskin did not intend visiting the town. Nevertheless, those who stood looking did not draw a free breath until, after watching the two pirates for more than an hour and a half, they saw them--then about six miles away--suddenly put about and sail with a free wind out to sea again. "The bloody villains have gone!" said old Captain Wolfe, shutting his telescope with a click. But Lewes was not yet quit of Blueskin. Two days later a half-breed from Indian River bay came up, bringing the news that the pirates had sailed into the inlet--some fifteen miles below Lewes--and had careened the bark to clean her. Perhaps Blueskin did not care to stir up the country people against him, for the half-breed reported that the pirates were doing no harm, and that what they took from the farmers of Indian River and Rehoboth they paid for with good hard money. It was while the excitement over the pirates was at its highest fever heat that Levi West came home again. III Even in the middle of the last century the grist mill, a couple of miles from Lewes, although it was at most but fifty or sixty years old, had all a look of weather-beaten age, for the cypress shingles, of which it was built, ripen in a few years of wind and weather to a silvery, hoary gray, and the white powdering of flour lent it a look as though the dust of ages had settled upon it, making the shadows within dim, soft, mysterious. A dozen willow trees shaded with dappling, shivering ripples of shadow the road before the mill door, and the mill itself, and the long, narrow, shingle-built, one-storied, hip-roofed dwelling house. At the time of the story the mill had descended in a direct line of succession to Hiram White, the grandson of old Ephraim White, who had built it, it was said, in 1701. Hiram White was only twenty-seven years old, but he was already in local repute as a "character." As a boy he was thought to be half-witted or "natural," and, as is the case with such unfortunates in small country towns where everybody knows everybody, he was made a common sport and jest for the keener, crueler wits of the neighborhood. Now that he was grown to the ripeness of manhood he was still looked upon as being--to use a quaint expression--"slack," or "not jest right." He was heavy, awkward, ungainly and loose-jointed, and enormously, prodigiously strong. He had a lumpish, thick-featured face, with lips heavy and loosely hanging, that gave him an air of stupidity, half droll, half pathetic. His little eyes were set far apart and flat with his face, his eyebrows were nearly white and his hair was of a sandy, colorless kind. He was singularly taciturn, lisping thickly when he did talk, and stuttering and hesitating in his speech, as though his words moved faster than his mind could follow. It was the custom for local wags to urge, or badger, or tempt him to talk, for the sake of the ready laugh that always followed the few thick, stammering words and the stupid drooping of the jaw at the end of each short speech. Perhaps Squire Hall was the only one in Lewes Hundred who misdoubted that Hiram was half-witted. He had had dealings with him and was wont to say that whoever bought Hiram White for a fool made a fool's bargain. Certainly, whether he had common wits or no, Hiram had managed his mill to pretty good purpose and was fairly well off in the world as prosperity went in southern Delaware and in those days. No doubt, had it come to the pinch, he might have bought some of his tormentors out three times over. Hiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months before, through that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian River inlet. He had entered into a "venture" with Josiah Shippin, a Philadelphia merchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds sterling. The money had been invested in a cargo of flour and corn meal which had been shipped to Jamaica by the bark Nancy Lee. The Nancy Lee had been captured by the pirates off Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and the bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water's edge. Five hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the unfortunate "venture" was money bequeathed by Hiram's father, seven years before, to Levi West. Eleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the widow West. She had brought with her to her new home a good-looking, long-legged, black-eyed, black-haired ne'er-do-well of a son, a year or so younger than Hiram. He was a shrewd, quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful, ill-trained perhaps, but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very opposite to poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he was ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he was very fond of Levi West, whom he always called "our Levi," and whom he treated in every way as though he were his own son. He tried to train the lad to work in the mill, and was patient beyond what the patience of most fathers would have been with his stepson's idleness and shiftlessness. "Never mind," he was used to say. "Levi'll come all right. Levi's as bright as a button." It was one of the greatest blows of the old miller's life when Levi ran away to sea. In his last sickness the old man's mind constantly turned to his lost stepson. "Mebby he'll come back again," said he, "and if he does I want you to be good to him, Hiram. I've done my duty by you and have left you the house and mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi comes back again you'll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if he wants one." And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked. After Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five hundred pounds to his "beloved stepson, Levi West," and had left Squire Hall as trustee. Levi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been heard from him; there could be little or no doubt that he was dead. One day Hiram came into Squire Hall's office with a letter in his hand. It was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn meal were fetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies. The letter Hiram brought with him was from a Philadelphia merchant, Josiah Shippin, with whom he had had some dealings. Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should join him in sending a "venture" of flour and corn meal to Kingston, Jamaica. Hiram had slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought it to the old Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the while. "Too much risk, Hiram!" said he. "Mr Shippin wouldn't have asked you to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to do so. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you've come to me for advice?" Hiram shook his head. "Ye haven't? What have ye come for, then?" "Seven hundred pounds," said Hiram. "Seven hundred pounds!" said Squire Hall. "I haven't got seven hundred pounds to lend you, Hiram." "Five hundred been left to Levi--I got hundred--raise hundred more on mortgage," said Hiram. "Tut, tut, Hiram," said Squire Hall, "that'll never do in the world. Suppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I'm responsible for that money. If you wanted to borrow it now for any reasonable venture, you should have it and welcome, but for such a wildcat scheme--" "Levi never come back," said Hiram--"nine years gone Levi's dead." "Mebby he is," said Squire Hall, "but we don't know that." "I'll give bond for security," said Hiram. Squire Hall thought for a while in silence. "Very well, Hiram," said he by and by, "if you'll do that. Your father left the money, and I don't see that it's right for me to stay his son from using it. But if it is lost, Hiram, and if Levi should come back, it will go well to ruin ye." So Hiram White invested seven hundred pounds in the Jamaica venture and every farthing of it was burned by Blueskin, off Currituck Sound. IV Sally Martin was said to be the prettiest girl in Lewes Hundred, and when the rumor began to leak out that Hiram White was courting her the whole community took it as a monstrous joke. It was the common thing to greet Hiram himself with, "Hey, Hiram; how's Sally?" Hiram never made answer to such salutation, but went his way as heavily, as impassively, as dully as ever. The joke was true. Twice a week, rain or shine, Hiram White never failed to scrape his feet upon Billy Martin's doorstep. Twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays, he never failed to take his customary seat by the kitchen fire. He rarely said anything by way of talk; he nodded to the farmer, to his wife, to Sally and, when he chanced to be at home, to her brother, but he ventured nothing further. There he would sit from half past seven until nine o'clock, stolid, heavy, impassive, his dull eyes following now one of the family and now another, but always coming back again to Sally. It sometimes happened that she had other company--some of the young men of the neighborhood. The presence of such seemed to make no difference to Hiram; he bore whatever broad jokes might be cracked upon him, whatever grins, whatever giggling might follow those jokes, with the same patient impassiveness. There he would sit, silent, unresponsive; then, at the first stroke of nine o'clock, he would rise, shoulder his ungainly person into his overcoat, twist his head into his three-cornered hat, and with a "Good night, Sally, I be going now," would take his departure, shutting the door carefully to behind him. Never, perhaps, was there a girl in the world had such a lover and such a courtship as Sally Martin. V It was one Thursday evening in the latter part of November, about a week after Blueskin's appearance off the capes, and while the one subject of talk was of the pirates being in Indian River inlet. The air was still and wintry; a sudden cold snap had set in and skims of ice had formed over puddles in the road; the smoke from the chimneys rose straight in the quiet air and voices sounded loud, as they do in frosty weather. Hiram White sat by the dim light of a tallow dip, poring laboriously over some account books. It was not quite seven o'clock, and he never started for Billy Martin's before that hour. As he ran his finger slowly and hesitatingly down the column of figures, he heard the kitchen door beyond open and shut, the noise of footsteps crossing the floor and the scraping of a chair dragged forward to the hearth. Then came the sound of a basket of corncobs being emptied on the smoldering blaze and then the snapping and crackling of the reanimated fire. Hiram thought nothing of all this, excepting, in a dim sort of way, that it was Bob, the negro mill hand, or old black Dinah, the housekeeper, and so went on with his calculations. At last he closed the books with a snap and, smoothing down his hair, arose, took up the candle, and passed out of the room into the kitchen beyond. A man was sitting in front of the corncob fire that flamed and blazed in the great, gaping, sooty fireplace. A rough overcoat was flung over the chair behind him and his hands were spread out to the roaring warmth. At the sound of the lifted latch and of Hiram's entrance he turned his head, and when Hiram saw his face he stood suddenly still as though turned to stone. The face, marvelously altered and changed as it was, was the face of his stepbrother, Levi West. He was not dead; he had come home again. For a time not a sound broke the dead, unbroken silence excepting the crackling of the blaze in the fireplace and the sharp ticking of the tall clock in the corner. The one face, dull and stolid, with the light of the candle shining upward over its lumpy features, looked fixedly, immovably, stonily at the other, sharp, shrewd, cunning--the red wavering light of the blaze shining upon the high cheek bones, cutting sharp on the nose and twinkling in the glassy turn of the black, ratlike eyes. Then suddenly that face cracked, broadened, spread to a grin. "I have come back again, Hi," said Levi, and at the sound of the words the speechless spell was broken. Hiram answered never a word, but he walked to the fireplace, set the candle down upon the dusty mantelshelf among the boxes and bottles, and, drawing forward a chair upon the other side of the hearth, sat down. His dull little eyes never moved from his stepbrother's face. There was no curiosity in his expression, no surprise, no wonder. The heavy under lip dropped a little farther open and there was more than usual of dull, expressionless stupidity upon the lumpish face; but that was all. As was said, the face upon which he looked was strangely, marvelously changed from what it had been when he had last seen it nine years before, and, though it was still the face of Levi West, it was a very different Levi West than the shiftless ne'er-do-well who had run away to sea in the Brazilian brig that long time ago. That Levi West had been a rough, careless, happy-go-lucky fellow; thoughtless and selfish, but with nothing essentially evil or sinister in his nature. The Levi West that now sat in a rush-bottom chair at the other side of the fireplace had that stamped upon his front that might be both evil and sinister. His swart complexion was tanned to an Indian copper. On one side of his face was a curious discoloration in the skin and a long, crooked, cruel scar that ran diagonally across forehead and temple and cheek in a white, jagged seam. This discoloration was of a livid blue, about the tint of a tattoo mark. It made a patch the size of a man's hand, lying across the cheek and the side of the neck. Hiram could not keep his eyes from this mark and the white scar cutting across it. There was an odd sort of incongruity in Levi's dress; a pair of heavy gold earrings and a dirty red handkerchief knotted loosely around his neck, beneath an open collar, displaying to its full length the lean, sinewy throat with its bony "Adam's apple," gave to his costume somewhat the smack of a sailor. He wore a coat that had once been of fine plum color--now stained and faded--too small for his lean length, and furbished with tarnished lace. Dirty cambric cuffs hung at his wrists and on his fingers were half a dozen and more rings, set with stones that shone, and glistened, and twinkled in the light of the fire. The hair at either temple was twisted into a Spanish curl, plastered flat to the cheek, and a plaited queue hung halfway down his back. Hiram, speaking never a word, sat motionless, his dull little eyes traveling slowly up and down and around and around his stepbrother's person. Levi did not seem to notice his scrutiny, leaning forward, now with his palms spread out to the grateful warmth, now rubbing them slowly together. But at last he suddenly whirled his chair around, rasping on the floor, and faced his stepbrother. He thrust his hand into his capacious coat pocket and brought out a pipe which he proceeded to fill from a skin of tobacco. "Well, Hi," said he, "d'ye see I've come back home again?" "Thought you was dead," said Hiram, dully. Levi laughed, then he drew a red-hot coal out of the fire, put it upon the bowl of the pipe and began puffing out clouds of pungent smoke. "Nay, nay," said he; "not dead--not dead by odds. But [puff] by the Eternal Holy, Hi, I played many a close game [puff] with old Davy Jones, for all that." Hiram's look turned inquiringly toward the jagged scar and Levi caught the slow glance. "You're lookin' at this," said he, running his finger down the crooked seam. "That looks bad, but it wasn't so close as this"--laying his hand for a moment upon the livid stain. "A cooly devil off Singapore gave me that cut when we fell foul of an opium junk in the China Sea four years ago last September. This," touching the disfiguring blue patch again, "was a closer miss, Hi. A Spanish captain fired a pistol at me down off Santa Catharina. He was so nigh that the powder went under the skin and it'll never come out again. ---- his eyes--he had better have fired the pistol into his own head that morning. But never mind that. I reckon I'm changed, ain't I, Hi?" He took his pipe out of his mouth and looked inquiringly at Hiram, who nodded. Levi laughed. "Devil doubt it," said he, "but whether I'm changed or no, I'll take my affidavy that you are the same old half-witted Hi that you used to be. I remember dad used to say that you hadn't no more than enough wits to keep you out of the rain. And, talking of dad, Hi, I hearn tell he's been dead now these nine years gone. D'ye know what I've come home for?" Hiram shook his head. "I've come for that five hundred pounds that dad left me when he died, for I hearn tell of that, too." Hiram sat quite still for a second or two and then he said, "I put that money out to venture and lost it all." Levi's face fell and he took his pipe out of his mouth, regarding Hiram sharply and keenly. "What d'ye mean?" said he presently. "I thought you was dead--and I put--seven hundred pounds--into Nancy Lee--and Blueskin burned her--off Currituck." "Burned her off Currituck!" repeated Levi. Then suddenly a light seemed to break upon his comprehension. "Burned by Blueskin!" he repeated, and thereupon flung himself back in his chair and burst into a short, boisterous fit of laughter. "Well, by the Holy Eternal, Hi, if that isn't a piece of your tarnal luck. Burned by Blueskin, was it?" He paused for a moment, as though turning it over in his mind. Then he laughed again. "All the same," said he presently, "d'ye see, I can't suffer for Blueskin's doings. The money was willed to me, fair and true, and you have got to pay it, Hiram White, burn or sink, Blueskin or no Blueskin." Again he puffed for a moment or two in reflective silence. "All the same, Hi," said he, once more resuming the thread of talk, "I don't reckon to be too hard on you. You be only half-witted, anyway, and I sha'n't be too hard on you. I give you a month to raise that money, and while you're doing it I'll jest hang around here. I've been in trouble, Hi, d'ye see. I'm under a cloud and so I want to keep here, as quiet as may be. I'll tell ye how it came about: I had a set-to with a land pirate in Philadelphia, and somebody got hurt. That's the reason I'm here now, and don't you say anything about it. Do you understand?" Hiram opened his lips as though it was his intent to answer, then seemed to think better of it and contented himself by nodding his head. That Thursday night was the first for a six-month that Hiram White did not scrape his feet clean at Billy Martin's doorstep. VI Within a week Levi West had pretty well established himself among his old friends and acquaintances, though upon a different footing from that of nine years before, for this was a very different Levi from that other. Nevertheless, he was none the less popular in the barroom of the tavern and at the country store, where he was always the center of a group of loungers. His nine years seemed to have been crowded full of the wildest of wild adventures and happenings, as well by land as by sea, and, given an appreciative audience, he would reel off his yarns by the hour, in a reckless, devil-may-care fashion that set agape even old sea dogs who had sailed the western ocean since boyhood. Then he seemed always to have plenty of money, and he loved to spend it at the tavern tap-room, with a lavishness that was at once the wonder and admiration of gossips. At that time, as was said, Blueskin was the one engrossing topic of talk, and it added not a little to Levi's prestige when it was found that he had actually often seen that bloody, devilish pirate with his own eyes. A great, heavy, burly fellow, Levi said he was, with a beard as black as a hat--a devil with his sword and pistol afloat, but not so black as he was painted when ashore. He told of many adventures in which Blueskin figured and was then always listened to with more than usual gaping interest. As for Blueskin, the quiet way in which the pirates conducted themselves at Indian River almost made the Lewes folk forget what he could do when the occasion called. They almost ceased to remember that poor shattered schooner that had crawled with its ghastly dead and groaning wounded into the harbor a couple of weeks since. But if for a while they forgot who or what Blueskin was, it was not for long. One day a bark from Bristol, bound for Cuba and laden with a valuable cargo of cloth stuffs and silks, put into Lewes harbor to take in water. The captain himself came ashore and was at the tavern for two or three hours. It happened that Levi was there and that the talk was of Blueskin. The English captain, a grizzled old sea dog, listened to Levi's yarns with not a little contempt. He had, he said, sailed in the China Sea and the Indian Ocean too long to be afraid of any hog-eating Yankee pirate such as this Blueskin. A junk full of coolies armed with stink-pots was something to speak of, but who ever heard of the likes of Blueskin falling afoul of anything more than a Spanish canoe or a Yankee coaster? Levi grinned. "All the same, my hearty," said he, "if I was you I'd give Blueskin a wide berth. I hear that he's cleaned the vessel that was careened awhile ago, and mebby he'll give you a little trouble if you come too nigh him." To this the Englishman only answered that Blueskin might be----, and that the next afternoon, wind and weather permitting, he intended to heave anchor and run out to sea. Levi laughed again. "I wish I might be here to see what'll happen," said he, "but I'm going up the river to-night to see a gal and mebby won't be back again for three or four days." The next afternoon the English bark set sail as the captain promised, and that night Lewes town was awake until almost morning, gazing at a broad red glare that lighted up the sky away toward the southeast. Two days afterward a negro oysterman came up from Indian River with news that the pirates were lying off the inlet, bringing ashore bales of goods from their larger vessel and piling the same upon the beach under tarpaulins. He said that it was known down at Indian River that Blueskin had fallen afoul of an English bark, had burned her and had murdered the captain and all but three of the crew, who had joined with the pirates. The excitement over this terrible happening had only begun to subside when another occurred to cap it. One afternoon a ship's boat, in which were five men and two women, came rowing into Lewes harbor. It was the longboat of the Charleston packet, bound for New York, and was commanded by the first mate. The packet had been attacked and captured by the pirates about ten leagues south by east of Cape Henlopen. The pirates had come aboard of them at night and no resistance had been offered. Perhaps it was that circumstance that saved the lives of all, for no murder or violence had been done. Nevertheless, officers, passengers and crew had been stripped of everything of value and set adrift in the boats and the ship herself had been burned. The longboat had become separated from the others during the night and had sighted Henlopen a little after sunrise. It may be here said that Squire Hall made out a report of these two occurrences and sent it up to Philadelphia by the mate of the packet. But for some reason it was nearly four weeks before a sloop of war was sent around from New York. In the meanwhile, the pirates had disposed of the booty stored under the tarpaulins on the beach at Indian River inlet, shipping some of it away in two small sloops and sending the rest by wagons somewhere up the country. VII Levi had told the English captain that he was going up-country to visit one of his lady friends. He was gone nearly two weeks. Then once more he appeared, as suddenly, as unexpectedly, as he had done when he first returned to Lewes. Hiram was sitting at supper when the door opened and Levi walked in, hanging up his hat behind the door as unconcernedly as though he had only been gone an hour. He was in an ugly, lowering humor and sat himself down at the table without uttering a word, resting his chin upon his clenched fist and glowering fixedly at the corn cake while Dinah fetched him a plate and knife and fork. His coming seemed to have taken away all of Hiram's appetite. He pushed away his plate and sat staring at his stepbrother, who presently fell to at the bacon and eggs like a famished wolf. Not a word was said until Levi had ended his meal and filled his pipe. "Look'ee, Hiram," said he, as he stooped over the fire and raked out a hot coal. "Look'ee, Hiram! I've been to Philadelphia, d'ye see, a-settlin' up that trouble I told you about when I first come home. D'ye understand? D'ye remember? D'ye get it through your skull?" He looked around over his shoulder, waiting as though for an answer. But getting none, he continued: "I expect two gentlemen here from Philadelphia to-night. They're friends of mine and are coming to talk over the business and ye needn't stay at home, Hi. You can go out somewhere, d'ye understand?" And then he added with a grin, "Ye can go to see Sally." Hiram pushed back his chair and arose. He leaned with his back against the side of the fireplace. "I'll stay at home," said he presently. "But I don't want you to stay at home, Hi," said Levi. "We'll have to talk business and I want you to go!" "I'll stay at home," said Hiram again. Levi's brow grew as black as thunder. He ground his teeth together and for a moment or two it seemed as though an explosion was coming. But he swallowed his passion with a gulp. "You're a----pig-headed, half-witted fool," said he. Hiram never so much as moved his eyes. "As for you," said Levi, whirling round upon Dinah, who was clearing the table, and glowering balefully upon the old negress, "you put them things down and git out of here. Don't you come nigh this kitchen again till I tell ye to. If I catch you pryin' around may I be----, eyes and liver, if I don't cut your heart out." In about half an hour Levi's friends came; the first a little, thin, wizened man with a very foreign look. He was dressed in a rusty black suit and wore gray yarn stockings and shoes with brass buckles. The other was also plainly a foreigner. He was dressed in sailor fashion, with petticoat breeches of duck, a heavy pea-jacket, and thick boots, reaching to the knees. He wore a red sash tied around his waist, and once, as he pushed back his coat, Hiram saw the glitter of a pistol butt. He was a powerful, thickset man, low-browed and bull-necked, his cheek, and chin, and throat closely covered with a stubble of blue-black beard. He wore a red kerchief tied around his head and over it a cocked hat, edged with tarnished gilt braid. Levi himself opened the door to them. He exchanged a few words outside with his visitors, in a foreign language of which Hiram understood nothing. Neither of the two strangers spoke a word to Hiram: the little man shot him a sharp look out of the corners of his eyes and the burly ruffian scowled blackly at him, but beyond that neither vouchsafed him any regard. Levi drew to the shutters, shot the bolt in the outer door, and tilted a chair against the latch of the one that led from the kitchen into the adjoining room. Then the three worthies seated themselves at the table which Dinah had half cleared of the supper china, and were presently deeply engrossed over a packet of papers which the big, burly man had brought with him in the pocket of his pea-jacket. The confabulation was conducted throughout in the same foreign language which Levi had used when first speaking to them--a language quite unintelligible to Hiram's ears. Now and then the murmur of talk would rise loud and harsh over some disputed point; now and then it would sink away to whispers. Twice the tall clock in the corner whirred and sharply struck the hour, but throughout the whole long consultation Hiram stood silent, motionless as a stock, his eyes fixed almost unwinkingly upon the three heads grouped close together around the dim, flickering light of the candle and the papers scattered upon the table. Suddenly the talk came to an end, the three heads separated and the three chairs were pushed back, grating harshly. Levi rose, went to the closet and brought thence a bottle of Hiram's apple brandy, as coolly as though it belonged to himself. He set three tumblers and a crock of water upon the table and each helped himself liberally. As the two visitors departed down the road, Levi stood for a while at the open door, looking after the dusky figures until they were swallowed in the darkness. Then he turned, came in, shut the door, shuddered, took a final dose of the apple brandy and went to bed, without, since his first suppressed explosion, having said a single word to Hiram. Hiram, left alone, stood for a while, silent, motionless as ever, then he looked slowly about him, gave a shake of the shoulders as though to arouse himself, and taking the candle, left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. VIII This time of Levi West's unwelcome visitation was indeed a time of bitter trouble and tribulation to poor Hiram White. Money was of very different value in those days than it is now, and five hundred pounds was in its way a good round lump--in Sussex County it was almost a fortune. It was a desperate struggle for Hiram to raise the amount of his father's bequest to his stepbrother. Squire Hall, as may have been gathered, had a very warm and friendly feeling for Hiram, believing in him when all others disbelieved; nevertheless, in the matter of money the old man was as hard and as cold as adamant. He would, he said, do all he could to help Hiram, but that five hundred pounds must and should be raised--Hiram must release his security bond. He would loan him, he said, three hundred pounds, taking a mortgage upon the mill. He would have lent him four hundred but that there was already a first mortgage of one hundred pounds upon it, and he would not dare to put more than three hundred more atop of that. Hiram had a considerable quantity of wheat which he had bought upon speculation and which was then lying idle in a Philadelphia storehouse. This he had sold at public sale and at a very great sacrifice; he realized barely one hundred pounds upon it. The financial horizon looked very black to him; nevertheless, Levi's five hundred pounds was raised, and paid into Squire Hall's hands, and Squire Hall released Hiram's bond. The business was finally closed on one cold, gray afternoon in the early part of December. As Hiram tore his bond across and then tore it across again and again, Squire Hall pushed back the papers upon his desk and cocked his feet upon its slanting top. "Hiram," said he, abruptly, "Hiram, do you know that Levi West is forever hanging around Billy Martin's house, after that pretty daughter of his?" So long a space of silence followed the speech that the Squire began to think that Hiram might not have heard him. But Hiram had heard. "No," said he, "I didn't know it." "Well, he is," said Squire Hall. "It's the talk of the whole neighborhood. The talk's pretty bad, too. D'ye know that they say that she was away from home three days last week, nobody knew where? The fellow's turned her head with his sailor's yarns and his traveler's lies." Hiram said not a word, but he sat looking at the other in stolid silence. "That stepbrother of yours," continued the old Squire presently, "is a rascal--he is a rascal, Hiram, and I mis-doubt he's something worse. I hear he's been seen in some queer places and with queer company of late." He stopped again, and still Hiram said nothing. "And look'ee, Hiram," the old man resumed, suddenly, "I do hear that you be courtin' the girl, too; is that so?" "Yes," said Hiram, "I'm courtin' her, too." "Tut! tut!" said the Squire, "that's a pity, Hiram. I'm afraid your cakes are dough." After he had left the Squire's office, Hiram stood for a while in the street, bareheaded, his hat in his hand, staring unwinkingly down at the ground at his feet, with stupidly drooping lips and lackluster eyes. Presently he raised his hand and began slowly smoothing down the sandy shock of hair upon his forehead. At last he aroused himself with a shake, looked dully up and down the street, and then, putting on his hat, turned and walked slowly and heavily away. The early dusk of the cloudy winter evening was settling fast, for the sky was leaden and threatening. At the outskirts of the town Hiram stopped again and again stood for a while in brooding thought. Then, finally, he turned slowly, not the way that led homeward, but taking the road that led between the bare and withered fields and crooked fences toward Billy Martin's. It would be hard to say just what it was that led Hiram to seek Billy Martin's house at that time of day--whether it was fate or ill fortune. He could not have chosen a more opportune time to confirm his own undoing. What he saw was the very worst that his heart feared. Along the road, at a little distance from the house, was a mock-orange hedge, now bare, naked, leafless. As Hiram drew near he heard footsteps approaching and low voices. He drew back into the fence corner and there stood, half sheltered by the stark network of twigs. Two figures passed slowly along the gray of the roadway in the gloaming. One was his stepbrother, the other was Sally Martin. Levi's arm was around her, he was whispering into her ear, and her head rested upon his shoulder. Hiram stood as still, as breathless, as cold as ice. They stopped upon the side of the road just beyond where he stood. Hiram's eyes never left them. There for some time they talked together in low voices, their words now and then reaching the ears of that silent, breathless listener. Suddenly there came the clattering of an opening door, and then Betty Martin's voice broke the silence, harshly, shrilly: "Sal!--Sal!--Sally Martin! You, Sally Martin! Come in yere. Where be ye?" The girl flung her arms around Levi's neck and their lips met in one quick kiss. The next moment she was gone, flying swiftly, silently, down the road past where Hiram stood, stooping as she ran. Levi stood looking after her until she was gone; then he turned and walked away whistling. His whistling died shrilly into silence in the wintry distance, and then at last Hiram came stumbling out from the hedge. His face had never looked before as it looked then. IX Hiram was standing in front of the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. He had not touched the supper on the table. Levi was eating with an appetite. Suddenly he looked over his plate at his stepbrother. "How about that five hundred pounds, Hiram?" said he. "I gave ye a month to raise it and the month ain't quite up yet, but I'm goin' to leave this here place day after to-morrow--by next day at the furd'st--and I want the money that's mine." "I paid it to Squire Hall to-day and he has it fer ye," said Hiram, dully. Levi laid down his knife and fork with a clatter. "Squire Hall!" said he, "what's Squire Hall got to do with it? Squire Hall didn't have the use of that money. It was you had it and you have got to pay it back to me, and if you don't do it, by G----, I'll have the law on you, sure as you're born." "Squire Hall's trustee--I ain't your trustee," said Hiram, in the same dull voice. "I don't know nothing about trustees," said Levi, "or anything about lawyer business, either. What I want to know is, are you going to pay me my money or no?" "No," said Hiram, "I ain't--Squire Hall'll pay ye; you go to him." Levi West's face grew purple red. He pushed back, his chair grating harshly. "You--bloody land pirate!" he said, grinding his teeth together. "I see through your tricks. You're up to cheating me out of my money. You know very well that Squire Hall is down on me, hard and bitter--writin' his----reports to Philadelphia and doing all he can to stir up everybody agin me and to bring the bluejackets down on me. I see through your tricks as clear as glass, but ye shatn't trick me. I'll have my money if there's law in the land--ye bloody, unnatural thief ye, who'd go agin our dead father's will!" Then--if the roof had fallen in upon him, Levi West could not have been more amazed--Hiram suddenly strode forward, and, leaning half across the table with his fists clenched, fairly glared into Levi's eyes. His face, dull, stupid, wooden, was now fairly convulsed with passion. The great veins stood out upon his temples like knotted whipcords, and when he spoke his voice was more a breathless snarl than the voice of a Christian man. "Ye'll have the law, will ye?" said he. "Ye'll--have the law, will ye? You're afeared to go to law--Levi West--you try th' law--and see how ye like it. Who 're you to call me thief--ye bloody, murderin' villain ye! You're the thief--Levi West--you come here and stole my daddy from me ye did. You make me ruin--myself to pay what oughter to been mine then--ye ye steal the gal I was courtin', to boot." He stopped and his lips rithed for words to say. "I know ye," said he, grinding his teeth. "I know ye! And only for what my daddy made me promise I'd a-had you up to the magistrate's before this." Then, pointing with quivering finger: "There's the door--you see it! Go out that there door and don't never come into it again--if ye do--or if ye ever come where I can lay eyes on ye again--by th' Holy Holy I'll hale ye up to the Squire's office and tell all I know and all I've seen. Oh, I'll give ye your belly-fill of law if--ye want th' law! Git out of the house, I say!" As Hiram spoke Levi seemed to shrink together. His face changed from its copper color to a dull, waxy yellow. When the other ended he answered never a word. But he pushed back his chair, rose, put on his hat and, with a furtive, sidelong look, left the house, without stopping to finish the supper which he had begun. He never entered Hiram White's door again. X Hiram had driven out the evil spirit from his home, but the mischief that it had brewed was done and could not be undone. The next day it was known that Sally Martin had run away from home, and that she had run away with Levi West. Old Billy Martin had been in town in the morning with his rifle, hunting for Levi and threatening if he caught him to have his life for leading his daughter astray. And, as the evil spirit had left Hiram's house, so had another and a greater evil spirit quitted its harborage. It was heard from Indian River in a few days more that Blueskin had quitted the inlet and had sailed away to the southeast; and it was reported, by those who seemed to know, that he had finally quitted those parts. It was well for himself that Blueskin left when he did, for not three days after he sailed away the Scorpion sloop-of-war dropped anchor in Lewes harbor. The New York agent of the unfortunate packet and a government commissioner had also come aboard the Scorpion. Without loss of time, the officer in command instituted a keen and searching examination that brought to light some singularly curious facts. It was found that a very friendly understanding must have existed for some time between the pirates and the people of Indian River, for, in the houses throughout that section, many things--some of considerable value--that had been taken by the pirates from the packet, were discovered and seized by the commissioner. Valuables of a suspicious nature had found their way even into the houses of Lewes itself. The whole neighborhood seemed to have become more or less tainted by the presence of the pirates. Even poor Hiram White did not escape the suspicions of having had dealings with them. Of course the examiners were not slow in discovering that Levi West had been deeply concerned with Blueskin's doings. Old Dinah and black Bob were examined, and not only did the story of Levi's two visitors come to light, but also the fact that Hiram was present and with them while they were in the house disposing of the captured goods to their agent. Of all that he had endured, nothing seemed to cut poor Hiram so deeply and keenly as these unjust suspicions. They seemed to bring the last bitter pang, hardest of all to bear. Levi had taken from him his father's love; he had driven him, if not to ruin, at least perilously close to it. He had run away with the girl he loved, and now, through him, even Hiram's good name was gone. Neither did the suspicions against him remain passive; they became active. Goldsmiths' bills, to the amount of several thousand pounds, had been taken in the packet and Hiram was examined with an almost inquisitorial closeness and strictness as to whether he had or had not knowledge of their whereabouts. Under his accumulated misfortunes, he grew not only more dull, more taciturn, than ever, but gloomy, moody, brooding as well. For hours he would sit staring straight before him into the fire, without moving so much as a hair. One night--it was a bitterly cold night in February, with three inches of dry and gritty snow upon the ground--while Hiram sat thus brooding, there came, of a sudden, a soft tap upon the door. Low and hesitating as it was, Hiram started violently at the sound. He sat for a while, looking from right to left. Then suddenly pushing back his chair, he arose, strode to the door, and flung it wide open. It was Sally Martin. Hiram stood for a while staring blankly at her. It was she who first spoke. "Won't you let me come in, Hi?" said she. "I'm nigh starved with the cold and I'm fit to die, I'm so hungry. For God's sake, let me come in." "Yes," said Hiram, "I'll let you come in, but why don't you go home?" The poor girl was shivering and chattering with the cold; now she began crying, wiping her eyes with the corner of a blanket in which her head and shoulders were wrapped. "I have been home, Hiram," she said, "but dad, he shut the door in my face. He cursed me just awful, Hi--I wish I was dead!" "You better come in," said Hiram. "It's no good standing out there in the cold." He stood aside and the girl entered, swiftly, gratefully. At Hiram's bidding black Dinah presently set some food before Sally and she fell to eating ravenously, almost ferociously. Meantime, while she ate, Hiram stood with his back to the fire, looking at her face that face once so round and rosy, now thin, pinched, haggard. "Are you sick, Sally?" said he presently. "No," said she, "but I've had pretty hard times since I left home, Hi." The tears sprang to her eyes at the recollection of her troubles, but she only wiped them hastily away with the back of her hand, without stopping in her eating. A long pause of dead silence followed. Dinah sat crouched together on a cricket at the other side of the hearth, listening with interest. Hiram did not seem to see her. "Did you go off with Levi?" said he at last, speaking abruptly. The girl looked up furtively under her brows. "You needn't be afeared to tell," he added. "Yes," said she at last, "I did go off with him, Hi." "Where've you been?" At the question, she suddenly laid down her knife and fork. "Don't you ask me that, Hi," said she, agitatedly, "I can't tell you that. You don't know Levi, Hiram; I darsn't tell you anything he don't want me to. If I told you where I been he'd hunt me out, no matter where I was, and kill me. If you only knew what I know about him, Hiram, you wouldn't ask anything about him." Hiram stood looking broodingly at her for a long time; then at last he again spoke. "I thought a sight of you onc't, Sally," said he. Sally did not answer immediately, but, after a while, she suddenly looked up. "Hiram," said she, "if I tell ye something will you promise on your oath not to breathe a word to any living soul?" Hiram nodded. "Then I'll tell you, but if Levi finds I've told he'll murder me as sure as you're standin' there. Come nigher--I've got to whisper it." He leaned forward close to her where she sat. She looked swiftly from right to left; then raising her lips she breathed into his ear: "I'm an honest woman, Hi. I was married to Levi West before I run away." XI The winter had passed, spring had passed, and summer had come. Whatever Hiram had felt, he had made no sign of suffering. Nevertheless, his lumpy face had begun to look flabby, his cheeks hollow, and his loose-jointed body shrunk more awkwardly together into its clothes. He was often awake at night, sometimes walking up and down his room until far into the small hours. It was through such a wakeful spell as this that he entered into the greatest, the most terrible, happening of his life. It was a sulphurously hot night in July. The air was like the breath of a furnace, and it was a hard matter to sleep with even the easiest mind and under the most favorable circumstances. The full moon shone in through the open window, laying a white square of light upon the floor, and Hiram, as he paced up and down, up and down, walked directly through it, his gaunt figure starting out at every turn into sudden brightness as he entered the straight line of misty light. The clock in the kitchen whirred and rang out the hour of twelve, and Hiram stopped in his walk to count the strokes. The last vibration died away into silence, and still he stood motionless, now listening with a new and sudden intentness, for, even as the clock rang the last stroke, he heard soft, heavy footsteps, moving slowly and cautiously along the pathway before the house and directly below the open window. A few seconds more and he heard the creaking of rusty hinges. The mysterious visitor had entered the mill. Hiram crept softly to the window and looked out. The moon shone full on the dusty, shingled face of the old mill, not thirty steps away, and he saw that the door was standing wide open. A second or two of stillness followed, and then, as he still stood looking intently, he saw the figure of a man suddenly appear, sharp and vivid, from the gaping blackness of the open doorway. Hiram could see his face as clear as day. It was Levi West, and he carried an empty meal bag over his arm. Levi West stood looking from right to left for a second or two, and then he took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Then he softly closed the door behind him and left the mill as he had come, and with the same cautious step. Hiram looked down upon him as he passed close to the house and almost directly beneath. He could have touched him with his hand. Fifty or sixty yards from the house Levi stopped and a second figure arose from the black shadow in the angle of the worm fence and joined him. They stood for a while talking together, Levi pointing now and then toward the mill. Then the two turned, and, climbing over the fence, cut across an open field and through the tall, shaggy grass toward the southeast. Hiram straightened himself and drew a deep breath, and the moon, shining full upon his face, snowed it twisted, convulsed, as it had been when he had fronted his stepbrother seven months before in the kitchen. Great beads of sweat stood on his brow and he wiped them away with his sleeve. Then, coatless, hatless as he was, he swung himself out of the window, dropped upon the grass, and, without an instant of hesitation, strode off down the road in the direction that Levi West had taken. As he climbed the fence where the two men had climbed it he could see them in the pallid light, far away across the level, scrubby meadow land, walking toward a narrow strip of pine woods. A little later they entered the sharp-cut shadows beneath the trees and were swallowed in the darkness. With fixed eyes and close-shut lips, as doggedly, as inexorably as though he were a Nemesis hunting his enemy down, Hiram followed their footsteps across the stretch of moonlit open. Then, by and by, he also was in the shadow of the pines. Here, not a sound broke the midnight hush. His feet made no noise upon the resinous softness of the ground below. In that dead, pulseless silence he could distinctly hear the distant voices of Levi and his companion, sounding loud and resonant in the hollow of the woods. Beyond the woods was a cornfield, and presently he heard the rattling of the harsh leaves as the two plunged into the tasseled jungle. Here, as in the woods, he followed them, step by step, guided by the noise of their progress through the canes. Beyond the cornfield ran a road that, skirting to the south of Lewes, led across a wooden bridge to the wide salt marshes that stretched between the town and the distant sand hills. Coming out upon this road Hiram found that he had gained upon those he followed, and that they now were not fifty paces away, and he could see that Levi's companion carried over his shoulder what looked like a bundle of tools. He waited for a little while to let them gain their distance and for the second time wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve; then, without ever once letting his eyes leave them, he climbed the fence to the roadway. For a couple of miles or more he followed the two along the white, level highway, past silent, sleeping houses, past barns, sheds, and haystacks, looming big in the moonlight, past fields, and woods, and clearings, past the dark and silent skirts of the town, and so, at last, out upon the wide, misty salt marshes, which seemed to stretch away interminably through the pallid light, yet were bounded in the far distance by the long, white line of sand hills. Across the level salt marshes he followed them, through the rank sedge and past the glassy pools in which his own inverted image stalked beneath as he stalked above; on and on, until at last they had reached a belt of scrub pines, gnarled and gray, that fringed the foot of the white sand hills. Here Hiram kept within the black network of shadow. The two whom he followed walked more in the open, with their shadows, as black as ink, walking along in the sand beside them, and now, in the dead, breathless stillness, might be heard, dull and heavy, the distant thumping, pounding roar of the Atlantic surf, beating on the beach at the other side of the sand hills, half a mile away. At last the two rounded the southern end of the white bluff, and when Hiram, following, rounded it also, they were no longer to be seen. Before him the sand hill rose, smooth and steep, cutting in a sharp ridge against the sky. Up this steep hill trailed the footsteps of those he followed, disappearing over the crest. Beyond the ridge lay a round, bowl-like hollow, perhaps fifty feet across and eighteen or twenty feet deep, scooped out by the eddying of the winds into an almost perfect circle. Hiram, slowly, cautiously, stealthily, following their trailing line of footmarks, mounted to the top of the hillock and peered down into the bowl beneath. The two men were sitting upon the sand, not far from the tall, skeleton-like shaft of a dead pine tree that rose, stark and gray, from the sand in which it may once have been buried, centuries ago. XII Levi had taken off his coat and waistcoat and was fanning himself with his hat. He was sitting upon the bag he had brought from the mill and which he had spread out upon the sand. His companion sat facing him. The moon shone full upon him and Hiram knew him instantly--he was the same burly, foreign-looking ruffian who had come with the little man to the mill that night to see Levi. He also had his hat off and was wiping his forehead and face with a red handkerchief. Beside him lay the bundle of tools he had brought--a couple of shovels, a piece of rope, and a long, sharp iron rod. The two men were talking together, but Hiram could not understand what they said, for they spoke in the same foreign language that they had before used. But he could see his stepbrother point with his finger, now to the dead tree and now to the steep, white face of the opposite side of the bowl-like hollow. At last, having apparently rested themselves, the conference, if conference it was, came to an end, and Levi led the way, the other following, to the dead pine tree. Here he stopped and began searching, as though for some mark; then, having found that which he looked for, he drew a tapeline and a large brass pocket compass from his pocket. He gave one end of the tape line to his companion, holding the other with his thumb pressed upon a particular part of the tree. Taking his bearings by the compass, he gave now and then some orders to the other, who moved a little to the left or the right as he bade. At last he gave a word of command, and, thereupon, his companion drew a wooden peg from his pocket and thrust it into the sand. From this peg as a base they again measured, taking bearings by the compass, and again drove a peg. For a third time they repeated their measurements and then, at last, seemed to have reached the point which they aimed for. Here Levi marked a cross with his heel upon the sand. His companion brought him the pointed iron rod which lay beside the shovels, and then stood watching as Levi thrust it deep into the sand, again and again, as though sounding for some object below. It was some while before he found that for which he was seeking, but at last the rod struck with a jar upon some hard object below. After making sure of success by one or two additional taps with the rod, Levi left it remaining where it stood, brushing the sand from his hands. "Now fetch the shovels, Pedro," said he, speaking for the first time in English. The two men were busy for a long while, shoveling away the sand. The object for which they were seeking lay buried some six feet deep, and the work was heavy and laborious, the shifting sand sliding back, again and again, into the hole. But at last the blade of one of the shovels struck upon some hard substance and Levi stooped and brushed away the sand with the palm of his hand. Levi's companion climbed out of the hole which they had dug and tossed the rope which he had brought with the shovels down to the other. Levi made it fast to some object below and then himself mounted to the level of the sand above. Pulling together, the two drew up from the hole a heavy iron-bound box, nearly three feet long and a foot wide and deep. Levi's companion stooped and began untying the rope which had been lashed to a ring in the lid. What next happened happened suddenly, swiftly, terribly. Levi drew back a single step, and shot one quick, keen look to right and to left. He passed his hand rapidly behind his back, and the next moment Hiram saw the moonlight gleam upon the long, sharp, keen blade of a knife. Levi raised his arm. Then, just as the other arose from bending over the chest, he struck, and struck again, two swift, powerful blows. Hiram saw the blade drive, clean and sharp, into the back, and heard the hilt strike with a dull thud against the ribs--once, twice. The burly, black-bearded wretch gave a shrill, terrible cry and fell staggering back. Then, in an instant, with another cry, he was up and clutched Levi with a clutch of despair by the throat and by the arm. Then followed a struggle, short, terrible, silent. Not a sound was heard but the deep, panting breath and the scuffling of feet in the sand, upon which there now poured and dabbled a dark-purple stream. But it was a one-sided struggle and lasted only for a second or two. Levi wrenched his arm loose from the wounded man's grasp, tearing his shirt sleeve from the wrist to the shoulder as he did so. Again and again the cruel knife was lifted, and again and again it fell, now no longer bright, but stained with red. Then, suddenly, all was over. Levi's companion dropped to the sand without a sound, like a bundle of rags. For a moment he lay limp and inert; then one shuddering spasm passed over him and he lay silent and still, with his face half buried in the sand. Levi, with the knife still gripped tight in his hand, stood leaning over his victim, looking down upon his body. His shirt and hand, and even his naked arm, were stained and blotched with blood. The moon lit up his face and it was the face of a devil from hell. At last he gave himself a shake, stooped and wiped his knife and hand and arm upon the loose petticoat breeches of the dead man. He thrust his knife back into its sheath, drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the chest. In the moonlight Hiram could see that it was filled mostly with paper and leather bags, full, apparently of money. All through this awful struggle and its awful ending Hiram lay, dumb and motionless, upon the crest of the sand hill, looking with a horrid fascination upon the death struggle in the pit below. Now Hiram arose. The sand slid whispering down from the crest as he did so, but Levi was too intent in turning over the contents of the chest to notice the slight sound. Hiram's face was ghastly pale and drawn. For one moment he opened his lips as though to speak, but no word came. So, white, silent, he stood for a few seconds, rather like a statue than a living man, then, suddenly, his eyes fell upon the bag, which Levi had brought with him, no doubt, to carry back the treasure for which he and his companion were in search, and which still lay spread out on the sand where it had been flung. Then, as though a thought had suddenly flashed upon him, his whole expression changed, his lips closed tightly together as though fearing an involuntary sound might escape, and the haggard look dissolved from his face. Cautiously, slowly, he stepped over the edge of the sand hill and down the slanting face. His coming was as silent as death, for his feet made no noise as he sank ankle-deep in the yielding surface. So, stealthily, step by step, he descended, reached the bag, lifted it silently. Levi, still bending over the chest and searching through the papers within, was not four feet away. Hiram raised the bag in his hands. He must have made some slight rustle as he did so, for suddenly Levi half turned his head. But he was one instant too late. In a flash the bag was over his head--shoulders--arms--body. Then came another struggle, as fierce, as silent, as desperate as that other--and as short. Wiry, tough, and strong as he was, with a lean, sinewy, nervous vigor, fighting desperately for his life as he was, Levi had no chance against the ponderous strength of his stepbrother. In any case, the struggle could not have lasted long; as it was, Levi stumbled backward over the body of his dead mate and fell, with Hiram upon him. Maybe he was stunned by the fall; maybe he felt the hopelessness of resistance, for he lay quite still while Hiram, kneeling upon him, drew the rope from the ring of the chest and, without uttering a word, bound it tightly around both the bag and the captive within, knotting it again and again and drawing it tight. Only once was a word spoken. "If you'll lemme go," said a muffled voice from the bag, "I'll give you five thousand pounds--it's in that there box." Hiram answered never a word, but continued knotting the rope and drawing it tight. XIII The Scorpion sloop-of-war lay in Lewes harbor all that winter and spring, probably upon the slim chance of a return of the pirates. It was about eight o'clock in the morning and Lieutenant Maynard was sitting in Squire Hall's office, fanning himself with his hat and talking in a desultory fashion. Suddenly the dim and distant noise of a great crowd was heard from without, coming nearer and nearer. The Squire and his visitor hurried to the door. The crowd was coming down the street shouting, jostling, struggling, some on the footway, some in the roadway. Heads were at the doors and windows, looking down upon them. Nearer they came, and nearer; then at last they could see that the press surrounded and accompanied one man. It was Hiram White, hatless, coatless, the sweat running down his face in streams, but stolid and silent as ever. Over his shoulder he carried a bag, tied round and round with a rope. It was not until the crowd and the man it surrounded had come quite near that the Squire and the lieutenant saw that a pair of legs in gray-yarn stockings hung from the bag. It was a man he was carrying. Hiram had lugged his burden five miles that morning without help and with scarcely a rest on the way. He came directly toward the Squire's office and, still sun rounded and hustled by the crowd, up the steep steps to the office within. He flung his burden heavily upon the floor without a word and wiped his streaming forehead. The Squire stood with his knuckles on his desk, staring first at Hiram and then at the strange burden he had brought. A sudden hush fell upon all, though the voices of those without sounded as loud and turbulent as ever. "What is it, Hiram?" said Squire Hall at last. Then for the first time Hiram spoke, panting thickly. "It's a bloody murderer," said he, pointing a quivering finger at the motionless figure. "Here, some of you!" called out the Squire. "Come! Untie this man! Who is he?" A dozen willing fingers quickly unknotted the rope and the bag was slipped from the head and body. Hair and face and eyebrows and clothes were powdered with meal, but, in spite of all and through all the innocent whiteness, dark spots and blotches and smears of blood showed upon head and arm and shirt. Levi raised himself upon his elbow and looked scowlingly around at the amazed, wonderstruck faces surrounding him. "Why, it's Levi West!" croaked the Squire, at last finding his voice. Then, suddenly, Lieutenant Maynard pushed forward, before the others crowded around the figure on the floor, and, clutching Levi by the hair, dragged his head backward so as to better see his face. "Levi West!" said he in a loud voice. "Is this the Levi West you've been telling me of? Look at that scar and the mark on his cheek! THIS IS BLUESKIN HIMSELF." XIV In the chest which Blueskin had dug up out of the sand were found not only the goldsmiths' bills taken from the packet, but also many other valuables belonging to the officers and the passengers of the unfortunate ship. The New York agents offered Hiram a handsome reward for his efforts in recovering the lost bills, but Hiram declined it, positively and finally. "All I want," said he, in his usual dull, stolid fashion, "is to have folks know I'm honest." Nevertheless, though he did not accept what the agents of the packet offered, fate took the matter into its own hands and rewarded him not unsubstantially. Blueskin was taken to England in the Scorpion. But he never came to trial. While in Newgate he hanged himself to the cell window with his own stockings. The news of his end was brought to Lewes in the early autumn and Squire Hall took immediate measures to have the five hundred pounds of his father's legacy duly transferred to Hiram. In November Hiram married the pirate's widow. Chapter VII. CAPTAIN SCARFIELD PREFACE The author of this narrative cannot recall that, in any history of the famous pirates, he has ever read a detailed and sufficient account of the life and death of Capt. John Scarfield. Doubtless some data concerning his death and the destruction of his schooner might be gathered from the report of Lieutenant Mainwaring, now filed in the archives of the Navy Department, out beyond such bald and bloodless narrative the author knows of nothing, unless it be the little chap-book history published by Isaiah Thomas in Newburyport about the year 1821-22, entitled, "A True History of the Life and Death of Captain Jack Scarfield." This lack of particularity in the history of one so notable in his profession it is the design of the present narrative in a measure to supply, and, if the author has seen fit to cast it in the form of a fictional story, it is only that it may make more easy reading for those who see fit to follow the tale from this to its conclusion. I ELEAZER COOPER, or Captain Cooper, as was his better-known title in Philadelphia, was a prominent member of the Society of Friends. He was an overseer of the meeting and an occasional speaker upon particular occasions. When at home from one of his many voyages he never failed to occupy his seat in the meeting both on First Day and Fifth Day, and he was regarded by his fellow townsmen as a model of business integrity and of domestic responsibility. More incidental to this history, however, it is to be narrated that Captain Cooper was one of those trading skippers who carried their own merchandise in their own vessels which they sailed themselves, and on whose decks they did their own bartering. His vessel was a swift, large schooner, the Eliza Cooper, of Philadelphia, named for his wife. His cruising grounds were the West India Islands, and his merchandise was flour and corn meal ground at the Brandywine Mills at Wilmington, Delaware. During the War of 1812 he had earned, as was very well known, an extraordinary fortune in this trading; for flour and corn meal sold at fabulous prices in the French, Spanish, Dutch, and Danish islands, cut off, as they were, from the rest of the world by the British blockade. The running of this blockade was one of the most hazardous maritime ventures possible, but Captain Cooper had met with such unvaried success, and had sold his merchandise at such incredible profit that, at the end of the war, he found himself to have become one of the wealthiest merchants of his native city. It was known at one time that his balance in the Mechanics' Bank was greater than that of any other individual depositor upon the books, and it was told of him that he had once deposited in the bank a chest of foreign silver coin, the exchanged value of which, when translated into American currency, was upward of forty-two thousand dollars--a prodigious sum of money in those days. In person, Captain Cooper was tall and angular of frame. His face was thin and severe, wearing continually an unsmiling, mask-like expression of continent and unruffled sobriety. His manner was dry and taciturn, and his conduct and life were measured to the most absolute accord with the teachings of his religious belief. He lived in an old-fashioned house on Front Street below Spruce--as pleasant, cheerful a house as ever a trading captain could return to. At the back of the house a lawn sloped steeply down toward the river. To the south stood the wharf and storehouses; to the north an orchard and kitchen garden bloomed with abundant verdure. Two large chestnut trees sheltered the porch and the little space of lawn, and when you sat under them in the shade you looked down the slope between two rows of box bushes directly across the shining river to the Jersey shore. At the time of our story--that is, about the year 1820--this property had increased very greatly in value, but it was the old home of the Coopers, as Eleazer Cooper was entirely rich enough to indulge his fancy in such matters. Accordingly, as he chose to live in the same house where his father and his grandfather had dwelt before him, he peremptorily, if quietly, refused all offers looking toward the purchase of the lot of ground--though it was now worth five or six times its former value. As was said, it was a cheerful, pleasant home, impressing you when you entered it with the feeling of spotless and all-pervading cleanliness--a cleanliness that greeted you in the shining brass door-knocker; that entertained you in the sitting room with its stiff, leather-covered furniture, the brass-headed tacks whereof sparkled like so many stars--a cleanliness that bade you farewell in the spotless stretch of sand-sprinkled hallway, the wooden floor of which was worn into knobs around the nail heads by the countless scourings and scrubbings to which it had been subjected and which left behind them an all-pervading faint, fragrant odor of soap and warm water. Eleazer Cooper and his wife were childless, but one inmate made the great, silent, shady house bright with life. Lucinda Fairbanks, a niece of Captain Cooper's by his only sister, was a handsome, sprightly girl of eighteen or twenty, and a great favorite in the Quaker society of the city. It remains only to introduce the final and, perhaps, the most important actor of the narrative Lieut. James Mainwaring. During the past twelve months or so he had been a frequent visitor at the Cooper house. At this time he was a broad-shouldered, red-cheeked, stalwart fellow of twenty-six or twenty-eight. He was a great social favorite, and possessed the added romantic interest of having been aboard the Constitution when she fought the Guerriere, and of having, with his own hands, touched the match that fired the first gun of that great battle. Mainwaring's mother and Eliza Cooper had always been intimate friends, and the coming and going of the young man during his leave of absence were looked upon in the house as quite a matter of course. Half a dozen times a week he would drop in to execute some little commission for the ladies, or, if Captain Cooper was at home, to smoke a pipe of tobacco with him, to sip a dram of his famous old Jamaica rum, or to play a rubber of checkers of an evening. It is not likely that either of the older people was the least aware of the real cause of his visits; still less did they suspect that any passages of sentiment had passed between the young people. The truth was that Mainwaring and the young lady were very deeply in love. It was a love that they were obliged to keep a profound secret, for not only had Eleazer Cooper held the strictest sort of testimony against the late war--a testimony so rigorous as to render it altogether unlikely that one of so military a profession as Mainwaring practiced could hope for his consent to a suit for marriage, but Lucinda could not have married one not a member of the Society of Friends without losing her own birthright membership therein. She herself might not attach much weight to such a loss of membership in the Society, but her fear of, and her respect for, her uncle led her to walk very closely in her path of duty in this respect. Accordingly she and Mainwaring met as they could--clandestinely--and the stolen moments were very sweet. With equal secrecy Lucinda had, at the request of her lover, sat for a miniature portrait to Mrs. Gregory, which miniature, set in a gold medallion, Mainwaring, with a mild, sentimental pleasure, wore hung around his neck and beneath his shirt frill next his heart. In the month of April of the year 1820 Mainwaring received orders to report at Washington. During the preceding autumn the West India pirates, and notably Capt. Jack Scarfield, had been more than usually active, and the loss of the packet Marblehead (which, sailing from Charleston, South Carolina, was never heard of more) was attributed to them. Two other coasting vessels off the coast of Georgia had been looted and burned by Scarfield, and the government had at last aroused itself to the necessity of active measures for repressing these pests of the West India waters. Mainwaring received orders to take command of the Yankee, a swift, light-draught, heavily armed brig of war, and to cruise about the Bahama Islands and to capture and destroy all the pirates' vessels he could there discover. On his way from Washington to New York, where the Yankee was then waiting orders, Mainwaring stopped in Philadelphia to bid good-by to his many friends in that city. He called at the old Cooper house. It was on a Sunday afternoon. The spring was early and the weather extremely pleasant that day, being filled with a warmth almost as of summer. The apple trees were already in full bloom and filled all the air with their fragrance. Everywhere there seemed to be the pervading hum of bees, and the drowsy, tepid sunshine was very delightful. At that time Eleazer was just home from an unusually successful voyage to Antigua. Mainwaring found the family sitting under one of the still leafless chestnut trees, Captain Cooper smoking his long clay pipe and lazily perusing a copy of the National Gazette. Eleazer listened with a great deal of interest to what Mainwaring had to say of his proposed cruise. He himself knew a great deal about the pirates, and, singularly unbending from his normal, stiff taciturnity, he began telling of what he knew, particularly of Captain Scarfield--in whom he appeared to take an extraordinary interest. Vastly to Mainwaring's surprise, the old Quaker assumed the position of a defendant of the pirates, protesting that the wickedness of the accused was enormously exaggerated. He declared that he knew some of the freebooters very well and that at the most they were poor, misdirected wretches who had, by easy gradation, slid into their present evil ways, from having been tempted by the government authorities to enter into privateering in the days of the late war. He conceded that Captain Scarfield had done many cruel and wicked deeds, but he averred that he had also performed many kind and benevolent actions. The world made no note of these latter, but took care only to condemn the evil that had been done. He acknowledged that it was true that the pirate had allowed his crew to cast lots for the wife and the daughter of the skipper of the Northern Rose, but there were none of his accusers who told how, at the risk of his own life and the lives of all his crew, he had given succor to the schooner Halifax, found adrift with all hands down with yellow fever. There was no defender of his actions to tell how he and his crew of pirates had sailed the pest-stricken vessel almost into the rescuing waters of Kingston harbor. Eleazer confessed that he could not deny that when Scarfield had tied the skipper of the Baltimore Belle naked to the foremast of his own brig he had permitted his crew of cutthroats (who were drunk at the time) to throw bottles at the helpless captive, who died that night of the wounds he had received. For this he was doubtless very justly condemned, but who was there to praise him when he had, at the risk of his life and in the face of the authorities, carried a cargo of provisions which he himself had purchased at Tampa Bay to the Island of Bella Vista after the great hurricane of 1818? In this notable adventure he had barely escaped, after a two days' chase, the British frigate Ceres, whose captain, had a capture been effected, would instantly have hung the unfortunate man to the yardarm in spite of the beneficent mission he was in the act of conducting. In all this Eleazer had the air of conducting the case for the defendant. As he talked he became more and more animated and voluble. The light went out in his tobacco pipe, and a hectic spot appeared in either thin and sallow cheek. Mainwaring sat wondering to hear the severely peaceful Quaker preacher defending so notoriously bloody and cruel a cutthroat pirate as Capt. Jack Scarfield. The warm and innocent surroundings, the old brick house looking down upon them, the odor of apple blossoms and the hum of bees seemed to make it all the more incongruous. And still the elderly Quaker skipper talked on and on with hardly an interruption, till the warm sun slanted to the west and the day began to decline. That evening Mainwaring stayed to tea and when he parted from Lucinda Fairbanks it was after nightfall, with a clear, round moon shining in the milky sky and a radiance pallid and unreal enveloping the old house, the blooming apple trees, the sloping lawn and the shining river beyond. He implored his sweetheart to let him tell her uncle and aunt of their acknowledged love and to ask the old man's consent to it, but she would not permit him to do so. They were so happy as they were. Who knew but what her uncle might forbid their fondness? Would he not wait a little longer? Maybe it would all come right after a while. She was so fond, so tender, so tearful at the nearness of their parting that he had not the heart to insist. At the same time it was with a feeling almost of despair that he realized that he must now be gone--maybe for the space of two years--without in all that time possessing the right to call her his before the world. When he bade farewell to the older people it was with a choking feeling of bitter disappointment. He yet felt the pressure of her cheek against his shoulder, the touch of soft and velvet lips to his own. But what were such clandestine endearments compared to what might, perchance, be his--the right of calling her his own when he was far away and upon the distant sea? And, besides, he felt like a coward who had shirked his duty. But he was very much in love. The next morning appeared in a drizzle of rain that followed the beautiful warmth of the day before. He had the coach all to himself, and in the damp and leathery solitude he drew out the little oval picture from beneath his shirt frill and looked long and fixedly with a fond and foolish joy at the innocent face, the blue eyes, the red, smiling lips depicted upon the satinlike, ivory surface. II For the better part of five months Mainwaring cruised about in the waters surrounding the Bahama Islands. In that time he ran to earth and dispersed a dozen nests of pirates. He destroyed no less than fifteen piratical crafts of all sizes, from a large half-decked whaleboat to a three-hundred-ton barkentine. The name of the Yankee became a terror to every sea wolf in the western tropics, and the waters of the Bahama Islands became swept almost clean of the bloody wretches who had so lately infested it. But the one freebooter of all others whom he sought--Capt. Jack Scarfield--seemed to evade him like a shadow, to slip through his fingers like magic. Twice he came almost within touch of the famous marauder, both times in the ominous wrecks that the pirate captain had left behind him. The first of these was the water-logged remains of a burned and still smoking wreck that he found adrift in the great Bahama channel. It was the Water Witch, of Salem, but he did not learn her tragic story until, two weeks later, he discovered a part of her crew at Port Maria, on the north coast of Jamaica. It was, indeed, a dreadful story to which he listened. The castaways said that they of all the vessel's crew had been spared so that they might tell the commander of the Yankee, should they meet him, that he might keep what he found, with Captain Scarfield's compliments, who served it up to him hot cooked. Three weeks later he rescued what remained of the crew of the shattered, bloody hulk of the Baltimore Belle, eight of whose crew, headed by the captain, had been tied hand and foot and heaved overboard. Again, there was a message from Captain Scarfield to the commander of the Yankee that he might season what he found to suit his own taste. Mainwaring was of a sanguine disposition, with fiery temper. He swore, with the utmost vehemence, that either he or John Scarfield would have to leave the earth. He had little suspicion of how soon was to befall the ominous realization of his angry prophecy. At that time one of the chief rendezvous of the pirates was the little island of San Jose, one of the southernmost of the Bahama group. Here, in the days before the coming of the Yankee, they were wont to put in to careen and clean their vessels and to take in a fresh supply of provisions, gunpowder, and rum, preparatory to renewing their attacks upon the peaceful commerce circulating up and down outside the islands, or through the wide stretches of the Bahama channel. Mainwaring had made several descents upon this nest of freebooters. He had already made two notable captures, and it was here he hoped eventually to capture Captain Scarfield himself. A brief description of this one-time notorious rendezvous of freebooters might not be out of place. It consisted of a little settlement of those wattled and mud-smeared houses such as you find through the West Indies. There were only three houses of a more pretentious sort, built of wood. One of these was a storehouse, another was a rum shop, and a third a house in which dwelt a mulatto woman, who was reputed to be a sort of left-handed wife of Captain Scarfield's. The population was almost entirely black and brown. One or two Jews and a half dozen Yankee traders, of hardly dubious honesty, comprised the entire white population. The rest consisted of a mongrel accumulation of negroes and mulattoes and half-caste Spaniards, and of a multitude of black or yellow women and children. The settlement stood in a bight of the beach forming a small harbor and affording a fair anchorage for small vessels, excepting it were against the beating of a southeasterly gale. The houses, or cabins, were surrounded by clusters of coco palms and growths of bananas, and a long curve of white beach, sheltered from the large Atlantic breakers that burst and exploded upon an outer bar, was drawn like a necklace around the semi-circle of emerald-green water. Such was the famous pirates' settlement of San Jose--a paradise of nature and a hell of human depravity and wickedness--and it was to this spot that Mainwaring paid another visit a few days after rescuing the crew of the Baltimore Belle from her shattered and sinking wreck. As the little bay with its fringe of palms and its cluster of wattle huts opened up to view, Mainwaring discovered a vessel lying at anchor in the little harbor. It was a large and well-rigged schooner of two hundred and fifty or three hundred tons burden. As the Yankee rounded to under the stern of the stranger and dropped anchor in such a position as to bring her broadside battery to bear should the occasion require, Mainwaring set his glass to his eye to read the name he could distinguish beneath the overhang of her stern. It is impossible to describe his infinite surprise when, the white lettering starting out in the circle of the glass, he read, The Eliza Cooper, of Philadelphia. He could not believe the evidence of his senses. Certainly this sink of iniquity was the last place in the world he would have expected to have fallen in with Eleazer Cooper. He ordered out the gig and had himself immediately rowed over to the schooner. Whatever lingering doubts he might have entertained as to the identity of the vessel were quickly dispelled when he beheld Captain Cooper himself standing at the gangway to meet him. The impassive face of the friend showed neither surprise nor confusion at what must have been to him a most unexpected encounter. But when he stepped upon the deck of the Eliza Cooper and looked about him, Mainwaring could hardly believe the evidence of his senses at the transformation that he beheld. Upon the main deck were eight twelve-pound carronade neatly covered with tarpaulin; in the bow a Long Tom, also snugly stowed away and covered, directed a veiled and muzzled snout out over the bowsprit. It was entirely impossible for Mainwaring to conceal his astonishment at so unexpected a sight, and whether or not his own thoughts lent color to his imagination, it seemed to him that Eleazer Cooper concealed under the immobility of his countenance no small degree of confusion. After Captain Cooper had led the way into the cabin and he and the younger man were seated over a pipe of tobacco and the invariable bottle of fine old Jamaica rum, Mainwaring made no attempt to refrain from questioning him as to the reason for this singular and ominous transformation. "I am a man of peace, James Mainwaring," Eleazer replied, "but there are men of blood in these waters, and an appearance of great strength is of use to protect the innocent from the wicked. If I remained in appearance the peaceful trader I really am, how long does thee suppose I could remain unassailed in this place?" It occurred to Mainwaring that the powerful armament he had beheld was rather extreme to be used merely as a preventive. He smoked for a while in silence and then he suddenly asked the other point-blank whether, if it came to blows with such a one as Captain Scarfield, would he make a fight of it? The Quaker trading captain regarded him for a while in silence. His look, it seemed to Mainwaring, appeared to be dubitative as to how far he dared to be frank. "Friend James," he said at last, "I may as well acknowledge that my officers and crew are somewhat worldly. Of a truth they do not hold the same testimony as I. I am inclined to think that if it came to the point of a broil with those men of iniquity, my individual voice cast for peace would not be sufficient to keep my crew from meeting violence with violence. As for myself, thee knows who I am and what is my testimony in these matters." Mainwaring made no comment as to the extremely questionable manner in which the Quaker proposed to beat the devil about the stump. Presently he asked his second question: "And might I inquire," he said, "what you are doing here and why you find it necessary to come at all into such a wicked, dangerous place as this?" "Indeed, I knew thee would ask that question of me," said the Friend, "and I will be entirely frank with thee. These men of blood are, after all, but human beings, and as human beings they need food. I have at present upon this vessel upward of two hundred and fifty barrels of flour which will bring a higher price here than anywhere else in the West Indies. To be entirely frank with thee, I will tell thee that I was engaged in making a bargain for the sale of the greater part of my merchandise when the news of thy approach drove away my best customer." Mainwaring sat for a while in smoking silence. What the other had told him explained many things he had not before understood. It explained why Captain Cooper got almost as much for his flour and corn meal now that peace had been declared as he had obtained when the war and the blockade were in full swing. It explained why he had been so strong a defender of Captain Scarfield and the pirates that afternoon in the garden. Meantime, what was to be done? Eleazer confessed openly that he dealt with the pirates. What now was his--Mainwaring's--duty in the case? Was the cargo of the Eliza Cooper contraband and subject to confiscation? And then another question framed itself in his mind: Who was this customer whom his approach had driven away? As though he had formulated the inquiry into speech the other began directly to speak of it. "I know," he said, "that in a moment thee will ask me who was this customer of whom I have just now spoken. I have no desire to conceal his name from thee. It was the man who is known as Captain Jack or Captain John Scarfield." Mainwaring fairly started from his seat. "The devil you say!" he cried. "And how long has it been," he asked, "since he left you?" The Quaker skipper carefully refilled his pipe, which he had by now smoked out. "I would judge," he said, "that it is a matter of four or five hours since news was brought overland by means of swift runners of thy approach. Immediately the man of wickedness disappeared." Here Eleazer set the bowl of his pipe to the candle flame and began puffing out voluminous clouds of smoke. "I would have thee understand, James Mainwaring," he resumed, "that I am no friend of this wicked and sinful man. His safety is nothing to me. It is only a question of buying upon his part and of selling upon mine. If it is any satisfaction to thee I will heartily promise to bring thee news if I hear anything of the man of Belial. I may furthermore say that I think it is likely thee will have news more or less directly of him within the space of a day. If this should happen, however, thee will have to do thy own fighting without help from me, for I am no man of combat nor of blood and will take no hand in it either way." It struck Mainwaring that the words contained some meaning that did not appear upon the surface. This significance struck him as so ambiguous that when he went aboard the Yankee he confided as much of his suspicions as he saw fit to his second in command, Lieutenant Underwood. As night descended he had a double watch set and had everything prepared to repel any attack or surprise that might be attempted. III Nighttime in the tropics descends with a surprising rapidity. At one moment the earth is shining with the brightness of the twilight; the next, as it were, all things are suddenly swallowed into a gulf of darkness. The particular night of which this story treats was not entirely clear; the time of year was about the approach of the rainy season, and the tepid, tropical clouds added obscurity to the darkness of the sky, so that the night fell with even more startling quickness than usual. The blackness was very dense. Now and then a group of drifting stars swam out of a rift in the vapors, but the night was curiously silent and of a velvety darkness. As the obscurity had deepened, Mainwaring had ordered lanthorns to be lighted and slung to the shrouds and to the stays, and the faint yellow of their illumination lighted the level white of the snug little war vessel, gleaming here and there in a starlike spark upon the brass trimmings and causing the rows of cannons to assume curiously gigantic proportions. For some reason Mainwaring was possessed by a strange, uneasy feeling. He walked restlessly up and down the deck for a time, and then, still full of anxieties for he knew not what, went into his cabin to finish writing up his log for the day. He unstrapped his cutlass and laid it upon the table, lighted his pipe at the lanthorn and was about preparing to lay aside his coat when word was brought to him that the captain of the trading schooner was come alongside and had some private information to communicate to him. Mainwaring surmised in an instant that the trader's visit related somehow to news of Captain Scarfield, and as immediately, in the relief of something positive to face, all of his feeling of restlessness vanished like a shadow of mist. He gave orders that Captain Cooper should be immediately shown into the cabin, and in a few moments the tall, angular form of the Quaker skipper appeared in the narrow, lanthorn-lighted space. Mainwaring at once saw that his visitor was strangely agitated and disturbed. He had taken off his hat, and shining beads of perspiration had gathered and stood clustered upon his forehead. He did not reply to Mainwaring's greeting; he did not, indeed, seem to hear it; but he came directly forward to the table and stood leaning with one hand upon the open log book in which the lieutenant had just been writing. Mainwaring had reseated himself at the head of the table, and the tall figure of the skipper stood looking down at him as from a considerable height. "James Mainwaring," he said, "I promised thee to report if I had news of the pirate. Is thee ready now to hear my news?" There was something so strange in his agitation that it began to infect Mainwaring with a feeling somewhat akin to that which appeared to disturb his visitor. "I know not what you mean, sir!" he cried, "by asking if I care to hear your news. At this moment I would rather have news of that scoundrel than to have anything I know of in the world." "Thou would? Thou would?" cried the other, with mounting agitation. "Is thee in such haste to meet him as all that? Very well; very well, then. Suppose I could bring thee face to face with him--what then? Hey? Hey? Face to face with him, James Mainwaring!" The thought instantly flashed into Mainwaring's mind that the pirate had returned to the island; that perhaps at that moment he was somewhere near at hand. "I do not understand you, sir," he cried. "Do you mean to tell me that you know where the villain is? If so, lose no time in informing me, for every instant of delay may mean his chance of again escaping." "No danger of that!" the other declared, vehemently. "No danger of that! I'll tell thee where he is and I'll bring thee to him quick enough!" And as he spoke he thumped his fist against the open log book. In the vehemence of his growing excitement his eyes appeared to shine green in the lanthorn light, and the sweat that had stood in beads upon his forehead was now running in streams down his face. One drop hung like a jewel to the tip of his beaklike nose. He came a step nearer to Mainwaring and bent forward toward him, and there was something so strange and ominous in his bearing that the lieutenant instinctively drew back a little where he sat. "Captain Scarfield sent something to you," said Eleazer, almost in a raucous voice, "something that you will be surprised to see." And the lapse in his speech from the Quaker "thee" to the plural "you" struck Mainwaring as singularly strange. As he was speaking Eleazer was fumbling in a pocket of his long-tailed drab coat, and presently he brought something forth that gleamed in the lanthorn light. The next moment Mainwaring saw leveled directly in his face the round and hollow nozzle of a pistol. There was an instant of dead silence and then, "I am the man you seek!" said Eleazer Cooper, in a tense and breathless voice. The whole thing had happened so instantaneously and unexpectedly that for the moment Mainwaring sat like one petrified. Had a thunderbolt fallen from the silent sky and burst at his feet he could not have been more stunned. He was like one held in the meshes of a horrid nightmare, and he gazed as through a mist of impossibility into the lineaments of the well-known, sober face now transformed as from within into the aspect of a devil. That face, now ashy white, was distorted into a diabolical grin. The teeth glistened in the lamplight. The brows, twisted into a tense and convulsed frown, were drawn down into black shadows, through which the eyes burned a baleful green like the eyes of a wild animal driven to bay. Again he spoke in the same breathless voice. "I am John Scarfield! Look at me, then, if you want to see a pirate!" Again there was a little time of silence, through which Mainwaring heard his watch ticking loudly from where it hung against the bulkhead. Then once more the other began speaking. "You would chase me out of the West Indies, would you? G------ --you! What are you come to now? You are caught in your own trap, and you'll squeal loud enough before you get out of it. Speak a word or make a movement and I'll blow your brains out against the partition behind you! Listen to what I say or you are a dead man. Sing out an order instantly for my mate and my bos'n to come here to the cabin, and be quick about it, for my finger's on the trigger, and it's only a pull to shut your mouth forever." It was astonishing to Mainwaring, in afterward thinking about it all, how quickly his mind began to recover its steadiness after that first astonishing shock. Even as the other was speaking he discovered that his brain was becoming clarified to a wonderful lucidity; his thoughts were becoming rearranged, and with a marvelous activity and an alertness he had never before experienced. He knew that if he moved to escape or uttered any outcry he would be instantly a dead man, for the circle of the pistol barrel was directed full against his forehead and with the steadiness of a rock. If he could but for an instant divert that fixed and deadly attention he might still have a chance for life. With the thought an inspiration burst into his mind and he instantly put it into execution; thought, inspiration, and action, as in a flash, were one. He must make the other turn aside his deadly gaze, and instantly he roared out in a voice that stunned his own ears: "Strike, bos'n! Strike, quick!" Taken by surprise, and thinking, doubtless, that another enemy stood behind him, the pirate swung around like a flash with his pistol leveled against the blank boarding. Equally upon the instant he saw the trick that had been played upon him and in a second flash had turned again. The turn and return had occupied but a moment of time, but that moment, thanks to the readiness of his own invention, had undoubtedly saved Mainwaring's life. As the other turned away his gaze for that brief instant Mainwaring leaped forward and upon him. There was a flashing flame of fire as the pistol was discharged and a deafening detonation that seemed to split his brain. For a moment, with reeling senses, he supposed himself to have been shot, the next he knew he had escaped. With the energy of despair he swung his enemy around and drove him with prodigious violence against the corner of the table. The pirate emitted a grunting cry and then they fell together, Mainwaring upon the top, and the pistol clattered with them to the floor in their fall. Even as he fell, Mainwaring roared in a voice of thunder, "All hands repel boarders!" And then again, "All hands repel boarders!" Whether hurt by the table edge or not, the fallen pirate struggled as though possessed of forty devils, and in a moment or two Mainwaring saw the shine of a long, keen knife that he had drawn from somewhere about his person. The lieutenant caught him by the wrist, but the other's muscles were as though made of steel. They both fought in despairing silence, the one to carry out his frustrated purposes to kill, the other to save his life. Again and again Mainwaring felt that the knife had been thrust against him, piercing once his arm, once his shoulder, and again his neck. He felt the warm blood streaming down his arm and body and looked about him in despair. The pistol lay near upon the deck of the cabin. Still holding the other by the wrist as he could, Mainwaring snatched up the empty weapon and struck once and again at the bald, narrow forehead beneath him. A third blow he delivered with all the force he could command, and then with a violent and convulsive throe the straining muscles beneath him relaxed and grew limp and the fight was won. Through all the struggle he had been aware of the shouts of voices, of trampling of feet and discharge of firearms, and the thought came to him, even through his own danger, that the Yankee was being assaulted by the pirates. As he felt the struggling form beneath him loosen and dissolve into quietude, he leaped up, and snatching his cutlass, which still lay upon the table, rushed out upon the deck, leaving the stricken form lying twitching upon the floor behind him. It was a fortunate thing that he had set double watches and prepared himself for some attack from the pirates, otherwise the Yankee would certainly have been lost. As it was, the surprise was so overwhelming that the pirates, who had been concealed in the large whaleboat that had come alongside, were not only able to gain a foothold upon the deck, but for a time it seemed as though they would drive the crew of the brig below the hatches. But as Mainwaring, streaming with blood, rushed out upon the deck, the pirates became immediately aware that their own captain must have been overpowered, and in an instant their desperate energy began to evaporate. One or two jumped overboard; one, who seemed to be the mate, fell dead from a pistol shot, and then, in the turn of a hand, there was a rush of a retreat and a vision of leaping forms in the dusky light of the lanthorns and a sound of splashing in the water below. The crew of the Yankee continued firing at the phosphorescent wakes of the swimming bodies, but whether with effect it was impossible at the time to tell. IV The pirate captain did not die immediately. He lingered for three or four days, now and then unconscious, now and then semi-conscious, but always deliriously wandering. All the while he thus lay dying, the mulatto woman, with whom he lived in this part of his extraordinary dual existence, nursed and cared for him with such rude attentions as the surroundings afforded. In the wanderings of his mind the same duality of life followed him. Now and then he would appear the calm, sober, self-contained, well-ordered member of a peaceful society that his friends in his faraway home knew him to be; at other times the nether part of his nature would leap up into life like a wild beast, furious and gnashing. At the one time he talked evenly and clearly of peaceful things; at the other time he blasphemed and hooted with fury. Several times Mainwaring, though racked by his own wounds, sat beside the dying man through the silent watches of the tropical nights. Oftentimes upon these occasions as he looked at the thin, lean face babbling and talking so aimlessly, he wondered what it all meant. Could it have been madness--madness in which the separate entities of good and bad each had, in its turn, a perfect and distinct existence? He chose to think that this was the case. Who, within his inner consciousness, does not feel that same ferine, savage man struggling against the stern, adamantine bonds of morality and decorum? Were those bonds burst asunder, as it was with this man, might not the wild beast rush forth, as it had rushed forth in him, to rend and to tear? Such were the questions that Mainwaring asked himself. And how had it all come about? By what easy gradations had the respectable Quaker skipper descended from the decorum of his home life, step by step, into such a gulf of iniquity? Many such thoughts passed through Mainwaring's mind, and he pondered them through the still reaches of the tropical nights while he sat watching the pirate captain struggle out of the world he had so long burdened. At last the poor wretch died, and the earth was well quit of one of its torments. A systematic search was made through the island for the scattered crew, but none was captured. Either there were some secret hiding places upon the island (which was not very likely) or else they had escaped in boats hidden somewhere among the tropical foliage. At any rate they were gone. Nor, search as he would, could Mainwaring find a trace of any of the pirate treasure. After the pirate's death and under close questioning, the weeping mulatto woman so far broke down as to confess in broken English that Captain Scarfield had taken a quantity of silver money aboard his vessel, but either she was mistaken or else the pirates had taken it thence again and had hidden it somewhere else. Nor would the treasure ever have been found but for a most fortuitous accident. Mainwaring had given orders that the Eliza Cooper was to be burned, and a party was detailed to carry the order into execution. At this the cook of the Yankee came petitioning for some of the Wilmington and Brandywine flour to make some plum duff upon the morrow, and Mainwaring granted his request in so far that he ordered one of the men to knock open one of the barrels of flour and to supply the cook's demands. The crew detailed to execute this modest order in connection with the destruction of the pirate vessel had not been gone a quarter of an hour when word came back that the hidden treasure had been found. Mainwaring hurried aboard the Eliza Cooper, and there in the midst of the open flour barrel he beheld a great quantity of silver coin buried in and partly covered by the white meal. A systematic search was now made. One by one the flour barrels were heaved up from below and burst open on the deck and their contents searched, and if nothing but the meal was found it was swept overboard. The breeze was whitened with clouds of flour, and the white meal covered the surface of the ocean for yards around. In all, upward of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars was found concealed beneath the innocent flour and meal. It was no wonder the pirate captain was so successful, when he could upon an instant's notice transform himself from a wolf of the ocean to a peaceful Quaker trader selling flour to the hungry towns and settlements among the scattered islands of the West Indies, and so carrying his bloody treasure safely into his quiet Northern home. In concluding this part of the narrative it may be added that a wide strip of canvas painted black was discovered in the hold of the Eliza Cooper. Upon it, in great white letters, was painted the name, "The Bloodhound." Undoubtedly this was used upon occasions to cover the real and peaceful title of the trading schooner, just as its captain had, in reverse, covered his sanguine and cruel life by a thin sheet of morality and respectability. This is the true story of the death of Capt. Jack Scarfield. The Newburyport chap-book, of which I have already spoken, speaks only of how the pirate disguised himself upon the ocean as a Quaker trader. Nor is it likely that anyone ever identified Eleazer Cooper with the pirate, for only Mainwaring of all the crew of the Yankee was exactly aware of the true identity of Captain Scarfield. All that was ever known to the world was that Eleazer Cooper had been killed in a fight with the pirates. In a little less than a year Mainwaring was married to Lucinda Fairbanks. As to Eleazer Cooper's fortune, which eventually came into the possession of Mainwaring through his wife, it was many times a subject of speculation to the lieutenant how it had been earned. There were times when he felt well assured that a part of it at least was the fruit of piracy, but it was entirely impossible to guess how much more was the result of legitimate trading. For a little time it seemed to Mainwaring that he should give it all up, but this was at once so impracticable and so quixotic that he presently abandoned it, and in time his qualms and misdoubts faded away and he settled himself down to enjoy that which had come to him through his marriage. In time the Mainwarings removed to New York, and ultimately the fortune that the pirate Scarfield had left behind him was used in part to found the great shipping house of Mainwaring & Bigot, whose famous transatlantic packet ships were in their time the admiration of the whole world. 
9835	----	Distributed Proofreaders MARTIN CONISBY'S VENGEANCE BY JEFFERY FARNOL 1921 TO MY DEAR AUNTS MRS. MARRIOTT AND MISS JEFFERY "AUNTIE KIZ" I DEDICATE THIS BOOK CONTENTS CHAPTER I HOW MY SOLITUDE CAME TO AN END II MY TROUBLES BEGIN III HOW I HEARD A SONG THAT I KNEW IV HOW I LABOURED TO MY SALVATION V TELLETH HOW ALL MY TRAVAIL CAME TO NOUGHT VI HOW I SUCCOURED ONE DON FEDERIGO, A GENTLEMAN OF SPAIN VII I AM DETERMINED ON MY VENGEANCE, AND MY REASONS THEREFOR VIII HOW THE DAYS OF MY WATCHING WERE ACCOMPLISHED IX WE FALL AMONG PIRATES X HOW I CAME ABOARD THE _HAPPY DESPATCH_ AND OF MY SUFFERINGS THERE XI HOW I FOUGHT IN THE DARK WITH ONE POMPEY, A GREAT BLACKAMOOR XII OF BATTLE, MURDER AND RESOLUTION DAY, HIS POINT OF VIEW XIII HOW WE FOUGHT AN ENGLISH SHIP XIV TELLETH HOW THE FIGHT ENDED XV HOW I FELL IN WITH MY FRIEND, CAPTAIN SIR ADAM PENFEATHER XVI HOW I HAD WORD WITH MY LADY, JOAN BRANDON XVII TELLETH THE OUTCOME OF MY PRIDEFUL FOLLY XVIII OF ROGER TRESSADY AND HOW THE SILVER WOMAN CLAIMED HER OWN AT LAST XIX HOW JOANNA CHANGED HER MIND XX I GO TO SEEK MY VENGEANCE XXI HOW I CAME TO NOMBRE DE DIOS XXII HOW AT LAST I FOUND MY ENEMY, RICHARD BRANDON XXIII HOW I FOUND MY SOUL XXIV OF OUR ADVENTURE AT SEA XXV WE ARE DRIVEN ASHORE XXVI OUR DESPERATE SITUATION XXVII WE COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY XXVIII WE FALL IN WITH ONE ATLAMATZIN, AN INDIAN CHIEF XXIX TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF A STRANGE CITY XXX WE RESUME OUR JOURNEY XXXI I MEET A MADMAN XXXII HOW I FOUND MY BELOVED AT LAST XXXIII OF DREAMS XXXIV OF LOVE XXXV OF THE COMING OF ADAM AND OF OUR GREAT JOY THEREIN MARTIN CONISBY'S VENGEANCE CHAPTER I HOW MY SOLITUDE CAME TO AN END "Justice, O God, upon mine enemy. For the pain I suffer, may I see him suffer; for the anguish that is mine, so may I watch his agony! Thou art a just God, so, God of Justice, give to me vengeance!" And having spoken this, which had been my prayer for three weary years, I composed myself to slumber. But even so, I started up broad awake and my every nerve a-tingle, only to see the moonlight flooding my solitude and nought to hear save the rustle of the soft night wind beyond the open door of the cave that was my habitation and the far-off, never-ceasing murmur that was the voice of those great waters that hemmed me in,--a desolate ocean where no ships ever sailed, a trackless waste that stretched away to the infinite blue. Crouched upon my bed I fell vaguely a-wondering what should have roused me, hearkening to the distant roar of the surf that seemed to me now plaintive and despairing, now full of an ominous menace that banished gentle sleep. Thereupon I must needs bethink me how often I had waked thus during my long and weary sojourn on this lonely island; how many times I had leapt from slumber, fancying I heard a sound of oars or voices hailing cheerily beyond the reef, or again (and this most often and bitterest phantasy of all) a voice, soft and low yet with a wondrous sweet and vital ring, the which as I knew must needs sound within my dreams henceforth,--a voice out of the past that called upon my name: "Martin--Oh, Martin!" And this a voice that came to me in the blazing heat of tropic day, in the cool of eve, in the calm serenity of night, a voice calling, calling infinite pitiful and sweet, yet mocking me with my loneliness. "Martin, dear love! Oh, Martin!" "Joan!" I whispered and reached out yearning arms to the empty air. "Damaris--beloved!" Beyond the open door I heard the sighing of the wind and the roar of the surf, soft with distance, infinite plaintive and despairing. Then, because sleep was not for me, I arose and came groping within my inner cave where stood a coffer and, lifting the lid, drew forth that I sought and went and sat me on my bed where the moon made a glory. And sitting there, I unfolded this my treasure that was no more than a woman's gown and fell to smoothing its folds with reverent hand; very tattered it was and worn by much hard usage, its bravery all tarnished and faded, yet for me it seemed yet to compass something of the vivid grace and beauty of that loved and vanished presence. Almost three years of solitude, of deluding hopes and black despair, almost three years, forgotten alike of God and man. So that I had surely run mad but for the labour of my days and the secret hope I cherished even yet that some day (soon or late) I should see again that loved form, hear again the sweet, vital ring of that voice whereof I had dreamed so long. Almost three years, forgotten alike of God and man. And so albeit I prayed no more (since I had proved prayers vain) hope yet lived within me and every day, night and morn, I would climb that high hill the which I had named the Hill of Blessed Hope, to strain my eyes across the desolation of waters for some sign which should tell me my time of waiting was accomplished. Now as I sat thus, lost in bitter thought, I rose to my feet, letting fall the gown to lie all neglected, for borne to me on the gentle wind came a sound there was no mistaking, the sharp report of a musket. For a moment I stood utterly still while the shot yet rang and re-echoed in my ears and felt all at once such an ecstasy of joy that I came nigh swooning and needs must prop myself against the rocky wall; then, the faintness passing, I came hasting and breathless where I might look seaward and beheld this: Hard beyond the reef (her yards braced slovenly aback) a ship. Betwixt this vessel and the reef a boat rowed furiously, and upon the reef itself a man fled shorewards marvellous fleet and nimble. Presently from his pursuers in the boat came a red flash and the report of a musquetoon followed by divers others, whereat the poor fugitive sped but the faster and came running to that strip of white beach that beareth the name Deliverance. There he faltered, pausing a moment to glance wildly this way and that, then (as Fortune willed) turned and sped my way. Then I, standing forth where he might behold me in the moon's radiance, hailed and beckoned him, at the which he checked again, then (as reassured by my looks and gesture) came leaping up that path which led from the beach. Thus as he drew nearer I saw he was very young, indeed a mere stripling. From him I glanced towards his pursuers (they being already upon the reef) and counted nine of them running hitherward and the moon aglint on the weapons they bore. Thereupon I hasted to my cave and brought thence my six muskets, the which I laid ready to hand. And presently comes this poor fugitive, all panting and distressed with his exertions, and who (clambering over that rampire I had builded long ago to my defence) fell at my feet and lay there speechless, drawing his breath in great, sobbing gasps. But his pursuers had seen and came on amain with mighty halloo, and though (judging by what I could see of them at the distance) they were a wild, unlovely company, yet to me, so long bereft of all human fellowship, their hoarse shouts and cries were infinitely welcome and I determined to make them the means of my release, more especially as it seemed by their speech that some of them were Englishmen. To this end I waited until they were close, then, taking up my nearest piece, I levelled wide of them and fired. Startled by the sudden roar they incontinent scattered, betaking them to such cover as they might. Then I (yet kneeling behind my rampire) hailed them in mighty kindly fashion. "Halt, friends!" cries I. "Here is harm for no man that meaneth none. Nay, rather do I give ye joyous welcome in especial such of you as be English, for I am an Englishman and very solitary." But now (and even as I spake them thus gently) I espied the fugitive on his knees, saw him whip up one of my muskets (all in a moment) and fire or ever I might stay him. The shot was answered by a cry and out from the underbrush a man reeled, clasping his hurt and so fell and lay a-groaning. At this his comrades let fly their shot in answer and made off forthwith. Deserted thus, the wounded man scrambled to hands and knees and began to creep painfully after his fellows, beseeching their aid and cursing them by turns. Hearing a shrill laugh, I turned to see the fugitive reach for and level another of my weapons at this wounded wretch, but, leaping on him as he gave fire, I knocked up the muzzle of the piece so that the bullet soared harmlessly into the air. Uttering a strange, passionate cry, the fugitive sprang back and snatching out an evil-looking knife, made at me, and all so incredibly quick that it was all I could do to parry the blow; then, or ever he might strike again, I caught that murderous arm, and, for all his slenderness and seeming youth, a mighty desperate tussle we made of it ere I contrived to twist the weapon from his grasp and fling him panting to the sward, where I pinned him beneath my foot. Then as I reached for the knife where it had fallen, he cried out to me in his shrill, strangely clear voice, and with sudden, fierce hands wrenched apart the laces and fine linens at his breast: "Stay!" cried he. "Don't kill me--you cannot!" Now looking down on him where he lay gasping and writhing beneath my foot, I started back all in a moment, back until I was stayed by the rampire, for I saw that here was no man but a young and comely woman. CHAPTER II MY TROUBLES BEGIN Whiles I yet stood, knife in hand, staring at her and mute for wonder, she pulled off the close-fitting seaman's bonnet she wore and scowling up at me shook down the abundant tresses of her hair. "Beast!" said she. "Oh, beast--you hurt me!" "Who are you?" I questioned. "One that doth hate you!" Here she took a silver comb from her pocket and fell to smoothing her hair; and as she sat thus cross-legged upon the grass, I saw that the snowy linen at throat and bosom was spotted with great gouts of blood. "Are ye wounded?" quoth I, pointing to these ugly stains. "Bah! 'Tis none of mine, fool! 'Tis the blood of Cestiforo!" "Who is he?" "The captain of yon ship." "How cometh his blood on you?" "'Twas when I killed him." "You--killed him?" "Aye--he wearied me. So do all my lovers, soon or late." Now as I looked on this woman, the strange, sullen beauty of her (despite her masculine apparel) as she sat thus combing her long hair and foul with a dead man's blood, I bethought me of the wild tales I had heard of female daemons, succubi and the like, so that I felt my flesh chill and therewith a great disgust and loathing of her, insomuch that, not abiding the sight of her, I turned away and thus beheld a thing the which filled me with sudden, great dismay: for there, her sails spread to the fitful wind, I saw the ship standing out to sea, bearing with her all my hopes of escape from this hated island. Thus stood I, watching deliverance fade on my sight, until the ship was no more than a speck upon the moon-bright waters and all other thoughts 'whelmed and lost in raging despair. And now I was roused by a question sudden and imperious: "Who are you?" "'Tis no matter." "How came you here?" "'Tis no matter for that, either." "Are you alone?" "Aye!" "Then wherefore trouble to shave your beard?" "'Tis a whim." "Are you alone?" "I was." "And I would you were again." "So do I." "You are Englishman--yes?" "I am." "My mother was English--a poor thing that spent her days weeping and died of her tears when I was small--ah, very small, on this island." "Here?" quoth I, staring. "Twenty and one years agone!" said she, combing away at her glossy hair. "My mother was English like you, but my father was a noble gentleman of Spain and Governor of Santa Catalina, Don Esteban da Silva y Montreale, and killed by Tressady--Black Tressady--" "What, Roger Tressady--o' the Hook?" "True, Señor Englishman," said she softly and glancing up at me through her hair; "he hath a hook very sharp and bright, in place of his left hand. You know him? He is your friend--yes?" "I know him for a cursed pirate and murderer!" "_Moi aussi, mon ami_!" said she, fixing me with her great eyes. "I am pirate, yes--and have used dagger and pistol ere to-day and shall again." "And wear a woman's shape!" "Ha--yes, yes!" cried she, gnashing her teeth. "And there's my curse--I am woman and therefore do hate all women. But my soul is a man's so do I use all men to my purpose, snare them by my woman's arts and make of 'em my slaves. See you; there is none of all my lovers but doth obey me, and so do I rule, with ships and men at my command and fearing no man--" "And yet," said I, interrupting, "you came fleeing hither to save your life from yonder rabblement." "Tush--these were mostly drunken rogues that knew me not, 'listed but late from a prize we took and burned. I shall watch them die yet! Soon shall come Belvedere in the _Happy Despatch_ to my relief, or Rodriquez of the _Vengeance_ or Rory or Sol--one or other or all shall come a-seeking me, soon or late. Meantime, I bide here and 'tis well you stayed me from killing you, for though I love not Englishmen, I love solitude less, so are you safe from me so long as we be solitary. Ah--you smile because you are fool and know me not yet! Ah, ah--mayhap you shall grow wiser anon. But now," said she, rising and putting away her comb, "bring me where I may eat, for I am famished with hunger." "Also you are very foul of blood!" said I. "Yes," says she soft-voiced, and glancing from me to her stained finery and back again. "Yes. And is this so great a matter?" "To-night you murdered a man!" "I killed him--yes. Cestiforo--he was drunk. And was this so great a matter?" "And you--a woman!" said I, marvelling. "Aye, to my sorrow!" said she, gnashing white teeth, "Yet am I strong as a man and bolder than most." "God preserve me from such!" quoth I fervently. "You--you?" cried she. "What thing are you that seeming man must blench at a little blood? Are you yourself so innocent, you that know Tressady o' the Hook?" "Howbeit I am no murderer, woman." "Ah--bah!" cried she, with flick of scornful fingers. "Enough of words, Master Innocent. Bring me where I may eat and bed me till morning." Thereupon (and mighty unwilling) I brought her into the cave and lighting two candles of my own contriving, I set before her such viands as I had, together with bread I had newly baked, and with no word of thanks this strange, fierce creature fell to eating with a voracity methought very disgusting. Now the more I saw of her the more grew my disgust and the end of it was I determined to put the whole length of the island betwixt us and that at once. To this end I began collecting such articles as I should want, as my light hatchet, sword, pistols, etc. I was buckling on my belt when her voice arrested me, albeit she spoke me very sweetly and soft: "You go now to your woman--your light of love--yes?" "There is no woman but yourself," said I, frowning. "Liar! Then what of this?" and she pointed slender finger; then I saw that tattered garment lying where I had dropped it and this woman spurning it with her foot. So I stooped forthwith, and snatching it from her desecrating touch, folded it across my arm, whereat she fell to sudden laughter very ill to bear. "Ah--ah!" said she, softer than before and most hatefully a-smiling, "'tis for her sake your chin goeth bare and smooth--yes? She is over-nice in the matter of--" "I tell you she is gone!" said I in fury. "Gone--gone, is she? And you alone here, longing but for her return, through weeks and months and years waiting for her to come back to you; is not this the truth of it, yes?" Now I, knowing this for very truth, could but scowl, finding no word to say, whiles this creature nodded and flashed white teeth in her hateful smile. "You loved this woman," said she, "do love her; dead or living, rotting bones or another's delight, you do love her yet, poor, miserable fool!" All unheeding, I folded the garment with reverent hands while she taunted me thus, until, seeing me nothing moved, she fell to rank vileness, bespattering that pure memory with tongue so shamelessly foul that I (losing all patience) turned on her at last; but in this moment she was on her feet and snatching my sword made therewith a furious pass at me, the which I contrived to parry and, catching the blade in this beloved garment, I wrenched the weapon from her. Then, pinning her in fierce grip and despite her furious struggles and writhing, I belaboured her soundly with the flat of the blade, she meanwhile swearing and cursing at me in Spanish and English as vilely as ever I had done in all my days, until her voice broke and she choked upon a great sob. Thereupon I flung her across my bed and taking such things as I needed, strode out of the cave and so left her. But scarce was I without the cave than she came following after me; and truly never was greater change, for in place of snarling daemon here was tender maid all tearful sighs, gentle-eyed and with clasped hands reached out to me in supplication and (despite her male attire) all woman. Perceiving the which, I turned my back upon her and hasted away all the faster. So here was I, that had grieved in my solitude and yearned amain for human fellowship, heartily wishing myself alone again and full of a new apprehension, viz: That my island being so small I might chance to find the avoidance of this evil creature a matter of some difficulty, even though I abandoned my caves and furniture to her use and sought me another habitation. Now as I went I fell to uneasy speculation regarding this woman, her fierce, wild beauty, her shameless tongue, her proud and passionate temper, her reckless furies; and bethinking me of all the manifest evil of her, I felt again that chill of the flesh, that indefinable disgust, insomuch that (the moon being bright and full) I must glance back, more than once, half-dreading to see her creeping on my heels. Having traversed Deliverance Sands I came into that cleft or defile, 'twixt bush-girt, steepy cliffs, called Skeleton Cove, where I had builded me a forge with bellows of goatskin. Here, too, I had set up an anvil (the which had come ashore in a wreck, together with divers other tools) and a bench for my carpentry. The roof of this smithy backed upon a cavern wherein I stored my tools, timber and various odds and ends. This place, then, I determined should be my habitation henceforth, there being a little rill of sweet water adjacent and the cave itself dry and roomy and so shut in by precipitous cliffs that any who might come to my disturbance must come only in the one direction. And now, as I judged, there being yet some hours to sunrise, I made myself as comfortable as might be and having laid by sword and belt and set my pistols within easy reach, I laid down and composed myself to slumber. But this I could by no means compass, being fretted of distressful thought and made vain and bitter repining for this ship that had come and sailed, leaving me a captive still, prisoned on this hateful island with this wild creature that methought more daemon than woman. And seeing myself thus mocked of Fortune (in my blind folly) I fell to reviling the God that made me. Howbeit sleep overtook me at last, but an evil slumber haunted by visions of this woman, her beauty fouled and bloody, who sought out my destruction where I lay powerless to resist her will. Low she bent above me, her dusky hair a cloud that choked me, and through this cloud the glitter of her eyes, red lips that curled back from snapping teeth, fingers clawed to rend and tear; then as I gazed, in horror, these eyes grew soft and languorous, these vivid lips trembled to wistful smile, these cruel hands clasped, soft-clinging, and drew me near and ever nearer towards that smiling, tender mouth, until I waked in a panic to behold the dawn and against the sun's growing splendour the woman standing and holding my pistols levelled at me as I lay. Now I do think there is no hale man, howsoever desperate and careless of life, but who, faced with sudden, violent death, will not of instinct blench and find himself mighty unready to take the leap into that dark unknown whose dread doth fright us one and all; howbeit thus was it with me, for now as I stared from the pistol muzzle to the merciless eyes behind them, I, that had hitherto esteemed death no hardship, lay there in dumb and sweating panic, and, knowing myself afraid, scorned and hated myself therefor. "Ah--ah!" said she softly but with flash of white teeth. "Will ye cower then, you beater of women? Down to your knees--down and sue pardon of me!" But now, stung by her words and the quaking of my coward flesh, I found voice. "Shoot, wanton!" said I. "Shoot, lest I beat you again for the vile, shameless thing you are." At this she flinched and her fierce eyes wavered; then she laughed loud and shrill: "Will ye die then? Yes? Will ye die?" "Aye," I nodded, "So I may be quit of you." "Hath dying then no fears for you--no?" "'Tis overpast!" quoth I. "Liar!" said she. "Wipe the craven sweat from you! You beat me, and for this you should die, but though you fear death you shall live to fear me more--aye, you shall live awhile--take your life!" So saying, she tossed the pistols down beside me and laughed. "When I wish to kill and be done with you, my steel shall take you in your sleep, or you shall die by poison; there be many roots and berries hereabout, Indian poisons I wot of. So your life is mine to take whensoever I will." "How if I kill you first?" "Ah, bah!" said she, snapping her fingers. "Try an you will--but I know men and you are not the killing sort. I've faced death too oft to fear it, or the likes of you. There lie your pistols, fool; take 'em and shoot me if you will!" Thereupon I stooped and catching up the pistols tossed them behind me. "And now," said I, rising, "leave me--begone lest I thrash you again for the evil child you are." "Child?" says she, staring as one vastly amazed, "child--and to me, fool, to me? All along the Main my name is known and feared." "So now will I whip you," quoth I, "had others done as much ere this, you had been a little less evil, perchance." And I reached down a coil of small cord where it hung with divers other odds and ends. For a moment she watched me, scowling and fierce-eyed, then as I approached her with the cords in my hands, she turned on her heel with a swirl of her embroidered coat-skirts and strode away, mighty proud and disdainful. When she was clean gone I gathered me brush and driftwood, and striking flint and steel soon had a fire going and set about cooking certain strips of dried goat's flesh for my breakfast. Whiles this was a-doing I was startled by a sudden clatter upon the cliff above and down comes a great boulder, narrowly missing me but scattering my breakfast and the embers of my fire broadcast. I was yet surveying the ruin (dolefully enough, for I was mighty hungry) when hearing a shrill laugh I glanced up to find her peering down at me from above. Meeting my frowning look she laughed again, and snapping her fingers at me, vanished 'mid the bushes. Spoiled thus of my breakfast I was necessitated to stay my hunger with such viands as I had by me. Now as I sat eating thus and in very ill humour, my wandering gaze lighted by chance on the shattered remains of a boat that lay high and dry where the last great storm had cast it. At one time I had hoped that I might make this a means to escape from the island and had laboured to repair and make it seaworthy but, finding this beyond my skill, had abandoned the attempt; for indeed (as I say) it was wofully bilged and broken. Moreover, at the back of my mind had always lurked a vague hope that some day, soon or late, she that was ever in my dreams, she that had been my love, my Damaris, might yet in her sweet mercy come a-seeking me. Wherefore, as I have before told, it had become my daily custom, morn and eve, to climb that high land that I called the Hill of Blessed Hope, that I might watch for my lady's coming. But to-day, since Fate had set me in company with this evil creature, instead of my noble lady, I came to a sudden and fixed resolution, viz: That I would waste not another hour in vain dreams and idle expectations but would use all my wit and every endeavour to get quit of the island so soon as might be. Filled with this determination I rose and, coming to the boat, began to examine it. And I saw this: it was very stout-built but its planks wofully shrunk with the sun, and though much stove forward, more especially to larboard, yet its main timbers looked sound enough. Then, too, it lay none so far from high-water mark and despite its size and bulk I thought that by digging a channel I might bring water sufficient to float it, could I but make good the breakage and caulk the gaping seams. The longer I looked the more hopeful I grew and the end of it was I hasted to bring such tools as I needed and forthwith set to work. All the morning, and despite the sun, I laboured upon this wrecked boat, stripping off her cracked and splintered timbers and mightily pleased to find her framework so much less damaged than I had dared hope, insomuch that I presently fell a-whistling; but coming on three ribs badly sprung I became immediately dejected. Howbeit I had all the wood I could wish as planks, bulkheads and the like, all driven ashore from wrecked vessels, with bolts and nuts a-plenty; thus as I worked I presently fell a-whistling again. Suddenly, I was aware of the woman watching me, and glancing at her as she leaned cross-legged against an adjacent boulder, she seemed no woman but a pert and handsome lad rather. Her thick hair, very dark and glossy, fell in curls to her shoulders like a modish wig, her coat was of fine blue velvet adorned with silver lace, her cravat and ruffles looked new-washed like her silk stockings, and on her slender feet were a pair of dainty, buckled shoes; all this I noticed as she lolled, watching me with her sombre gaze. "What would you with the wreck, fool?" she demanded, whereupon I immediately betook me to my whistling. "You do grow merry!" said she, frowning, whiles I whistled the louder. And when she would have spoken further, I fell to hammering lustily, drowning her voice thereby. "Will you not speak with me then--no?" she questioned, when at last I paused. But I heeding her no whit, she began swearing at me and I to hammering again. "Curst fool!" cried she at last, "I spit on you!" The which she did and so swaggered away and I whistling merrier than ever. CHAPTER III HOW I HEARD A SONG THAT I KNEW I was early at work next morning, since now my mind was firm-set on quitting the island at all hazards, thereby winning free of this woman once and for all. To this end I laboured heartily, sparing myself no pains and heedless of sweat and sun-glare, very joyous to see my work go forward apace; and ere the sun was very high my boat lay stripped of all the splintered timbers on the larboard side. My next care was to choose me such planks from my store of driftwood as by reason of shape and thickness should be best adapted to my purpose. And great plenty of wrought wood had I and of all sorts, it having long been my wont to collect the best of such as drove ashore and store it within those caves that opened on Deliverance Beach. Thus, after no great search, I had discovered all such planking as I needed and forthwith began to convey it down to the boat. In the which labour the woman met me (I staggering under a load of my planks) and strutted along beside me, vastly supercilious and sneering. "Hold!" cried she. "He sweateth, he panteth purple o' the gills! And wherefore, to what end?" "To win free of two things do weary me." "Ah--ah? And these?" "This island and yourself." "So! Do I then weary you, good Master Innocence?" "Mightily!" "Ah--bah! 'Tis because you be fool and no man!" "Mayhap," said I, taking up my hammer, "howbeit I do know this island for a prison and you for an evil thing--" "Ah!" sighed she softly. "I have had men hanged for saying less!" "So would I be quit of you as soon as may be," said I, fitting my first timber in place whiles she watched me, mighty disdainful. "So you would mend the boat, _amigo mio_, and sail away from the island and me--yes?" "God knoweth it!" "Mayhap He doth, but what o' me? Think ye I shall suffer you to leave me here alone and destitute, fool?" "The which is to be seen!" said I; and having measured my plank and sawed it to proper length I began to rivet it to the frame, making such din with my hammer that she, unable to make herself heard, presently strode away in a fury, to my great content. But, in a little back she cometh, and on her hip that bejewelled Spanish rapier that had once been part of Black Bartlemy's treasure (as hath been told) and which (having my own stout cut-and-thrust) I had not troubled to bring away from the cave. Whipping out the long blade then, she makes with it various passes in the air, very supple and dexterous, and would have me fight with her then and there. "So-ho, fool!" cried she, brandishing her weapon. "You have a sword, I mind--go fetch it and I will teach ye punto riverso, the stoccato, the imbrocato, and let you some o' your sluggish, English blood. Go fetch the sword, I bid ye." But I nothing heeding, she forthwith pricked me into the arm, whereon I caught up a sizable timber to my defence but found it avail me no whit against her skill and nimbleness, for thrice her blade leapt and thrice I flinched to the sharp bite of her steel, until, goaded thus and what with her devilish mockery and my own helplessness, I fell to raging anger and hauled my timber full at her, the which, chancing to catch her upon an elbow, she let fall her sword and, clasping her hurt, fell suddenly a-weeping. Yet, even so, betwixt her sobs and moans she cursed and reviled me shamefully and so at last took herself off, sobbing wofully. This put me to no little perturbation and distress lest I had harmed her more than I had meant, insomuch that I was greatly minded to follow her and see if this were so indeed. But in the end I went back to my boat and laboured amain, for it seemed to me the sooner I was quit of her fellowship the better, lest she goad me into maiming or slaying her outright. Thus worked I (and despite the noon's heat) until the sun began to decline and I was parched with thirst. But now, as I fitted the last of my timbers into place, the board slipped my nerveless grasp and, despite the heat, a sudden chill swept over me as borne upon the stilly air came a voice, soft and rich and sweet, uplifted in song and the words these: "There be two at the fore At the main hang three more Dead men that swing all in a row Here's fine, dainty meat For the fishes to eat, Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy, ho!" Awhile I leaned there against the boat, remembering how and with whom I had last heard this song, then wheeling about I caught my breath and stared as one that sees at last a long-desired, oft-prayed-for vision: for there, pacing demurely along the beach towards me, her body's shapely loveliness offset by embroidered gown, her dark and glossy ringlets caught up by jewelled comb, I thought to behold again the beloved shape of her I had lost well-nigh three weary years agone. "Damaris!" I whispered, "Oh, loved woman of my dreams!" And I took a long stride towards her, then stopped and bowed my head, suddenly faint and heartsick, for now I saw here was no more than this woman who had fled me a while ago with curses on her tongue. Here she stood all wistful-eyed and tricked out in one of those fine gowns from Black Bartlemy's secret store the which had once been my dear lady's delight. Now in her hands she bore a pipkin brimful of goat's milk. "I prithee, sir," said she softly, "tell now--shall there be room for me in your boat?" "Never in this world!" "You were wiser to seek my love than my hate--" "I seek neither!" "Being a fool, yes. But the sun is hot and you will be a thirsty fool--" "Where learned you that evil song?" "In Tortuga when I was a child. But come, drink, _amigo mio_, drink an you will--" "Whence had you that gown?" "Ah--ah, you love me better thus, yes? Why, 'tis a pretty gown truly, though out o' the fashion. But, will you not drink?" Now, as I have told, I was parched with thirst and the spring some way off, so taking the pipkin I drained it at a draught and muttering my thanks, handed it back to her. Then I got me to my labour again, yet very conscious of her as she sat to watch, so that more than once I missed my stroke and my fingers seemed strangely awkward. And after she had sat thus silent a great while, she spoke: "You be mighty diligent, and to no purpose." "How mean you?" "I mean this boat of yours shall never sail except I sail in her." "Which is yet to prove!" said I, feeling the air exceeding close and stifling. "Regard now, Master Innocence," said she, holding up one hand and ticking off these several items on her fingers as she spoke: "You have crossed me once. You have beat me once. You have refused me honourable fight. You have hurt me with vile club. And now you would leave me here alone to perish--" "All true save the last," quoth I, finding my breath with strange difficulty, "for though alone you need not perish, for I will show you where--where you--shall find abundance--of food--and--" But here I stopped and gasped as an intolerable pain shot through me. "Ah--ah!" said she, leaning forward to stare at me keen-eyed. "And doth it begin to work--yes? Doth it begin so soon?" "Woman," I cried, as my pains increased, "what mean you now? Why d'ye stare on me so? God help me, what have you done--" "The milk, fool!" said she, smiling. "Ha--what devil's brew--poison--" "I warned you but, being fool, you nothing heeded--no!" Now hereupon I went aside and, dreading to die thus miserably, thrust a finger down my throat and was direly sick; thereafter, not abiding the sun's intolerable heat, I crawled into the shade of a rock and lay there as it were in a black mist and myself all clammy with a horrible, cold sweat. And presently in my anguish, feeling a hand shake me, I lifted swooning eyes to find this woman bending above me. "How now," said she, "wilt crave mercy of me and live?" "Devil!" I gasped. "Let me die and be done with you!" At this she laughed and stooped low and lower until her hair came upon my face and I might look into the glowing deeps of her eyes; and then her arms were about me, very strong and compelling. "Look--look into my eyes, deep--deep!" she commanded. "Now--ha--speak me your name!" "Martin," I gasped in my agony. "Mar--tin," said she slowly. "I will call you Martino. Look now, Martino, have you not seen me long--long ere this?" "No!" I groaned. "God forbid!" "And yet we have met, Martino, in this world or another, or mayhap in the world of dreams. But we have met--somewhere, at some time, and in that time I grasped you thus in my arms and stared down thus into your eyes and in that hour I, having killed you, watched you die, and fain would have won you back to life and me, for you were a man,--ah, yes, a man in those dim days. But now--ah, bah! You are but poor fool cozened into swallowing a harmless drug; to-morrow you shall be your sluggish self. Now sleep, but know this--I may slay you whenso I will! Ah, ah--'tis better to win my love than my hate." So she loosed me and stood a while looking down on me, then motioned with imperious hand: "Sleep, fool--sleep!" she commanded and frowning, turned away. And as she went I heard her singing of that vile song again ere I sank into unconsciousness: "There are two at the fore. At the main hang three more Dead men that swing all of a row--" CHAPTER IV HOW I LABOURED TO MY SALVATION I found myself still somewhat qualmish next morning but, none the less, got me to labour on the boat and, her damage being now made good on her larboard side, so far as her timbering went, I proceeded to make her seams as water-tight as I could. This I did by means of the fibre of those great nuts that grew plenteously here and there on the island, mixed with the gum of a certain tree in place of pitch, ramming my gummed fibre into every joint and crevice of the boat's structure so that what with this and the swelling of her timbers when launched I doubted not she would prove sufficiently staunch and seaworthy. She was a stout-built craft some sixteen feet in length; and indeed a poor enough thing she might have seemed to any but myself, her weather-beaten timbers shrunken and warped by the sun's immoderate heats, but to me she had become as it were a sign and symbol of freedom. She lay upon her starboard beam half full of sand, and it now became my object to turn her that I might come at this under side, wherefore I fell to work with mattock and spade to free her of the sand wherein (as I say) she lay half-buried. This done I hove and strained until the sweat poured from me yet found it impossible to move her, strive how I would. Hereupon, and after some painful thought, I took to digging away the sand, undermining her thus until she lay so nicely balanced it needed but a push and the cumbrous structure, rolling gently over, lay in the necessary posture, viz: with her starboard beam accessible from gunwale to keel. And mightily heartened was I thus to discover her damage hereabouts so much less than I had dared hope. So I got me to work with saw, hammer and rivets and wrought so diligently (staying but to snatch a mouthful of food) that as the sun westered, my boat was well-nigh finished. Straightening my aching back I stood to examine my handiwork and though of necessity somewhat rough yet was it strong and secure; and altogether a very excellent piece of work I thought it, and mightily yearned I for that hour when I should feel this little vessel, that had been nought but a shattered ruin, once more riding the seas in triumph. But now and all at once, my soaring hopes were dashed, for though the boat might be seaworthy, here she lay, high and dry, a good twelve yards from the tide. Now seeing I might not bring my boat to the sea, I began to scheme how best I should bring the sea to her. I was yet pondering this matter, chin in hand, when a shadow fell athwart me and starting, I glanced up to find this woman beside me, who, heeding me no whit, walks about and about the boat, viewing my work narrowly. "If you can launch her she should sail well enough, going large and none so ill on a bowline, by her looks. 'Tis true scat-boat--yes. Are you a sailor--can ye navigate, ha?" "Not I." "'Tis very well, for I am, indeed, and can set ye course by dead reckoning an need be. Your work is likely enough, though had you butted your timbers it had been better--so and so!" And in this I saw she was right enough, and my work seemed more clumsy now than I had thought. "I'm no shipwright," said I. "And here's sure proof of it!" quoth she. "Mayhap 'twill serve once her timbers be swelled." "Aye, she may float, Martino, so long as the sea prove kind and the wind gentle; aye, she should carry us both over to the Main handsomely, yes--" "Never!" quoth I, mighty determined. "How then--will ye deny me yet, fool? Wherefore would ye leave me here, curst Englishman?" "Lest you goad me into slaying you for the evil thing you are." "What evil have I wrought you?" "You would have poisoned me but yesterday--" "Yet to-day are you strong and hearty, fool." And indeed, now I came to think of it, I felt myself as hale and well as ever in all my life. "Tush--a fico!" says she with an evil gesture. "'Twas but an Indian herb, fool, and good 'gainst colic and calenture. Now wherefore will ye be quit o' me?" "Because I had rather die solitary than live in your fellowship--" "Dolt! Clod! Worm!" cried she 'twixt gnashing teeth, and then all in a moment she was gazing down at me soft and gentle-eyed, red lips up-curving and smooth cheek dimpling to a smile: "Ah, Martin," sighs she languorously, "see how you do vex me! And I am foolish to suffer such as you to anger me, but needs must I vex you a little in quittance, yes." At this I did but shrug my shoulders and turned to study again the problem--how to set about launching my boat. "Art a something skilful carpenter, eh, Martino," said she in a while; "'twas you made the table and chairs and beds in the caves up yonder, eh, Martino?" "Aye." "And these the tools you made 'em with, eh, Martino?" and she pointed where they lay beside the boat. "Nay," quoth I, speaking on impulse, being yet busied with my problem, "I had nought but my hatchet then and chisels of iron." "Your hatchet--this?" she questioned, taking it up. "Aye!" I nodded. "The hatchet was the first tool I found after we were cast destitute on this island." "Ah--ah--then she was with you when you found it--the woman that wore this gown before me, eh, Martino?" "Aye--and what then?" "This!" cried she and wheeling the hatchet strong-armed, she sent it spinning far out to sea or ever I might stay her. Now, beholding the last of this good hatchet that had oft known my dear lady's touch, that had beside, been, as it were, a weapon to our defence and a means to our comfort, seeing myself (as I say) now bereft of it thus wantonly, I sprang to my feet, uttering a cry of mingled grief and rage. But she, skipping nimbly out of reach, caught up one of my pistols where she had hid it behind a rock and stood regarding me with her hateful smile. "Ah, ah!" says she, mocking, "do I then vex you a little, _amigo mio_? So is it very well. Ha, scowl, fool Martino, scowl and grind your teeth; 'tis joy to me and shall never bring back your little axe." At this, seeing grief and anger alike unavailing, I sat me down by the boat and sinking my head in my hands, strove to settle my mind to this problem of launching; but this I might by no means do, since here was this devilish creature perched upon an adjacent rock to plague me still. "How now, Martino?" she questioned. "What troubleth your sluggish brain now?" And then, as she had read my very thought: "Is't your boat--to bring her afloat? Ah--bah! 'tis simple matter! Here she lies and yonder the sea! Well, dig you a pit about the boat as deep as may be, bank the sand about your pit as high as may be. Then cut you a channel to high-water mark and beyond, so with the first tide, wind-driven, the sea shall fill your channel, pour into your pit, brimming it full and your banks being higher than your boat she shall swim and be drawn seaward on the backwash. So, here's the way on't. And so must you sweat and dig and labour, and I joy to watch--Ah, yes, for you shall sweat, dig and labour in vain, except you swear me I shall sail with you." So saying, she drops me a mocking courtsey and away she goes. She gone and night being at hand, I set aside two or three stout spars should serve me as masts, yards, etc., together with rope and cordage for tackle and therewith two pair of oars; which done, I got me to my cave and, having supped, to bed. Early next morning I set myself to draw a circle about my boat and mark out a channel thence to the sea (even as she had suggested) since I could hit upon no better way. This done, I fell to with spade and mattock but found this a matter of great labour since the sand, being very dry and loose hereabouts, was constantly shifting and running back upon me. And presently, as I strove thus painfully, cometh my tormentor to plague me anew (albeit the morning was so young) she very gay and debonnaire in her 'broidered gown. "Ha!" said she, seating herself hard by. "The sun is new-risen, yet you do sweat wofully, the which I do joy to see. So-ho, then, labour and sweat, my pretty man: it shall be all vain, aha--vain and to no purpose." But finding I heeded her no more than buzzing fly, she changed her tune, viewing me tender-eyed and sighing soft: "Am I not better as a woman, eh, Martino?" asked she, spreading out her petticoats. "Aye, to be sure your eyes do tell me so, scowl and mutter as you will. See now, Martino, I have lived here three days and in all this woful weary time hast never asked my name, which is strange, unless dost know it already, for 'tis famous hereabouts and all along the Main; indeed 'tis none so wonderful you should know it--" "I don't!" said I. "Nor wish to!" "Then I will tell you--'tis Joan!" Hereupon I dropped my spade and she, seeing how I stared upon her, burst into a peal of laughter. "Ah, ah!" cried she. "Here is pretty, soft name and should fit me as well as another. Why must you stare so fool-like; here is no witchcraft, for in the caves yonder 'Joan' meeteth me at every turn; 'tis carven on walls, on chairs, on table, together with 'Damaris' and many woful, lovesick mottoes beside." Now I, knowing this for truth, turned my back and ground my teeth in impotent anger, whiles this woman mocked me with her laughter. "Damaris--Joan!" said she. "At first methought these two women, but now do I know Joan is Damaris and Damaris Joan and you a poor, lovelorn fool. But as for me--I am Joanna--" Now at this I turned and looked at her. "Joanna?" said I, wondering. "Ah, you have heard it--this name, before--yes?" "Aye, in a song." "Oh, verily!" said she and forthwith began singing in her deep, rich voice: "There's a fine Spanish dame And Joanna's her name Shall follow wherever you go--" "Aha, and mark this, Martino: "Till your black heart shall feel Your own cursed steel Black Bartlemy--Bartlemy, ho!" "But this was my mother--" "Ha--she that stabbed and killed the pirate Bartlemy ere he slew her? But she was a Spanish lady." "Nay, she was English, and lieth buried hereabouts, 'tis said; howbeit, she died here whiles I was with the Indians. They found me, very small and helpless, in the ruins of a burned town and took me away into the mountains and, being Indians, used me kindly and well. Then came white men, twenty and two, and, being Christians, slew the Indians and used me evilly and were cruel, save only one; twenty and two they were and all dead long ago, each and every, save only one. Aha, Martino, for the evil men have made me endure, I have ever been excellent well avenged! For I am Joanna that some call 'Culebra' and some 'Gadfly' and some 'Fighting Jo.' And indeed there be few men can match me at swordplay and as for musket and pistol--watch now, Martino, the macaw yonder!" She pointed to a bird that stood preening itself on a rock at no little distance and, catching up the pistol, levelled and fired; and in place of the bird was nought but a splash of blood and a few poor, gaudy feathers stirring lazily in the gentle wind. "See," cried she, with a little, soft laugh, "am I not a goodly _camarado_ for any brave fellow, yes?" "Truly," said I, turning away, "I think your breeches do become you best--" "Liar!" she cried. "You know I am handsomer thus! Your eyes ha' told me so already. And look ye, I can be as soft and tender, as meek and helpless as any puling woman of 'em all, when I will. And if I hate fiercely, so is my love--ha, d'ye blench, fool, d'ye shrink; you thing shaped like a man, must ye cringe at the word 'love'?" "Aye!" said I, over my shoulder. "On your lips 'tis desecration!" "Desecration--desecration?" quoth she, staring on me great-eyed and biting at her scarlet nether lip. "Ha, dare ye say it, dog?" And crying thus, she hurled the pistol at me with aim so true that I staggered and came nigh falling. Stung by the blow I turned on her in a fury, but she leapt to her feet and showed me my own knife glittering in her fist. "Ah, bah--back to your labour, slave!" she mocked. "Have done, woman!" I cried. "Have done, or by the living God, you will goad me into slaying you yet--" "Tush!" said she, "I am used to outfacing men, but you--ha, you should be fed on pap and suckets, you that are no man! 'Tis small wonder you lost your Joan--Damaris; 'tis no wonder she fled away and left you--" Now at this (and nothing heeding her knife) I sprang at her and she, letting fall the knife, leapt towards me; and then I had her, felt her all soft and palpitant in my furious grip, heard a quivering sigh, saw her head sway back across my arm and she drooping in my embrace, helpless and a-swoon. And holding her thus 'prisoned and crushed against me, I could not but be conscious of all the tender, languorous beauty of her ere I hasted to lay her upon the sand. My arms were yet about her (and I upon my knees) when her bosom heaved to sudden, tremulous sigh and opening her eyes, she smiled up at me. "Ah, Martino," sighed she softly, "do not these petticoats become me vastly well, yes?" And reaching up, she set her arms about me. "Am I not better than dream-woman, I that men have died for--I, Joanna?" Now hereupon I shivered and loosing her hold rose to my feet and stood with head averted that I might not behold her. Presently she arose also and coming where lay the knife, took it up and stood turning it this way and that. "Martin," said she in her soft, dreamy speech, "you are mightily strong and--mightily gentle, and I do think we shall make a man of you yet!" So saying, she turned and went away, the knife glittering in her hand. As for me I cast myself down and with no thought or will to labour now, for it seemed that my strength was gone from me. CHAPTER V TELLETH HOW ALL MY TRAVAIL CAME TO NOUGHT That night, the moon being at the full and I very wakeful, I lay harassed of a thousand fretting thoughts, and each and every of this woman Joanna; and turning on my sleepless couch I cursed that hour the which had set her in my company. Yet, even so, I must needs bethink me of all the supple warmth of her as she lay in my arms, of the velvety touch of her cheek that had by chance brushed my hand. Hereupon I would strive to turn my thoughts upon the labours of to-morrow only to find myself recalling the sound of her voice, now deep and soft and infinite sweet, now harsh and shrill and hatefully shrewish; or her golden-brown eyes, thick-lashed and marvellous quick in their changes from sleepy languor to flaming malevolence. Thus lay I, haunted of her memory and all the sudden, bewildering changes of her moods until at last I started up, and coming to the entrance of my cave, saw her standing without and the moon bright on her face. "Art wakeful too, Martino?" asked she softly. "'Tis the moon belike, or the heat of the night." Here she came a slow pace nearer; and her eyes were sweet and languorous and on her vivid mouth a smile infinite alluring. Slowly she drew near, thralling me as it were with the wonder of her look that I had neither power nor will to move or speak. Confident of herself and assured in her beauty she reached out her hands to me, her long lashes swept down, veiling her eyes; but, even then, I had seen their flash of triumph, and in that moment, bursting the spell that bound me, I turned from her. "Go--leave me!" said I, finding my voice at last. "Here is no place for you!" And I stood thereafter with head averted, dreading her sighs and tears; instead (and to my unutterable relief) she brake out into a storm of sea-oaths, beslavering me with vile abuse and bitter curses. Now, hearkening to this lewd tirade, I marvelled I should ever have feared and trembled because of the womanhood of creature so coarse and unsexed. Thus she continued alternately mocking at and reviling me until she must needs pause for lack of breath; then I turned to look at her and stood amazed to behold that passionate head bowed upon her hands. "Aye, I weep," she sobbed. "I weep because I am woman, after all, but in my heart I hate you and with my soul I despise you, for you are but a mock man,--the blood in your veins skim milk! Ah, by God, there is more of vigorous life in my little finger than in all your great, heavy, clod-like carcase. Oh, shame!" Here she lifted her head to scowl on me and I, not enduring her look, glanced otherwhere. "Ha--rot me!" cried she, wagging scornful finger. "Rot me but you are afraid of me--afraid, yes!" "True!" said I. "So will I win free of you so soon as I may--" "Free of me?" cried she, and throwing herself on the sands, sat crouched there, her head upon her knees and sobbing miserably. "So you will abandon me then?" said she at last. "Aye." "Even though I--vow myself your slave?" "I want no slave." "Even though I beseech you on my knees?" "'Twere vain, I sail hence alone." "You were wiser to seek my love than my hate." "But I was ever a fool." "Aye, verily!" she cried passionately. "So do you yearn ever for your light-o'-love, for your vanished Joan--your Damaris that left you--" "Now I pray you go!" said I. "I wonder," sighed she, never stirring, "I wonder why I do not kill you? I hate you--despise you and yet--" Slowly she got to her feet and moved away with dragging step but paused anon and spake again with head a-droop: "Living or dead, you shall not leave the island except I go with you!" Then she went her way and something in her attitude methought infinitely desolate. Left alone, I stood awhile in gloomy thought, but rousing presently, I betook me into my cave, and lying down, fell at last to uneasy slumber. But waking suddenly, I started up on elbow full of an indefinable fear, and glancing without the cave, I saw a strange thing, for sand and rock and bush-girt cliff had on an unfamiliar aspect, the which I was wholly unable to account for; rocks and trees and flowering vines shone throbbing upon my vision with a palpitant glow that came and went, the like of which I had never seen before. Then, all at once, I was up and running along Skeleton Cove, filled with a dreadful apprehension, and coming out upon Deliverance Beach, stood quaking like one smitten with a palsy; for there, lapped about in writhing flame and crackling sparks, was all that remained of my boat, and crouched upon the sands, watching me by the light of this fire, was she who called herself Joanna. And now, perceiving all the wanton cruelty of this thing, a cold and merciless rage took me and staring on this woman as she stared on me, I began to creep towards her. "I warned you, fool, I warned you!" cried she, never moving. "'Tis a brave fire I've made and burns well. And now you shall kill me an you will--but your boat is lost to you for ever, and so is--your Damaris!" Now at sound of this loved name I stopped and stood a great while staring at the fire, then suddenly I cast myself on my knees, and lifting up my eyes to the stars already paling to dawn, I prayed God to keep me from the sin of murder. When at last I rose to my feet, Joanna was gone. The sun was high-risen when I came again, slow and heavy-footed, to behold what the fire had left of my boat; a heap of ashes, a few fragments of charred timber. And this the sorry end of all my fond hopes, my vain schemes, my sweat and labour. And as I gazed, in place of my raging fury of last night was a hopeless despondency and a great bitterness against that perverse fate that seemed to mock my every endeavour. As I stood thus deject and bitterly cast down, I heard the step of this woman Joanna and presently she cometh beside me. "You will be hating me for this, hating me--yes?" she questioned; then, finding me all regardless of her, she plucked me by the sleeve. "Ah--and will you not speak to me?" cried she. Turning from her, I began to pace aimlessly along beside the lagoon but she, overtaking, halted suddenly in my path. "Your boat would have leaked and swamped with you, Martino!" said she, but heeding her no whit I turned and plodded back again, and she ever beside me. "I tell you the cursed thing would ha' gone to pieces at the first gust of wind!" she cried. But I paced on with neither word nor look until, finding me thus blind and deaf to her, she cursed me bitterly and so left me alone and I, following a haphazard course, presently found myself in a grove of palmetto trees and sat me down in this pleasant shade where I might behold the sea, that boundless, that impassable barrier. But in a while, espying the woman coming thitherwards, I rose and tramped on again with no thought but to save myself from her companionship. All the morning then I rambled aimlessly to and fro, keeping ever amid the woods and thickets, staying my hunger with such fruit as I fell in with, as grapes and plantains; or sitting listlessly, my hands idle before me, I stared out across these empty, sun-smitten waters, until, dazzled by their glare, I would rise and wander on again, my mind ever and always troubled of a great perplexity, namely: How might I (having regard to the devilish nature of this woman Joanna) keep myself from slaying her in some fit of madness, thereby staining my soul with her murder. So came I at last to my habitation in Skeleton Cove and chancing to espy my great powderhorn where it hung, I reached it down and going without the cave, scattered its contents broadcast, this being all the powder I had brought hither. It being now late noon and very hot, I cast myself down in the shade of a rock, and lying there, I presently came to the following resolution, viz: To shun the woman Joanna's company henceforth as well as I might; moreover (and let her haunt me how she would) to heed her neither by word or look, bearing all her scorns and revilings patiently, making no answer, and enduring all her tyranny to the uttermost. All of which fine conceits were but the most arrant folly and quickly brought to nothing, as you shall hear. For even now as I sat with these high-flown notions buzzing in my head, I started to her sudden call: "Martino--Martino!" Glancing up, I beheld her poised upon the rocks above me and a noose of small cord in her hand. As I watched, she began to whirl this around her head, fast and faster, then, uttering a shrill, strange cry, she let fly the noose the which, leaping through the air, took me suddenly about the throat and she, pulling on it, had me half-strangled all in a moment. Then as, choking, I loosed this devilish noose from me (and or ever I could rise) she came running and casting herself down before me, clasped my feet and laid her head upon them. "Martino!" she cried, "Oh man, beat me an you will, trample on me, kill me; only heed me--heed me a little!" Now seeing her thus miserably abject and humbled, I grew abashed also and fain would have loosed me from her clasp but she held me only the faster; and thus, my hand coming upon her head, she caught that hand and kissed it passionately, wetting it with her tears. "Oh, Martino," said she, wofully a-sobbing, "I do know at last wherefore--I may not kill you. 'Tis because I love you. I was fool not to guess it ere this, but--I have never loved man ere now. Aye, I love you--I, Joanna, that never loved before, do love you, Martino--" "What of your many lovers?" "I loved no one of them all. 'Tis you ha' learned me--" "Nay, this is no love--" "Aye, but it is--in very truth. Think you I do not know it? I cannot sleep, I cannot eat--except you love me I must die, yes. Ah, Martino, be merciful!" she pleaded. "For thee I will be all woman henceforth, soft and tender and very gentle--thine always! Oh, be merciful--" "No," I cried, "not this! Be rather your other self, curse me, revile me, fetch the sword and fight with me--" "Fight thee--ah, no, no! The time for this is passed away. And if I did grieve thee 'twas but that I might cherish and comfort thee--for thou art mine and I thine henceforth--to death and beyond! Look, Martino! See how I do love thee!" And now her arms were about me, soft and strong, and beholding all the pleading beauty of her, the tender allure of her eyes, the quiver of her scarlet mouth and all her compelling loveliness, I stooped to her embrace; but even so, chancing to lift my gaze seaward, I broke the clasp of these twining arms and rose suddenly to my feet. For there, her rag of sail spread to the light-breathing air, was a boat standing in for the island. CHAPTER VI HOW I SUCCOURED ONE DON FEDERIGO, A GENTLEMAN OF SPAIN I was out upon the reef, waving my arms like any madman and shouting to the vague figure huddled in the stern sheets. As the boat drew nearer, I discovered this figure to be a man in Spanish half-armour, and the head of this man was bowed meekly upon steel-clad breast like one overcome with great weariness. But presently as I watched he looked up, like one awaking from sleep, and gestured feebly with his arm, whiles I, beholding here the means to my deliverance, babbled prayers of thankfulness to God. After some while, the boat being within hail, I began to call out to this solitary voyager (for companion had he none, it seemed) how he must steer to avoid the rocks and shoals. At last, the boat being come near enough and the sea very smooth, I waded out and, watching my chance, clambered aboard over the bows and came, all dripping, eager to welcome this heavensent stranger and thus beheld the boat very foul of blood and him pale and hollow-cheeked, his eyes dim and sunken; moreover his rich armour was battered and dinted, whiles about one leg was knotted a bloody scarf. "Señor," said I, in my best Spanish, "a lonely man, giveth you right hearty greeting!" "I thank you, sir," he answered and in very excellent English, "though I do much fear you shall abide solitary, for as I do think I am a-dying. Could you--bring me--water--" The words ended in a sigh and his head drooped so that I feared he was already gone. But, finding he yet breathed, I made haste to lower the sail and, shipping oars, paddled towards that opening in the reef that gave upon the lagoon. Being opposite this narrow channel I felt the boat caught by some tide and current and swept forward ever more rapidly, insomuch that I unshipped the oars and hasting into the bow, caught up a stout spar wherewith to fend us off from the rocks. Yet more than once, despite all my exertions, we came near striking ere, having passed through this perilous gut, we floated into the placid waters of the lagoon beyond. Very soon I had beached the boat as securely as I might on that spit of sand opposite Skeleton Cove, and finding the Spaniard yet a-swoon I lifted him, albeit with much ado, and setting him across my shoulder, bore him thus into the cool shade of the cave. There I laid him down beside the little rill to bathe his head and wrists with the sweet water and moisten his parched lips. At this he revived somewhat and, lifting his head, eagerly drank so much as I would allow, his sunken eyes uplift to mine in an ecstasy. "Young sir," said he in stronger voice, "for your kind charity and this good water may the Saints requite thee. 'Tis three nights and two days since I drank--" A shadow fell betwixt us and looking up I beheld Joanna. Now in one hand she grasped the Spaniard's sword she had stolen out of his boat and her other hand was hid behind her, wherefore I watched her narrowly, as she stood gazing down at this wounded man; and at first she scowled at him, but slowly her look changed and I saw her vivid lips curl in her baleful smile. "Oh," said she very softly, "Oh, marvel of marvels! Oh, wonder of wonders, even and in very truth it is Don Federigo de Rosalva y Maldonada, wafted hither by wind and tide to Joanna and judgment. Oh, most wonderful!" Now hereupon this poor wounded wretch lifted himself to peer up into her smiling face with hanging jaw, like one amazed beyond all speech, whiles she, slim and shapely in her 'broidered gown, nodded her handsome head. "Verily," quoth she, "'tis the hanging, bloody governor of Nombre de Dios come to Justice! I pray you, Señor, how many of our company ha' you strung aloft since last we met?" Here, though with much painful ado, the Don got to his feet and made her a prodigious fine bow. "The Señorita Joanna honours me by her notice," said he. "I should have doubtless known her at once but for her change of habit. And I am happy to inform the Señorita I have been so fortunate as to take and hang no less than five and twenty of her pirate fellowship since last I had the gratification of meeting her." "Ha, you lie!" cried she passionately. "You lie!" "They swing in their chains along the mole outside Nombre de Dios to witness for my truth, Señorita. And now," said he, propping himself against the rock behind him, "it is my turn to die, as I think? Well, strike, lady--here, above my gorget--" "Die then!" cried she and whipped a pistol from behind her, but as she levelled I struck up the weapon and it exploded harmless in the air. Uttering a scream of bitter rage, she thrust with the sword, but I put up the stroke (thereby taking a gash in the arm) and gripping the rapier by the guards I twisted it from her hold. And now she turned on me in a very frenzy: "Kill me then!" she panted, striving to impale herself on the sword in my hand. "If this man is to come betwixt us now, kill me in mercy and free me from this hateful woman's flesh--" But here, spying my arm bloody, she forgot her anger all in a moment. "Are ye hurt?" said she. "Are ye hurt and all to save this miserable fool!" And suddenly (or ever I might prevent) she caught my arm, kissing the wound, heedless of the blood that bedabbled her cheek in horrid fashion. "Oh, Martino," said she, leaning 'gainst a rock when at last I broke from her, "you are mine now and always, as you were in other times long since forgot. In those days your blood was on my lips, I mind, and your kisses also ere you died. Mine you are to death, aye, and through death to life again--mine. And to-day is to-day and death not for you or me--yet awhile!" When she was gone I turned to find this wounded man upon his knees, his head bowed above a little gold crucifix between his hands. "Sir, what would you?" I questioned, struck by his expression, when at last he looked up. "I make my peace with God, Señor, since I am soon to die--" "Nay, sir, I do trust your hardships are ended--" "Shall be, Señor, to-day, to-morrow, the day after?" said he, smiling faintly and shrugging his shoulders. "A sudden shot, steel i' the back--'tis better than death by famine in an open boat. You, Señor, have saved me alive yet a little, doubtless for your own ends, but my death walketh yonder as I know, death in form shapely and fair-seeming, yet sure and unpitying, none the less." "Ha, d'ye mean yon woman?" I questioned. "The Señorita Joanna--verily, Señor." "Never think it!" quoth I. "'Tis wild, fierce creature, yet is she but a woman and young--" Now hereupon this wounded man lifted weary head to stare on me, his eyes very bright and keen. "Señor," says he, "either you do mock me, or you nothing know this woman. But I do know her well and too well. Señor, I have warred with and been prisoner to you English, I have fought Indians, I have campaigned again buccaneers and pirates these many years, but never have I encountered foe so desperate, so bold and cunning as this Señorita Joanna. She is the very soul of evil; the goddess of every pirate rogue in the Indies; 'tis she is their genius, their inspiration, her word their law. 'Tis she is ever foremost in their most desperate ploys, first in attack, last in retreat, fearless always--I have known her turn rout into victory. But two short months ago she vowed my destruction, and I with my thousands at command besides divers ships well armed and manned; to-day I am a woful fugitive, broken in fortune, fleeing for my life, and, Señor, Fate has brought me, through shipwreck and famine all these weary miles, into the grasp of her slender, cruel hands. Thus and thus do I know myself for dead man and shall die, howsoever I must, as becometh me." His keen eyes lost their fire, his head drooped, and looking down on him as he lay huddled against the rock, I did not doubt but that much of this was no more than the raving of his disordered fancy. So I set my arm about this poor gentleman and brought him into my habitation, where I loosed off his chafing armour and set myself to feed and cherish him, bathing the hurt in his leg, the which I found very angry and inflamed. This done I bade him be of good comfort and yield himself to slumber. But this he could no way accomplish, being restless and fevered and his mind harping continually on the strange fate had set him thus in Joanna's power and the sure belief that he must die, soon or late, at her hands. "For look now, Señor," said he, "and observe my strange destiny. Scarce two months since I set out in a well-found galleon, I and three hundred chosen men, to hunt down and destroy this very woman--her and her evil company. One of their ships we fell in with, which ship, after long and sharp debate, we sunk. But it coming on to blow and our own vessels being much shattered by their shot, we sprung a leak, the which gaining on us, we were forced to take to our boats; but the wind increased and we were soon scattered. On the third day, having endured divers perils, we made the land, I with Pedro Valdez my chief captain and ten others and, being short of water, they went ashore one and all, leaving me wounded in the boat. And I lying there was suddenly aware of great uproar within the thickets ashore, and thereafter the screams and cries of my companions as they died. Then cometh Pedro Valdez running, crying out the Indians were on us, that all was lost and himself sore wounded. Nevertheless he contrived to thrust off the boat and I to aid him aboard. That night, he died and the wind drove me whither it would; wherefore, having committed Pedro Valdez his body to the deep, I resigned myself to the will of God. And God hath brought me hither, Señor, and set me in the power of the Señorita Joanna that is my bitter foe; so am I like to die sudden and soon. But, Señor, for your kindness to me, pray receive a broken man's gratitude and dying blessing. Sir, I am ever a Maldonada of Castile and we do never forget!" There he reached out to grasp my hand. "Thus, Señor, should this be my last night of life, the which is very like, know that my gratitude is of the nature that dieth not." "Sir," said I, his hand in mine and the night deepening about us, "I am a very solitary man and you came into my life like a very angel of God (an there be such) when I stood in direst need, for I was sick of my loneliness and in my hunger for companionship very nigh to great and shameful folly. Mayhap, whiles you grow back to strength and health, I will tell you my story, but this night you shall sleep safe--so rest you secure." CHAPTER VII I AM DETERMINED ON MY VENGEANCE, AND MY REASONS THEREFOR I found this Spanish gentleman very patient in his sickness and ever of a grave and chivalrous courtesy, insomuch that as our fellowship lengthened so grew my regard for him. He was, beside, a man of deep learning and excellent judgment and his conversation and conduct a growing delight to me. And indeed to such poor wretch as I that had been forced by my bitter wrongs to company with all manner of rogues and fellows of the baser sort, this Don Federigo (and all unknowing) served but to show me how very far I had sunk from what I might have been. And knowing myself thus degenerate I grieved mightily therefore and determined henceforth to meet Fortune's buffets more as became my condition, with a steadfast and patient serenity, even as this gentleman of Spain. It was at this time he recounted, in his courtly English, something of the woes he and his had suffered these many years at the hands of these roving adventurers, these buccaneers and pirates whose names were a terror all along the Main. He told of the horrid cruelties of Lollonois, of the bloody Montbars called the "Exterminator," of the cold, merciless ferocity of Black Bartlemy and of such lesser rouges as Morgan, Tressady, Belvedere and others of whom I had never heard. "There was my son, young sir," said he in his calm, dispassionate voice, "scarce eighteen turned, and my daughter--both taken by this pirate Belvedere when he captured the _Margarita_ carrack scarce three years since. My son they tortured to death because he was my son, and my daughter, my sweet Dolores--well, she is dead also, I pray the Mother of Mercies. Truly I have suffered very much, yet there be others, alas! I might tell you of our goodly towns burned or held to extortionate ransom, of our women ravished, our children butchered, our men tormented, our defenceless merchant ships destroyed and their crews with them, but my list is long, young sir, and would outlast your kind patience." "And what o' vengeance?" I demanded, marvelling at the calm serenity of his look. "Vengeance, young sir? Nay, surely, 'tis an empty thing. For may vengeance bring back the beloved dead? Can it rebuild our desolate towns, or cure any of a broken heart?" "Yet you hang these same rogues?" "Truly, Señor, as speedily as may be, as I would crush a snake. Yet who would seek vengeance on a worm?" "Yet do I seek vengeance!" cried I, upstarting to my feet. "Vengeance for my wasted years, vengeance on him hath been the ruin of my house, on him that, forcing me to endure anguish of mind and shame of body, hath made of me the poor, outcast wretch I am. Ha--'tis vengeance I do live for!" "Then do you live to a vain end, young sir! For vengeance is an emptiness and he that seeketh it wasteth himself." "Now tell me, Don Federigo," I questioned, "seek you not the life of this Belvedere that slew your son?" "'Tis my prayer to see him die, Señor, yet do I live to other, and I pray to nobler purpose--" "Why, then," quoth I fiercely, "so is it my prayer to watch my enemy die and I do live to none other purpose--" "Spoke like true, bully lad, Martino!" cried a voice, and glancing about, I espied Joanna leaning in the opening to the cave. She was clad in her male attire as I had seen her first, save that by her side she bore the bejewelled Spanish rapier. Thus lolled she, smiling on me half-contemptuous, hand poised lightly on the hilt of her sword, all graceful insolence. "Eye for eye, Martino," said she, nodding. "Tooth for tooth, blood for blood: 'tis a good law and just, yes! How say you, Señor Don Federigo; you agree--no?" With an effort Don Federigo got to his feet and, folding his cloak about his spare form, made her a prodigious deep obeisance. "'Tis a law ancient of days, Señorita," said he. "And your health improves, Señor, I hope--yes?" "The Señorita is vastly gracious! Thanks to Don Martino I mend apace. Oh, yes, and shall soon be strong enough to die decorously, I trust, and in such fashion as the Señorita shall choose." "Aha, Señor," said she, with flash of white teeth, "'tis an everlasting joy to me that I also am of noble Spanish blood. Some day when justice hath been done, and you are no more, I will have a stone raised up to mark where lie the bones of a great Spanish gentleman. As for thee, my poor Martino, that babblest o' vengeance, 'tis not for thee nor ever can be--thou that art only English, cold--cold--a very clod! Oh, verily there is more life, more fire and passion in a small, dead fish than in all thy great, slow body! And now, pray charge me my pistols; you have all the powder here." I shook my head. "Fool," said she, "I mean not to shoot you, and as for Don Federigo, since death is but his due, a bullet were kinder--so charge now these my pistols." "I have no powder," said I. "Liar!" "I cast it into the sea lest I be tempted to shoot you." Now at this she must needs burst out a-laughing. "Oh, Englishman!" cried she. "Oh, sluggard soul--how like, how very like thee, Martino!" Then, laughing yet, she turned and left me to stare after her in frowning wonderment. This night after supper, sitting in the light of the fire and finding the Don very wakeful, I was moved (at his solicitation) to tell him my history; the which I will here recapitulate as briefly as I may. "I was born, sir, in Kent in England exactly thirty years ago, and being the last of my family 'tis very sure that family shall become a name soon to be forgotten--" "But you, Señor, so young--" "But ancient in suffering, sir." "Oh, young sir, but what of love; 'tis a magic--" "A dream!" quoth I. "A dream sweet beyond words! But I am done with idle dreaming, henceforth. I come then of one of two families long at feud, a bloody strife that had endured for generations and which ended in my father being falsely accused by his more powerful enemy and thrown into prison where he speedily perished. Then I, scarce more than lad, was trepanned aboard ship, carried across seas and sold a slave into the plantations. And, mark me, sir, all this the doing of our hereditary enemy who, thus triumphant, dreamed he had ended the feud once and for all. Sir, I need not weary you with my sufferings as a planter's slave, to labour always 'neath the lash, to live or die as my master willed. Suffice it I broke free at last and, though well-nigh famished, made my way to the coast. But here my travail ended in despair, for I was recaptured and being known for runaway slave, was chained to an oar aboard the great _Esmeralda_ galleas where such poor rogues had their miserable lives whipped out of them. And here my sufferings (since it seemed I could not die) grew well-nigh beyond me to endure. But from this hell of shame and anguish I cried unceasing upon God for justice and vengeance on mine enemy that had plunged me from life and all that maketh it worthy into this living death. And God answered me in this, for upon a day the _Esmeralda_ was shattered and sunk by an English ship and I, delivered after five bitter years of agony, came back to my native land. But friends had I none, nor home, since the house wherein I was born and all else had been seized by my enemy and he a power at Court. Him sought I therefore to his destruction, since (as it seemed to me) God had brought me out of my tribulation to be His instrument of long-delayed vengeance. So, friendless and destitute, came I at last to that house had been ours for generations and there learned that my hopes and labour were vain indeed, since this man I was come to destroy had himself been captured and cast a prisoner in that very place whence I had so lately escaped!" Here the memory of this disappointment waxing in me anew, I must needs pause in my narration, whereupon my companion spake in his soft, dispassionate voice: "Thus surely God hath answered your many prayers, young sir!" "And how so?" cried I. "Of what avail that this man lie pent in dungeon or sweating in chains and I not there to see his agony? I must behold him suffer as I suffered, hear his groans, see his tears--I that do grieve a father untimely dead, I that have endured at this man's will a thousand shames and torment beyond telling! Thus, sir," I continued, "learning that his daughter was fitting out a ship to his relief I (by aid of the master of the ship) did steal myself aboard and sailed back again, back to discover this my enemy. But on the voyage mutiny broke out, headed by that evil rogue, Tressady. Then was I tricked and cast adrift in an open boat by Adam Penfeather, the master--" "Penfeather, young sir, Adam Penfeather! Truly there was one I do mind greatly famous once among the buccaneers of Tortuga." "This man, then, this Penfeather casts me adrift (having struck me unconscious first) that I might secure to him certain treasure that lay hid on this island, a vast treasure of jewels called 'Black Bartlemy's treasure.'" "I have heard mention of it, Señor." "Here then steered I, perforce, and, storm-tossed, was cast here, I and--my comrade--" "Comrade, Señor?" "Indeed, sir. For with me in the boat was a woman and she the daughter of my enemy. And here, being destitute of all things, we laboured together to our common need and surely, aye, surely, never had man braver comrade or sweeter companion. She taught me many things and amongst them how to love her, and loving, to honour and respect her for her pure and noble womanhood. Upon a time, to save herself from certain evil men driven hither by tempest she leapt into a lake that lieth in the midst of this island, being carried some distance by a current, came in this marvellous fashion on the secret of Black Bartlemy's hidden treasure. But I, thinking her surely dead, fought these rogues, slaying one and driving his fellow back to sea and, being wounded, fell sick, dreaming my dear lady beside me again, hale and full of life; and waking at last from my fears, found this the very truth. In the following days I forgot all my prayers and the great oath of vengeance I had sworn, by reason of my love for this my sweet comrade. But then came the pirate Tressady and his fellows seeking the treasure, and after him, Penfeather, which last, being a very desperate, cunning man, took Tressady by a wile and would have hanged him with his comrade Mings, but for my lady. These rogues turned I adrift in one of the boats to live or die as God should appoint. And now (my vengeance all forgot) there grew in me a passionate hope to have found me peace at last and happiness in my dear lady's love, and wedded to her, sail back to England and home. But such great happiness was not for me, it seemed. I was falsely accused of murder and (unable to prove my innocence) I chose rather to abide here solitary than endure her doubting of me, or bring shame or sorrow on one so greatly loved. Thus, sir, here have I existed a solitary man ever since." "And the Señorita Joanna, young sir?" When I had told him of her coming and the strange manner of it, Don Federigo lay silent a good while, gazing into the fire. "And your enemy, Señor?" he questioned at last. "Where lieth he now to your knowledge?" "At Nombre de Dios, in the dungeons of the Inquisition, 'tis said." "The Inquisition!" quoth Don Federigo in a whisper, and crossed himself. "Sir," said he, and with a strange look. "Oh, young sir, if this be so indeed, rest you content, for God hath surely avenged you--aye, to the very uttermost!" CHAPTER VIII HOW THE DAYS OF MY WATCHING WERE ACCOMPLISHED Our fresh meat being nearly all gone, I set out next morning with my bow and arrows (in the management of which I had made myself extreme dexterous); I set out, I say, minded to shoot me a young goat or, failing this, one of those great birds whose flesh I had found ere now to be very tender and delicate eating. Hardly had I waved adieu to the Don (him sitting in the shade propped in one of my great elbow chairs) than I started a goat and immediately gave chase, not troubling to use my bow, for what with my open-air life and constant exercise I had become so long-winded and fleet of foot that I would frequently run these wild creatures down. Away sped the goat and I after it, along perilous tracks and leaping from rock to rock, joying in the chase, since of late I had been abroad very little by reason of Don Federigo's sickness; on I ran after my quarry, the animal making ever for higher ground and more difficult ways until we were come to a rocky height whence I might behold a wide expanse of ocean. Now, as had become my wont, I cast a look around about this vast horizon and stopped all at once, clean forgetting my goat and all else in the world excepting that which had caught my lonely glance, that for which I had looked and waited and prayed for so long. For there, dim-seen 'twixt the immensity of sea and sky, was a speck I knew for the topsails of a ship. Long stood I staring as one entranced, my hands tight clasped, and all a-sweat with fear lest this glimmering speck should fade and vanish utterly away. At last, dreading this be but my fancy or a trick of the light, I summoned enough resolution to close my eyes and, bowing my head between my hands, remained thus as long as I might endure. Then, opening my eyes, I uttered a cry of joy to see this speck loom more distinct and plainer than before. Thereupon I turned and began to hasten back with some wild notion of putting off in Don Federigo's boat (the which lay securely afloat in the lagoon) and of standing away for this ship lest peradventure she miss the island. Full of this dreadful possibility I took to running like any madman, staying for nothing, leaping, scrambling, slipping and stumbling down sheer declivities, breasting precipitous cliffs until I reached and began to descend Skeleton Cove. I was half-way down the cliff when I heard the clash of steel, and presently coming where I might look down into the cove I saw this: with his back to a rock and a smear of blood on his cheek stood Don Federigo, armed with my cut-and-thrust, defending himself against Joanna; and as I watched the flash of their whirling, clashing blades, it did not take me long to see that the Don was no match for her devilish skill and cunning, and beholding her swift play of foot and wrist, her lightning volts and passes, I read death in every supple line of her. Even as I hasted towards them, I saw the dart of her long blade, followed by a vivid, ever-widening stain on the shoulder of the Don's tattered shirt. "Ha-ha!" cried she and with a gasconading flourish of her blade. "There's for Pierre Valdaigne you hanged six months agone! There's for Jeremy Price! And this for Tonio Moretti! And now for John Davis, sa-ha!" With every name she uttered, her cruel steel, flashing within his weakening guard, bit into him, arm or leg, and I saw she meant to cut him to pieces. The sword was beaten from his failing grasp and her point menaced his throat, his breast, his eyes, whiles he, leaning feebly against the rock, fronted her unflinching and waited death calm and undismayed. But, staying for no more, I leapt down into the cove and fell, rolling upon the soft sand, whereupon she flashed a look at me over her shoulder and in that moment Don Federigo had grappled her sword-arm; then came I running and she, letting fall her sword, laughed to see me catch it up. "Ha, my brave English clod," cried she. "There be two swords and two men against one defenceless woman! Come, end me, Martino, end me and be done--or will you suffer the Don to show you, yes?" And folding her arms she faced me mighty high and scornful. But now, whiles I stared at her insolent beauty and no word ready, Don Federigo made her one of his grand bows and staggered into the cave, spattering blood as he went. And in a little (staying only to take up the other sword) I followed him, leaving her to stand and mock me with her laughter. Reaching the Don I found him a-swoon and straightway set myself to bare his wounds and staunch their bleeding as well as I might, in the doing of which I must needs marvel anew at Joanna's devilish skill, since each and every of these hurts came near no vital spot and were of little account in themselves, so that a man might be stabbed thus very many times ere death ended his torment. After awhile, recovering himself somewhat, Don Federigo must needs strive to speak me his gratitude, but I cut him short to tell of the ship I had seen. "I pray what manner of ship?" "Nay, she is yet too far to determine," said I, glancing eagerly seawards. "But since ship she is, what matter for aught beside?" "True, Señor Martino! I am selfish." "How so?" "Unless she be ship of Spain, here is no friend to me. But you will be yearning for sight of this vessel whiles I keep you. Go, young sir, go forth--make you a fire, a smoke plain to be seen and may this ship bring you to freedom and a surcease of all your tribulations!" "A smoke!" cried I, leaping up. "Ha, yes--yes!" And off went I, running; but reaching Deliverance I saw there was no need for signal of mine, since on the cliff above a fire burned already, sending up huge columns of thick smoke very plain to be seen from afar, and beside this fire Joanna staring seaward beneath her hand. And looking whither she looked, I saw the ship so much nearer that I might distinguish her lower courses. Thus I stood, watching the vessel grow upon my sight, very slowly and by degrees, until it was evident she had seen the smoke and was standing in for the island. Once assured of this, I was seized of a passion of joy; and bethinking me of all she might mean to me and of the possibility that one might be aboard her whose sweet eyes even now gazed from her decks upon this lonely island, my heart leapt whiles ship and sea swam on my sight and I grew blinded by stinging tears. And now I paced to and fro upon the sand in a fever of longing and with my hungry gaze turned ever in the one direction. As the time dragged by, my impatience grew almost beyond enduring; but on came the ship, slow but sure, nearer and nearer until I could discern shroud and spar and rope, the guns that yawned from her high, weather-beaten side, the people who crowded her decks. She seemed a great ship, heavily armed and manned, and high upon her towering poop lolled one in a vivid scarlet jacket. I was gazing upon her in an ecstacy, straining my eyes for the flutter of a petticoat upon her lofty quarter-deck, when I heard Don Federigo hail me faintly, and glancing about, espied him leaning against an adjacent rock. "Alas, Señor," says he, "I know yon ship by her looks--aye, and so doth the Señorita--see yonder!" Now glancing whither he pointed, I beheld Joanna pacing daintily along the reef, pausing ever and anon to signal with her arm; then, as the ship went about to bear up towards the reef, from her crowded decks rose a great shouting and halloo, a hoarse clamour drowned all at once in the roar of great guns, and up to the main fluttered a black ancient; and beholding this accursed flag, its grisly skull and bones, I cast me down on the sands, my high hopes and fond expectations 'whelmed in a great despair. But as I lay thus was a gentle touch on my bowed head and in my ear Don Federigo's voice: "Alas, good my friend, and doth Hope die for you likewise? Then do I grieve indeed. But despair not, for in the cave yonder be two swords; go fetch them, I pray, for I am over-weak." "Of what avail," cried I bitterly, looking up into the pale serenity of his face, "of what avail two swords 'gainst a ship's company?" "We can die, Señor!" said he, with his gentle smile. "To die on our own steel, by our own hands--here--is clean death and honourable." "True!" said I. "Then I pray go fetch the swords, my friend; 'tis time methinks--look!" Glancing towards the ship, I saw she was already come to an anchor and a boatful of men pulling briskly for the reef where stood Joanna, and as they rowed they cheered her amain: "La Culebra!" they roared. "Ahoy, Joanna! Give a rouse for Fighting Jo! Cap'n Jo--ha, Joanna!" The boat being near enough, many eager hands were reached out to her and with Joanna on board they paddled into the lagoon. Now as they drew in to Deliverance Beach they fell silent all, hearkening to her words, and I saw her point them suddenly to Skeleton Cove, whereupon they rowed amain towards that spit of sand where we stood screened among the rocks, shouting in fierce exultation as they came. Don Federigo sank upon his knees with head bowed reverently above his little crucifix, and when at last he looked up his face showed placid as ever. "Señor," quoth he gently, "you do hear them howling for my blood? Well, you bear a knife in your girdle--I pray you lend it to me." For a moment I hesitated, then, drawing the weapon forth, I sent it spinning far out to sea. "Sir," said I, "we English do hold that whiles life is--so is hope. Howbeit, if you die you shall not die alone, this I swear." Then I sprang forth of the rocks and strode down where these lawless fellows were beaching their boat. CHAPTER IX WE FALL AMONG PIRATES At my sudden coming they fell silent, one and all, staring from me to Joanna, where she stood beside a buxom, swaggering ruffling fellow whose moustachios and beard were cut after the Spanish mode but with a monstrous great periwig on his head surmounted by a gold-braided, looped hat. His coat was of scarlet velvet, brave with much adornment of gold lace; his legs were thrust into a pair of rough sea-boots; and on his hip a long, curved hanger very broad in the blade. "'S fish!" said he, looking me over with his sleepy eyes. "Is this your Englishman, Jo? And what must we do wi' him--shall he hang?" "Mayhap yes--when 'tis so my whim," answered she, 'twixt smiling lips and staring me in the eyes. But now, and all at once, from the wild company rose a sudden hoarse murmur that swelled again to that fierce, exultant uproar as down towards us paced Don Federigo. "Aha, 'tis the Marquis!" they cried. "'Tis the bloody Marquis! Shoot the dog! Nay, hang him up! Aye, by his thumbs. Nay, burn him--to the fire wi' the bloody rogue!" Unheeding their vengeful outcry he advanced upon the men (and these ravening for his blood), viewing their lowering faces and brandished steel with his calm, dispassionate gaze and very proud and upright for all his bodily weakness; pausing beside me, he threw up his hand with haughty gesture and before the command of this ragged arm they abated their clamour somewhat. "Of a surety," said he in his precise English, "it is the Capitan Belvedere. You captured my daughter--my son--in the _Margarita_ carrack three years agone. 'Tis said he died at your hands, Señor Capitan--" "Not mine, Don, not mine," answered this Belvedere, smiling sleepily. "We gave him to Black Pompey to carbonado." I felt Don Federigo's hand against me as if suddenly faint, but his wide-eyed gaze never left the Captain's handsome face, who, aware of this look, shifted his own gaze, cocked his hat and swaggered. "Stare your fill, now," quoth he with an oath, "'tis little enough you'll be seeing presently. Aye, you'll be blind enough soon--" "Blind is it, Cap'n--ha, good!" cried a squat, ill-looking fellow, whipping out a long knife. "Hung my comrade Jem, a did, so here's a knife shall blind him when ye will, Cap'n, by hookey!" And now he and his fellows began to crowd upon us with evil looks; but they halted suddenly, fumbling with their weapons and eyeing Joanna uncertainly where she stood, hand on hip, viewing them with her fleering smile. "Die he shall, yes!" said she at last. "Die he must, but in proper fashion and time, not by such vermin as you--so put up that knife! You hear me, yes?" "Hanged my comrade Jem, a did, along o' many others o' the Fellowship!" growled the squat man, flourishing his knife, "Moreover the Cap'n says 'blind' says he, so blind it is, says I, and this the knife to--" The growling voice was drowned in the roar of a pistol and, dropping his knife, the fellow screamed and caught at his hurt. "And there's for you, yes!" said Joanna, smiling into the man's agonised face, "Be thankful I spared your worthless life. Crawl into the boat, worm, and wait till I'm minded to patch up your hurt--Go!" For a moment was silence, then came a great gust of laughter, and men clapped and pummelled each other. "La Culebra!" they roared. "'Tis our Jo, 'tis Fighting Jo, sure and sartain; 'tis our luck, the luck o' the Brotherhood--ha, Joanna!" But, tossing aside the smoking pistol, Joanna scowled from them to their captain. "Hola, Belvedere," said she. "Your dogs do grow out of hand; 'tis well I'm back again. Now for these my prisoners, seize 'em up, bind 'em fast and heave 'em aboard ship." "Aye, but," said Belvedere, fingering his beard, "why aboard, Jo, when we may do their business here and prettily. Yon's a tree shall make notable good gallows or--look now, here's right plenty o' kindling, and driftwood shall burn 'em merrily and 'twill better please the lads--" "But then I do pleasure myself, yes. So aboard ship they go!" "Why, look now, Jo," said Belvedere, biting at his thumb, "'tis ever my rule to keep no prisoners--" "Save women, Cap'n!" cried a voice, drowned in sudden evil laughter. "So, as I say, Joanna, these prisoners cannot go aboard my ship." "Your ship?" said she, mighty scornful. "Ah, ah, but 'twas I made you captain of your ship and 'tis I can unmake you--" "Why look ye, Jo," said Belvedere, gnawing at his thumb more savagely and glancing towards his chafing company, "the good lads be growing impatient, being all heartily for ending these prisoners according to custom--" "Aye, aye, Cap'n!" cried divers of the men, beginning to crowd upon us again. "To the fire with 'em! Nay, send aboard for Black Pompey! Aye, Pompey's the lad to set 'em dancing Indian fashion--" "You hear, Jo, you hear?" cried Belvedere. "The lads are for ending of 'em sportive fashion--especially the Don; he must die slow and quaint for sake 'o the good lads as do hang a-rotting on his cursed gibbets e'en now--quaint and slow; the lads think so and so think I--" "But you were ever a dull fool, my pretty man, yes!" said Joanna, showing her teeth. "And as for these rogues, they do laugh at you--see!" But as Belvedere turned to scowl upon and curse his ribalds, Joanna deftly whisked the pistols from his belt and every face was smitten to sudden anxious gravity as she faced them. "I am Joanna!" quoth she, her red lips curving to the smile I ever found so hateful. "Oh, Madre de Dios, where now are your tongues? And never a smile among ye! Is there a man here that will not obey Joanna--no? Joanna that could kill any of ye single-handed as she killed Cestiforo!" At this was an uneasy stir and muttering among them, and Belvedere's sleepy eyes widened suddenly. "Apes!" cried she, beslavering them with all manner of abuse, French, Spanish and English. "Monkeys, cease your chattering and list to Joanna. And mark--my prisoners go aboard this very hour, yes. And to-day we sail for Nombre de Dios. Being before the town we send in a boat under flag of truce to say we hold captive their governor, Don Federigo de Cosalva y Maldonada, demanding for him a sufficient ransom. The money paid, then will we fire a broadside into the city and the folk shall see their proud Governor swung aloft to dangle and kick at our mainyard; so do we achieve vengeance and money both--" From every throat burst a yell of wild acclaim, shout on shout: "Hey, lads, for Cap'n Jo! 'Tis she hath the wise head, mates! Money and vengeance, says Jo! Shout, lads, for Fighting Jo--shout!" "And what o' your big rogue, Jo?" demanded Belvedere, scowling on me. "He?" said Joanna, curling her lip at me. "Oh, la-la, he shall be our slave--'til he weary me. So--bring them along!" But now (and all too late) perceiving death to be the nobler part, even as Don Federigo had said, I determined to end matters then and there; thus, turning from Joanna's baleful smile, I leapt suddenly upon the nearest of the pirates and felling him with a buffet, came to grips with another; this man I swung full-armed, hurling him among his fellows, and all before a shot might be fired. But as I stood fronting them, awaiting the stab or bullet should end me, I heard Joanna's voice shrill and imperious: "Hold, lads! You are twelve and he but one and unarmed. So down with your weapons--down, I say! You shall take me this man with your naked hands--ha, fists--yes! Smite then--bruise him, fists shall never kill him! To it, with your hands then; the first man that draweth weapon I shoot! To it, lads, sa-ha--at him then, good bullies!" For a moment they hesitated but seeing Joanna, her cheeks aglow, her pistols grasped in ready hands, they laughed and cursed and, loosing off such things as incommoded them, prepared to come at me. Then, perceiving she had fathomed my design and that here was small chance of finding sudden quietus, I folded my arms, minded to let them use me as they would. But this fine resolution was brought to none account by a small piece of driftwood that one of these fellows hove at me, thereby setting my mouth a-bleeding. Stung by the blow and forgetting all but my anger, I leapt and smote with my fist, and then he and his fellows were upon me. But they being so many their very numbers hampered them, so that as they leapt upon me many a man was staggered by kick or buffet aimed at me; moreover these passed their days cooped up on shipboard whiles I was a man hardened by constant exercise. Scarce conscious of the hurts I took as we reeled to and fro, locked in furious grapple, I fought them very joyously, making right good play with my fists; but ever as I smote one down, another leapt to smite, so that presently my breath began to labour. How long I endured, I know not. Only I remember marvelling to find myself so strong and the keen joy of it was succeeded by sudden weariness, a growing sickness: I remember a sound of groaning breaths all about me, of thudding blows, hoarse shouts, these, waxing ever fainter, until smiting with failing arms and ever-waning strength, they dragged me down at last and I lay vanquished and unresisting. As I sprawled there, drawing my breath in painful gasps, the hands that smote, the merciless feet that kicked and trampled me were suddenly stilled and staring up with dimming eyes I saw Joanna looking down on me. "Oh, Martino," said she in my ear, "Oh, fool Englishman, could you but love as you do fight--" But groaning, I turned my face to the trampled sand and knew no more. CHAPTER X HOW I CAME ABOARD THE _HAPPY DESPATCH_ AND OF MY SUFFERINGS THERE I awoke gasping to the shock of cold water and was dimly aware of divers people crowding about me. "'Tis a fine, bull-bodied boy, Job, all brawn and beef--witness your eye, Lord love me!" exclaimed a jovial voice, "Aha, Job, a lusty lad--heave t'other bucket over him!" There came another torrent of water, whereupon I strove to sit up, but finding this vain by reason of strict bonds, I cursed them all and sundry instead. "A sturdy soul, Job, and of a comfortable conversation!" quoth the voice. "Moreover a man o' mark, as witnesseth your peeper." "Rot him!" growled the man Job, a beastly-seeming fellow, very slovenly and foul of person, who glared down at me out of one eye, the other being so bruised and swollen as to serve him no whit. "He should be overside wi' his guts full o' shot for this same heye of mine if 'twas my say--" "But then it ain't your say, Job, nor yet Belvedere's--'tis hern, Job--hern--Cap'n Jo's. 'He's to be took care of,' says she, 'treated kind and gentle,' says she. And, mark me, here's Belvedere's nose out o' joint, d'ye see? And, talkin' o' noses, there's your eye, Job; sink me but he wiped your eye for you, my--" "Plague and perish him!" snarled Job, kicking me viciously. "Burn him, 'tis keelhaul 'im I would first and then give 'im to Pompey to carve up what remained--" "Pompey?" exclaimed this fellow Diccon, a merry-seeming fellow but with a truculent eye. "Look 'ee, Job, here's a match for Pompey at last, as I do think, man to man, bare fists or knives, a match and I'll lay to't." "Pshaw!" growled Job. "Pompey could eat 'im--bones and all, curse 'im! Pompey would break 'is back as 'e did the big Spaniard's last week." "Nay, Job, this fellow should make better fight for't than did the Spanisher. Look 'ee now, match 'em, and I'll lay all my share o' the voyage on this fellow, come now!" "A match? Why so I would, but what o' Belvedere?" "He sulketh, Job, and yonder he cometh, a-sucking of his thumb and all along o' this fellow and our Jo. Joanna's cocked her eye on this fellow and Belvedere's cake's dough--see him yonder!" Now following the speaker's look, I perceived Captain Belvedere descending the quarter-ladder, his handsome face very evil and scowling; spying me where I lay, he came striding up and folding his arms, stood looking over me silently awhile. "Lord love me!" he exclaimed at last in huge disgust and spat upon me. "Aft with him--to the coach--" "Coach, Cap'n?" questioned Job, staring. "And why theer?" "Because I say so!" roared Belvedere. "And because," quoth Diccon, his eye more truculent than ever, "because women will be women, eh, Captain?" At this Belvedere's face grew suffused, his eyes glared and he turned on the speaker with clenched fist; then laughing grimly, he spurned me savagely with his foot. "Joanna hath her whimsies, and here's one of 'em!" quoth he and spat on me again, whereat I raged and strove, despite my bonds, to come at him. "I were a-saying to Job," quoth the man Diccon, thrusting me roughly beyond reach of Belvedere's heavy foot, "that here was a fellow to match Pompey at last." "Tush!" said Belvedere, with an oath. "Pompey would quarter him wi' naked hands." "I was a-saying to Job I would wager my share in the voyage on this fellow, Belvedere!" "Aye, Cap'n," growled Job, "'tis well enough keeping the Don to hang afore Nombre but why must this dog live aft and cosseted? He should walk overboard wi' slit weasand, or better--he's meat for Pompey, and wherefore no? I asks why, Cap'n?" "Aye--why!" cried Belvedere, gnashing his teeth. "Ask her--go ask Joanna, the curst jade." "She be only a woman, when all's said, Cap'n--" "Nay, Job," quoth Belvedere, shaking his head. "She's Joanna and behind her do lie Tressady and Sol and Rory and Abnegation Mings--and all the Fellowship. So if she says he lives, lives it is, to lie soft and feed dainty, curse him. Let me die if I don't wish I'd left her on the island to end him her own way--wi' steel or kindness--" "Kindness!" said Diccon, with an ugly leer. "Why, there it is, Cap'n; she's off wi' the old and on wi' the new, like--" "Not yet, by God!" snarled Belvedere 'twixt shut teeth and scowling down on me while his hand clawed at the pistol in his belt; then his gaze wandered from me towards the poop and back again. "Curse him!" said he, stamping in his impotent fury. "I'd give a handful o' gold pieces to see him dead and be damned!" And here he fell a-biting savagely at his thumb again. "Why, then, here's a lad to earn 'em," quoth Job, "an' that's me. I've a score agin him for this lick o' the eye he give me ashore--nigh blinded me, 'e did, burn an' blast his bones!" "Aye, but what o' Joanna, what o' that she-snake, ha?" "'Tis no matter for her. I've a plan." "What is't, Job lad? Speak fair and the money's good as yourn--" "Aye, but it ain't mine yet, Cap'n, so mum it but I've a plan." "Belay, Job!" exclaimed Diccon. "Easy all. Yonder she cometh." Sure enough, I saw Joanna descend the ladder from the poop and come mincing across the deck towards us. "Hola, Belvedere, mon Capitan!" said she, glancing about her quick-eyed. "You keep your ship very foul, yes. Dirt to dirt!--ah? But I am aboard and this shall be amended--look to it. And your mizzen yard is sprung; down with it and sway up another--" "Aye, aye, Jo," said Belvedere, nodding. "It shall be done--" "_Mañana_!" quoth she, frowning. "This doth not suit when I am aboard, no! The new yard must be rigged now, at once, for we sail with the flood--_voilà_!" "Sail, Jo?" said Belvedere, staring. "Can't be, Jo!" "And wherefore?" "Why--we be short o' water, for one thing." "Ah--bah, we shall take all we want from other ships!" "And the lads be set, heart and soul, on a few days ashore." "But then--I am set, my heart, my soul, on heaving anchor so soon as the tide serves. We will sail with the flood. Now see the new yard set up and have this slave Martin o' mine to my cabin." So saying, she turned on her heel and minced away, while Belvedere stood looking after her and biting at his thumb, Job scowled and Diccon smiled. "So--ho!" quoth he. "Captain Jo says we sail, and sail it is, hey?" "Blind you!" cried Belvedere, turning on him in a fury. "Go forward and turn out two o' the lads to draw this carcass aft!" Here bestowing a final kick on me, he swaggered away. "Sail wi' the flood, is it?" growled Job. "And us wi' scarce any water and half on us rotten wi' scurvy or calenture, an' no luck this cruise, neither! 'Sail wi' the flood,' says she--'be damned,' says I. By hookey, but I marvel she lives; I wonder no one don't snuff her out for good an' all--aye, burn me but I do!" "Because you're a fool, Job, and don't know her like we do. She's 'La Culebra,' and why? Because she's quick as any snake and as deadly. Besides, she's our luck and luck she'll bring us; she always do. Whatever ship she's aboard of has all the luck, wind, weather, and--what's better, rich prizes, Job. I know it and the lads forrad know it, and Belvedere he knows it and is mighty feared of her and small blame either--aye, and mayhap you'll be afeard of her when you know her better. 'She's only a woman,' says you. 'True,' says I. But in all this here world there ain't her match, woman or man, and you can lay to that, my lad." Now the ropes that secured me being very tight, began to cause me no little pain, insomuch that I besought the man Diccon to loose me a little, whereupon he made as to comply, but Job, who it seemed was quartermaster, and new in the office, would have none of it but cursed me vehemently instead, and hailing two men had me forthwith dragged aft to a small cabin under the poop and there (having abused and cuffed me to his heart's content) left me. And in right woful plight was I, with clothes nigh torn off and myself direly bruised from head to foot, and what with this and the cramping strictness of my bonds I could come by no easement, turn and twist me how I might. After some while, as I lay thus miserable and pain in every joint of me, the door opened, closed and Joanna stood above me. "Ah, ah--you are very foul o' blood!" said she in bitter mockery. "'Twas thus you spake me once, Martino, you'll mind! 'Very foul o' blood,' said you, and I famishing with hunger! Art hungry, Martino?" she questioned, bending over me; but meeting her look, I scowled and held my peace. "Ha, won't ye talk? Is the sullen fit on you?" said she, scowling also. "Then shall you hear me! And first, know this: you are mine henceforth, aye--mine!" So saying, she seated herself on the cushioned locker whereby I lay and, setting her foot upon my breast and elbow on knee, leaned above me, dimpled chin on fist, staring down on me with her sombre gaze. "You are mine," said she again, "to use as I will, to exalt or cast down. I can bestow on ye life or very evil death. By my will ye are alive; when I will you must surely die. Your wants, your every need must you look to me for--so am I your goddess and ruler of your destiny, yes! Ah, had you been more of man and less of fish, I had made you captain of this ship, and loved you, Martino, loved you--!" "Aye," cried I bitterly, "until you wearied of me as you have wearied of this rogue Belvedere, it seems--aye, and God knoweth how many more--" "Oh, la-la, fool--these I never loved--" "Why, then," said I, "the more your shame!" As I uttered the words, she leaned down and smote me lightly upon my swollen lips and so left me. But presently back she came and with her three of the crew, bearing chains, etc., which fellows at her command (albeit they were something gone in liquor) forthwith clapped me up in these fetters and thereafter cut away the irksome cords that bound me. Whiles this was a-doing, she (quick to mark their condition) lashed them with her tongue, giving them "loathly sots," "drunken swine," "scum o' the world" and the like epithets, all of the which they took in mighty humble fashion, knuckling their foreheads, ducking their heads with never a word and mighty glad to stumble away and be gone at flick of her contemptuous finger. "So here's you, Martino," said she, when we were alone, "here's you in chains that might have been free, and here's myself very determined you shall learn somewhat of shame and be slave at command of such beasts as yonder. D'ye hear, fool, d'ye hear?" But I heeding her none at all, she kicked me viciously so that I flinched (despite myself) for I was very sore; whereat she gave a little laugh: "Ah, ah!" said she, nodding. "If I did not love you, now would I watch you die! But the time is not yet--no. When that hour is then, if I am not your death, you shall be mine--death for one or other or both, for I--" She sprang to her feet as from the deck above came the uproar of sudden brawl with drunken outcry. "Ah, Madre de Dios!" said she, stamping in her anger. "Oh, these bestial things called men!" which said, she whipped a pistol from her belt, cocked it and was gone with a quick, light patter of feet. Suddenly I heard the growing tumult overhead split and smitten to silence by a pistol-shot, followed by a wailing cry that was drowned in the tramp of feet away forward. As for me, my poor body, freed of its bonds, found great easement thereby (and despite my irons) so that I presently laid myself down on one of these cushioned lockers (and indeed, though small, this cabin was rarely luxurious and fine) but scarce had I stretched my aching limbs than the door opened and a man entered. And surely never in all this world was stranger creature to be seen. Gaunt and very lean was he of person and very well bedight from heel to head, but the face that peered out 'twixt the curls of his great periwig lacked for an eye and was seamed and seared with scars in horrid fashion; moreover the figure beneath his rich, wide-skirted coat seemed warped and twisted beyond nature; yet as he stood viewing me with his solitary eye (this grey and very quick and bright) there was that in his appearance that somehow took my fancy. "What, messmate," quoth he, in full, hearty voice, advancing with a shambling limp, "here cometh one to lay alongside you awhile, old Resolution Day, friend, mate o' this here noble ship _Happy Despatch_, comrade, and that same myself, look'ee!" But having no mind to truck with him or any of this evil company, I bid him leave me be and cursed him roundly for the pirate-rogue he was. "Pirate," said he, no whit abashed at my outburst. "Why, pirate it is. But look'ee, there never was pirate the like o' me for holiness--'specially o' Sundays! Lord love you, there's never a parson or divine, high church or low, a patch on me for real holiness--'specially o' Sundays. So do I pray when cometh my time to die, be it in bed or boots, by sickness, bullet or noose, it may chance of a Sunday. And then again, why not a pirate? What o' yourself, friend? There's a regular fire-and-blood, skull-and-bones look about ye as liketh me very well. And there be many worse things than a mere pirate, brother. And what? You'll go for to ask. Answer I--Spanishers, Papishers, the Pope o' Rome and his bloody Inquisition, of which last I have lasting experience, _camarado_--aye, I have I!" "Ah?" said I, sitting up. "You have suffered the torture?" "Comrade, look at me! The fire, the pulley, the rack, the wheel, the water--there's no devilment they ha'n't tried on this poor carcase o' mine and all by reason of a Spanish nun as bore away with my brother!" "Your brother?" "Aye, but 'twas me she loved, for I was younger then and something kinder to the eye. So him they burned, her they buried alive and me they tormented into the wrack ye see. But I escaped wi' my life, the Lord delivered me out o' their bloody hands, which was an ill thing for them, d'ye see, for though I lack my starboard blinker and am somewhat crank i' my spars alow and aloft, I can yet ply whinger and pull trigger rare and apt enough for the rooting out of evil. And where a fairer field for the aforesaid rooting out o' Papishers, Portingales, and the like evil men than this good ship, the _Happy Despatch?_ Aha, messmate, there's many such as I've despatched hot-foot to their master Sathanas, 'twixt then and now. And so 'tis I'm a pirate and so being so do I sing along o' David: 'Blessed be the Lord my strength that teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight.' A rare gift o' words had Davy and for curses none may compare." Hereupon, seating himself on the locker over against me, he thrust a hand into his great side pocket and brought thence a hank of small-cord, a silver-mounted pistol and lastly a small, much battered volume. "Look'ee, comrade," said he, tapping the worn covers with bony finger, "the Bible is a mighty fine book to fight by; to stir up a man for battle, murder or sudden death it hath no equal and for keeping his hate agin his enemies ever a-burning, there is no book written or ever will be--" "You talk blasphemy!" quoth I. "Avast, avast!" cried he. "Here's no blasphemy, thought or word. I love this little Bible o' mine; His meat and drink to me, the friend o' my solitude, my solace in pain, my joy for ever and alway. Some men, being crossed in fortune, hopes, ambition or love, take 'em to drink and the like vanities. I, that suffered all this, took to the Bible and found all my needs betwixt the covers o' this little book. For where shall a wronged man find such a comfortable assurance as this? Hark ye what saith our Psalmist!" Turning over a page or so and lifting one knotted fist aloft, Resolution Day read this: "'I shall bathe my footsteps in the blood of mine enemies and the tongues of the dogs shall be red with the same!' The which," said he, rolling his bright eye at me, "the which is a sweet, pretty fancy for the solace of one hath endured as much as I. Aye, a noble book is Psalms. I know it by heart. List ye to this, now! 'The wicked shall perish and the enemies of the Lord be as the fat of rams, as smoke shall they consume away.' Brother, I've watched 'em so consume many's the time and been the better for't. Hark'ee again: 'They shall be as chaff before the wind. As a snail that melteth they shall every one pass away. Break their teeth in their mouth, O God!' saith Davy, aye and belike did it too, and so have I ere now with a pistol butt. I mind once when we stormed Santa Catalina and the women and children a-screaming in the church which chanced to be afire, I took out my Bible here and read these comfortable words: 'The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance, he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked so that a man shall say: Verily there is a reward for the righteous.' Aha, brother, for filling a man wi' a gust of hate and battle, there's nought like the Bible. And when a curse is wanted, give me David. Davy was a man of his hands, moreover, and so are you, friend. I watched ye fight on the sand-spit yonder; twelve to one is long enough odds for any man, and yet here's five o' the twelve wi' bones broke and never a one but wi' some mark o' your handiwork to show, which is vastly well, comrade. Joanna's choice is mine, messmate--" "How d'ye mean?" I demanded, scowling, whereupon he beamed on me friendly-wise and blinked his solitary eye. "There is no man aboard this ship," quoth he, nodding again, "no, not one as could keep twelve in play so long, friend, saving only Black Pompey--" "I've heard his name already," said I, "what like is he and who?" "A poor heathen, comrade, a blackamoor, friend, a child of Beelzebub abounding in blood, brother--being torturer, executioner and cook and notable in each several office. A man small of soul yet great of body, being nought but a poor, black heathen, as I say. And ashore yonder you shall hear our Christian messmates a-quarrelling over their rum as is the way o' your Christians hereabouts--hark to 'em!" The _Happy Despatch_ lay anchored hard by the reef and rode so near the island that, glancing from one of her stern-gallery windows I might behold Deliverance Beach shining under the moon and a great fire blazing, round which danced divers of the crew, filling the night with lewd, unholy riot of drunken singing and shouts that grew ever more fierce and threatening. I was gazing upon this scene and Resolution Day beside me, when the door was flung open and Job the quartermaster appeared. "Cap'n Jo wants ye ashore wi' her!" said he, beckoning to Resolution, who nodded and thrusting Bible into pocket, took thence the silver-mounted pistol, examined flint and priming and thrusting it into his belt, followed Job out of the cabin, locking the door upon me. Thereafter I was presently aware of a boat putting off from the ship and craning my neck, saw it was rowed by Resolution with Joanna in the stern sheets, a naked sword across her knees; and my gaze held by the glimmer of this steel, I watched them row into the lagoon and so to that spit of sand opposite Skeleton Cove. I saw the hateful glitter of this deadly steel as Joanna leapt lightly ashore, followed more slowly by Resolution. But suddenly divers of the rogues about the fire, beholding Joanna as she advanced against them thus, sword in hand, cried out a warning to their fellows, who, ceasing from their strife, immediately betook them to their heels, fleeing before her like so many mischievous lads; marvelling, I watched until she had pursued them out of my view. Hereupon I took to an examination of my fetters, link by link, but finding them mighty secure, laid me down as comfortably as they would allow and fell to pondering my desperate situation, and seeing no way out herefrom (and study how I might) I began to despond; but presently, bethinking me of Don Federigo and judging his case more hopeless than mine (if this could well be), and further, remembering how, but for me, he would by death have delivered himself, I (that had not prayed this many a long month) now petitioned the God to whom nothing is impossible that He would save alive this noble gentleman of Spain, and thus, in his sorrows, forgot mine own awhile. All at once I started up, full of sudden great and joyful content in all that was, or might be, beholding in my fetters the very Providence of God (as it were) and in my captivity His answer to my so oft-repeated prayer; for now I remembered that with the flood this ship was to sail for Nombre de Dios, where, safe-dungeoned and secure against my coming lay my hated foe and deadly enemy, Richard Brandon. And now, in my vain and self-deluding pride (my heart firm-set on this miserable man, his undoing and destruction) I cast me down on my knees and babbled forth my passionate gratitude to Him that is from everlasting to everlasting the God of Mercy, Love and Forgiveness. CHAPTER XI HOW I FOUGHT IN THE DARK WITH ONE POMPEY, A GREAT BLACKAMOOR I was yet upon my knees when came Job the quartermaster with two men who, at his command, dragged me to my feet and out upon deck; cursing my hampering fetters, they tumbled me down the quarter-ladder and so down into the waist of the ship. Now as I went I kept my eyes upraised to the serene majesty of the heavens; the moon rode high amid a glory of stars, and as I looked it seemed I had never seen them so bright and wonderful, never felt the air so good and sweet upon my lips. Being come to the fore-hatchway I checked there, despite my captors' buffets and curses, to cast a final, long look up, above and round about me, for I had a sudden uneasy feeling, a dreadful suspicion that once I descended into the gloom below I never should come forth alive. So I stared eagerly upon these ever-restless waters, so bright beneath the moon, upon the white sands of Deliverance Beach, on lofty palmetto and bush-girt cliff and then, shivering despite all my resolution, I suffered them to drag me down into that place of shadows. I remember a sharp, acrid smell, the reek of bilge and thick, mephitic air as I stumbled on betwixt my captors through this foul-breathing dimness until a door creaked, yawning suddenly upon a denser blackness, into which I was thrust so suddenly that I fell, clashing my fetters, and lying thus, heard the door slammed and bolted. So here lay I in sweating, breathless expectation of I knew not what, my ears on the stretch, my manacled hands tight-clenched and every nerve a-tingle with this dreadful uncertainty. For a great while it seemed I lay thus, my ears full of strange noises, faint sighings, unchancy rustlings and a thousand sly, unaccountable sounds that at first caused me direful apprehensions but which, as I grew more calm, I knew for no more than the flow of the tide and the working of the vessel's timbers as she strained at her anchors. All at once I sat up, crouching in the dark, as from somewhere about me, soft yet plain to hear, came a sound that told me some one was stealthily drawing the bolts of the door. Rising to my feet I stood, shackled fists clenched, ready to leap and smite so soon as chance should offer. Then came a hissing whisper: "Easy all, brother! Soft it is, comrade! 'Tis me, messmate, old Resolution, friend, come to loose thy bilboes, for fair is fair. Ha, 'tis plaguey dark, the pit o' Acheron ain't blacker, where d'ye lay--speak soft for there's ears a-hearkening very nigh us." In the dark a hand touched me and then I felt the muzzle of a pistol at my throat. "No tricks, lad--no running for't if I loose ye--you'll bide here--come life, come death? Is't agreed?" "It is!" I whispered. Whereupon and with no more ado, he freed me from my gyves, making scarcely any sound, despite the dark. "I'll take these wi' me, friend and--my finger's on trigger." "Resolution, how am I to die?" "Black Pompey!" came the hissing whisper. "Hath Joanna ordered this?" "Never think it, mate--she's ashore and I swam aboard, having my suspicions." "Resolution, a dying man thanks you heartily, purely never, after all, was there pirate the like o' you for holiness. Could I but find some weapon to my defence now--a knife, say." In the dark came a griping hand that found mine and was gone again, but in my grasp was a stout, broad-bladed knife. "'Let the heathen rage,' saith Holy Writ, so rage it is, says I, only smite first, brother and smite--hard. And 'ware the starboard scuttle!" Hereafter was the rustle of his stealthy departure, the soft noise of bolts, and silence. And now in this pitchy gloom, wondering what and where this scuttle might be, I crouched, a very wild and desperate creature, peering into the gloom and starting at every sound; thus presently I heard the scrape of a viol somewhere beyond the bulkheads that shut me in and therewith a voice that sang, the words very clear and distinct: "Oh, Moll she lives in Deptford town, In Deptford town lives she; Let maid be white or black or brown. Still Moll's the lass for me; Sweet Moll as lives in Deptford town, Yo-ho, shipmates, for Deptford town, Tis there as I would be." Mingled with this singing I thought to hear the heavy thud of an unshod foot on the planking above my head, and setting my teeth I gripped my knife in sweating palm. But now (and to my despair) came the singing again to drown all else, hearken how I would: "Come whistle, messmates all. For a breeze, for a breeze Come pipe up, messmates all, For a breeze. When to Deptford town we've rolled Wi' our pockets full o' gold; Then our lasses we will hold On our knees, on our knees." Somewhere in the dark was the sudden, thin complaint of a rusty and unwilling bolt, though if this were to my right or left, above or below me, I could not discover and my passionate listening was once more vain by reason of this accursed rant: "Who will not drink a glass, Let him drown, let him drown; Who will not drink a glass, Let him drown. Who will not drink a glass For to toast a pretty lass, Is no more than fool and ass; So let him drown, let him drown!" A sudden glow upon the gloom overhead, a thin line of light that widened suddenly to a square of blinding radiance and down through the trap came a lanthorn grasped in a hugeous, black fist and, beyond this, an arm, a mighty shoulder, two rows of flashing teeth, two eyes that glared here and there, rolling in horrid fashion; thus much I made out as I sprang and, grappling this arm, smote upwards with my knife. The lanthorn fell, clattering, and was extinguished, but beyond the writhing, shapeless thing that blocked the scuttle, I might, ever and anon, behold a star twinkling down upon me where I wrestled with this mighty arm that whirled me from my feet, and swung me, staggering, to and fro as I strove to get home with my knife at the vast bulk that loomed above me. Once and twice I stabbed vainly, but my third stroke seemed more successful, for the animal-like howl he uttered nigh deafened me; then (whether by my efforts or his own, I know not) down he came upon me headlong, dashing the good knife from my grasp and whirling me half-stunned against the bulkhead, and as I leaned there, sick and faint, a hand clapped-to the scuttle. And now in this dreadful dark I heard a deep and gusty breathing, like that of some monstrous beast, heard this breathing checked while he listened for me a stealthy rustling as he felt here and there to discover my whereabouts. But I stood utterly still, breathless and sweating, with a horror of death at this great blackamoor's hands, since, what with the palsy of fear by reason of the loss of my knife, I did not doubt but that this monster would soon make an end of me and in horrid fashion. Presently I heard him move again and (judging by the sound) creeping on hands and knees, therefore as he approached I edged myself silently along the bulkhead and thus (as I do think) we made the complete circuit of the place; once it seemed he came upon the lanthorn and dashing it fiercely aside, paused awhile to listen again, and my heart pounding within me so that I sweated afresh lest he catch the sound of it. And sometimes I would hear the soft, slurring whisper his fingers made against deck or bulkhead where he groped for me, and once a snorting gasp and the crunch of his murderous knife-point biting into wood and thereafter a hoarse and outlandish muttering. And ever as I crept thus, moving but when he moved, I felt before me with my foot, praying that I might discover my knife and, this in hand, face him and end matters one way or another and be done with the horror. And whiles we crawled thus round and round within this narrow space, ever and anon above the stealthy rustle of his movements, above his stertorous breathing and evil muttering, above the wild throbbing of my heart rose the wail of the fiddle and the singing: "Who will not kiss a maid, Let him hang, let him hang; Who fears to kiss a maid, Let him hang. Who will not kiss a maid Who of woman is afraid, Is no better than a shade; So let him hang, let him hang!" until this foolish, ranting ditty seemed to mock me, my breath came and went to it, my heart beat to it; yet even so, I was praying passionately and this my prayer, viz: That whoso was waiting above us for my death-cry should not again lift the scuttle lest I be discovered to this man-thing that crept and crept upon me in the dark. Even as I prayed thus, the scuttle was raised and, blinded by the sudden glare of a lanthorn, I heard Job's hoarse voice: "Below there! Pompey, ahoy! Ha'n't ye done yet an' be curst?" And suddenly I found in this thing I had so much dreaded the one chance to my preservation, for I espied the great blackamoor huddled on his knees, shading his eyes with both hands from the dazzling light and, lying on the deck before him a long knife. "Oh, marse mate," he cried, "me done fin' no curs' man here'bouts--" Then I leaped and kicking the knife out of reach, had him in my grip, my right hand fast about his throat. I remember his roar, the crash of the trap as it closed, and after this a grim and desperate scuffling in the dark; now he had me down, rolling and struggling and now we were up, locked breast to breast, swaying and staggering, stumbling and slipping, crashing into bulkheads, panting and groaning; and ever he beat and buffeted me with mighty fists, but my head bowed low betwixt my arms, took small hurt, while ever my two hands squeezed and wrenched and twisted at his great, fleshy throat. I remember an awful gasping that changed to a strangling whistle, choked to a feeble, hissing whine; his great body grew all suddenly lax, swaying weakly in my grasp, and then, as I momentarily eased my grip, with a sudden, mighty effort he broke free. I heard a crash of splintering wood, felt a rush of sweet, pure air, saw him reel out through the shattered door and sink upon his knees; but as I sprang towards him he was up and fleeing along the deck amidships, screaming as he ran. All about me was a babel of shouts and cries, a rush and trampling of feet, but I sped all unheeding, my gaze ever upon the loathed, fleeing shape of this vile blackamoor. I was hard on his heels as he scrambled up the quarter-ladder and within a yard of him as he gained the deck, while behind us in the waist were men who ran pell-mell, filling the night with raving clamour and drunken halloo. Now as I reached the quarter-deck, some one of these hurled after me a belaying pin and this, catching me on the thigh, staggered me so that I should have fallen but for the rail; so there clung I in a smother of sweat and blood while great moon and glittering stars span dizzily; but crouched before me on his hams, almost within arm's reach, was this accursed negro who gaped upon me with grinning teeth and rolled starting eyeballs, his breath coming in great, hoarse gasps. And I knew great joy to see him in no better case than I, his clothes hanging in blood-stained tatters so that I might see all the monstrous bulk of him. Now, as he caught his breath and glared upon me, I suffered my aching body to droop lower and lower over the rail like one nigh to swooning, yet very watchful of his every move. Suddenly as we faced each other thus, from the deck below rose a chorus of confused cries: "At him, Pompey! Now's ye time, boy! Lay 'im aboard, lad, 'e be a-swounding! Ha--out wi' his liver, Pompey--at him, he's yourn!" Heartened by these shouts and moreover seeing how feebly I clutched at the quarter-rail, the great negro uttered a shrill cry of triumph and leapt at me; but as he came I sprang to meet his rush and stooping swiftly, caught him below the knees and in that same moment, straining every nerve, every muscle and sinew to the uttermost, I rose up and hove him whirling over my shoulder. I heard a scream, a scurry of feet, and then the thudding crash of his fall on the deck below and coming to the rail I leaned down and saw him lie, his mighty limbs hideously twisted and all about him men who peered and whispered. But suddenly they found their voices to rage against me, shaking their fists and brandishing their steel; a pistol flashed and roared and the bullet hummed by my ear, but standing above them I laughed as a madman might, jibing at them and daring them to come on how they would, since indeed death had no terrors for me now. And doubtless steel or shot would have ended me there and then but for the man Diccon who quelled their clamour and held them from me by voice and fist: "Arrest, ye fools--stand by!" he roared. "Yon man be the property o' Captain Jo--'tis Joanna's man and whoso harms him swings--" "Aye, but he've murdered Pompey, ain't 'e?" demanded Job. "Aye, aye--an' so 'e have, for sure!" cried a voice. "Well an' good--murder's an 'anging matter, ain't it?" "An' so it be, Job--up wi' him--hang him--hang him!" "Well an' good!" cried Job again. "'Ang 'im we will, lads, all on us, every man's fist to the rope--she can't hang us all, d'ye see. You, Diccon, where be Belvedere; he shall be in it--" "Safe fuddled wi' rum, surely. Lord, Job, you do be takin' uncommon risks for a hatful o' guineas--" So they took me and, all unresisting, I was dragged amidships beneath the main yard where a noose was for my destruction; and though hanging had seemed a clean death by contrast with that I had so lately escaped at the obscene hands of this loathly blackamoor, yet none the less a sick trembling took me as I felt the rope about my neck, insomuch that I sank to my knees and closed my eyes. Kneeling thus and nigh to fainting, I heard a sudden, quick patter of light-running feet, a gasping sigh and, glancing up, beheld Job before me, also upon his knees and staring down with wide and awful eyes at an ever-spreading stain that fouled the bosom of his shirt; and as he knelt thus, I saw above his stooping head the blue glitter of a long blade that lightly tapped his brawny neck. "The noose--here, Diccon, here, yes!" As one in a dream I felt the rope lifted from me and saw it set about the neck of Job. "So! Ready there? Now--heave all!" I heard the creak of the block, the quick tramp of feet, a strangling cry, and Job the quartermaster was snatched aloft to kick and writhe and dangle against the moon. "Diccon, we have lost our quartermaster and we sail on the flood; you are quartermaster henceforth, yes. Ha--look--see, my Englishman is sick! Dowse a bucket o' water over him, then let him be ironed and take him forward to the fo'castle; he shall serve you all for sport--but no killing, mind." Thus lay I to be kicked and buffeted and half-drowned; yet when they had shackled me, cometh the man Diccon to clap me heartily on the shoulder and after him Resolution to nod at me and blink with his single, twinkling eye: "Oh, friend," quoth he, "Oh, brother, saw ye ever the like of our Captain Jo? Had Davy been here to-day he might perchance ha' wrote a psalm to her." That morning with the flood tide we hove anchor and the _Happy Despatch_ stood out to sea and, as she heeled to the freshening wind, Job's stiffening body lurched and swayed and twisted from the main yard. And thus it was I saw the last of my island. CHAPTER XII OF BATTLE, MURDER AND RESOLUTION DAY, HIS POINT OF VIEW And now, nothing heeding my defenceless situation and the further horrors that might be mine aboard this accursed pirate ship, I nevertheless knew great content for that, with every plunge and roll of the vessel, I was so much the nearer Nombre de Dios town where lay prisoned my enemy, Richard Brandon; thus I made of my sinful lust for vengeance a comfort to my present miseries, and plotting my enemy's destruction, found therein much solace and consolation. I had crept into a sheltered corner and here, my knees drawn up, my back against one of the weather guns, presently fell a-dozing. I was roused by a kick to find the ship rolling prodigiously, the air full of spray and a piping wind, and Captain Belvedere scowling down on me, supporting himself by grasping a backstay in one hand and flourishing a case-bottle in the other. "Ha, 's fish, d'ye live yet?" roared he in drunken frenzy. "Ha'n't Black Pompey done your business? Why, then--here's for ye!" And uttering a great oath, he whirled up the bottle to smite; but, rolling in beneath his arm, I staggered him with a blow of my fettered hands, then (or ever I might avoid him) he had crushed me beneath his foot: and then Joanna stood fronting him. Pallid, bare-headed, wild of eye, she glared on him and before this look he cowered and shrank away. "Drunken sot!" cried she. "Begone lest I send ye aloft to join yon carrion!" And she pointed where Job's stiff body plunged and swung and twisted at the reeling yard-arm. "Nay, Jo, I--I meant him no harm!" he muttered, and turning obedient to her gesture, slunk away. "Ah, Martino," said Joanna, stooping above me, "'twould seem I must be for ever saving your life to you, yes. Are you not grateful, no?" "Aye, I am grateful!" quoth I, remembering my enemy. "Then prove me it!" "As how?" "Speak me gently, look kindly on me, for I am sick, Martino, and shall be worse. I never can abide a rolling ship--'tis this cursed woman's body o' mine. So to-day am I all woman and yearn for tenderness--and we shall have more bad weather by the look o' things! Have you enough knowledge to handle this ship in a storm?" "Not I!" "'Tis pity," she sighed, "'tis pity! I would hang Belvedere and make you captain in his room--he wearies me, and would kill me were he man enough--ah, Mother of Heaven, what a sea!" she cried, clinging to me as a great wave broke forward, filling the air with hissing spray. "Aid me aft, Martino!" Hereupon, seeing her so haggard and faint, and the decks deserted save for the watch, I did as she bade me as well as I might by reason of my fetters and the uneasy motion of the ship, and at last (and no small labour) I brought her into the great cabin or roundhouse under the poop. And now she would have me bide and talk with her awhile, but this I would by no means do. "And why not, Martino?" she questioned in soft, wheedling fashion. "Am I so hateful to you yet? Wherefore go?" "Because I had rather lie in my fetters out yonder at the mercy o' wind and wave!" said I. Now at this she fell to sudden weeping and, as suddenly, to reviling me with bitter curses. "Go then!" cried she, striking me in her fury. "Keep your chains--aye, I will give ye to the mercy of this rabble crew ... leave me!" The which I did forthwith and, finding me a sheltered corner, cast myself down there and fell to hearkening to the rush of the wind and to watching the awful might of the racing, foam-capped billows. And, beholding these manifestations of God's majesty and infinite power, of what must I be thinking but my own small desires and unworthy schemes of vengeance! And bethinking me of Don Federigo (and him governor of Nombre de Dios) I began planning how I might use him to my purpose. My mind full of this, I presently espied the mate, Resolution Day, his laced hat and noble periwig replaced by a close-fitting seaman's bonnet, making his way across the heaving deck as only a seaman might (and despite his limp) and as he drew nearer I hailed and beckoned him. "Aha, and are ye there, camarado!" said he. "'Tis well, for I am a-seeking ye." "Tell me, Resolution, when shall we sight Nombre de Dios?" "Why look now, if this wind holdeth fair, we should fetch up wi' it in some five days or thereabouts." "Don Federigo is governor of the town, I think?" "Verily and so he is. And what then?" "Where lieth he now?" "Safe, friend, and secure. You may lay to that, brother!" "Could you but get me speech with him--" "Not by no manner o' means whatsoever, _amigo_! And the reason why? It being agin her orders." "Is he well?" "Well-ish, brother--fairly bobbish, all things considered, mate--though not such a hell-fire, roaring lad o' mettle as yourself, comrade. David slew Goliath o' Gath wi' a pebble and you broke Black Pompey's back wi' your naked hands! Here's a thing as liketh me mighty well! Wherefore I grieve to find ye such an everlasting fool, brother." "How so, Resolution?" "When eyes look sweetness--why scowl? When lips woo kisses--wherefore take a blow instead? When comfort and all manner o' delights be offered--why choose misery forrard and the bloody rogues o' her fo'castle? For 'tis there as you be going, mate--aye, verily!" Here he set a silver whistle to his mouth and blew a shrill blast at which signal came two fellows who, at his command, dragged me to my feet and so away forward. Thus true to her word, Joanna banished me from the gilded luxury of cabin and roundhouse and gave me up to the rogues forward, a wild and lawless company of divers races and conditions so that they seemed the very scum of the world, and yet here, in this reeking forecastle, each and every of them my master. Nor can any words of mine justly paint the wild riot and brutal licence of this crowded 'tween-deck, foul with the reek of tobacco and a thousand worse savours, its tiers on tiers of dark and noisome berths where men snored or thrust forth shaggy heads to rave at and curse each other; its blotched and narrow table amidships, its rows of battered sea chests, its loathsome floor; a place of never-ceasing stir and tumult, dim-lighted by sputtering lamps. My advent was hailed by an exultant roar and they were all about me, an evil company in their rage and draggled finery; here were faces scarred by battles and brutalised by their own misdeeds, this unlovely company now thrust upon me with pointing fingers, nudging elbows, scowls and mocking laughter. "What now--is he to us, then?" cried one. "Hath Jo sent us her plaything?" "Aye, lads, and verily!" answered Resolution. "Here's him as she calleth Martin O; here's him as out-fought Pompey--" "Aye, aye--remember Pompey!" cried a bedizened rogue pushing towards me, hand on knife. "Why, truly, Thomas Ford, remember Pompey, but forget not Job as died so sudden--in the midst o' life he were in death, were Job! So hands off your knife, Thomas Ford; Captain Jo sendeth Martin for your sport and what not, d'ye see, but when he dieth 'tis herself will do the killing!" Left alone and helpless in my fetters, I stood with bowed head, nothing heeding them for all their baiting of me, whereupon the man Ford, catching up a pipkin that chanced handy, cast upon me some vileness or other the which was the signal for others to do likewise so that I was soon miserably wet from head to foot and this I endured without complaint. But now they betook them to tormenting me with all manner of missiles, joying to see me blench and stagger until, stung to a frenzy of rage and being within reach of the man Ford (my chiefest tormentor) I sprang upon him and fell to belabouring him heartily with the chain that swung betwixt my wrists, but an unseen foot tripped me heavily and ere I could struggle free they were upon me. But now as they kicked and trampled and buffeted me, I once again called upon God with a loud voice, and this was the manner of my supplication: "Oh, God of Justice, for the pains I now endure, give to me vengeance--vengeance, Oh, God, upon mine enemy!" And hearing this passionate outcry, my tormentors presently drew away from me, staring on me where I lay and muttering together like men greatly amazed, and left me in peace awhile. Very much might I tell of all I underwent at this time, of the shameful indignities, tricks and deviltries of which I was victim, so that there were times when I cursed my Maker and all in this world save only my miserable self--I, that by reason of my hate and vengeful pursuit of my enemy, had surely brought all these evils on my own head. Yet every shame I endured, every pain I suffered did but nerve me anew to this long-sought vengeance on him that (in my blind folly) I cursed as the author of these my sufferings. But indeed little gust have I to write of these things; moreover I began to fear that my narrative grow to inordinate length, so will I incontinent pass on to that time when came the quartermaster Diccon with Resolution Day to deliver me from my hateful prison. And joy unspeakable was it to breathe the sweet, clean air, to hear the piping song of the wind and the hiss of the tumbling billows, to feel the lift and roll of the great ship as she ploughed her course through seas blue as any sapphire; though indeed small leisure had I for the glory of it all, as they hurried me aft. "What now?" I enquired hopelessly. "What new deviltries have ye in store?" "'Tis Jo!" answered Diccon. "'Tis Joanna, my bully!" and here he leered and nodded; "Joanna is sick and groweth womanish--" "And look'ee now, friend," quoth Resolution, clapping me on the back, "you'll mind 'twas old Resolution as was your stay and comfort by means of a knife i' the matter o' the heathen Pompey, comrade? You'll not forget old Resolution, shipmate?" "And me," quoth Diccon, patting my other shoulder. "I stood your friend so much as I might--aye, did I!" Thus talked they, first in one ear then in the other, picturing to my imagination favours done me, real or imagined, until, to hear them, they might have been my guardian angels; while I went between them silent and mighty sullen, casting about in my mind as to what all this should portend. So they brought me aft to that gilded cabin the which gave upon the stern-gallery; and here, outstretched on downy cushions and covered by a rich embroidery, lay Joanna. Perceiving me, she raised herself languidly and motioned the others to be gone, whereupon they went out, closing the door; whereupon she spake, quick and passionate: "I have sent for you because I am weak with my sickness, Martino, faint and very solitary!" "And must I weep therefore?" said I, and glancing from her haggard face I beheld a small, ivory-hilted dagger on the table at her elbow. "Ah, mercy of God--how the ship rolls!" she moaned feebly and then burst forth into cursings and passionate revilings of ship and wind and sea until these futile ravings were hushed for lack of breath; anon she fell to sighing and with many wistful looks, but finding me all unheeding, fell foul of me therefore: "Ha, scowl, beast--scowl--this becomes thy surly visage. I shall not know thee else! Didst ever smile in all thy sullen days or speak me gentle word or kindly? Never to me, oh, never to me! Will ye not spare a look? Will ye not speak--have ye no word to my comfort?" "Why seek such of me?" I demanded bitterly. "I have endured much of shame and evil at your will--" "Ah, fool," sighed she, "had you but sent to me--one word--and I had freed you ere this! And I have delivered you at last because I am sick and weak--a woman and lonely--" "Why, there be rogues for you a-plenty hereabouts shall fit ye better than I--" "Oh, 'tis a foul tongue yours, Martino!" "Why, then, give me a boat, cast me adrift and be done with me." "Ah, no, I would not you should die yet--" "Mayhap you will torture me a little more first." "'Tis for you to choose! Oh, Martino," she cried; "will you not be my friend, rather?" "Never in this world!" At this, and all at once, she was weeping. "Ah, but you are cruel!" she sobbed, looking up at me through her tears. "Have you no pity for one hath never known aught of true love or gentleness? Wilt not forget past scores and strive to love me--some little--Martino?" Now hearkening to her piteous accents, beholding her thus transfigured, her tear-wet eyes, the pitiful tremor of her vivid lips and all the pleading humility of her, I was beyond all thought amazed. "Surely," said I, "surely you are the strangest woman God ever made--" "Why then," said she, smiling through her tears, "since God made me, then surely--ah, surely is there something in me worthy your love?" "Love?" quoth I, frowning and clenching my shackled hands. "'Tis an emptiness--I am done with the folly henceforth--" "Ah--ah ... and what of your Joan--your Damaris?" she questioned eagerly. "Do you not love her--no?" "No!" said I fiercely. "My life holdeth but one purpose--" "What purpose, Martino, what?" "Vengeance!" "On whom?" "'Tis no matter!" said I, and question me how she might I would say no more, whereupon she importuned me with more talk of love and the like folly until, finding me heedless alike of her tears and pleadings, she turned on me in sudden fury, vowing she would have me dragged back to the hell of the forecastle there and then. "I'll shame your cursed pride," cried she. "You shall be rove to a gun and flayed with whips--" But here, reaching forward or ever she might stay me, I caught up the ivory-hilted dagger: "Ah!" said she softly, staring where it glittered in my shackled hand. "Would you kill me! Come then, death have I never feared--strike, _Martino mio_!" and she proffered her white bosom to the blow; but I laughed in fierce derision. "Silly wench," said I, "this steel is not for you! Call in your rogues and watch me blood a few--" "Ah, damned coward," she cried, "ye dare not slay me lest Belvedere torment ye to death--'tis your own vile carcase you do think of!" At this I did but laugh anew, whereat, falling to pallid fury, she sprang upon me, smiting with passionate, small fists, besetting me so close that I cowered and shrank back lest she impale herself on the dagger I grasped. But presently being wearied she turned away, then staggered as the ship rolled to a great sea, and would have fallen but for me. Suddenly, as she leaned upon me thus, her dark head pillowed on my breast, she reached up and clasped her hands about my neck and with head yet hid against me burst into a storm of fierce sobbing. Staring down at this bowed head, feeling the pleading passion of these vital, soft-clasping hands and shaken by her heart-bursting sobs, I grew swiftly abashed and discomfited and let the dagger fall and lie unheeded. "Ah, Martino," said she at last, her voice muffled in my breast. "Surely nought is there in all this wretched world so desolate as a loveless woman! Can you not--pity me--a little, yes?" "Aye, I do pity you!" quoth I, on impulse. "And pity is kin to love, Martino! And I can be patient, patient, yes!" "'Twere vain!" said I. At this she loosed me and uttering a desolate cry, cast herself face down upon her couch. "Be yourself," said I, spurning the dagger into a corner; "rather would I have your scorn and hate than tears--" "You have," said she, never stirring. "I do scorn you greatly, hate you mightily, despise you infinitely--yet is my love greater than all--" Suddenly she started to an elbow, dashing away her tears, fierce-eyed, grim-lipped, all womanly tenderness gone, as from the deck above rose the hoarse roar of a speaking trumpet and the running of feet; and now was loud rapping on the door that, opening, disclosed Diccon, the quartermaster. "By your leave, Captain Jo," cried he, "but your luck's wi' us--aye, is it! A fine large ship a-plying to wind'ard of us--" In a moment Joanna was on her feet and casting a boat-cloak about herself hasted out of the cabin, bidding Diccon bring me along. The wind had fallen light though the seas yet ran high; and now being come to the lofty poop, I might behold our crowded decks where was mighty bustle and to-do, casting loose the guns, getting up shot and powder, a-setting out of half-pikes, swords, pistols and the like with a prodigious coming and going; a heaving and yo-ho-ing with shouts and boisterous laughter, whiles ever and anon grimy hands pointed and all heads were turned in the one direction where, far away across the foam-flecked billows, was a speck that I knew for a vessel. And beholding these pirate rogues, how joyously they laboured, with what lusty cheers they greeted Joanna and clambered aloft upon swaying yards to get more sail on the ship obedient to her shrill commands, I knew a great pity for this ship we were pursuing and a passionate desire that she might yet escape us. I was yet straining my eyes towards the chase and grieving for the poor souls aboard her, when, at word from Joanna, I was seized and fast bound to a ringbolt. Scarce was this done than Joanna uttered a groan and, clapping her hand to her head, called out for Resolution, and with his assistance got her down to the quarter-deck. By afternoon the sea was well-nigh calm and the chase so close that we might behold her plainly enough and the people on her decks. Her topmasts were gone, doubtless in the great storm, and indeed a poor, battered thing she looked as she rolled to the long, oily swell. All at once, out from her main broke the golden banner of Spain, whereupon rose fierce outcries from our rogues; then above the clamour rose the voice of Diccon: "Shout, lads--shout for Roger, give tongue to Jolly Roger!" and looking where he pointed with glittering cutlass, I beheld that hideous flag that is hated by all honest mariners. And now began a fight that yet indeed was no fight, for seeing we had the range of them whereas their shot fell pitifully short, Belvedere kept away and presently let fly at them with every heavy gun that bore, and, as the smoke thinned, I saw her foremast totter and fall, and her high, weather-beaten side sorely splintered by our shot. Having emptied her great guns to larboard the _Happy Despatch_ went about and thundered death and destruction against them with her starboard broadside and they powerless to annoy us any way in return. And thus did we batter them with our great pieces, keeping ever out of their reach, so that none of all their missiles came aboard us, until they, poor souls, seeing their case altogether hopeless, were fain to cry us quarter. Hereupon, we stood towards them, and as we approached I could behold the havoc our great shot had wrought aboard them. The enemy having yielded to our mercy and struck their flag, we ceased our fire, and thinking the worst, over and done, I watched where Belvedere conned the ship with voice and gesture and the crew, mighty quick and dexterous in obedience, proved themselves prime sailor-men, despite their loose and riotous ways, so that, coming down upon the enemy, we presently fell aboard of them by the fore-chains; whereupon up scrambled old Resolution, sword in hand, first of any man (despite his lameness) and with a cry of "Boarders away!" sprang down upon the Spaniard's blood-spattered deck and his powder-blackened rogues leaping and hallooing on his heels. And now from these poor, deluded souls who had cast themselves upon our mercy rose sudden awful shrieks and cries hateful to be heard as they fled hither and thither about their littered decks before the pitiless steel that hacked and thrust and smote. Shivering and sweating, I must needs watch this thing done until, grown faint and sick, I bowed my face that I might see no more. Gradually these distressful sounds grew weaker and weaker, and dying away at last, were lost in the fierce laughter and jubilant shouting of their murderers, where they fell to the work of pillage. But hearing sudden roar of alarm, I looked up to see the Spanish ship was going down rapidly by the head, whereupon was wild uproar and panic, some of our rogues cutting away at the grapples even before their comrades had scrambled back to safety; so was strife amongst them and confusion worse confounded. The last man was barely aboard than our yards were braced round and we stood away clear of this sinking ship. Now presently uproar broke out anew and looking whence it proceeded, I beheld four Spaniards (who it seemed had leapt aboard us unnoticed in the press), and these miserable wretches methought would be torn in pieces. But thither swaggered Belvedere, flourishing his pistols and ordering his rogues back, and falls to questioning these prisoners and though I could not hear, I saw how they cast themselves upon their knees, with hands upraised to heaven, supplicating his mercy. He stood with arms folded, nodding his head now and then as he listened, so that I began to have some hopes that he would spare them; but all at once he gestured with his arms, whereon was a great gust of laughter and cheering, and divers men began rigging a wide plank out-board from the gangway amidships, whiles others hasted to pinion these still supplicating wretches. This done, they seized upon one, and hoisting him up on the plank with his face to the sea, betook them to pricking him with sword and pike, thus goading him to walk to his death. So this miserable, doomed man crept out along the plank, whimpering pleas for mercy to the murderers behind him and prayers for mercy to the God above him, until he was come to the plank's end and cowered there, raising and lowering his bound hands in his agony while he gazed down into the merciless sea that was to engulf him. All at once he stood erect, his fettered hands upraised to heaven, and then with a piteous, wailing cry he plunged down to his death and vanished 'mid the surge; once he came up, struggling and gasping, ere he was swept away in the race of the tide. Now hereupon I cast myself on my knees and hiding my face in my fettered hands, fell to a passion of prayer for the soul of this unknown man. And as I prayed, I heard yet other lamentable outcries, followed in due season by the hollow plunge of falling bodies; and so perished these four miserable captives. I was yet upon my knees when I felt a hand upon my shoulder and the touch (for a wonder) was kindly, and raising my head I found Resolution Day looking down on me with his solitary, bright eye and his grim lips up-curling to friendly smile. "So perish all Papishers, Romanists, Inquisitioners, and especially Spanishers, friend!" "'Twas cruel and bloody murder!" quoth I, scowling up at him. "Why, perceive me now, _amigo_, let us reason together, _camarado_--thus now it all dependeth upon the point o' view; these were Papishers and evil men, regarding which Davy sayeth i' the Psalms, 'I will root 'em out,' says he; why, root it is! says I--and look'ee, brother, I have done a lot o' rooting hitherto and shall do more yet, as I pray. As to the fight now, mate, as to the fight, 'twas noble fight--pretty work, and the ship well handled, as you must allow, _camarado_!" "Call it rather brutal butchery!" said I fiercely. "Aye, there it is again," quoth he; "it all lieth in the point o' view! Now in my view was my brother screaming amid crackling flames and a fair young woman in her living tomb, who screamed for mercy and found none. 'Tis all in the point o' view!" he repeated, smiling down at a great gout of blood that blotched the skirt of his laced coat. "And I say 'tis foul murder in the sight of God and man!" I cried. "Ha, will ye squeak, rat!" quoth Belvedere, towering over me, where I crouched upon my knees. "'S fish, will ye yap, then, puppy-dog?" "Aye--and bite!" quoth I, aiming a futile blow at him with my shackled fists. "Give me one hand free and I'd choke the beastly soul out o' ye and heave your foul carcase to the fishes--" Now at this he swore a great oath and whipped pistol from belt, but as he did so Resolution stepped betwixt us. "Put up, Belvedere, put up!" said he in soothing tone. "No shooting, stabbing nor maiming till _she_ gives the word, Captain--" "Curse her for a--" Resolution's long arm shot out and his knotted fingers plunged and buried themselves in Belvedere's bull-throat, choking the word on his lips. "Belay, Captain! Avast, Belvedere! I am one as knew her when she was innocent child, so easy all's the word, Belvedere." Having said which, Resolution relaxed his grip and Belvedere staggered back, gasping, and with murder glaring in his eyes. But the left hand of Resolution Day was hidden in his great side pocket whose suspicious bulge betrayed the weapon there, perceiving which Belvedere, speaking no word, turned and swaggered away. Now seating himself upon the gun beside me, Resolution drew forth from that same pocket his small Bible that fell open on his knee at an oft-studied chapter. "Now regarding the point o' view, friend," quoth he, "touching upon the death o' the evil-doers, of the blood of a righteous man's enemies--hearken now to the words o' Davy." CHAPTER XIII HOW WE FOUGHT AN ENGLISH SHIP For the days immediately following I saw nothing of Joanna but learned from Resolution and Diccon that her sickness had increased upon her. "'Tis her soul, I doubt!" quoth Diccon, shaking his head. "'Tis too great for her body--'tis giant soul and her but a woman--so doth strong soul overcome weak body, and small wonder, say I?" "Nay, Diccon," said Resolution, his bright eye sweeping the hazy distance, "'tis but that she refuseth her vittles, and since 'man cannot live by bread alone' neither may woman, and 'tis more than bread she needeth and so she rageth and thus, like unto Peter's wife's mother, lieth sick of a fever." Here for a brief moment his bright eye rested on me and he scowled as he turned to limp the narrow deck. Much might I narrate of the divers hazards of battle and storm that befell us at this time, and more of the goodly ships pillaged and scuttled and their miserable crews with them, by Belvedere and his bloody rogues; of prayers for mercy mocked at, of the agonised screams of dying men, of flame and destruction and death in many hideous shapes. All of the which nameless evils I must perforce behold since this Belvedere that shrank at Joanna's mere look, freed of her presence, took joyous advantage to torment me with the sight of such horrors, such devil's work as shrieked to heaven for vengeance; insomuch that Diccon and divers others could ill-stomach it at last and even grim Resolution would have no more. Now although Belvedere and his rogues had taken great store of treasure with small hurt to themselves, yet must they growl and curse their fortune, since in none of the captured vessels had they taken any women, and never was the cry of "Sail, ho!" than all men grew eager for chase and attack; and thus this accursed ship _Happy Despatch_ stood on, day after day. Much will I leave untold by reason of the horror of it, and moreover my space is short for all I have set myself to narrate, viz: how and in what manner I came at last to my vengeance and what profit I had therein. So will I pass on to that day when, being in the latitude of the great and fair island of Hispaniola, we descried a ship bearing westerly. Hereupon (since greed is never satisfied) all men were vociferous for chase and attack, and Belvedere agreeing, we hauled our wind accordingly and stood after her with every sail we could carry. The _Happy Despatch_ was a great ship of some forty guns besides such smaller pieces as minions, patereros and the like; she was moreover a notable good sailer and as the hours passed it was manifest we were fast overhauling our quarry. And very pitiful was it to see her crowding sail away from us, to behold her (as it were) straining every nerve to escape the horrors in store. Twice she altered her course and twice we did the like, fetching ever nearer until it seemed she was doomed to share the bloody fate of so many others. By noon we were so close that she was plain to see, a middling-size ship, her paint blistered, her gilding tarnished as by a long voyage, and though very taut and trim as to spars and rigging, a heavy-sailing ship and sluggish. A poor thing indeed to cope with such powerful vessel as this _Happy Despatch_, for as we closed in I could count no more than six guns in the whole length of her. As to crew she might have been deserted for all I saw of them, save one man who paced her lofty poop, a smallish man in great wig and befeathered hat and in his fist a sword prodigiously long in the blade, which sword he flourished whereat (as it were a signal) out from her mizzen wafted the banner of Portugal, and immediately she opened fire on us from her stern-chase guns. But their shooting was so indifferent and artillery so pitiful that their shot fell far short of us. Thus my heart grieved mightily for her as with our guns run out and crew roaring and eager we bore down to her destruction. Now all at once, as I watched this unhappy ship, I caught my breath and sank weakly to my knees as, despite the distance and plain to see, upon her high poop came a woman, hooded and cloaked, who stood gazing earnestly towards us. Other eyes had noticed her also, for up from our crowded decks rose a hum, an evil murmur that swelled to a cry fierce, inarticulate, bestial, whiles all eyes glared upon that slender, shapely form; presently amid this ravening clamour I distinguished words: "Oh, a woman! Aha--women! Hold your fire, lads--no shooting; we want 'em all alive! Easy all, bullies--nary a gun, mates--we'll lay 'em 'longside and board--Aye, aye--board it is!" Now being on my knees, I began to whisper in passionate prayer until, roused by a shambling step, I glanced up to find Resolution Day beside me. "What, d'ye pray, brother? 'Tis excellent well!" Said he, setting a musquetoon ready to hand and glancing at the primings of his pistols. "Pray unceasing, friend, plague the Throne wi' petitions, comrade, and a word or so on behalf of old Resolution ere the battle joins, for there's--" "I pray God utterly destroy this accursed ship and all aboard her!" I cried. "And do ye so?" said he, setting the pistols in his belt. "Why, then, 'tis as well you're safe i' your bilboes, _amigo_, and as to your blasphemous praying, I will offset it wi' prayerful counterblast--Ha, by my deathless soul--what's doing yonder?" he cried, and leant to peer across at the chase, and well he might. For suddenly (and marvellous to behold) this ship that had sailed so heavily seemed to throw off her sluggishness and, taking on new life, to bound forward; her decks, hitherto deserted, grew alive with men who leapt to loose and haul at brace and rope and, coming about, she stood towards us and right athwart our course. So sudden had been this manoeuvre and so wholly unexpected that all men it seemed could but stare in stupefied amaze. "Ha!" cried Resolution, smiting fist on the rail before him. "Tricked, by hookey! She's been towing a sea anchor! Below there!" he hailed. "Belvedere, ahoy--go about, or she'll rake us--" And now came Belvedere's voice in fierce and shrill alarm: "Down wi' your helm--down! Let go weather braces, jump, ye dogs, jump!" I heard the answering tramp of feet, the rattle and creak of the yards as they swung and a great flapping of canvas as the _Happy Despatch_ came up into the wind; but watching where our adversary bore down upon us, I beheld her six guns suddenly multiplied and (or ever we might bring our broadside to bear) from these gaping muzzles leapt smoke and roaring flame, and we were smitten with a hurricane of shot that swept us from stem to stern. Dazed, deafened, half-stunned, I crouched in the shelter of the mizzen mast, aware of shrieks and cries and the crash of falling spars, nor moved I for a space; lifting my head at last, I beheld on the littered decks below huddled figures that lay strangely twisted, that writhed or crawled. Then came the hoarse roar of a speaking trumpet and I saw Resolution, his face a smother of blood, where he leaned hard by across the quarter-rail. "Stand to't, my bullies!" he roared, and his voice had never sounded so jovial. "Clear the guns, baw-cocky boys; 'tis our turn next--but stand by till she comes about--" From the companion below came one running, eyes wild, mouth agape, and I recognised the man Ford who had been my chief persecutor in the forecastle. "What now, lad--what now?" demanded Resolution, mopping at his bloody face. "Death!" gasped Ford. "There be dead men a-lay-ing forward--dead, look'ee--" "Likely enough, John Ford, and there'll be dead men a-laying aft if ye're not back to your gun and lively, d'ye see?" But the fellow, gasping again, fell to his knees, whereupon Resolution smote him over the head with his speaking trumpet and tumbled him down the ladder. "Look'ee here," quoth he, scowling on me, "this all cometh along o' your ill-praying us, for prayer is potent, as I know, which was not brotherly in you, Martin O, not brotherly nor yet friendly!" So saying, he squatted on the gun beside me and sought to staunch the splinter-gash in his brow; but seeing how ill he set about it, I proffered to do it for him (and despite my shackles), whereupon he gave me the scarf and knelt that I might come at his hurt the better; and being thus on his knees, he began to pray in a loud, strong voice: "Lord God o' battles, close up Thine ear, hearken to and regard not the unseemly praying of this mail Martin that hath not the just point o' view, seeing through a glass darkly. Yonder lieth the enemy, Lord, Thine and mine, wherefore let 'em be rooted out and utterly destroyed; for if these be Portingales and Papishers--if--ha--if--?" Resolution ceased his prayer and glancing up, pointed with stabbing finger: "Yon ship's no more Portingale than I am--look, friend, look!" Now glancing whither he would have me, I saw two things: first, that the _Happy Despatch_ had turned tail and second that our pursuers bore at her main the English flag; beholding which, a great joy welled up within me so that I had much ado to keep from shouting outright. "English!" quoth Resolution. "And a fighting ship--so fight we must, unless we win clear!" "Ha, will ye run then?" cried I in bitter scorn. "With might and main, friend. We are a pirate, d'ye see, w' all to lose and nought to gain, and then 'tis but a fool as fighteth out o' season!" Even as he spoke the English ship yawed and let fly at us with her fore-chase and mingled with their roar was the sharp crack of parting timbers and down came our main-topmast. "Why, so be it!" quoth Resolution, scowling up at the flapping ruin where it hung. "Very well, 'tis a smooth sea and a fighting wind, so shall you ha' your bellyful o' battle now, friend, for yonder cometh Joanna at last!" And great wonder was it to behold how the mere sight of her heartened our sullen rogues, to hear with what howls of joy they welcomed her as she paced daintily across the littered deck with her quick glance now aloft, now upon our determined foe. "Ha, 'tis so--'tis our Jo--our luck! Shout for Cap'n Jo and the luck o' the Brotherhood!" And now at her rapid commands from chaos came order, the decks were cleared, and, despite wrecked topmast, round swung the _Happy Despatch_ until her broadside bore upon the English ship. Even then Joanna waited, every eye fixed on her where she lolled, hand on hip, watching the approach of our adversary. Suddenly she gestured with her arm and immediately the whole fabric of the ship leapt and quivered to the deafening roar of her guns; then, as the smoke cleared, I saw the enemy's foreyard was gone and her sides streaked and splintered by our shot, and from our decks rose shouts of fierce exultation, drowned in the answering thunder of their starboard broadside, the hiss of their shot all round about us, the crackle of riven woodwork, the vicious whirr of flying splinters, wails and screams and wild cheering. And thus began a battle surely as desperate as ever was fought and which indeed no poor words of mine may justly describe. The enemy lay to windward and little enough could I see by reason of the dense smoke that enveloped us, a stifling, sulphurous cloud that drifted aboard us ever more thick as the fight waxed, a choking mist full of blurred shapes, dim forms that flitted by and vanished spectre-like, a rolling mystery whence came all manner of cries, piercing screams and shrill wailings dreadful to hear, while the deck beneath me, the air about me reeled and quivered to the never-ceasing thunder of artillery. But ever and anon, through some rent in this smoky curtain, I might catch a glimpse of the English ship, her shot-scarred side and rent sails, or the grim havoc of our own decks. And amidst it all, and hard beside me where I crouched in the shelter of the mizzenmast, I beheld Resolution Day limping to and fro, jovial of voice, cheering his sweating, powder-grimed gun-crews with word and hand. Suddenly I was aware of Joanna beside me, gay and debonnaire but ghastly pale. "Hola, Martino!" cried she. "D'ye live yet? 'Tis well. If we die to-day we die together, and where a properer death or one more fitting for such as you and I, for am I killed first, Resolution shall send you after me to bear me company, yes." So saying, she smiled and nodded and turned to summon Resolution, who came in limping haste. "What, are ye hurt, Jo?" cried he, peering. "Ha, Joanna lass, are ye hit indeed?" "A little, yes!" said she, and staggering against the mast leaned there as if faint, yet casting a swift, furtive glance over her shoulder. "But death cometh behind me, Resolution, and my pistol's gone and yours both empty--" Now glancing whither she looked, I saw Captain Belvedere come bounding up the ladder, cutlass in one hand and pistol in the other. "Are ye there, Jo, are ye there?" he cried and stood to scowl on her. "Resolution," said she, drooping against the mast, "fight me the ship--" "And what o' me?" snarled Belvedere. "You?" cried she. "Ah--bah!" and turning, she spat at him and, screaming, fell headlong as his pistol flashed. But over her prostrate form leapt Resolution and there, while the battle roared about them, I watched as, with steel that crashed unheard in that raging uproar, they smote and parried and thrust until an eddying smoke-cloud blotted them from my view. Now fain would I have come at Joanna where she lay, yet might not for my bonds, although she was so near; suddenly as I watched her (and struggling thus vainly to reach her) I saw she was watching me. "And would you aid your poor Joanna, yes?" she questioned faintly. "'Twas so my thought--" "Because I am dying, Martino? Doth this grieve you?" "You are over-young to die!" "And my life hath been very hard and cruel! Would you kiss a dying woman an' she might creep to your arms, Martino?" Slowly and painfully she dragged herself within my reach and, beholding the twisted agony of her look, reading the piteous supplication in her eyes, I stooped to kiss the pale brow she lifted to my lips and--felt two arms about me vigorous and strong and under mine the quivering passion of her mouth; then she had loosed me and was before me on her knees, flushed and tremulous as any simple maid. I was yet gazing on her in dumb and stark amaze, when from somewhere hard by a man cried out in wild and awful fashion, and as this agonised screaming swelled upon the air, Joanna rose up to her feet and stood transfigured, her eyes fierce and wild, her clenched teeth agleam 'twixt curling lips; and presently through the swirling smoke limped Resolution Day, a dreadful, bedabbled figure, who, beholding Joanna on her feet, flourished a dripping blade and panted exultant. "He is dead?" she questioned. "Verily and thoroughly!" said Resolution, wringing blood from his beruffled shirt sleeve. "And a moist end he made on't. But thee, Joanna, I grieved thee surely dead--" "Nay, I screamed and dropped in time, but--hark, the Englishman's fire is ceasing and see, Resolution--look yonder!" and she pointed where our antagonist, sore battered in hull and spars, was staggering out of the fight. And now in place of roaring battle was sudden hush, yet a quietude this, troubled by thin cryings, waitings and the like distressful sounds; and the smoke lifting showed something of the havoc about us, viz: our riven bulwarks, the tangled confusion of shattered spars, ropes and fallen gear, the still and awful shapes that cumbered the spattered decks, more especially about the smoking guns where leaned their wearied crews, a blood-stained, powder-grimed company, cheering fitfully as they watched the English ship creeping away from us. To us presently cometh Diccon, his blackened face streaked with sweat, hoarse-voiced but hearty: "Aha, Captain Jo--your luck's wi' us as ever! Yon curst craft hath her bellyful at last, aye, has she!" "I doubt!" quoth Resolution, shaking his head, whiles Joanna, leaning against the mast, pointed feebly and I noticed her sleeve was soaked with blood and her speech dull and indistinct: "Resolution is i' the--right--see!" And sure enough the English ship, having fetched ahead of us and beyond range of our broadside guns, had hauled her wind and now lay to, her people mighty busy making good their damage alow and aloft, stopping shot-holes, knotting and splicing their gear, etc. Hereupon Diccon falls to a passion of vain oaths, Resolution to quoting Psalms and Joanna, sighing, slips suddenly to the deck and lies a-swoon. In a moment Resolution was on his knees beside her. "Water, Diccon, water!" said he. "The lads must never see her thus!" So Diccon fetched the water and between them they contrived to get Joanna to her feet, and standing thus supported by their arms, she must needs use her first breath to curse her weak woman's body: "And our mainmast is shot through at the cap--we must wear ship or 'twill go! Veer, Resolution, wear ship and man the larboard guns ... they are cool ... I must go tend my hurt--a curst on't! Wear ship and fight, Resolution, fight--to the last!" So saying, she put by their hold and (albeit she stumbled for very weakness) nevertheless contrived to descend the quarter-ladder and wave cheery greeting to the roar of acclaim that welcomed her. "And there's for ye!" quoth Resolution. "Never was such hugeous great spirit in man's body or woman's body afore, neither in this world or any other--no, not even Davy at Adullam, by hookey! Down to your guns, Diccon lad, and cheerily, for it looks as we shall have some pretty fighting, after all!" But at the hoarse roar of Resolution's speaking trumpet was stir and clamorous outcry from the battle-wearied crew who came aft in a body. "Oho, Belvedere!" they shouted, "Us ha' fought as long as men may, and now what?" "Fight again, bullies, and cheerily!" roared Resolution. At this the uproar grew; pistols and muskets were brandished. "We ha' fought enough! 'Tis time to square away and run for't--aye, aye--what saith Belvedere, Belvedere be our Cap'n--we want Belvedere!" "Why then, take him, Bullies, take him and willing!" cried Resolution; then stooping (and with incredible strength) up to the quarter-railing he hoisted that awful, mutilated thing that had once been Captain Belvedere and hove it over to thud down among them on the deck below. "Eye him over, lads!" quoth Resolution. "View him well, bawcock boys! I made sure work, d'ye see, though scarce so complete as the heathen Pompey might ha' done, but 'tis a very thoroughly dead rogue, you'll allow. And I killed him because he would ha' murdered our Joanna, our luck--and because he was for yielding us up, you and me, to yon ship that is death for us--for look'ee, there is never a ship on the Main will grant quarter or show mercy for we; 'tis noose and tar and gibbet for every one on us, d'ye see? So fight, bully boys, fight for a chance o' life and happy days--here stand I to fight wi' you and Diccon 'twixt decks and Captain Jo everywhere. We beat off you Englishman once and so we will again. So fight it is, comrades all, and a cheer for Captain Jo--ha, Joanna!" Cheer they did and (like the desperate rogues they were) back they went, some to their reeking guns, others to splice running and standing rigging, to secure our tottering mainmast and to clear the littered decks; overboard alike went broken gear and dead comrade. Then, with every man at his quarters, with port fires burning, drums beating, black flag flaunting aloft, round swung the _Happy Despatch_ to face once more her indomitable foe (since she might not fly) and to fight for her very life. So once again was smoke and flame and roaring battle; broadside for broadside we fought them until night fell, a night of horror lit by the quivering red glare of the guns, the vivid flash of pistol and musket and the pale flicker of the battle lanthorns. And presently the moon was casting her placid beam upon this hell of destruction and death, whereas I lay, famished with hunger and thirst, staring up at her pale serenity with weary, swooning eyes, scarce heeding the raving tumult about me. I remember a sudden, rending crash, a stunning shock and all things were blotted out awhile. CHAPTER XIV TELLETH HOW THE FIGHT ENDED When sight returned to me at last, I was yet staring up at the moon, but now she had climbed the zenith and looked down on me through a dense maze, a thicket of close-twining branches (as it were) whose density troubled me mightily. But in a little I saw that these twining branches were verily a mass of ropes and cordage, a twisted tangle that hung above me yet crushed me not by reason of a squat column that rose nearby, and staring on this column I presently knew it for the shattered stump of the mizzenmast. For a great while I lay staring on this (being yet much dazed) and thus gradually became aware that the guns had fallen silent; instead of their thunderous roar was a faint clamour, hoarse, inarticulate, and very far away. I was yet wondering dreamily and pondering this when I made the further discovery that by some miraculous chance the chain which had joined my fettered wrists was broken in sunder and I was free. Nevertheless I lay awhile blinking drowsily up at the moon until at last, impelled by my raging thirst, I got to my knees (though with strange reluctance) and strove to win clear from the tangle of ropes that encompassed me; in the which labour I came upon the body of a dead man and beyond this, yet another. Howbeit I was out of this maze at last and rising to my feet, found the deck to heave oddly 'neath my tread, and so (like one walking in a dream) came stumbling to the quarter-ladder and paused there awhile to lean against the splintered rail and to clasp my aching head, for I was still greatly bemused and my body mighty stiff and painful. Looking up after some while I saw the _Happy Despatch_ lay a helpless wreck, her main and mizzenmasts shot away and her shattered hull fast locked in close conflict with her indomitable foe. The English ship had run us aboard at the fore-chains and as the two vessels, fast grappled together, swung to the gentle swell, the moon glinted on the play of vicious steel where the fight raged upon our forecastle. Mightily heartened by this, I strove to shake off this strange lethargy that enthralled me and looked about for some weapon, but finding none, got me down the ladder (and marvellous clumsy about it) and reaching; the deck stumbled more than once over stiffening forms that sprawled across my way. Here and there a battle lanthorn yet glimmered, casting its uncertain beam on writhen legs, on wide-tossed arms and shapes that seemed to stir in the gloom; and beholding so many dead, I marvelled to find myself thus unharmed, though, as I traversed this littered deck, its ghastliness dim-lit by these flickering lanthorns and the moon's unearthly radiance, it seemed more than ever that I walked within a dream, whiles the battle clamoured ever more loud. Once I paused to twist a boarding-axe from stiffening fingers, and, being come into the waist of the ship, found myself beside the main hatchway and leaned there to stare up at the reeling fray on the forecastle where pike darted, axe whirled, sword smote and the battle roared amain in angry summons. But as I turned obedient to get me into this desperate fray, I heard a low and feverish muttering and following this evil sound came upon one who lay amid the wreckage of a gun, and bending above the man knew him for Diccon the quartermaster. "How now, Diccon?" I questioned, and wondered to hear my voice so strange and muffled. "Dying!" said he. "Dying--aye, am I! And wi' two thousand doubloons hid away as I shall ne'er ha' the spending on--oh, for a mouthful o' water--two thousand--a pike-thrust i' the midriff is an--ill thing yet--'tis better than--noose and tar and gibbet--yet 'tis hard to die wi' two thousand doubloons unspent--oh, lad, I parch--I burn already--water--a mouthful for a dying man--" So came I to the water-butt that stood abaft the hatchway, and filling a pannikin that chanced there with some of the little water that remained, hastened back to Diccon, but ere I could reach him he struggled to his knees and flinging arms aloft uttered a great cry and sank upon his face. Then, finding him verily dead, I drank the water myself and, though lukewarm and none too sweet, felt myself much refreshed and strengthened thereby and the numbness of mind and body abated somewhat. And yet, as I knelt thus, chancing to lift my eyes from the dead man before me, it seemed that verily I must be dreaming after all, for there, all daintily bedight in purple gown, I beheld a fine lady tripping lightly among these mangled dead; crouched in the shadow of the bulwark I watched this approaching figure; then I saw it was Joanna, saw the moon glint evilly on the pistol she bore ere she vanished down the hatchway. And now, reading her fell purpose, I rose to my feet and stole after her down into the 'tween-decks. An evil place this, crowded with forms that moaned and writhed fitfully in the light of the lanthorns that burned dimly here and there, a place foul with blood and reeking with the fumes of burnt powder, but I heeded only the graceful shape that flitted on before; once she paused to reach down a lanthorn and to open the slide, and when she went on again, flames smouldered behind her and as often as she stayed to set these fires a-going, I stayed to extinguish them as well as I might ere I hasted after her. At last she paused to unlock a door and presently her voice reached me, high and imperious as ever: "Greeting, Don Federigo! The ship's afire and 'tis an ill thing to burn, so do I bring you kinder death!" Creeping to the door of this lock-up, I saw she had set down the lanthorn and stood above the poor fettered captive, the pistol in her hand. "The Señorita is infinitely generous," said Don Federigo in his courtly fashion; then, or ever she might level the weapon, I had seized and wrested it from her grasp. Crying out in passionate fury, she turned and leapt at me. "Off, murderess!" I cried, and whirling her from me, heard her fall and lie moaning. "Come, sir," said I, aiding the Don to his feet, "let us be gone!" But what with weakness and his fetters Don Federigo could scarce stand, so I stooped and taking him across my shoulder, bore him from the place. But as I went an acrid smoke met me and with here and there a glimmer of flame, so that it seemed Joanna had fired the ship, my efforts notwithstanding. So reeled I, panting, to the upper air and, loosing Don Federigo, sank to the deck and stared dreamily at a dim moon. And now I was aware of a voice in my ear, yet nothing heeded until, shaken by an importunate hand, I roused and sat up, marvelling to find myself so weak. "Loose me, Señor Martino, loose off my bonds; the fire grows apace and I must go seek the Señorita--burning is an evil death as she said. Loose off my bonds--the Señorita must not burn--" "No, she must not--burn!" said I dully, and struggling to my feet I saw a thin column of smoke that curled up the hatchway. Gasping and choking, I fought my way down where flames crackled and smoke grew ever denser. Suddenly amid this swirling vapour I heard a glad cry: "Ah, _Martino mio_--you could not leave me then to die alone!" And I saw Joanna, with arms stretched out to me, swaying against the angry glow behind her. So I caught her up in my embrace and slipping, stumbling, blind and half-choked, struggled up and up until at last I reeled out upon deck, and with Joanna thus clasped upon my breast, stood staring with dazed and unbelieving eyes at the vision that had risen up to confront me. For there before me, hedged about by wild figures and brandished steel, with slender hands tight-clasped together, with vivid lips apart and eyes wide, I thought to behold at last my beloved Damaris, my Joan, my dear, dear lady; but knowing this false, I laughed and shook my head. "Deluding vision," said I, "blest sight long-hoped and prayed for--why plague me now?" I was on my knees, staring up at this beloved shape through blinding tears and babbling I know not what. And then arms were about me, tender yet strong and compelling, a soft cheek was pressed to mine and in my ear Joan's voice: "Oh, my beloved--fret not thyself--here is no vision, my Martin--" "Joan!" I panted. "Oh, Damaris--beloved!" And shaking off these fettering arms, I rose to my feet. "Joan, is it thou thyself in very truth, or do I see thee in heaven--" And now it seemed I was sinking within an engulfing darkness and nought to see save only the pale oval of this so loved, oft-visioned face that held for me the beauty of all beauteous things. At last her voice reached me, soft and low, yet full of that sweet, vital ring that was beyond all forgetting. "Martin--Oh, Martin!" Out towards me in the growing dark I saw her hands reach down to me: and then these eager, welcoming hands were seized and Joanna was between us on her knees. "Spare him--Oh, lady, in mercy spare my beloved--kill me an you will, but spare this man of mine--these arms have cradled him ere now, this bosom been his pillow--" "Joan!" I muttered, "Oh, Damaris, beloved--" But seeing the stricken agony of her look and how she shrank from my touch, I uttered a great cry and turning, sped blindly away and stumbling, fell and was engulfed in choking blackness. CHAPTER XV HOW I FELL IN WITH MY FRIEND, CAPTAIN SIR ADAM PENFEATHER It was the pommel of the long rapier dangling from the chair-back that first drew and held my eye, for this pommel was extremely bright and polished and gleamed on me like a very keen and watchful eye as I watched, though conscious also of the luxury of panelled walls, of rich floor coverings and tapestried hangings, and the man who sat writing so studiously at the carven table. And presently, roused by the scratch of his industrious quill, I fell to watching him, his bowed head, the curve of his back as he stooped. A small, lean man but very magnificent, for his coat of rich purple velvet sat on him with scarce a wrinkle, his great peruke fell in such ample profusion of curls that I could see nought but the tip of his nose as he bent to his writing, and I wondered idly at his so great industry. Now presently he paused to read over what he had written and doing so, began to push and pull at his cumbrous wig and finally, lifting it off, laid it on the table. Thus I saw the man was white-haired and that his ears were mighty strange, being cut and trimmed to points like a dog's ears; and beholding the jut of brow and nose and resolute chin, I fell to sudden trembling, and striving to lift myself on the bed, wondered to find this such a business. "Adam!" said I, my voice strangely thin and far away, "Adam Penfeather!" In one movement, as it seemed to me, he was out of the chair and leaning above me. "Why, Martin," said he. "Why, comrade! Lord love you, Martin, are ye awake at last? Here you've lain these twelve hours like a dead man and small wonder, what with your wound--" "So you have come--at last, Adam?" "And in good time, shipmate!" "Where am I?" "Safe aboard my ship, the _Deliverance_." "'Twas you fought the _Happy Despatch_?" "Aye, Martin, and should have very properly destroyed every rogue aboard but for my lady--" "My lady?" said I, sitting up. "My lady--Joan?" "Aye, verily--" "Then 'tis true--all true!" said I, and fell a-trembling. "My lady's here?" "She is, Martin, and more's the pity. For look'ee, having boarded yon devil's craft and cut down such as resisted, I was very properly for hanging such as remained, when down on me comes my lady and is for carrying the rogues to trial, the which is but vain labour and loss o' time, since each and all of my twenty and three prisoners is bound to swing soon or late, as I told her, but, 'No matter, Sir Adam,' says she. 'Law is law, Sir Adam,' quo' she. When cometh Godby, running, to say the cursed ship was afire, and coming to the main hatchway, I beheld, half-strangled in the smoke, yourself, shipmate, and a woman in your arms--" "Ha--'twas Joanna!" said I, leaping in the bed. "What of her, Adam--what of her, man?" "A fine woman, I'll allow, Martin, and by her looks a lady of quality--" "Say a demon rather--a very she-devil!" "Why, as you will, Martin, as you will!" said he. "Only rest you, lest the fever take you again." "How was I wounded, then?" "A flying splinter in the head, Martin, so Surgeon Penruddock says. But then you have a marvellous stout skull, as I do know, shipmate." "What ha' you done with Joanna--where is she?" "Content you, Martin, she is safe enough and well cared for; you shall see her anon," said he, stroking his long chin and viewing me with his quick, keen eyes, "But first you shall eat!" And he rang the small silver bell that stood upon the table, whereon in came a soft-footed serving-man in handsome livery, who, receiving Adam's commands, presently bowed himself out again. Hereupon Adam set on his periwig and fell to pacing slowly to and fro, his feet soundless upon the rich carpet, viewing me now and then like one that ponders some problem. Now, beholding his air of latent power and indomitable mastery, the richness of his habit, the luxury that surrounded him, it seemed in very truth that he was the great gentleman and I the merest poor suppliant for his bounty; whereupon I must needs contrast his case with mine and perceiving myself no better than I had been three weary years since, to wit: the same poor, destitute wretch, I fell into a black and sullen humour: "You go vastly fine these days!" quoth I, scowling (like the surly dog I was). "Aye, Martin--I am so vastly rich!" he sighed. "I am a baronet, shipmate!" he nodded dolefully. "And what is worse, I own many rich manors and countless broad acres besides divers castles, mansions, houses and the like. Thus all men do protest friendship for me, and at this moment there be many noble ladies do sigh for me or the manors and castles aforesaid. And there was a duchess, Martin, was set upon wedding my riches (and me along of 'em) but I have no leaning to duchesses, though this one was young and comely enough. So went I to the King, who by his grace suffered me to fit out, provision, arm and man this ship at my own expense, Martin, and square away for the Spanish Main to sink, burn and utterly destroy such pirate vessels as I can bring to action. So here am I, shipmate, since I had rather fight rogues when and where I may than marry a duchess once. And here cometh what shall do you a world o' good, Martin--broth with a dash o' rum--which is good for a man, soul and body!" said he, as the serving-fellow appeared, bearing a silver tray whereon stood broth in a silver bowl of most delectable odour. And indeed, very good broth I found it. So whiles I ate, Adam, sitting near, told me much of his doings since he left me solitary on Bartlemy's Island, but of my lady Joan Brandon he spoke no word. "'Tis but three short years since we parted, shipmate, three short years--" "Three long, empty years!" said I bitterly. "Aye, truth!" quoth he. "You had a mind to nought but vengeance, which is an empty thing, as belike you'll allow, Martin, you being now three long, empty years the wiser?" Here, what with the hot broth and my hotter anger, I came nigh to choking, whereupon he rose and, seeing the bowl empty, took it from me and thereafter set another pillow to my back, the while I reviled him impotently. "There, there, Martin!" said he, patting my shoulder as I had been a petulant child. "Never miscall Adam that is your friend, for if you have wasted yourself in a vanity, so have I, for here you see me full of honours, Martin, a justice, a member o' Parliament, a power at Court with great lords eager for my friendship and great ladies eager to wed me. Yet here am I safe at sea and fighting rogues as often as I may, for great riches is a plague that tainteth love and friendship alike--_vanitas vanitatum, omnium vanitas_!" "Yet your three years have been turned to better account than mine!" said I, grown suddenly humble. "In the matter of houses and land, Martin?" "Aye!" I nodded. "For my three years I've nought to show but scars and rags." "Not so, Martin, for your fortune marched with mine. Lord love you, I never bought stick or stone or acre of land but I bought one for you, comrade, share and share, shipmate. So, if I am a man o' great possessions, so are you, Martin; there be lands and houses in old England waiting their master as you sit there." Now at this I lay silent awhile, but at last I reached out a fumbling hand, the which he took and wrung in his vital clasp. "God help me, Adam!" said I. "What have these years made of me?" "That same scowling, unlovely, honest-hearted self-deluder that is my sworn comrade and blood-brother and that I do love heartily for his own sake and the sake of my lady Joan. For look'ee, she hath oft told me of you and the life you lived together on Bartlemy's Island." "And has she so indeed?" quoth I. "Aye, verily. Lord, Martin, when she waked from her swoon aboard ship and found I had sailed without you, she was like one distraught and was for having me 'bout ship that she might stay to comfort you in your solitude. And so I did, Martin, but we were beset by storm and tempest and blown far out of our course and further beset by pirates and the like evils, and in the end came hardly to England with our lives. No sooner there than my lady fits out an expedition to your relief and I busied with divers weighty concerns, she sails without me and is wrecked in the Downs, whereby she lost her ship and therewith all she possessed, save only Conisby Shene, the which she holdeth in your name, Martin." "Adam," said I, "Oh, Adam, surely this world hath not her like--" "Assuredly not!" quoth he. "The which doth put me to great wonder you should come to forget her a while--" "Forget her? I?" "Aye, Martin--in the matter of the--the lady yonder--Madam Joanna--" "Joanna!" I cried, clenching my fists. "That demon!" "Ha--demon, is it?" quoth Adam, pinching his chin and eyeing me askance. "Doth your love grow all sudden cold--" "Love?" cried I. "Nay--my hate waxeth for thing so evil--she is a very devil--" "Nay, Martin, she is a poor Spanish lady, exceeding comely and with a hand, a foot, an eye, a person of birth and breeding, a dainty lady indeed, yet of a marvellous sweet conversation and gentle deportment, and worthy any man's love. I do allow--" "Man," cried I, "you do speak arrant folly--she is Joanna!" "Why, true, Martin, true!" said Adam soothingly and eyeing me anxious-eyed. "She is the lady Joanna that you preserved from death and worse, it seems--" "Says she so, Adam?" "Aye! And, by her showing, some small--some few small--kindnesses have passed betwixt you." "Kindnesses?" I demanded. "Aye, Martin, as is but natural, God knoweth. Kisses, d'ye see, embraces--" "She lies!" quoth I, starting up in bed, "she lies!" "Why, very well, Martin--" "Ha, d'ye doubt my word, Adam?" "No, Martin, no--except--when first I clapped eyes on you, she chanced to be lying in your arms, d'ye see?" "Tush!" said I. "What o' that? 'Twas after she'd set the ship afire and sought to murder Don Federigo; we left her in the 'tween-decks and I found her nigh stifled by the smoke. Have you got her fast in the bilboes--safe under lock and key?" "Lord love you--no. Martin!" said he, viewing me askance as I were raving. "So young, Martin! And a bullet wound i' the arm and mighty brave, despite her tenderness, so says Penruddock our surgeon." "Why then, in God's name--where is she?" "Where should she be, seeing she was wounded and solitary, but with my lady Joan!" "God forbid!" cried I. "Why, Martin, 'tis my lady's whim--they walk together, talk, eat, aye, and sleep together, for aught I know--" "Adam," said I, grasping him by the arm. "You know Captain Tressady of old, and Mings and Red Rory, Sol Aiken and others of the Coast Brotherhood, but have you ever met the fiercest, bravest, greatest of these rogues; have you ever heard tell of Captain 'Jo'?" "Aye, truly, Martin, some young springald that hath risen among 'em since my time, a bloody rogue by account and one I would fain come alongside of--" "Captain Jo lies in your power, Adam; Captain Jo is aboard; Captain Jo is Joanna herself! 'Twas Joanna fought the _Happy Despatch_ so desperately!" Now hereupon Adam fell back a pace and stood staring down on me and pinching his chin, but with never a word. And seeing him thus incredulous still, I strove to get me out of bed. "Easy, Martin!" said he, restraining me. "These be wild and whirling words and something hard to believe--" "Why, then, if you doubt me still, summon hither Don Federigo an he be yet alive--" "Look now, Martin," said he, seating himself on the bed beside me. "Since we left England I have burned or scuttled four rascally pirate craft and each and every a fighting ship, yet no one of them so mauled and battered us as this _Happy Despatch_ (whereby I have lost fourteen good fellows dead besides thirty wounded) the which as I do know was captained by one calling himself Belvedere--" "Tush!" cried I. "He was a man of straw and would have run or struck to you after your first broadside! 'Twas Joanna and Resolution Day fought the ship after Belvedere was dead--" "Ah, dead, is he? Why, very good!" said Adam, rising and seating himself at the table. "Here is yet another name for my journal. You saw him dead, Martin?" he questioned, taking up his pen. "Most horribly! He was killed by the mate, Resolution Day--" "Ha!" says Adam, turning to his writing. "'Tis a name sticks in my memory--a man I took out o' prison and saved from burning along with divers others, when we took Margarita--a tall, one-eyed man and scarred by the torment--?" "'Tis the same! But, God forgive you, Adam, why must you be wasting time over your curst journal and idle talk--" "I think, Martin! I meditate! For, if this be true indeed, we must go like Agog--delicately--Martin--delicately!" "Folly--oh, folly!" cried I. "Joanna may be firing the ship as you sit scribbling there, or contriving some harm to my dear lady--act, man--act!" "As how, Martin?" he questioned, carefully sanding what he had writ. "Seize her ere she can strike, set her fast under lock and key, have her watched continually--" "Hum!" said Adam, pinching his chin and viewing me with his keen gaze. "If she be so dangerous as you say, why not slay her out of hand--" "No!" said I. "No!" "But she is a pirate, you tell me?" "She is! And I do know her for murderess beside!" "How came you in her company, Martin?" Hereupon in feverish haste I recounted much of what I have already set down concerning this strange, wild creature, to all of which he hearkened mighty attentive, pinching at his chin and a frown on his face. "Verily!" said he, when I had done. "Never heard man stranger story!" But seeing how he regarded me in the same dubious manner, I leapt out of bed ere he might prevent and staggered with weakness. "Lord love you, Martin," said he, snatching me in his iron grip, "Lord love you, what would you be at? Here's Surgeon Penruddock and his two mates with their hands full enough, as it is, God knoweth, and you sick o' your wound--" So saying, Adam bundled me back into bed, willy-nilly. "Why, then, question Don Federigo, who knoweth her better than I--summon him hither--" "Impossible, Martin, he lieth very nigh to death." "And what of Joanna? She is as swift as a snake and as deadly--she is a lurking danger--a constant menace, beyond thought subtle and crafty--" "Hist!" quoth Adam, catching me by the arm and turning suddenly as came a soft rapping; then the door opened and Joanna herself stood before us, but indeed a Joanna such as I had never seen. Timid, abashed, great-eyed and wistful, she stood looking on me, her slender hands tight-clasped, her tremulous, parted lips more vivid by reason of the pallor of her cheeks, all shy and tender womanhood from the glossy ringlets at her white brow to the dainty shoe that peeped forth of her petticoat; as for me, I sank back among my pillows amazed beyond--all speech by the infinite change in her, for here was a transformation that went beyond mere lace and velvets; the change was in her very self, her look, her voice, her every gesture. "_Martino mio_!" said she at last, and sure this pen of mine may never tell all the languorous caress of these two words; and then, or ever I might speak or stir, she was beside me and had caught my hand to her lips. And then I saw Joan standing in the doorway, the Damaris of my dreams, and though her lips smiled upon us, there was that in her eyes that filled me with bitter shame and an agony beyond the telling. "Damaris!" I groaned and freed my hand so suddenly that Joanna stumbled and would have fallen, but for Adam's ready arm. "Damaris!" I cried. "Ah, God,'--look not so! All these weary years I have lived and dreamed but of you--Joan, beloved, 'twas thy sweet memory made my solitude worth the living--without thee I had died--" Choking with my grief, I reached out my hands in passionate supplication to that loved shape that drooped in the doorway, one white hand against the carven panelling; and then Joanna was on her knees, her soft cheek pressed to my quivering fist, wetting it with her tears: "Martino!" she sobbed. "Ah, _caro mio_, art so strange--dost not know thy Joanna--dost not know me, Martino?" "Aye, I know you, Captain Jo," I cried. "Well I know you to my cost, as hath many another: I know you for 'La Culebra,' for Joanna that is worshipped, obeyed and followed by every pirate rogue along the Main. Oh, truly I know you to my bitter sorrow--" Now at this she gave a little, pitiful, helpless gesture and looked from me to the others, her eyes a-swim with tears. "Alas!" she sobbed. "And is he yet so direly sick?" Then, bowing her head to the pillow beside me, "Oh, loved Martino," she sighed, "art so sick not to remember all that is betwixt us, that which doth make thee mine so long as life shall be to me--the wonder I have told to my lady Damaris--" Now here I caught her in savage gripe. "What," cried I, shaking her to and fro despite my weakness, "what ha' you told my lady?" "Beloved Martino--I confessed our love--alas, was I wrong, Martino--I told her my joyous hope to be the mother of your child ere long--" "Oh, shame!" cried I. "Oh, accursed liar!" And I hurled her from me; then, lying gasping amid my tumbled pillows, my aching head between my hands, I saw my beloved lady stoop to lift her, saw that lying head pillowed on Joan's pure bosom and uttering a great cry, I sank to a merciful unconsciousness. CHAPTER XVI HOW I HAD WORD WITH MY LADY, JOAN BRANDON "A marvel, Sir Adam (perceive me), a wonder! The constitution of a horse, an ox, nay an elephant, the which monstrous beast (you'll allow me!) hath a pachydermatous hide tolerably impervious to spears, axes, darts, javelins and the like puny offences, and a constitution whereby he liveth (you'll observe) whole centuries. Indeed, Sir Adam, 'tis a cure marvellous, being one I ha' wrought on my patient in spite of said patient. For look now (and heed me) here we have soul, mind and will, or what you will, pulling one way, and body hauling t'other, and body hath it, physics versus metaphysics--a pretty and notable case--" "Why, he hath a notable hard head, Master Penruddock--" "Head, Sir Adam, head--were his head as adamantine, as millstone or hard as one o' your cannon balls that shall not save him, if mind and body agreeably seek and desire death, and mind (pray understand, sir) is the more potent factor, thus (saving and excepting the abnormal vigour of his body) by all the rules of chirurgical science he should ha' died three days agone--when the seizure took him." "Would to heaven I had!" said I, opening my eyes to scowl up at the little man who beamed down on me through monstrous horn-rimmed spectacles. "Aha, and there we have it confessed, Sir Adam!" said he. "Yet we shall have him on his legs again in a day or so, thanks to my art--" "And his lady's nursing!" "What, hath she been with me in my sickness, Adam?" I questioned when the doctor had departed. "Night and day, Martin, as sweet and patient with you as any angel in heaven, and you cursing and reviling her the while in your ravings--" "Oh, God forgive me! Where is she now, Adam?" "With my Lady Joan--" "How?" I cried. "Was this Joanna nursed me?" "Why, truly, Martin. Could she have better employ?" But hereupon I fell to such fury that Adam turned to stare at me, pen in hand. "Lord love you, Martin," said he, pinching his chin, "I begin to think that skull o' yours is none so hard, after all--" "And you," quoth I bitterly. "Your wits are none so keen as I had judged 'em. You are grown a very credulous fool, it seems!" "Ha--'tis very well, shipmate!" "For here you have Joanna--this evil creature stained by God knoweth how many shameful crimes--you have her beneath your hand and let her come and go as she lists, to work such new harms as her cunning may suggest--either you disbelieve my statements, or you've run mad, unless--" "Unless what, Martin?" "Unless she's bewitched you as she hath full many a man ere now." Adam blenched and (for the first time in my remembrance) his keen eyes quailed before mine, and over his bronzed face, from aggressive chin to prominent brow, crept a slow and painful red. "Martin," said he, his eyes steady again, "I will confess to you that is my blood-brother and comrade sworn, I have--thought better of--of her than any proud lady or duchess of 'em all--" "Despite the foul and shameful lie you heard her utter?" "Despite everything, Martin." "Then God help you, Adam!" "Amen," said he. "You are surely crazed--" "Why, very well, Martin, though you know me for a timid man--" "Tush!" quoth I, turning my back on him. "And a cautious, more especially in regard to women, having known but few and understanding none. Thus, Martin, though I seem crazed and foolish, 'tis very well, so long as I have eyes to see and ears to hear, and now I'll away and use 'em awhile. And here," said he, rising as a knock sounded on the door, "should be an old friend o' yours that got himself something scorched on your account." And opening the door he disclosed a squat, broad-shouldered fellow of a sober habit, his head swathed in a bandage, but the eyes of him very round and bright and his wide mouth up-curving in a smile. "Godby!" said I, and reached but my hand to him. "Why, Mart'n!" cried he. "Oh, pal--here's j'y, choke me wi' a rammer else! Lord, Mart'n--three years--how time doth gallop! And you no whit changed, save for your beard! But here's me wi' a fine stocked farm t'other side Lamberhurst--and, what's more, a wife in't as be sister to Cecily as you'll mind at the 'Hoppole'--and, what's more, a blessed infant, pal, as I've named Tom arter myself, by reason that my name is God-be-here, and Mart'n arter you, by reason you are my pal and brought me all the good fortun' as I ever had. Aha, 'twas a mortal good hour for me when we first struck hands, Mart'n." "And you're more than quits, Godby, by saving me from the fire--" "Why, pal, you fell all of a swound, d'ye see, and there's my Lady Brandon and t'other 'un a-running to fetch ye, flames or no--so what could I do--" "My lady Joan?" "Aye and t'other 'un--the Spanish dame as you come up a-cuddling of, Mart'n--and a notable fine piece she be, as I'm a gunner--" "Is my lady on deck?" "Which on 'em, pal?" "Joan, man--my Lady Brandon!" "Aye, and mighty downcast by her look. 'Godby,' says she to me a while back, 'if I find not my father now, I do think my poor heart will break!' And the sweet sad eyes of her, pal--" "I'll get up!" said I, tossing off the bed clothes. "Lord, Mart'n, what'll Cap'n Adam say--" "'Tis no matter!" "Are ye strong enough, pal?" "To be sure!" said I, and getting upon my feet, reeled for very weakness and should have fallen but that Godby propped me with his shoulder; supported thus and despite Godby's remonstrances, I staggered to and fro and gradually found my strength return in some small measure, whereupon I began to dress myself forthwith. "Whither are we sailing, Godby?" "To the nearest secure anchorage, Mart'n, for what wi' storm and battle we are so battered and sprung, alow and aloft--and small wonder, here's four ships we've destroyed since we left Old England, battle, murder and sudden death, pal!" So with Godby's help I got me out upon the broad quarter-deck and saw the _Deliverance_ for a fine, roomy ship, very clean and trim, her decks new-scoured, her brass-work gleaming in the sun; though here and there the carpenters were still repairing such damage as she had taken in the fight. "A noble ship, pal," says Godby, as I sat me down on one of the guns, "and looks vasty different to what she did three days since, her foreyard and main-to'-gallant mast shot away and her starboard bulwarks shattered fore and aft and three shot-holes under water as can't be come at till we careen." "'Twas hot fight--I marvel your damage was no greater," says I, glancing hither and thither for sight of my lady, and my heart throbbing with expectation. "Nay, Mart'n, 'twas guile, 'twas craft, 'twas seamanship. Lord love your eyes, pal, Cap'n Adam seized him the vantage point by means of a fore-course towing under water, and kept it. For look'ee, 'tis slip our floating anchor, up wi' our helm and down on 'em 'thwart-hawse and let fly our larboard broadside, veer and pound 'em wi' our starboard guns, keeping the weather gauge, d'ye see, pal, till their fire slackens and them blind wi' our smoke and theirs. Then to close wi' 'em till our gun muzzles are nigh touching and whiles we pound 'em below, 'tis grappling irons and boarders away! Aha, a wonderful man is Cap'n Adam--oh, 'tis beautiful sight to watch him take ship into action; 'tis sight to warm a man's in'nards and make archangels sing for j'y, pal. Aye, deafen, blind and choke me but a man o' men is Cap'n Adam Penfeather!" "He is come to great repute, I hear!" said I, my hungry gaze wandering. "Verily he hath, Mart'n; the King do honour him vastly especially since he pinked a strutting, quarrelsome gentleman through the sword-arm in St. James's Park, and him a nearl, pal!" "At last!" says I. "Anan, pal?" he questioned, but looking where I looked. "Aye," he nodded, "'tis my Lady Brandon, and mighty despondent by her looks as I told ye, Mart'n." All unconscious of me she crossed the deck slow-footed and coming to the lee bulwark, paused there, her lovely head down-bent upon her hands. Now watching her as she stood thus, my eager gaze dwelling on every line of the beloved shape, I was filled with such overmastering emotion, an ecstasy so keen, that I fell a-trembling and my eyes filled with sudden, blinding tears; and bowing my face on my hand, I sat thus a while until I had composed myself. Then I arose and made my way towards her on stumbling feet. Suddenly she turned and espying me, started and fell a-trembling, even as I. "Martin," said she below her breath. "Oh, Martin!" "Damaris!" I muttered. "Beloved--!" Now at this she gave a little gasp and turned to gaze away across the placid waters, and I saw her slender hands clasp and wring each other. "Have you no word of greeting for me?" "I rejoice to--to see you well again, Martin!" "Have you no word of--love for me, after all these years, Damaris?" At this she shrank away and, leaning 'gainst the bulwark, shook her head, and again I saw that hopeless gesture of her quivering hands. "Is your love for me dead, then?" I questioned, coming a pace nearer. "Ah, never that, Martin!" she whispered. "Only I have--buried it deep--within my heart--where it shall lie for ever hid for thy sake and her sake and--and that--which is to be--this poor Joanna hath told me--" Now hereupon I laughed and caught her hands and kissed them and they, the pretty things, trembling 'neath my kisses. "God love thee for sweet and noble woman, my Damaris," said I, sinking to my knees before her, "and now, thus kneeling in the sight of God and thee, hear me swear that hateful thing of which you speak never was and never shall be!" Here I clasped my arms about her, felt her yield and sway to my embrace, saw a dawning glory in her eyes. "Martin," said she, quick-breathing, "if this be so indeed--" "Indeed and indeed, Joanna spake a shameful lie--a woman prone to every evil, being a murderess and--" "A murderess, Martin?" "Aye, by her own confession, and I do know her for a pirate beside, more desperate and resolute than any, known to every rogue along the Main as Captain Jo." Now here my lady stirred in my embrace and looked down on me with troubled gaze. "And yet, dear Martin, you lived with her on--on our island?" "Aye, I did--to my torment, and prayed God I might not slay her." And here in breathless fashion I told my lady of Joanna's coming and of the ills that followed; but seeing the growing trouble in her look, my arms fell from her and great bitterness filled me. "Ah, God in heaven, Damaris!" I cried, "never say you doubt my word--" "Martin!" I rose to my feet to behold Joanna within a yard of us. For a long and breathless moment she looked from me to other of us and then, shuddering, hid her face in her two hands. "Dear my lady," said she at last, "if by reason of his wound my loved Martin hath grown strange to me and all his love for me forgot--if indeed you do love him--to you that have been more than sister and gentle friend to miserable Joanna, to you I do yield my love henceforth, nor will I repine, since my love for thee shall teach me how to bear my shame, yes--" "Ha, damned liar!" I cried, and turned on Joanna with clenched fists; and then my lady's restraining arms were about me and I sank half-swooning against the ship's side. "Dear Martin," said she, viewing me tearful-eyed, "you are not yourself--" "No!" cried I, burying my throbbing head betwixt my arms. "I am Fortune's Fool--the world is upside down--God help me, I shall run mad in very truth. Oh, damned Fortune--curst Fate!" and I brake out into futile raving awhile. When at last I raised my head it was to behold my lady clasping this vile creature in her arms and cherishing her with tender words and caresses, the which sight wrought me to a very frenzy of cold and bitter rage. Said I: "My Lady Brandon, God knoweth I have greatly loved you, wherein I have wasted myself on a vain thing as is to me right manifest. So now, since you have buried your love, mine do I tear from me and cast utterly away; henceforth I am no more than an instrument of vengeance--" "Martin!" cried she. "Oh, dear Martin, for the love of God--" But (Oh, vain folly! Oh, detestable pride!) I heeded not this merciful appeal nor the crying of my own heart, but turning my back upon my noble lady, stumbled away and with never another word or look. And thus I (that was born to be my own undoer) once more barred myself out from all that life offered me of happiness, since pride is ever purblind. Presently, espying Godby where divers of his fellows rove new tackle to a gun, I enquired for Adam. "I' the gun room, Mart'n--nay, I'll stand along wi' you." So he brought me down to the gun room where sat Adam, elbows on table, chin on hand, peering up at one who stood before him in fetters, a haggard, warworn figure. "What--Resolution?" said I. "That same, friend, brought somewhat low, comrade, yet soon, it seems, to be exalted--on a gallows, d'ye see, yet constant in prayer, steadfast in faith and nowise repining--for where would be the use? And moreover, the way o' the Lord is my way--Amen, brother, and Amen." "Adam," said I, turning where he yet gazed up at Resolution's scarred and bandaged face, "I would fain have you show mercy to this man. But for Resolution here I had died hideously at the hands of a vile blackamoor." "Mercy?" said Adam, scowling up at Resolution. "His life, Adam." "'Tis forfeit! Here standeth a notable pirate and one of authority among the rogues, so must he surely die along with Captain Jo--" I saw Resolution's shackled hands clench suddenly, then he laughed, harsh and strident. "To hang Captain Jo you must needs catch him first!" "Why then who--who and what is Joanna?" I demanded. "Why, your light-o'-love, for sure, friend, as we found along o' you on a lonely island, _amigo_." "Resolution, you lie--" "On a lonely island, _camarado_," says he again. "Wait!" I muttered, clasping my aching head. "Wait! Joanna is the daughter of the murdered Governor of Santa Catalina who was left behind in the burning town and rescued by Indians, who, being Indians, were kind to her. But these Indians were killed by white men who took her, and, being white men, they used her ill all save one who was to her father and mother, sister and brother and his name Resolution. So she grew up a pirate among pirates, dressed, spoke and acted as they and rose to be great among them by reason of her quick wit and resolute spirit, and because of her quickness and subtle wit is called 'La Culebra' and for her desperate courage is hailed as 'Captain Jo.'" Resolution fell back a step, staring on me amazed, and I saw his shackled fists were quivering. Then suddenly Adam rose and leaned forward across the table. "Resolution Day," said he, "have you a memory for faces?" I saw Resolution's solitary eye widen and dilate as it took in the man before him, the spare form, the keen, aquiline face with its black brows, white hair and mutilated ears. "Captain--Adam Penfeather--o' the Brotherhood!" "Ha!" quoth Adam, nodding grimly. "I see you know me! So, Resolution Day, I warn you to prepare to make your final exodus with Captain Jo--at sunset!" Resolution's scarred head sank, his maimed body seemed to shrink and there broke from him a groan: "To hang--to die--she's so young--so young--all I ever had to love! Oh, Lord God o' battles--" "Godby, summon the guard and see him safely bestowed--in the lock-up aft, and bring the key to my cabin." So at Godby's word, in came two armed fellows and marched out Resolution Day, his head still bowed and his fetters jangling dismally. "You'll never hang her, Adam!" said I, when we were alone. "You cannot, man--you shall not!" "Lord, Martin," said he, sitting on his great peruke and looking askance at me, "Lord, what a marvellous thick skull is thine!" "Mayhap!" quoth I, "but you know my story for true at last--you know Joanna for Captain Jo." Now here he answered never a word but falls to pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind him; whereupon I seated myself at the table and leaned my aching head betwixt my hands. "Adam," said I at last, "how far are we, do you reckon, from Nombre de Dios?" "Some hundred and fifty miles, maybe a little less." "Why, then, give me a boat." "A boat?" said he, pausing in his walk to stare on me. "Aye, a boat," I nodded. "You cast me adrift once, you'll mind--well--do so again!" "And what o' my Lady Joan? Ha--will ye tell me you've quarrelled already in true lover-like fashion--is this it?" "'Tis no matter," quoth I, "only I do not stay on this ship another hour." "Lord!" said he, "Lord love me, Martin! Here you've scarce found her and now eager to lose her again--heaven save me from love and lovers--" "Give me a boat." "A boat?" said he, pinching his chin. "A boat, is it? Why, very well, Martin--a boat! Ha, here me-thinks is the very hand o' Providence, and who am I to gainsay it? You shall have the longboat, Martin, well stored and armed; 'tis a goodly boat that I am loth to part with--but seeing 'tis you, comrade, why very well. Only you must bide till it be dark for reasons obvious--" "So be it!" I nodded. "And if you could give me a chart and set me a course how to steer for Nombre de Dios, I should be grateful, Adam." "Why, so I will, Martin. A course to Nombre--aye, verily! 'Tis said one Sir Richard Brandon lieth 'prisoned there. Ha--having quarrelled with daughter you speed away to sire--" "And what then?" said I, scowling. "Nought, Martin, nought in the world, only if in this world is a fool--art surely he, comrade. Nay, never rage against your true friend, comrade; give me your arm, let me aid you up to my cabin, for your legs are yet overly weak, I doubt." CHAPTER XVII TELLETH THE OUTCOME OP MY PRIDEFUL FOLLY The moon had not yet risen when, in despite of Adam's warnings and remonstrances, I set the great boat-cloak about me and stepped forth into the stern-gallery of the ship, whence I might look down and behold the dark loom of the longboat, a gliding, glimmering shadow upon the white spume of the wake. Now if there be any who, reading this my narrative, shall cry out against me for perverse fool (as I surely was) to all such I would but say that though indeed a man wild and headstrong by nature and given to passionate impulse, yet I was not wholly myself at this time by reason of my wound, so that the unlovely and gloomy spirit of selfishness that possessed me now had full sway to rule me how it listed; and I would have this plead such excuse as might be for this my so desperate and unreasonable determination, the which was to plunge me into further evils and miseries, as you shall hear. "So you are determined on't, Martin?" said Adam, standing beside me where I prepared to descend the short rope ladder. "I am!" "Lord, Martin, there is so much to love in you 'tis pity you are so much of fool--" "You said as much before--" "Aye, so I did, comrade, so I did. But look'ee, 'tis a smooth sea, a fair wind--aha, it needeth no pistol butt to persuade you to it this time; you go of your own will and most express desire, comrade." "I do, Adam." "And who knoweth," said he, his gaze uplift to the Southern Cross that glimmered very bright and splendid above us, "who can say what lieth in wait for you, comrade,--hardship and suffering beyond doubt and--peradventure, death. But by hardship and suffering man learneth the wisdom of mercy, or should do, and by death he is but translated to a greater living--so I do hope. And thus, howsoever it be, all's well, Martin, all's well." "Adam," said I, "give me your hand. You have called me 'fool' and fool am I, mayhap, yet in my folly, wisdom have I enough for this--to know you for my good friend and true comrade now and always!" "Hark'ee then," said he, grasping my hand and leaning to my ear in the gloom, "give up this desperate quest, stand by me, and I can promise ye that which is better than empty vengeance--wealth, Martin, rank, aye, and what is best of all, a noble woman's love--" "Enough!" cried I, "I am no weathercock and my mind is set--" "Why, very well, but so is mine, shipmate, and set upon two things--one to fulfil my duty to the King in the matter of exterminating these pirates and the like rogues, and t'other to redeem my promise to our lady Joan in the matter of her father--your enemy." "How, are you for Nombre de Dios likewise, Adam?" "Just as soon as I have this ship in staunch fighting trim, for, unless you and your vengeance are afore me, I will have Sir Richard Brandon out o' the Inquisition's bloody clutches either by battle or stratagem--aye, though it cost me all I possess, and God knoweth I am a vastly wealthy man, Martin." "Why then, we are like to meet at Nombre de Dios?" said I. "Mayhap, Martin, who can say? Meantime, here is the chart and your sailing directions with some few words for you to ponder at leisure, and so fortune attend you and farewell, comrade." "One thing, Adam," said I, grasping the ladder of ropes, "you will save alive the man Resolution Day--for my sake--" "Aha," quoth Adam, clapping me on the shoulder, "and there spake the man that is my friend! Never doubt it, comrade--he shall live. And look'ee, Martin, if I have been forced to play prank on ye now and then, think as kindly of me as ye can." Hereupon, and with Adam's assistance, having hauled in the longboat until she was well under the gallery, I presently got me a-down the swaying rope ladder and safe aboard of her (though with no little to-do) and at my shout Adam cast off the towline, and I was adrift. For some while I sat huddled in the bows, watching the lofty stern with its rows of lighted windows and three great lanthorns above topped by the loom of towering sails, until sails and ship merged into the night, and nought was to see save the yellow gleam of her lights that grew ever more dim, leaving me solitary upon that vast expanse of ocean that heaved all about me,--a dark and bodeful mystery. At last, finding the wind, though very light, yet might serve me very well, I turned with intent to step the mast. And now I saw the sail was ill-stowed, the canvas lying all abroad and as I rose I beheld this canvas stirred as by a greater wind; then as I stared me this, it lifted, and from beneath it crept a shape that rose up very lithe and graceful and stood with hands reached out towards me, and then as I staggered back came a cry: "Quick, Resolution--seize him!" Two powerful arms clasped and dragged me down, and lying thus, dazed by the fall, I stared up to see bending above me the hated face of Joanna. I waked to a blaze of sun, a young sun whose level beams made the bellying sail above me a thing of glory where it swung against an azure heaven, flecked with clouds pink and gold and flaming red; and stark against this splendour was the grim figure of Resolution Day, a bloody clout twisted about his head, where he sat, one sinewy hand upon the tiller, the other upon the worn Bible open upon his knees, his lips moving as he read, while hard beside me on the floor of the boat lay Joanna, fast asleep. At sight of her I started and shrank from her nearness, whereupon Resolution, lifting his head and closing the Bible on his finger, glared down on me with his solitary eye. "Martin," said he below his breath, and tapping the brass butt of a pistol that protruded from the pocket of his coat, "there be times when I could joyfully make an end o' you--for her sake--her that do love you to her grief and sorrow, since her love is your hate--though what she can see in ye passes me! Howbeit, love you she doth, poor soul, and if so be you ha' no love for her, I would ha' you be a little kinder, Martin; 'twould comfort her and harm you no whit. Look at her now, so fair, so young, so tender--" "Nay, here lies Captain Jo!" said I, scowling. "Speak lower, man," he whispered fiercely. "I ha' given her a sleeping potion out o' the medicine chest Captain Penfeather provided for her; she is not yet cured of her wound, d'ye see, and I would not have her waked yet, so speak lower lest I quiet ye wi' a rap o' the tiller. Let her sleep,--'tis life to her. Saw ye ever a lovelier, sweeter soul?" Now viewing her as she lay outstretched, the wild, passionate soul of her away on the wings of sleep, beholding the dark curtain of her lashes upon the pallor of her cheek, the wistful droop of her vivid lips and all the mute appeal of her tender womanhood, I could not but marvel within myself. "And yet," said I at last, speaking my thoughts aloud, "I have seen her foully dabbled with a dead man's blood!" "And why for not? Jehovah doth not always strike vile rogues dead, wherefore He hath given some women strength to do it for Him. And who are you to judge her; she was innocent once--a pearl before swine and if they--spattered her wi' their mud, they never trampled her i' their mire! She hath been at no man's bidding, and fearing no man, hath ruled all men, outdoing 'em word and deed--aha, two rogues have I seen her slay in duello. Howbeit, she is as God made her, and 'tis God only shall judge His own handiwork; she is one wi' the stars, the winds that go about the earth, blowing how they list, and these great waters that slumber or rage in dreadful tempest--she and they and we are all of God. So treat her a little kind, Martin, love or no--'tis little enough o' kindness she has known all her days; use her a little kinder, for 'tis in my mind you'll not regret it in after days! And talking o' tempest, I like not the look o' the sky--take you the tiller whiles I shorten sail and heed not to disturb Joanna." "And so," said I, when he had shortened sail and was seated beside me again, "so Captain Penfeather gave you medicine for her?" "Aye, did he!" "And knew you were hid in the boat?" "'Twas himself set us there." Now at this I fell to profound thought, and bethinking me of the letter and chart he had given me, I took it out of my pocket and breaking the seals, read as here followeth: _Dear Friend, Comrade and Brother_, Item: Thou art a fool! Yet is there (as it doth seem) an especial Providence for such fools, in particular fools of thy sort. Thus do I bid thee farewell in the sure hope that (saving for shipwreck, fire, battle, pestilence and the like evils) I shall find thee again and perchance something wiser, since Folly plus Hardship shall mayhap work a miracle of Wisdom. Herewith I have drawn you a chart, the parallels duly marked and course likewise, whereby you shall come (Providence aiding) unto Nombre de Dios. And so to your vengeance, Martin, and when found much good may it do thee is the prayer of Thy patient, hopeful, faithful friend, ADAM. NOTA BENE: Should we fail to meet at Nombre de Dios I give you for rendezvous the place which I have clearly marked on the chart (aforementioned) with a X. "Look'ee, friend," said Resolution, when I had made an end of reading. "You plead and spoke for my life of Captain Penfeather and he regarded your will, wherefore am I alive, wherefore are we quits in the matter o' the heathen Pompey and I your friend henceforth 'gainst all the world, saving only and excepting Joanna." "Where do we make for, Resolution?" "To a little island well beknown to the Fraternity, comrade--that is three islands close-set and called Foremast, Main and Mizzen islands, _amigo_, where we are apt to meet friends, as I say, and sure to find good store of food and the like, brother. Though to be sure this boat is right well equipped, both for victuals and weapons." "And when are we like to reach these islands?" "We should raise 'em to-morrow about dawn, friend, if this wind hold." "And what is to become of me, Resolution?" "'Tis for Joanna to say, _camarado_" Now hereupon, stretched out in such shadow as our scant sail afforded (the sun being very hot) I began to reflect upon this ill-chance Fate, in the person of Adam, had played me (cast again thus helpless at the mercy of Joanna) and instead of wasting myself in futile rages against Adam (and him so far out of my reach) I began instead to cast about in my mind how soonest I might escape from this hateful situation; to the which end I determined to follow Resolution's advice is so far as I might, viz: to preserve towards Joanna as kindly a seeming as might be, and here, chancing to look where she lay, I saw her awake and watching me. "D'ye grieve for your Joan--Damaris--yes?" she demanded suddenly. "Nay--of what avail?" "Then I do--from my heart, Martino, from my heart! For she had faith in me, she was kind to me, oh, kind and very gentle! She is as I--might have been, perchance, had life but proved a little kinder." After this she lay silent a great while and I thought her asleep until she questioned me again suddenly. "She is a great lady in England--yes?" "She is." "And yourself?" "An outcast." "And you--loved each other--long since?" "Long since." "But I have you at the last!" cried Joanna, exultant. "And nought shall part us now save death and that but for a little while! Dost curse thyself, Martino--dost curse thyself for saving me from the fire? But for this I had been dead and thou safe with thy loved Joan--dost curse thyself?" "Nay, of what avail?" Now, at this, she falls to sudden rage and revilings, naming me "stock-fish," "clod," "worm," and the like and I (nothing heeding her), turning to behold the gathering clouds to windward, met the glare of Resolution's fierce eye. "Tell me," cried Joanna, reaching out to nip my leg 'twixt petulant fingers, "why must you brave the fire to save me you do so hate--tell me?" "Yonder, as I judge, is much wind, Resolution!" said I, nodding towards a threatening cloud bank. Hereupon she struck at me with passionate fist and thereafter turns from me with a great sob, whereat Resolution growled and tapped his pistol butt. "You were fool to save me!" cried she. "For I, being dead, might now be in happy circumstance and you with your Joan! You were a fool--" "Howbeit you have your life," said I. "Life?" quoth she. "What is life to me but a pain, a grief I shall not fear to lose. Life hath ever brought me so much of evil, so little good, I were well rid of it that I might live again, to find perchance those joys but dim remembered that once were mine in better life than this. And now, if there be aught of food and drink aboard, Resolution, let us eat; then get you to sleep--you will be weary, yes." And surely never was stranger meal than this, Joanna and Resolution, the compass betwixt them, discussing winds, tides and weather, parallels of latitude and longitude, the best course to steer, etc., and I watching the ever-rising billows and hearkening to the piping of the wind. Evening found us running through a troubled sea beneath an angry sky and the wind so loud I might hear nothing of my companions where they crouched together in the stern sheets. But suddenly Joanna beckoned me with imperious gesture: "Look, Martino!" cried she, with hand outflung towards the billows that foamed all about us. "Yonder is a death kinder than death by the fire and yet I do fear this more than the fire by reason of this my hateful woman's body. Now may you triumph over my weakness an you will, yet none can scorn it more than I--" "God forbid!" said I and would have steadied her against the lurching of the boat, but Resolution, scowling at my effort, clasped her within his arm, shielding her as well as he might against the lashing spray, bidding me let be. Thereafter and despite her sickness, she must needs stoop to cover me with the boat-cloak where I lay, and looking up at Resolution I saw his bronzed face glinted with moisture that was not of the sea. CHAPTER XVIII OF ROGER TRESSADY AND HOW THE SILVER WOMAN CLAIMED HER OWN AT LAST Starting from sleep, instead of gloomy heaven and a desolation of tempestuous waters, I saw this: The sun, newly up, shed his waxing glory on troubled waters deeply blue and fringed with foam where the waves broke upon a narrow strip of golden sand backed by trees and dense-growing green boskages infinite pleasant to the sight; and beyond these greeny tangles rose a hill of no great altitude, deep-bowered in trees and brush and flowering vines. And viewing all this peaceful loveliness with sleep-filled eyes, I thought it at first no more than idle dream; but presently, knowing it for reality, I felt my hard nature touched and thrilled (as it were) with a great rush of tenderness, for what with this glory of sun and the thousand sweet and spicy odours that wafted to us from this fair island, I sudden felt as if, borne on this well-remembered fragrance, came the sweet and gentle soul of my lady Joan, a haunting presence, sad and very plaintive, for it seemed she knew at last that nought henceforth might stay me from my vengeance. And in my ears seemed the whisper of her desolate cry: "Martin--Oh, blind and more than blind! Alas, dear Martin!" Now at this, despite the joy of sun and the gladness of birds that shrilled 'mid the mazy thickets above, a great sadness took me and I bowed my head in gloomy thought. "Forward there!" Starting at this hoarse summons, I turned to behold Resolution crouched at the tiller, his great boat-cloak white with brine, his solitary eye scowling from me to the shore and back again. "Ha, d'ye stir at last, sluggard? Here's Joanna been direly sick--speak low, she sleeps at last, poor lass--and me stiff o' my wounds, clemmed wi' hunger and parched wi' thirst, you a-snoring and a sea worse than Jonah's afore they hove him to the whale--" "Why not wake me, then?" I demanded, creeping aft and beholding Joanna where she lay slumbering, pale and worn beneath weather-stained cloak. "Why not rouse me, Resolution?" "Because she forbade me and her word is my law, d'ye see? Reach me a sup o' rum from the locker yonder." "You have brought us safe through the tempest, then," said I, doing as he bade me. "Aye, Joanna and I, and despite her qualms and sickness, poor lass, and you a-snoring!" Here, having drained the pannikin of rum, his eye lost something of its ferocity and he nodded. "Twice we came nigh swamping i' the dark but the Lord interposed to save His own yet a little, and you a-snoring, but here was Joanna's hand on the tiller and mine on the sail and plaguing the Almighty wi' prayers of a righteous, meek, long-suffering and God-fearing man and behold, comrade, here we are, safe in the lee of Mizzen Island, and yonder is creek very apt to our purpose. So stand by to let go the halyard and ship oars when I give word, _amigo_." "She seems very worn with her sickness, Resolution!" said I, stooping to observe Joanna where she slumbered like one utterly exhausted. "She is, friend!" he nodded. "She never could abide rough seas from a child, d'ye see, brother, and her wound troubleth her yet--but never a word o' complaint, comrade--aha, a great soul, a mighty spirit is hers, for all her woman's slenderness, Martin! Now, let fly your halyard, douse your sail--so! Now ship oars and pull, _camarado_, pull!" Very soon, myself at the oars and Resolution steering, we crept in betwixt bush-girt rocks to a shelving, sandy beach. Hereupon, Resolution stooped to lift Joanna but finding his wounds irk him, beckoned to me: "Come, friend," said he. "You are lusty and strong, I do know--bear her ashore and tenderly, brother, tenderly!" So I stooped and raising Joanna in my arms, climbed out of the boat (though with no little to-do) and bore her ashore towards the pleasant shade of flowering trees adjacent to the sea. Now presently she stirred in my embrace, and looking down at her, I saw her regarding me, great-eyed. "Here do I rest for the second time, Martino," she murmured. "I wonder--when the third shall be?" "God knoweth!" said I; and being come to the trees, I laid her there as comfortably as I might and went to aid Resolution to secure the boat. Having landed such things as we required and lighted a fire, while Resolution busied himself preparing a meal, I began to look about me and found this island marvellous fertile, for here on all sides flowers bloomed, together with divers fruits, as lemons, plantains, limes, grapes, a very wonder to behold. Now I chanced to reach a certain eminent place whence I might behold the general trend of the island; and now I saw that this was the smallest of three islands and remembered how Resolution had named them to me as Fore, Main and Mizzen islands. I was yet staring at these islands, each with its fringe of white surf to windward where the seas yet broke in foam, when my wandering gaze chanced to light on that which filled me with sudden and strange foreboding, for, plain to my view despite the distance, I saw the royal yards and topgallant masts of a great ship (so far as I could judge) betwixt Fore and Mainmast islands, and I very full of question as to what manner of ship this should be. In my wanderings I chanced upon a little glen where bubbled a limpid stream amid a very paradise of fruits and flowers; here I sat me down well out of the sun's heat, and having drunk my fill of the sweet water, fell to munching grapes that grew to hand in great, purple clusters. And now, my bodily needs satisfied and I stretched at mine ease within this greeny bower where birds whistled and piped joyously amid flowery thickets and the little brook leapt and sang as (one and all) vaunting the wondrous mercy of God, I, lying thus (as I say) surrounded by His goodly handiworks (and yet blind to their message of mercy) must needs set my wits to work and cast about in my mind how I might the soonest win free of this goodly place and set about the accomplishment of my vengeance. Once or twice I thought to hear Resolution hallooing and calling my name but, being drowsy, paid no heed and thus, what with the peace and comfort of my surroundings, I presently fell asleep. But in my slumbers I had an evil dream, for I thought to hear a voice, hoarse yet tuneful, upraised in song, and voice, like the song, was one heard long ago, the which in my dreaming troubled me mightily, insomuch that I started up broad awake and infinitely glad to know this no more than idle fancy. Sitting up and looking about me, I saw the sun low and nigh to setting, and great was my wonder that I should have slept so long, yet I found myself vastly invigorated thereby and mightily hungered, therefore I arose, minded to seek my companions. But scarce was I gone a yard than I stopped all at once, as from somewhere in the gathering shadows about me, plain to be heard, came the sound of a voice hoarse but tuneful, upraised in song, and these the words: "Some by the knife did part wi' life And some the bullet took O. But three times three died plaguily A-wriggling on a hook O. A hook both long and sharp and strong They died by gash o' hook O." For a long time (as it seemed) I stood motionless with the words of this hateful chanty yet ringing in my brain, until the sun flamed seawards, vanished, and it was night. And here amid the gloom sat I, chin on knees, my mind busied upon a thousand memories conjured up by this evil song. At last, being come to a determination, I arose and, stumbling in the dark, made the best of my way towards that narrow, shelving beach where we had made our landing. In a little, through a tangle of leafy thickets, I espied the glow of a fire and heard a sound of voices; and going thitherwards, paused amid the leaves and hid thus, saw this fire was built at the mouth of a small cave where sat Joanna with Resolution at her elbow, while opposite them were five wild-looking rogues with muskets in their hands grouped about a tall, great fellow of a masterful, hectoring air, who stood staring down on Joanna, his right hand upon the silver-hafted dagger in his girdle and tapping at his square chin with the bright steel hook he bore in place of his left hand. And as he stood thus, feet wide apart, tapping at his chin with his glittering hook and looking down on Joanna, she, leaning back against the side of the cave, stared up at him eye to eye. "So-ho!" quoth he at last. "So you are Captain Jo, eh--Captain Jo of the Brotherhood?" "And you," said she gently, "you are he that killed my father!" Now here ensued a silence wherein none moved, it seemed, only I saw Resolution's bony hand creep and bury itself in his capacious side pocket. Then, putting by the screening branches, I stepped forth into the firelight. "What, Tressady," said I, "d'ye cheat the gallows yet?" Almost as I spoke I saw the flash and glitter of his whirling hook as he turned, pinning me with it through the breast of my doublet (but with so just a nicety that the keen point never so much as touched my skin) and holding me at arm's length upon this hateful thing, he viewed me over, his pale eyes bright beneath their jut of shaggy brow. But knowing the man and feeling Joanna's gaze upon me, I folded my arms and scowled back at him. "Who be you, bully, who and what?" he demanded, his fingers gripping at the dagger in his girdle whose silver hilt was wrought to the shape of a naked woman. "Speak, my hearty, discourse, or kiss this Silver Woman o' mine!" "I am he that cut you down when you were choking your rogue's life out in Adam Penfeather's noose--along of Abnegation Mings yonder--" As I spoke I saw Mings thrust away the pistol he had drawn and lean towards me, peering. "Sink me!" cried he. "It's him, Roger; 'tis Martin sure as saved of us from Penfeather, curse him, on Bartlemy's Island three years agone--it's him, Roger, it's him!" "Bleed me!" said Tressady, nodding. "But you're i' th' right on't, Abny. You ha' th' right on't, lad. 'Tis Marty, sure enough, Marty as was bonnet to me aboard the _Faithfull Friend_ and since he stood friend to us in regard to Adam Penfeather (with a' curse!) it's us shall stand friends t' him. Here's luck and a fair wind t' ye, Marty!" So saying, he loosed me from his hook, and, clapping me on the shoulder, brought me to the circle about the fire. "Oh, sink me!" cried Mings, flourishing a case-bottle under my nose. "Burn me, if this aren't pure joy! I know a man as don't forget past benefits and that's Abnegation! Sit down, Martin, and let us eat and, which is better, drink together!" "Why, so we will, Abny, so we will," said Tressady, seating himself within reach of Joanna. "'Twas pure luck us falling in wi' two old messmates like Marty and Resolution and us in need of a few hell-fire, roaring boys! 'Tis like a happy family, rot me, all love and good-fellowship and be damned! Come, we'll eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow--we sail, all on us, aboard my ship _Vengeance_, as lieth 'twixt Fore and Main islands yonder, ready to slip her moorings!" "Avast, friend!" said Resolution, blinking his solitary eye at Tressady. "The captain o' the Coast Brotherhood is Joanna here--Captain Jo, by the Brotherhood so ordained; 'tis Captain Jo commands here--" "Say ye so, Resolution, say ye so, lad?" quoth Tressady, tapping at chin with glittering hook. "Now mark me--and keep both hands afore ye--so, my bully--hark'ee now--there's none commands where I am save Roger Tressady!" said he, looking round upon us and with a flourish of his hook. "Now if so be any man thinks different, let that man speak out!" "And what o' Captain Jo?" demanded Resolution. "That!" cried Tressady, snapping finger and thumb. "Captain Jo is not, henceforth--sit still, lad--so! Now lift his barkers, Abny--in his pockets. Still and patient, lad, still and patient!" So Resolution perforce suffered himself to be disarmed, while Joanna, pale and languid in the firelight, watched all with eyes that gleamed beneath drooping lashes. "So now," quoth Tressady, "since I command here, none denying--" "And what o' Captain Jo?" demanded Resolution. "Why, I'll tell ye, bully, look'ee now! A man's a man and a woman's a woman, but from report here's one as playeth t'other and which, turn about. But 'tis as woman I judge her best, and as woman she sails along o' me, lad, along o' me!" So saying, he nodded and taking out a case-bottle, wrenched at the cork with his teeth. "And how say you, Joanna?" questioned Abnegation. "Tush!" said she, with a trill of laughter. "Here is one that talketh very loud and fool-like and flourisheth iron claw to no purpose, since I heed one no more than t'other--" "Here's death!" cried he fiercely, stabbing the air with his hook. "Death, wench!" "Tush!" said she again, "I fear death no more than I fear you, and as for your claw--go scratch where you will!" Goaded to sudden fury, he raised his hook and would have smitten the slender foot of her that chanced within his reach, but I caught his arm and wrenched him round to face me. "Hold off, Tressady!" said I. "Here's a man to fight an you're so minded. But as for Joanna, she's sick of her wounds and Resolution's little better; but give me a knife and I'm your man!" And I sprang to my feet. Here for a moment Joanna's eyes met mine full of that melting tenderness I had seen and wondered at before; then she laughed and turned to Tressady: "Sick or no, I am Joanna and better than any man o' you all, yes. Here shall be no need for fight, for look now, Tressady, though you are fool, you are one I have yearned to meet--so here's to our better acquaintance." And speaking, she leaned forward, twitched the bottle from his hand, nodded and clapped it to her mouth all in a moment. As for Tressady, he gaped, scowled, fumbled with the dagger in his girdle, loosed it, slapped his thigh and burst into a roar of laughter. "Oh, burn me, here's a soul!" he cried. "'Tis a wench o' spirit, all hell-fire spirit and deviltry, rot me! Go to't, lass, drink hearty--here's you and me agin world and damn all, says I. Let me perish!" quoth he, when he had drunk the toast and viewing Joanna with something of respect. "Here's never a man, woman or child dared so much wi' Jolly Roger all his days--oh, sink me! Why ha' we never met afore--you and me might rule the Main--" "I do!" said she. "And how came ye here--in an open boat?" "By reason of Adam Penfeather!" "What, Adam again, curse him!" "He sank the _Happy Despatch_!" "Burn me! And there's a stout ship lost to us." "But then--we stayed to fight, yes!" "What then?" said Tressady, clenching his fist. "Will ye say I ran away--we beat him off!" "Howbeit Adam sank and took us, and swears to hang you soon or late--unless you chance to die soon!" "Blind him for a dog--a dog and murderous rogue as shall bite on this hook o' mine yet! A small, thieving rogue is Penfeather--" "And the likest man to make an end o' the Brotherhood that ever sailed!" nodded Joanna. "Where lays his course?" "Who knows!" "And what o' Belvedere?" "Dead and damned for rogue and coward!" "Why, then, drink, my bullies," cried Tressady, with a great oath. "Drink battle, murder, shipwreck and hell-fire to Adam Penfeather, with a curse! Here's us safe and snug in a good stout ship yonder, here's us all love and good-fellowship, merry as grigs, happy as piping birds, here's luck and long life to each and all on us." "Long life!" said Joanna, frowning. "'Tis folly--I weary of it already!" So we ate and drank and sprawled about the fire until the moon rose, and looking up at her as she sailed serene, I shivered, for to-night it seemed that in her pallid beam was something ominous and foreboding, and casting my eyes round about on motionless tree and shadowy thicket I felt my flesh stir again. Now ever as the time passed, Tressady drew nearer and nearer to Joanna, until they were sitting cheek by jowl, he speaking quick and low, his pale eyes ever upon her, she all careless languor, though once I saw her take hold upon his gleaming hook and once she pointed to the dagger in his girdle and laughed; whereupon he drew it forth (that evil thing) and holding it up in her view fell suddenly a-singing: "Oh, I've sought women everywhere North, South and East and West; And some were dark and some were fair But here's what I love best! Blow high, blow low, in weal or woe My Silver Woman's best." Thus sang Tressady, looking from the languorous woman at his side to the languorous woman graven on the dagger-hilt and so thrust it back into his girdle. And in a while Joanna rose, drawing the heavy boat-cloak about her shapeliness: "There is a small bower I wot of down in the shadows yonder shall be my chamber to-night," said she, staring up at the moon. "And so good night! I'm a-weary!" Then she turned, but doing so her foot touched Resolution's leg where he sat, whereat he did strange thing, for at this soft touch he started, glanced up at her, his eye very wide and bright, and I saw his two powerful hands become two quivering fists, yet when he spoke his voice was calm and even. "Good night, Joanna--fair dreams attend thee." Then Joanna, eluding Tressady's clutching hand, went her way, singing to herself very sweet and low. Hereupon Tressady grew very boisterous and merry and perceiving Mings and his fellows inclined for slumber, roared them to wakefulness, bidding them drink with him and damning them for sleepy dogs. Yet in a while he fell silent also and presently takes out his dagger and begins fondling it. Then all at once he was on his feet, the dagger glittering evilly in his hand the while he glared from me to Resolution and back again. "Good night, my bullies!" said he. "Good night--and let him follow that dare!" And with a sound 'twixt a growl and a laugh, he turned and strode away, singing as he went. Now hereupon, nothing doubting his intent, I sprang to my feet and made to follow, but felt myself caught in an iron grip and stared down into the grim face of Resolution. "Easy, friend--sit down, comrade--here beside me, brother." "Aye, truly, you were wiser, Martin!" said Mings, winking and tapping the pistol in his belt. Now Resolution sat in the mouth of the small cave I have mentioned and I noticed he had slipped his right hand behind him and sat thus, very still, his gaze on the dying fire like one hearkening very eagerly for distant sounds, wherefore I did the like and thus, from somewhere amid the shadowy thickets, I heard Tressady sing again that evil song of his: "Two by the knife did lose their life And three the bullet took O. But three times three died plaguily A-wriggling--" The singing ended suddenly and indescribably in a sound that was neither cry nor groan nor choke, yet something of each and very ghastly to be heard. "What was yon!" cried Mings, starting and blinking sleep from his eyes to peer towards those gloomy thickets. "What should it be but Captain Jo!" said Resolution; and now I saw his right hand, hid no longer, grasped a pistol levelled across his knees. "Sit still, all on ye," he commanded. "Let a man move a leg and that man's dead! Mark now what saith Davy. 'He hath graven and digged a pit and is fallen himself into the destruction he made for others. For his travail shall come upon his own head and his wickedness fall on his own pate.'" "Nay, look'ee," says Mings, wiping sweat from him, "nay, but I heard somewhat--aye, I did, an unchancy sound--" "Peace, Abnegation, peace!" quoth Resolution. "Mew not and hark to the words o' Davy: 'The Lord is known to execute judgment, the ungodly is trapped in the work of his own hands'--" "Nay, but," says Mings, pointing. "See--who comes yonder?" And now we saw Joanna, a dark figure against the splendour of the moon, walking daintily, as was her wont, and as she came she falls a-singing that same evil song I had heard long ago: "There's a fine Spanish dame And Joanna's her name Shall follow wherever ye go Till your black heart shall feel Your own cursed steel--" She stopped suddenly and stood in the light of the fire, looking from one to the other of us with that smile I ever found so hateful. "I am Joanna," said she softly and nodding at Mings; "I am your Captain Jo and command here. Get you and your fellows aboard and wait my bidding." "Aye, aye!" said Mings in strangled voice, his eyes fixed and glaring. "But what o' Cap'n Tressady? Where's my comrade, Roger?" From behind her back Joanna drew forth a slender hand, awfully bedabbled and let fall a reeking thing at Abnegation's feet and I saw this for Tressady's silver-hilted dagger. "Black Tressady is dead!" said she. "I have just killed him!" "Dead!" gasped Mings, shrinking. "Roger dead! My comrade--murdered--I--" Uttering a wild, passionate cry he whipped forth his pistol, but in that moment Resolution fired, and rising to his feet, Abnegation Mings groaned and pitched upon his face and lay mute and still. "Glory to God!" said Resolution, catching up the dead man's weapon and facing the others. "Come, my lads," quoth he; "if Tressady be as dead as Mings, he can't walk, wherefore he must be carried. And wherefore carried, you'll ask? Says I, you shall take 'em along wi' you. You shall bring 'em aboard ship, you shall tell your mates as Captain Jo sends these dead men aboard to show 'em she's alive. So come and bring away Tressady first--march it is for Roger, and lively, lads!" Now when they were gone, Joanna came beside me where I sat and stood a while, looking down on me in silence. "He forced me to it!" said she at last. "Oh, Martino, there--was none other way. And he killed my father." But I not answering, she presently sighed and went away, leaving me staring where Mings lay huddled beyond the dying fire. And presently my gaze chanced to light on Tressady's dagger of the Silver Woman where it lay, stained by his life's blood, and leaping to my feet, I caught it up and sent the evil thing whirling and glittering far out to sea. CHAPTER XIX HOW JOANNA CHANGED HER MIND "So there's an end o' Tressady and Mings and their fellows, comrade!" said Resolution, staring away into distant haze where showed the topsails of the _Vengeance_ already hull down. "And God's will be done, says I, though here be we as must go solitary awhile and Joanna sick to death, comrade." "Resolution," said I, staring up at his grim figure, "she schemed to lure Tressady to his death?" "Aye, she did, brother. What other way was there? She hath wit womanish and nimble--" "She smote him in the shadows--" "Most true, friend! She hath a man's will and determination!" "He had no chance--" "Never a whit, Martin! She is swift as God's lightning and as infallible. Roger Tressady was an evil man and the evil within him she used to destroy him and all very right and proper! And now she lieth sick in the cave yonder and calls for you, brother." So I arose and coming within the cave found Joanna outstretched upon a rough bed contrived of fern and the boat-cloaks. "Alas, Martino, I cannot sleep," said she. "I am haunted by the man Tressady, which is surely very strange--oh, very strange. For he was evil like all other men save you and Resolution--and Adam Penfeather. Can you not say somewhat to my comfort? Did he not merit death?" "Aye, most truly. Had you not killed him--I would." "For my sake, Martino?" "Aye," said I, "for yours." "Why, then 'tis strange I should grieve thus--I have killed men ere this, as you do know, nor troubled; belike 'tis my sickness--or the memory of my lady Joan--Damaris, her gentleness. Howbeit I am sorry and sad and greatly afraid." "Nay," said I. "What should fright you that do fear nothing?" "Myself, Martino--I have been--minded to kill you--more than once!" "Yet do I live." "And yet do I fear!" said she, with a great sigh. "And your wound pains you belike?" "A little, Martino." "Show me!" Mutely she suffered me to uncover her arm and unwind the bandages and I saw the tender flesh was very angry and inflamed, whereupon I summoned Resolution from his cooking, who at my desire brought the chest of medicines with water, etc., and set myself to soothe and cherish this painful wound as gently as I might, and though she often blenched for the pain of it she uttered no complaint. "Do I hurt you overmuch?" I questioned. "Nay," said she, catching her breath for pain of it, "I am none so tender. D'ye mind how I burned the boat you had so laboured at?" "Aye, I do!" "And how I gave you an evil draught that was agony?" "Aye, I do so!" "And how I plagued you--" "Nay, why remember all this, Joanna?" "It helpeth me to endure this pain!" When I had anointed and bound up her wound she must needs praise my skill and vow she was herself again and would be up and about, whereat Resolution reached down to aid her to rise, but this I would by no means suffer, telling her that she must rest and sleep the fever from her blood. At this she scowled, then all of a sudden laughed. "Why, then, you shall stay and talk with me!" "Rather shall Resolution mix you a sleeping draught." "Verily, brother, two have I mixed, but she'll not take 'em!" "Why, then, being two to one, we must force her to drink," said I. "Force her to drink, comrade? Force Joannas--God's light--!" "Mix the potion, man, or teach me!" So in the end Resolution did as I bade; then kneeling beside Joanna, I raised her upon my arm and set the pannikin to her lips, whereupon, though she frowned, she presently drank it off meekly enough, to Resolution's no small wonder and her own, it seemed. "I grow marvellous obedient!" said she. "And 'tis hateful stuff!" "Now sleep," quoth I. "'Tis life to you--" "Wouldst have me live, to plague you again, mayhap?" she questioned. "This is as God wills!" "Nay, this is as you will, Martino. Wouldst have me live, indeed?" Now seeing how she hung upon my answer, beholding the wistful pleading of her look, I nodded. "Aye, I would indeed!" said I. "Why, then I will, Martino, I will!" And smiling, she composed herself to slumber and smiling, she presently fell asleep, whereupon Resolution crept stealthily out of the little cave and I after him. Being outside, he turned and suddenly caught and wrung my hand. "Friend," said he, his grim features relaxing to unwonted smile. "Brother, you are a man--the only man could ha' done it. I thought Death had her sure last night, she all of a fever and crying out for Death to take her." "She'll do better out in the air!" said I, glancing about. "The air, comrade?" "Aye, I must contrive her a shelter of sorts to her comfort where she may sleep. 'Neath yonder tree should serve--" "She'll live, Martino, she'll live and all by reason o' her love for you--the promise you made her--" "I made no promise, man!" "Why, 'twas good as promise, comrade." "How so?" "'Wouldst ha' me live,' says she, 'to plague you again,' says she. 'Aye, that would I indeed,' says you! And what's that but a promise, Martin?" "God forgive you!" quoth I. "'Twas no promise I intended, as you very well know." "Why, as to that, comrade, how if Joanna think as I think?" "'Twill be vain folly!" quoth I in petulant anger and strode away, leaving him to scowl after me, chin in hand. Howbeit (and despite my anger) I presently took such tools as we had and set about making a small hut or rather bower, where an invalid might find such privacy as she wished and yet have benefit of the pure, sweet air rather than lie mewed in the stifling heat of the little cave. And presently, as I laboured, to me cometh Resolution full of praise for my handiwork and with proffer of aid. At this I turned to him face to face. "Did I make Joanna any promise, aye or no?" I demanded. "Aye, brother. You vowed Joanna must live to plague you, forsooth, how and when and where she would, comrade. In the which assured hope she lieth even now, sleeping herself to health and strength and all to pleasure you, Martin. And sure, oh, sure you are never one so vile to deceive the poor, sweet soul?" Now perceiving all his specious sophistry and wilful misunderstanding of the matter, I came nigh choking with anger. "Liar!" quoth I. "Liar!" "Peace, brother, peace!" said he. "From any other man this were a fighting word, but as it is, let us reason together, brother! The Lord hath--" "Enough!" cried I. "Friend, the Lord hath set--" "Leave Him out!" quoth I. "What, Martin--will ye blaspheme now? Oh, shame on ye! 'The mouth o' the blasphemer is as an open sepulchre!' But as I say, the Lord hath set you here i' this flowery garden like Adam and her like Eve--" "And yourself like the serpent!" said I. "Ha' done, Martin, ha' done! 'The Lord shall root out deceitful lips and the tongue that speaks proud things!' mark that!" "And mark you this, Resolution, an you fill Joanna's head with aught of such folly, whatsoever sorrow or evil befalls her is upon your head." "Why, observe, friend and brother, for any man shall cause Joanna such, I have this, d'ye see!" And he showed me the butt of the pistol in his pocket; whereat I cursed him for meddlesome fool and turning my back went on with my labour, though my pleasure in it was gone. Howbeit I wrought this, rather than sit with idle hands, wasting myself in profitless repining. And presently, being intent on the business, I forgot all else and seeing this little bower was turning out much better than I had hoped, I fell a-whistling, until, hearing a step, I turned to find Joanna leaning upon Resolution's arm and in her eyes such a look of yearning tenderness as filled me with a mighty disquiet. "And have you--made this for--me, Martino?" she questioned, a little breathlessly. "Aye," I nodded, "because I do hate idleness--" "Hark to him!" said Resolution. "And him picturing to me how snug you would lie here--" "As to that, Resolution," said I, scowling, "you can lie anywhere." "Why, true," said he, ignoring my meaning. "Since Jo sleeps here, I shall sleep 'neath the tree hard by, leaving you the cave yonder, friend." That night Joanna lay in the bower and from this time she mended apace, but as for me, with every hour my impatience to be gone grew upon me beyond all measure, and as the time passed I waxed surly and morose, insomuch that upon a day as I sat frowning at the sea, Joanna stole upon me and stooping, kissed my hand or ever I might stay her. "Do I offend?" she questioned with a strange, new humility. "Ah, prithee, why art grown so strange to me?" "I am as I always was!" "Nay, in my sickness thou wert kind and gentle--" "So should I have been to any other!" "You builded me my little house?" "I had naught else to do." "Martino," said she, sinking on her knees beside me. "Oh, _caro mio_, if--if you could kiss me in my sickness when I knew naught of it--wherefore not now when I am all awake and full of life--" "I never did!" said I, speaking on rageful impulse "If Resolution told you this, he lies!" At this she shrank as I had struck her. "And did you not--kiss me in my sickness--once, no?" "Never once!" Here, bowing her head upon her hands, she rested silent awhile. "Nay, Joanna, wherefore seek the impossible. In these latter days I have learned to--to respect you--" "Respect!" cried she, clenching her fists, "Rather give me hate; 'twere easier endured--" "Why, then, this island is a rendezvous for the Brotherhood, soon will you have friends and comrades; give me then the boat and let me go--" "To seek her? Nay, that you shall never do. I will kill you first, yes--for the cold, passionless thing you are!" So she left me and knowing that she wept, I felt greatly heartsick and ashamed. Now the little cave wherein I slept gave upon that stretch of sandy beach where lay the boat and this night the weather being very hot and no wind stirring, I came without the cave and sat to watch the play of moonlight on the placid waters and hearken to their cool plash and ripple. Long time I sat thus, my mind full of foreboding, mightily cast down and hot with anger against Resolution, whose subtle lies had set Joanna on this vain folly of love, teaching her hopes for that which might never be; and guessing some of her pain therefor, I grieved for her and felt myself humbled that I (though all unwitting) should cause her this sorrow. Sitting thus, full of heavy thoughts, my gaze by chance lighted upon the boat and, obeying sudden impulse, I arose and coming hither, fell to sudden temptation, for here she lay afloat; once aboard it needed but to slip her moorings and all these my present troubles would be resolved. And yet (thinks I) by so doing I should leave two people on this solitary island cut off from their kind. And yet again they run no chance of hardship or starvation, God knows, and this being a known meeting-place for their fellows, they shall not lack for company very long. I was yet debating this in my mind when, roused by a sound behind me, I turned to find Resolution scowling on me and pistol in hand. "Ha!" said he 'twixt shut teeth, "I ha' been expecting this and watched according. So you'll steal the boat, will ye--leave us marooned here, will ye?" "I haven't decided yet!" quoth I. "And what's to let me from shooting ye?" "Nought in the world," said I, watching for a chance to close with him, "only bear witness I have not touched rope or timber yet--" "'Tis a rule o' the Coast to shoot or hang the like o' you!" quoth he, and I heard the sharp click of the pistol as he cocked it and then with a flutter of petticoats Joanna burst upon us. "Resolution, what is't?" she questioned breathlessly, looking from one to other of us. "He was for stealing the boat, Jo!" "Is this true?" she demanded, her face set and very pale. But here, seeing speech was vain, I shook my head and turning my back on them came into my cave and cast myself down on my rough bed. Lying thus I heard the murmur of their talk a great while, yet I nothing heeded until Joanna spoke close without the cave. "Bide you there, Resolution!" Then the moonlight was dimmed and I saw her form outlined in the mouth of the cave. "What would you, Joanna?" said I, starting up. "Talk with you a small while," said she and came where we might behold each other. "Nay, do not fear. I will come no nearer, only I would speak to you now as I would speak if I lay a-dying, I would have you answer as you would if--if Death stood ready to strike these our bodies and bear our souls out to the infinite and a better life." "Speak!" said I, wondering to see her shaken as by an ague-fit. "You do not--love me, then? No?" "No." "You--never could love me, mind and heart and body? No?" "No." "You could not endure me beside you, to--to live--with me near you?" "'Twould mean only pain, Joanna." "Then go!" cried she. "I am not so base-souled to weep and wheedle, to scheme and pray for thing that can never be truly mine, or to keep you here in hated bondage--go! The boat lieth yonder; take her and what you will--only--get you gone!" Now at this I rose and would have taken her hands but she snatched them behind her, and now I wondered at her deathly pallor,--her very lips were pale and set. "Joanna," I stammered, "do you mean--am I--" "Go!" "Nay, first hear me say that wheresoever I go needs must I--" "Respect me!" cried she with a strange, wild laugh. "Oh, begone!" "Joanna," said I, "for any harsh word I have spoke you in the past, for any pain you have suffered because of me, I do most surely grieve and would most humbly crave your forgiveness and for this generous act I--I--" "Respect me?" said she in a small voice. "Ah, cannot you see--how you--hurt me?" And now all suddenly I did strange thing for, scarce knowing what I did, I caught her in my arms and kissed her hair, her eyes, her cold lips and then, half ashamed, turned to leave her. "Stay!" said she, but I never heeded. "Martino!" she called, but I never paused; and then, being come to the mouth of the cave, I heard the quick, light sound of her feet behind me and as I stepped into the moonlight felt two arms that swung me aside, saw Joanna leap before me as the night-silence was split by a ringing, deafening roar; and then I had her in my arms and she, smiling up at me with blood upon her lips, hid her face in my breast. "Here in thine arms do I lie for the third time--and last, Martino!" she sighed, and so Resolution found us. "What!" he gasped. "Oh, God! What--?" "Some one has shot Joanna!" "Aye, Martin, 'twas I!" and I saw the pistol yet smoking in his hand--"I shot her thinking 'twas you--Oh, God!" "Nay, Resolution," said Joanna, opening her eyes. "You did very right--'twas only that I--being a woman--changed my mind--at the last. 'Twas I bid him--kill you, Martino--if you came forth, but I--I dreamed you--you would not leave me. Nay, let be, Resolution, I'm a-dying--yes!" "Ah, forbid it, God--Oh, God of Mercies, spare her!" he cried, his hands and eyes uplift to the radiant, starry heavens. "Nay, grieve not, Resolution--dear friend!" she murmured painfully. "For oh, 'tis--a good thing to die--by your hand and with--such reason! Martino, when--you shall wed your Joan--Damaris, say I--gave you to her with--my life because I loved you--better than life--and Death had--no fears. I go back to life--a better life--where I shall find you one day, Martino, and learn what--happiness is like--mayhap. Resolution," she whispered, "when I--am dead, do not let me lie a poor, pale thing to grieve over--bury me--bury me so soon as I--am dead. Dig me a grave--above the tide! Promise this!" "I promise!" "Now kiss me--you were ever true and kind--kiss me? And you, Martino, wilt kiss me--not in gratitude--this last time?" And so I kissed her and thereafter she lay silent awhile, looking up at me great-eyed. "Somewhere," she whispered, "some day--we shall--meet again, beloved--but now is--farewell. Oh, 'tis coming--'tis coming, Martino!" And then in stronger voice, "Oh, Death!" she cried. "Oh, welcome Death--I do not fear thee! Lift me, Martino--lift me--let me die--upon my feet!" Very tenderly we lifted her betwixt us and then suddenly with a soft, murmurous cry, she lifted her arms to the glory of the wide firmament above us and with shuddering sigh let them slowly fall, and with this sigh the strange, wild soul of her sped away back to the Infinite whence it had come. And now Resolution, on his knees beside this slender form that lay so mute and still, broke out into great and awful sobs that were an agony to hear. "Dead!" he gasped. "Oh, God--dead! And by my hand! I that loved her all her days--that would ha' died for her--Oh, smite me, merciful God--cast forth Thy lightnings--shoot forth Thine arrows and consume me an Thou be merciful indeed." All at once he arose and hasting away on stumbling feet, presently came back again, bearing spade and mattock. "Come, friend," said he in strange, piping tones. "Come now, let us dig grave and bury her, according to my promise. Come, brother!" Now looking on him as he stood all bowed and shaking, I saw that he was suddenly become an old man; his twisted frame seemed shrunken, while spade and mattock shook and rattled in his palsied hands. "Come, lad, come!" cried he querulously. "Why d'ye gape--bring along the body; 'tis nought else! Ah, God, how still now, she that was so full o' life! Bring her along to high water-mark and tenderly, friend, ah, tenderly, up wi' her to your heart!" So I did as he bade and followed Resolution's bowed and limping form till he paused well above where any sea might break and hard beside a great rock. "She'll lie snug here, friend," quoth he, "snug against howling wind and raging tempest!" So together we dug the grave deep within that shelving, golden sand, and laying her tenderly therein, knelt together while the moon sank and shadows lengthened; and when Resolution had recited the prayers for the dead, he broke into a passion of prayer for himself, which done we rose and plied spade and mattock in silence; nor would Resolution pause or stay until we had raised mound sufficiently high to please him. When at last all was completed to his satisfaction, he dropped his spade and wiping sweat from him seated himself beside the grave, patting the mound very tenderly with his open palm. "The moon is wondrous bright, friend," said he, staring up at it, "but so have I seen it many a night; but mark this, never in all our days shall we see again the like o' her that sleeps, Martino, that sleeps--below here!" And here he falls to soft mutterings and to patting that small mound of sand again. "Come!" said I at last, touching his bowed shoulder. "Come!" "Where away, _camarado_?" he questioned, looking up at me vacantly. "Nay, I'm best here--mayhap she'll be lonesome-like at first, so I'll bide here, lad, I'll bide here a while. Go your ways, brother, and leave old Resolution to pray a little, aye--and, mayhap weep a little, if God be kind." So in the end I turned, miserably enough, and left him crouched there, his head bowed upon his breast. And in my mind was horror and grief and something beside these that filled me with a great wonder. Reaching the cave, I saw the sand there all trampled and stained with the blood she had shed to save mine own, and hard beside these, the print of her slender foot. And gazing thus, I was of a sudden blinded by scorching tears, and sinking upon my knees I wept as never before in all my days. And then sprang suddenly to my feet as, loud upon the air, rang out a shot that seemed to echo and re-echo in my brain ere, turning, I began to run back whence I had come. And so I found Resolution face down across the mound that marked Joanna's grave, his arms clasped about it and on his dead face the marks of many tears. CHAPTER XX I GO TO SEEK MY VENGEANCE Next day, just as the sun rose, I buried Resolution 'twixt Joanna and the sea, yet over him I raised no mound, since I judged he would have it so. Thereafter I ate and drank and stored the boat with such things as I needed for my voyage and particularly with good supply of fruits. And now, though the wind and tide both served me, I yet lingered, for it seemed that the spirit of Joanna still tarried hereabouts. Moved by sudden desire, I began searching among the tumbled boulders that lay here and there and presently finding one to my purpose, urged it down the sloping beach and with infinite pains and labour contrived at last to set it up at the head of Joanna's resting-place. Then, taking hammer and chisel, I fell to work upon it, heedless of sun-glare, of thirst, fatigue or the lapse of time, staying not till my work was complete, and this no more than two words cut deep within the enduring stone; these: JOANNA VNFEARING And now at last, the tide being on the turn, I unmoored the boat, and thrusting her off, clambered aboard and betook me to the oars, and ever as I rowed I kept my gaze upon that small, solitary heap of sand until it grew all blurred upon my sight. Having presently made sufficient headway, I unshipped oars and hoisting my sail, stood out into the immeasurable deep but with my eyes straining towards that stretch of golden sand where lay all that was mortal of Joanna. And with my gaze thus fixed, I must needs wonder what was become of the fiery, passionate spirit of her, that tameless soul that was one with the winds and stars and ocean, even as Resolution had said. And thus I presently fell a-praying and my cheek wet with tears that I thought no shame. When I looked up, I saw that the narrow strip of beach was no longer in sight; Joanna had verily gone out of my life and was but a memory. All afternoon I held on before a fair wind so that as the sun sank I saw the three islands no more than a faint speck on the horizon; wherefore, knowing I should see them no more in this life, I uncovered my head, and thus it was indeed I saw Joanna's resting-place for the last time. And now as the sun slipped westward and vanished in glory, even now as night fell, I had a strange feeling that her spirit was all about me, tender and strong and protecting, and herein, as the darkness gathered, I found great comfort and was much strengthened in the desperate venture I was about. Having close-reefed my sail and lashed the tiller, I rolled myself in a boat-cloak and, nothing fearing, presently fell asleep and dreamed Joanna sat above me at the helm, stooping to cover me from the weather as she had done once before. Waking next morning to a glory of sun, I ate and drank (albeit sparingly) and fell to studying Adam's chart, whereby I saw I must steer due southwesterly and that by his calculation I should reach the mainland in some five or six days. Suffice it that instead of five days it was not until the tenth day (my water being nigh exhausted and I mightily downcast that I had sailed out of my proper course) that I discovered to my inexpressible joy a faint, blue haze bearing westerly that I knew must be the Main. And now the wind fell so that it was not until the following morning that I steered into a little, green bay where trees grew to the very water's edge and so dense that, unstepping my mast, I began paddling along this green barrier, looking for some likely opening, and thus presently came on a narrow cleft 'mid the green where ran a small creek roofed in with branches, vines and twining boughs, into which I urged my boat forthwith (and no little to-do) and passed immediately from the hot glare of sun into the cool shade of trees and tangled thickets. Having forced myself a passage so far as I might by reason of these leafy tangles, my next thought was to select such things as I should need and this took me some time, I deeming so many things essential since I knew not how far I might have to tramp through an unknown country, nor in what direction Nombre de Dios lay. But in the end I narrowed down my necessities to the following, viz: A compass A perspective-glass A sword Two pistols A gun with powder-horn and shot for same A light hatchet A tinder-box and store of buccaned meat. And now, having belted on sword and pistols and wrapping the other things in one of the boat-cloaks, I strapped the unwieldy bundle to my shoulders and taking up the gun, scrambled ashore, and having found my bearing, set off due southwesterly. Hour after hour I struggled on, often having to hew myself a passage with my axe, until towards evening I came out upon a broad ride or thoroughfare amid the green, the which greatly heartened me, since here was evidence of man's handiwork and must soon or late bring me to some town or village; forthwith, my weariness forgotten, I set off along this track, my face set ever westwards; but presently my vaunting hopes were dashed to find the track could be very little used nowadays, since here and there great trees had fallen and lay athwart my going, and presently the way itself narrowed to a mere path and this crossed here and there by hanging vines which was sure proof that few, if any, had passed this way these many months, mayhap years. Hereupon I stopped to lean despondent on my gun and looked about me; and with dejection of mind came weariness of body and seeing night was at hand, I determined to go no farther and turned in among the trees, minded to sleep here, though the place was wild and forbidding enough. I had just loosed off my heavy pack when the pervading stillness was broken by a wailing cry, so sudden, so shrill and evil to hear that my flesh crept and I huddled against a tree, peering into the deepening shadows that had begun to hem me in. At first I judged this some wild beast and reached for my musket; then, as the sound rose again, I knew this for human cry, for I heard these words: "Mercy, señors, mercy for the love o' God!" Hereupon I began to run towards whence came this dismal outcry and presently espied the glow of a fire, and creeping thither discovered four men grouped about a fifth and him fast bound to a tree, and this poor wretch they were torturing with a ramrod heated in the fire; even as I watched he writhed and screamed for the intolerable pain of it. Staying for no more, I burst upon them and levelling my piece at the chief tormentor, pulled the trigger, whereupon was no more than a flash of the flint; it seemed that in my hurry to begone I had forgotten to load it. Howbeit, loaded or not, it served me well enough, for, swinging it by the barrel, I was upon them or ever they were aware and smote down two of the rogues, whereupon their comrades betook them to their heels with the utmost precipitation. I therefore proceeded to cut the sufferer loose who, sinking to the earth, lay there, muttering and groaning. "Are ye much hurt?" I questioned, stooping above him: whereupon he spat forth a string of curses by which I judged him English and very far from dying as I had feared. I now found myself master of four very good guns, a sword, a steel headpiece, two cloaks and other furniture, with food a-plenty and three flasks of wine. I was yet examining these and watching against the return of their late owners when, hearing a sound, I saw the late poor captive bending above the two men I had felled. "Are they dead?" I questioned. "Nay, not yet, master; give 'em six minutes or say ten and they'll be as dead as the pig you ate of last--" "How so?" I demanded, staring at the wild, ragged figure of the speaker. "By means o' this, master!" said he, and stooping towards the fire showed me a middling-sized black thorn upon his open palm. "Not much to look at, master--no, but 'tis death sure and sarten, howsomever. I've many more besides; I make 'em into darts and shoot 'em through a blowpipe--a trick I larned o' the Indians. Aye, I spits 'em through a pipe--which is better than your guns--no noise, no smoke, and sure death wherever it sticketh." "Are you an Englishman?" "I am that! Born within sound o' Bow Bells; 'tis all o' twenty years since I heard 'em but they ring in my dreams sometimes. I shipped on a venture to the Main twenty years ago and fought and rioted as a man may and by ill-luck fell into the hands o' the bloody Spaniards along o' six other good lads--all dead long since, master. Then the Inquisition got me and was going to burn me but not liking the thought on't, I turned Roman. Then they made me a slave, but I got away at last. Aha, all Spanishers are devils for cruelty, but their Churchmen are worst and of all their Churchmen the coldest, softest, bloodiest is Alexo Valdez, Chief Inquisitor of Nombre de Dios yonder--" "Ha, you know Nombre de Dios?" "I ha' lived and suffered there, master, and 'tis there I be a-going for to make an end o' Bloody Valdez, if God be kind." "Then," said I, "we will travel so far together--" "And what doth an Englishman the like o' you want with the accursed place; the Inquisition is strong there--" "'Tis a matter of life and death," said I. "Death!" said he, "Death--they should all be dead and rotting, if I had my way." So saying, this strange man, whose face I had scarce seen, laid him down beyond the fire and composed himself to slumber. "How then," I demanded, "will ye sleep here in the wild and no watch?" "I will that!" said he. "I know the wilderness and I have endured much o' hardship o' late and as to watching, there's small need. The rogues you fell upon, being Spaniards, will doubtless be running yet and nigh unto Nombre, by now." "How far is it hence?" "Twelve leagues by road, but less the ways I travel." "Good!" said I. "Though 'tis hard going." "No matter." "Why, then, sleep, for we march at dawn. And my name is John." "And mine Martin." "Why, then, Martin, good night." "Good night, John." Howbeit though (and despite his hurts) my companion presently slept and snored lustily, and though I kept myself awake and my weapons to hand, yet I fell a-nodding and at last, overcome with weariness, sank to sleep likewise. I waked to find the sun up and the man John shaking me, a wild, unlovely, shaggy fellow, very furtive of eye and gesture, who cringed and cowered away as I started up. "Lord, man," quoth I, "I am no enemy!" "I know it!" said he, shaking tousled head. "But 'tis become nat'ral to me to slink and crawl and blench like any lashed cur, all along o' these accursed Spaniards; I've had more kicks and blows than I've lived days," he growled, munching away at the viands he had set forth. "Have ye suffered so much then?" "Suffered!" cried he with a snarl. "I've done little else. Aha, when I think o' what I've endured, I do love my little blowpipe--" "Blowpipe?" I questioned. "Aye--this!" And speaking, from somewhere among the pitiful rags that covered his lank carcase he drew forth a small wooden pipe scarce two foot long and having a bulbous mouthpiece at one end. "The Indians use 'em longer than this--aye, six foot I've seen 'em, but then, Lord! they'll blow ye a dart from eighty to a hundred paces sometimes, whereas I never risk shot farther away than ten or twenty at most; the nearer the surer, aha!" Hereupon he nodded, white teeth agleam through tangled beard, and with a swift, stealthy gesture hid the deadly tube in his rags again. "What of the two Spaniards I struck down last night?" I questioned, looking vainly for them. "In the bushes yonder," said he and with jerk of thumb. "I hid 'em, master, they being a little unsightly--black and swol--as is the natur' o' this poison!" Hereupon I rose and going whither he pointed, parted the undergrowth and saw this was indeed so, insomuch that my stomach turned and I had no more desire for food. "You murdered those men!" "Aye, that I did, master, an you call it murder. Howbeit, there's more shall go the same road yet, notably Alexo Valdez, a curse on him!" "And you are an Englishman?" "I was, but since then I've been slave to be whipped, dog to be kicked, Lutheran dog to be spat upon, and lastly Indian--" "And what now?" "A poor soul to be tormented, shot, hanged, or burned as they will, once I'm taken." "And yet you will adventure yourself to Nombre de Dios?" "Why, Alexo Valdez is lately come there and Alexo Valdez burned my friend Dick Burbage, as was 'prentice wi' me at Johnson's, the cutler's, in Friday Street nigh St. Paul's, twenty odd years agone." And in a while, being ready to start, I proffered this wild fellow one of the Spaniard's guns, but he would have none of it, nor sword, nor even cloak to cover his rags, so in the end we left all things behind, and there they be yet, for aught I know. Now as we journeyed on together, in answer to my questioning I learned from this man John something of the illimitable pride and power of the Church of Rome; more especially he told me of the Spanish Inquisition, its cold mercilessness and passionless ferocity, its unsleeping watchfulness, its undying animosity, its constant menace and the hopelessness of escape therefrom. He gave me particulars of burnings and rackings, he described to me the torments of the water, the wheel and the fire until my soul sickened. He told me how it menaced alike the untrained savage, the peasant in his hut and the noble in his hall. I heard of parents who, by reason of this corroding fear, had denounced their children to the torment and children their parents. "Aye, and there was a Donna Bianca Vallambrosa, a fine woman, I mind, was suspected of Lutheranism--so they racked her and she in torment confessed whatsoever they would and accused her sister Donna Luisa likewise. So they burned 'em both and made 'em pay for stake and chain and faggots too, afore they died." Many other horrors he recounted, but ever and always he came back to the name of Alexo Valdez to vomit curses upon until at last I questioned him as to what manner of man this was to behold. "Master," said John, turning to regard me, every hair upon his sunburned face seeming to bristle, "think o' the most sinful stench ever offended you, the most loathly corruption you ever saw and there's his soul; think o' the devil wi' eyes like dim glass, flesh like dough and a sweet, soft voice, and you have Alexo Valdez inside and out, and may every curse ever cursed light on and blast him, says I!" "Are there many English prisoners in the Inquisition at Nombre?" "Why, I know of but one--though like enough there's more--they are so cursed secret, master." "Did ye ever hear of an English gentleman lost or taken hereabouts some six years since and named Sir Richard Brandon?" "Nay, I was slaving down Panama way six years ago. Is it him you come a-seeking of, master?" "Aye," I nodded. "A very masterful man, hale and florid and of a full habit." "Nay, the only Englishman ever I see in Nombre was old and bent wi' white hair, and went wi' a limp, so it can't be him." "No!" said I, frowning. "No!" After this, small chance had we for talk by reason of the difficulty of our going, yet remembering all he had told, I had enough to think on, God knows. We had now reached a broken, mountainous country very trying and perilous, what with torrents that foamed athwart our way, jagged boulders, shifting stones and the like, yet John strode on untiring; but as for me, what with all this, the heat of sun and the burden I carried, my breath began to labour painfully. The first thing I tossed away was my gun that fell, ringing and clattering, down the precipitous rocks below, and the next was my pack and thereafter my hatchet and pistols, so that by the time we reached the top of the ascent all I had to encumber me was my sword, and this I kept, since it was light and seemingly a good blade. "Master," said John, with a flourish of his ragged arm, "here's freedom--here's God. A land o' milk and honey given over to devils--curse all Spanishers, say I!" Now looking around me I stood mute in wonder, for from this height I might behold a vast stretch of country, towering mountains, deep, shady valleys, impenetrable woods, rushing rivers, wide-stretching plains and far beyond a vague haze that I knew was the sea. "And yonder, master," said John, pointing with his blowpipe, "yonder lieth Nombre, though ye can't see it, the which we shall reach ere nightfall, wherefore it behoveth me to look to my artillery." So saying, he squatted down upon his hams and from his rags produced a small gourd carefully wrapped about with leaves; unwinding these, I saw the gourd to contain a sticky, blackish substance. "Aha!" said John, viewing this with gloating eyes. "Snake poison is mother's milk to this, master. Here's enough good stuff to make pocky corpses o' every cursed Spanisher in Nombre ere sunset. Here's that might end the sufferings o' the poor Indians, the hangings, burnings and mutilations. I've seen an Indian cut up alive to feed to the dogs afore now--but here's a cure for croolty, master!" While speaking, he had laid on the ground before him some dozen or so little darts no longer than my finger, each armed with a needle-like point and feathered with a wad of silky fibres; the point of each of these darts he dipped into the poison one after the other and laid them in the sun to dry, which done he wrapped up the little gourd mighty carefully and thrust it back among his rags. And in a while, the poison on the darts or arrows being dried to his satisfaction, he took forth a small leathern quiver of native make and setting the missiles therein, shut down the lid securely and sprang to his feet. "Here's sure death and sarten for some o' the dogs, master," quoth he, "and now if there truly be a God aloft there, all I ask is one chance at Alexo Valdez as burns women and maids, as tortures the innocent, as killed my friend and druv me into the wild--one chance, master, and I'm done!" Thus he spake with eyes uplift and one hairy hand upraised to the serene heavens, then with a nod to me set off along the hazardous track before us. Of this, the last stage of our journeying, I will make no mention save that footsore, bruised and weary I sank amid a place of trees and gloomy thickets as the sun went down and night came. "Straight afore you about half a mile lieth Nombre, master!" said John in my ear. "Hearken! You may hear the dogs like bees in a hive and be cursed to 'em!" And sure enough I heard an indistinct murmur of sound that was made up of many; and presently came others more distinct; the faint baying of a hound, the distant roll of a drum, the soft, sweet tolling of a bell. "So here y'are, master, and good luck t'ye!" said John and with scarce a rustle, swift and stealthy as an Indian, he was gone and I alone in the gloom. Hereupon I debated with myself whether I should get me into the city straight away or wait till the morrow, the which question was resolved by my falling into a sweet and dreamless slumber. CHAPTER XXI HOW I CAME TO NOMBRE DE DIOS I awoke to the glare of a light and, starting up, was smitten to my knees and, lying half-stunned, was conscious of voices loud and excited, of hands that wrenched me here and there. And now (my hands securely trussed) I was hauled up and marched on stumbling feet amid shadowy captors, all of whom seemed to talk excitedly and none to listen, the which I little heeded being yet dazed by the blow. And presently I was aware of a dim street where lights gleamed, of tall buildings, an open square and a shadowy pile soaring upward into the dark. And presently from the surrounding gloom a darker figure stole, slow-moving and silent, at sight of which my captors halted to kneel, one and all, with bowed heads, whereupon the form raised a shadowy arm in salutation or blessing. And then a voice spake in sonorous Spanish, very soft and low and sweet, yet a voice that chilled me none the less: "Whom bring ye?" Here came voices five or six, speaking also in Spanish, and amid this babel I caught such words as: "A stranger, holy father!" "An Englishman!" "A Lutheran dog!" "Follow!" the sweet voice commanded, whereupon up sprang my captors and hauled me along and so presently into a spacious hall with a dais at one end where stood a table and great elbow-chair; but what drew and held my gaze was the slender, dark-robed ecclesiastic that, moving on leisured, soundless feet, went on before until, reaching the table, he seated himself there, head bowed upon one hand; and thus he sat awhile then beckoned with one imperious finger, whereupon my captors led me forward to the dais. "Begone!" spake the pleasant voice and immediately my captors drew away and presently were gone, leaving me staring upon the tonsured crown of the man at the table who, with head still bowed upon his hand, struck a silver bell that stood beside him. Scarce had the sound died away than I heard a stealthy rustling and beheld divers forms that closed silently about me, figures shrouded from head to foot in black habits and nought of them to see save their hands and the glitter of eyes that gazed on me through the holes of them black, enveloping hoods. Now turning to him at the table, I saw that he had raised his head at last and was viewing me also, and as he stared on me so stared I on him and this is what I saw: A lean and pallid face with eyes dim and slumberous, a high nose with nostrils thin and curling, a wide, close-lipped mouth and long, pointed chin. When we had stared thus a while, he leaned him back in the great chair and spoke me in his soft, sweet voice: "You are English, señor?" "I am!" said I in Spanish. "What do you here?" "Seek another Englishman known to be prisoner to the Inquisition of Nombre de Dios." "His name?" "Richard Brandon. Is he here?" "Are you of the Faith?" "Of all or any save that of Rome!" said I, staring up into the pale, emotionless face. "But Rome I do abominate and all its devil's work!" At this, from the hooded figures about me rose a gasp of horror and amaze, while into the dim eyes of my questioner came a momentary glow. "Oh, fleshly lips!" quoth he. "Oh, tongue of blasphemy damned. Since you by the flesh have sinned, so by the flesh, its pains and travail, must your soul win forgiveness and life hereafter. Oh, vain soul, though your flesh hath uttered damnable sin and heresy, yet Holy Church in its infinite mercy shall save your soul in despite sinful flesh, to which end we must lay on your evil flesh such castigation as shall, by its very pain, purge your soul and win it to life hereafter--" But now, and even as the black-robed familiars closed upon me, I heard steps behind me, a clash of arms and thereafter a voice whose calm tones I recognised. "What is this, Father Alexo?" "An Englishman and blasphemous Lutheran, captured and brought hither within the hour, Your Excellency." Now here the familiars, at sign of Fra Alexo, moved aside, and thus I beheld to my surprise and inexpressible joy, Don Federigo, pale from his late sickness, the which the sombre blackness of his rich velvet habit did but offset; for a moment his eyes met mine and with no sign of recognition, whereupon I checked the greeting on my lips. "And am I of so little account as not to be warned of this?" said he. "Alas, Excellency, if I have something forgot the respect due your high and noble office, let my zeal plead my excuse. In your faithful charge do we leave this miserable one until Holy Church shall require him of you." So saying, Fra Alexo, crossing lean hands meekly on his bosom, bowed himself in humble fashion, and yet I thought to see his dull eyes lit by that stealthy glow as Don Federigo, having duly acknowledged his salutation, turned away. Thence I was led into the soft night air to a noble house, through goodly chambers richly furnished and so at last to a small room; and ever as I went I had an uneasy feeling that a long, black robe rustled stealthily amid the shadows, and of dull eyes that watched me unseen, nor could I altogether shake off the feeling even when the door closed and I found myself alone with Don Federigo. Indeed it almost seemed as he too felt something of this, for he stood a while, his head bowed and very still, like one listening intently; suddenly he was before me, had grasped my two fettered hands, and when he spake it was in little more than whisper. "Alas, Don Martino--good my friend, Death creepeth all about you here--" "Fra Alexo's spies!" I nodded. Now at this he gave me a troubled look and fell to pacing to and fro. "A hard man and cunning!" quoth he, as to himself. "The Church--ah, the power of the Church! Yet must I get you safe away, but how--how?" "Nay, Don Federigo, never trouble." "Trouble, Señor? Ah, think you I count that? My life is yours, Don Martino, and joyfully do I risk it--" "Nay, sir," quoth I, grasping his hand, "well do I know you for brave and noble gentleman whose friendship honoureth me, but here is no need you should hazard your life for me, since I am here of my own will. I have delivered myself over to the Inquisition to the fulfilment of a purpose." "Sir," said he, his look of trouble deepening. "Alas, young sir--" "This only would I ask of your friendship--when they take me hence, see to it that I am set in company with one that lieth prisoned here, see that I am fettered along with Sir Richard Brandon. And this do I ask of your friendship, sir!" "Alas!" said he. "Alas, 'tis out of my jurisdiction; you go hence you are lost--you do pass from the eye of man--none knoweth whither." "So long as I come unto mine enemy 'tis very well, sir. 'Tis this I have prayed for, lived for, hoped and suffered for. Wherefore now, Don Federigo, in memory of our friendship and all that hath passed betwixt us, I would ask you to contrive me this one thing howsoever you may." At this he fell to his walking again and seemingly very full of anxious thought. Presently he sounded a whistle that hung about his neck, in answer to which summons came one I judged to be an Indian by his look, though he was dressed Christianly enough. And now, with a bow to me, Don Federigo speaks to him in tongue I had never heard before, a language very soft and pleasing: "Your pardon, sir," said Don Federigo when we were alone, "but Hualipa is an Indian and hath but indifferent Spanish." "An Indian?" "An Aztec Cacique that I saved from an evil death. He is one of the few I can trust. And here another!" said he, as the door opened and a great blackamoor Centered, bearing a roast with wine, etc., at sight whereof my mouth watered and I grew mightily hungered. While I ate and drank and Don Federigo ministering to my wants, he told me of Adam Penfeather, praising his courtliness and seamanship; he spoke also of my lady and how she had cared for him in his sickness. He told me further how they had been attacked by a great ship and having beaten off this vessel were themselves so much further shattered and unseaworthy that 'twas wonder they kept afloat. None the less Adam had contrived to stand in as near to Nombre de Dios as possible and thus set him safely ashore. Suddenly the arras in the corner was lifted and Hualipa reappeared, who, lifting one hand, said somewhat in his soft speech, whereupon Don Federigo rose suddenly and I also. "Señor Martino," said he, taking my hand, "good friend, the familiars of the Holy Office are come for you, so now is farewell, God go with you, and so long as I live, I am your friend to aid you whensoever I may. But now must I see you back in your bonds." He now signed to Hualipa who forthwith bound my wrists, though looser than before, whereupon Don Federigo sighed and left me. Then the Indian brought me to a corner of the room and lifting the arras, showed me a small door and led me thence along many dim and winding passages into a lofty hall where I beheld Don Federigo in confabulation with divers of these black-robed ecclesiastics who, beholding me, ceased their talk and making him their several obeisances, carried me away whither they would. Thus very soon I found myself looking again into the pallid, dim-eyed face of the Chief Inquisitor who, lifting one white, bony finger, thus admonished me in his sweet, sad voice: "Unworthy son, behold now! Holy Church, of its infinite mercy and great love to all such detestable sinners as thou manifestly art, doth study how to preserve thy soul from hell in despite of thyself. And because there is nought so purging as fire, to the fire art thou adjudged except, thy conscience teaching thee horror of thine apostacy, thou wilt abjure thy sin and live. And because nought may so awaken conscience as trouble of mind and pain of body, therefore to trouble and pain doth Holy Church adjudge thy sinful flesh, by water, by fire, by rack, pulley and the wheel." Here he paused and bowed his head upon his hands and thus remained a while; when at last he spoke, it was with face still hid and slowly, as if unwilling to give the words utterance: "Yet, first--thou art decreed--a space--for contemplation of thy heresy vile and abominable, having fellowship with one who, blasphemous as thyself and of a pride stubborn and hateful, long persisted in his sinfulness, yet at the last, by oft suffering, hath lately abjured his damnable heresy and is become of humble and contrite heart, and thus, being soon to die, shall, by pain of flesh and sorrow of mind, save his soul alive in Paradise everlasting. Go, miserable wretch, thy body is but corruption soon to perish, but the immortal soul of thee is in Holy Church her loving care henceforth, to save in thy despite." Then, with face still bowed, he gestured with his hand, whereupon came two hooded familiars and led me forth of his presence. Now as I walked betwixt these shapeless forms that flitted on silent feet and spake no word, my flesh chilled; in despite my reason, for they seemed rather spectres than truly men, yet phantoms of a grim and relentless purposefulness. Voiceless and silent they brought me down stone stairs and along echoing passages into a dim chamber where other cloaked forms moved on soundless feet and spake in hushed and sibilant whispers. Here my bonds were removed and in their place fetters were locked upon my wrists, which done, one came with a lanthorn, who presently led the way along other gloomy passageways where I beheld many narrow, evil-looking doorways. At last my silent guide halted, I heard the rattle of iron, the creak of bolts and a door opened suddenly before me upon a dank and noisome darkness. Into this evil place I was led, and the door clapped to upon me and locked and bolted forthwith. But to my wonder they had left me the lanthorn, and by its flickering beam I stared about me and saw I was in a large dungeon, its corners lost in gloom. Suddenly as I stood thus, nigh choked with the foul air of the place and full of misgiving, I heard a groaning sigh, and from the shadow of a remote corner a figure reared itself upon its knees to peer under palsied hand with eyes that blinked as if dazzled by this poor light. "So young--so young--oh, pity! God be merciful to thee--alas, what do you in this place of torment and living death--young sir?" Now this voice was pitifully cracked and feeble, yet the words were English, wherefore I caught up the lanthorn and coming nearer, set it down where I might better behold the speaker. "So young--so young! What dost thou among the living dead?" "I come seeking Sir Richard Brandon!" Now from the dim figure before me broke a sound that was neither scream nor laughter yet something of both. I saw wild hands upcast to the gloom above, a shrunken, pallid face, the gleam of snow-white hair. "Oh, God of mercies--oh, God of Justice--at last, oh, God--at last!" Stooping, I dragged him to the light and found myself suddenly a-trembling so violently that he shook in my gripe. "What--what mean you?" I cried. "That I--I am Richard Brandon." "Liar!" I cried, shaking him. "Damned liar!" And yet, looking down upon this old, withered creature who crouched before me on feeble knees, his shrivelled hands clasped and haggard face uplifted, I knew that he spoke truth, and uttering a great and bitter cry, I cast him from me, for here, in place of my proud and masterful enemy, the man I had hated for his fierce and arrogant spirit, God had given to my vengeance at last no more than this miserable thing, this poor, pale shadow. Wherefore now I cast myself down upon my face, beating the floor with my shackled fists and blaspheming my God like the very madman I was. CHAPTER XXII HOW AT LAST I FOUND MY ENEMY, RICHARD BRANDON Whether this paroxysm had wrought me to a swoon I know not, but I wondered to feel a hand upon my head, stroking my hair with touch marvellous gentle, and therewith a voice: "Comfort thee, comfort thee, poor youth! These be rages and despairs that many do suffer at the first; in a little shall come back thy courage and with it hope--that hope, alas, that never dieth--even here. 'Lo, I am with thee,' saith the Lord--so be comforted, young sir. Let other thoughts distract thy mind--let us converse if thou wilt. Tell me, I pray, how didst know my unhappy name?" "Because," said I, starting from his touch, "I am son to the man you foully murdered by false accusation. I am Martin Conisby, Lord Wendover of Shere and last of my line!" Now at this he drew away and away, staring on me great-eyed and I heard the breath gasp between his pallid lips. "What--do you here, my lord?" "Seek my just vengeance!" "The vengeance of a Conisby!" he murmured. "Six years ago I broke from the hell of slavery you sold me into and ever since have sought you with intent to end the feud once and for ever." "The feud?" he muttered. "Aye, we have shed each other's blood for generations--when your grandfather fought and slew my father on the highway beyond Lamberhurst village I, a weeping boy, kissing the wound his rapier had made, vowed to end the Conisbys one day and came nigh doing it, God forgive me. So doth one sin beget others, and so here to-day, in the gloom of my dungeon, I yield myself to your vengeance, my lord, freely and humbly confessing the harms I did you and the base perfidy of my actions. So, an you will have my miserable life, take it and with my last breath I will beseech God pardon you my blood and bring you safe out of this place of torment and sorrow. God knoweth I have endured much of agony these latter years and yet have cherished my life in despite my sufferings hitherto, aye, cherished it so basely as to turn apostate that I might live yet a little longer--but now, my lord, freely--aye, joyfully will I give it, for your vengeance, praying God of His abounding mercy to pardon my most grievous offences but, being grown weak in courage and body by reason of frequent and grieveous torturings, this mayhap shall plead my excuse. Come then, Martin Conisby, your hand upon my throat, your fetter-chain about my neck--" "Have done!" said I. "Have done!" And getting up, I crossed to the extremest corner of the dungeon and cast myself down there. But in a little he was beside me again, bearing the lanthorn and with straw from his bed for my pillow, whereupon I cursed and bade him begone, but he never stirred. "Oh boy," said he, seeing me clench my fist, "I am inured to stripes and very fain to speech with thee, wherefore suffer me a little and answer me this question, I pray. You have sought me these many years, you have even followed me into this hell of suffering, and God at last hath given me to your vengeance--wherefore not take it?" "Because he I sought was masterful, strong and arrogant!" "Yet this my body, though sorely changed, is yet the slime; 'twill bleed if you prick it and I can die as well now as six years ago--?" But seeing I made no manner of answer, he left me at last and I watched him limp disconsolate to his corner, there to bow himself on feeble knees and with hands crossed on his bosom and white head bowed, fall to a passion of silent prayer yet with many woful sighings and moanings, and so got him to his miserable bed. As for me, I lay outstretched upon my face, my head pillowed on my arm, with no desire of sleep, or to move, content only to lie thus staring into the yellow flame of the lanthorn as a child might, for it verily seemed that all emotions and desires were clean gone out of me; thus lay I, my mind a-swoon, staring at this glimmering flame until it flickered and vanished, leaving me in outer darkness. But within me was a darkness blacker still, wherein my soul groped vainly. So the long night wore itself to an end, for presently, lifting heavy head, I was aware of a faint glow waxing ever brighter, till suddenly, athwart the gloom of my prison, shot a beam of radiant glory, like a very messenger of God, telling of a fair, green world, of tree and herb and flower, of the sweet, glad wind of morning and all the infinite mercies of God; so that, beholding this heavenly vision, I came nigh weeping for pure joy and thankfulness. Now this thrice-blessed sunlight poured in through a small grating high up in the massy wall and showed me the form of my companion, the shining silver of his hair, his arms wide-tossed in slumber. Moved by sudden impulse I arose and (despite the ache and stiffness of my limbs) came softly to look upon him as he lay thus, his cares forgot awhile in blessed sleep; and thus, beneath his rags, I saw divers and many grievous scars of wounds old and new, the marks of hot and searing iron, of biting steel and cruel lash, and in joints, swollen and inflamed, I read the oft-repeated torture of the rack. And yet in these features, gaunt and haggard by suffering, furrowed and lined by pain, was a serene patience and nobility wholly unfamiliar. Thus it seemed God had hearkened to my oft-repeated prayers, had given up to me mine enemy bound; here at last, beneath my hand, lay the contriver of my father's ruin and death and of my own evil fortunes. But it seemed the sufferings that had thus whitened his hair, bowed his once stalwart frame and chastened his fierce pride had left behind them something greater and more enduring, before which my madness of hate and passionate desire of vengeance shrank abashed. Now as I stood thus, lost in frowning contemplation of my enemy, he groaned of a sudden and starting to his elbow, stared up at me haggard-eyed. "Ah, my lord!" said he, meeting my threatening look. "Is the hour of vengeance at hand--seek ye my life indeed? Why, then, I am ready!" But, nothing speaking, I got me back to my gloomy corner and crouched there, my knees up-drawn, my head bowed upon my arms; and now, my two hands gripping upon the empty air, I prayed again these words so often wrung from me by past agonies: "Oh, God of Justice, give me now vengeance--vengeance upon mine enemy. His life, Oh, God, his life!" But even as I spake these words within myself I knew the vengeance I had dreamed of and cherished so dearly was but a dream indeed, a fire that had burned utterly away, leaving nought but the dust and ashes of all that might have been. And realising somewhat of the bitter mockery of my situation, bethinking me of all I had so wantonly cast away for this dream, and remembering the vain labour and all the wasted years, I fell to raging despair, insomuch that I groaned aloud and casting myself down, smote upon the stone floor of my prison with shackled fists. And thus I presently felt a touch and glanced up to behold my enemy bending above me. "My lord--" said he. "Devil!" I cried, smiting the frail hand from me. "I am no more than the poor outcast wretch you ha' made of me!" Thus, with curses and revilings, I bade him plague me no more and presently, wearied mind and body by my long vigil, I fell a-nodding, until, wakened by the opening of the door, I looked up to behold one of the black-robed familiars, who, having set down meat and drink, vanished again, silent and speechless. Roused by the delectable savours of this meat, which was hot and well-seasoned, I felt myself ravenous and ate with keen appetite, and taking up the drink, found it to be wine, very rich and comforting. So I ate and drank my fill, never heeding my companion, and thereafter, stretching myself as comfortably as I might, I sank into a deep slumber. But my sleep was troubled by all manner of dreams wherein was a nameless fear that haunted me, a thing dim-seen and silent, save for the stealthy rustling of a trailing robe. And even as I strove to flee it grew upon me until I knew this was Death in the shape of Fra Alexo. And now, as I strove vainly to escape those white, cruel fingers, Joanna was betwixt us; I heard her shrill, savage cry, saw the glitter of her steel and, reeling back, Fra Alexo stood clutching his throat in his two hands, staring horribly ere he fell. But looking upon him as he lay I saw this was not Fra Alexo, for gazing on the pale, dead face, I recognised the beloved features of my lady Joan. But, sudden and swift, Joanna stooped to clasp that stilly form, to lay her ruddy mouth to these pallid lips; and lo, she that was dead stirred, and rose up quick and vivid with life and reached out yearning arms to me, seeing nothing of Joanna where she lay, a pale, dead thing. I started up, crying aloud, and blinked to the glare of a lanthorn; as I crouched thus, shielding my eyes from this dazzling beam, from the darkness beyond came a voice, very soft and tenderly sweet, the which set me shivering none the less. "Most miserable man, forswear now the error of thy beliefs, or prepare thy unworthy flesh to chastisement. In this dead hour of night when all do sleep, save the God thou blasphemest and Holy Church, thou shall be brought to the question--" "Hold, damned Churchman!" cried a voice, and turning I beheld my enemy, Sir Richard Brandon, his gaunt and fettered arms upraised, his eyes fierce and steadfast. "Heed not this bloody-minded man! And you, Fra Alexo and these cowled fiends that do your evil work, I take you to witness, one and all, that I, Richard Brandon, Knight banneret of Kent, do now, henceforth and for ever, renounce and abjure the oath you wrung from my coward flesh by your devilish tortures. Come, do to my body what ye will, but my soul--aye, my soul belongs to God--not to the Church of Rome! May God reckon up against you the innocent blood you have shed and in every groan and tear and cry you have wrung from tortured flesh may you find a curse in this world and hereafter!" The loud, fierce voice ceased; instead I heard a long and gentle sigh, a murmured command, and Sir Richard was seized by dim forms and borne away, his irons clashing. Then I sprang, whirling up my fetter-chains to smite, was tripped heavily, felt my limbs close-pinioned and was dragged forth of the dungeon. And now, thus helpless at the mercy of these hideous, hooded forms that knew no mercy, my soul shrank for stark horror of what was to be, and my body shook and trembled in abject terror. In this miserable state I was dragged along, until once again I heard the murmur of that sweet, soft voice, whereupon my captors halted, a door was unlocked, and I was cast into a place of outer darkness there to lie bruised and half-stunned yet agonised with fear, insomuch that for very shame I summoned up all my resolution, and mastering my fear, I clenched chattering teeth and sweating palms, determined to meet what was to be with what courage and fortitude I might. Slowly the shivering horror passed and in its place was a strange calm as I waited for them to bear me to the torture. Suddenly my heart leapt to a shrill scream and thereafter I heard an awful voice, loud and hoarse and tremulous, and between each gasping cry, dreadful periods of silence: "Oh, God ... Oh, God of pity, aid me ... make me to endure ... Lord God, strengthen my coward soul ... help me to be worthy ... faithful at last ... faithful to the end...." As for me, well knowing the wherefore of these outcries, the meaning of these ghastly silences, a frenzy of horror seized me so that I shouted and raved, rolling to and fro in my bonds. Yet even so I could hear them at their devils work, until the hoarse screams sank to a piteous wailing, a dreadful inarticulate babble, until, wrought to a frenzy, I struggled to my feet (despite my bonds) and (like the madman I was) leapt towards whence these awful sounds came, and falling, knew no more. From this blessed oblivion I was roused by a kindly warmth and opening my eyes, saw that I lay face down in a beam of sunshine that poured in through the small grille high in the wall like a blessing; being very weary and full of pain, and feeling this kindly ray mighty comforting, I lay where I was and no desire to move, minded to sleep again. But little by little I became conscious of a dull, low murmur of sound very distressful to hear and that set me vaguely a-wondering. Therefore, after some while, I troubled to lift my head and wondered no more. A twisted heap of blood-stained rags, the pallid oval of a face, the dull gleam of a chain, this much I saw at a glance, but when I came beside Sir Richard's prostrate form and beheld the evils they had wrought on him, a cry of horror and passionate anger broke from me, whereupon he checked his groaning and opening swimming eyes, smiled wanly up at me. "Glory--and thanks to God--I--endured!" he whispered. Now at this I sank on my knees beside him, and when I would have spoken, could not for a while; at last: "Is there aught I may do?" I questioned. "Water!" he murmured feebly. So I reached the water and setting my arm 'neath his neck (and despite my fetters) lifted him as gently as I might and held the jar to his cracked lips. When he had drank what he would I made a rough pillow for his head and rent strips from my shirt for bandages, and finding my pitcher full-charged with wine, mixed some with water and betook me to bathing his divers hurts (though greatly hampered by the chain of my fetters) and found him very patient to endure my awkward handling, in the midst of which, meeting my eye, he smiled faintly: "Martin Conisby," he whispered. "Am I not--your--enemy?" "Howbeit you endured!" quoth I. "Thanks be to God!" said he humbly. "And is it for this. You will cherish thus--and comfort one--hath wronged you and yours--so bitterly?" But at this I grew surly and having made an end of my rough surgery, I went and cast myself upon my bed of straw and, lying there, watching the sunbeam creep upon the wall, I fell to pondering this problem, viz: How came I thus striving to soothe the woes of this man I had hunted all these years to his destruction; why must I pity his hurts and compassionate his weakness--why? And as I sat, my fists clenched, scowling at the sun-ray, it verily seemed as he had read these my thoughts. "Martin Conisby," said he, his voice grown stronger. "Oh, Martin, think it not shame to pity thine enemy; to cherish them that despitefully use you; this is Godlike. I was a proud man and merciless but I have learned much by sufferings, and for the wrongs I did you--bitterly have I repented. So would I humbly sue forgiveness of you since I am to die so soon--" "To die?" "Aye, Martin, at the next auto-da-fé--by the fire--" "The fire!" said I, clenching my fists. "They have left me my life that I may burn--" "When?" I demanded 'twixt shut teeth. "When?" "To-day--to-morrow--the day after--what matter? But when the flames have done their work, I would fain go to God bearing with me your forgiveness. But if this be too much to hope--why, then, Martin, I will beseech God to pluck you forth of this place of horror and to give you back to England, to happiness, to honour and all that I reft from you--" "Nay, this were thing impossible!" I cried. "There is nought impossible to God, Martin!" Here fell silence awhile and then, "Oh, England--England!" cried he. "D'ye mind how the road winds 'twixt the hedgerows a-down hill into Lamberhurst, Martin; d'ye mind the wonder of it all--the green meadows, the dim woods full of bird song and fragrance--you shall see it all again one day, but as for me--ah, to breathe just once again the sweet smell of English earth! But God's will be done!" For a while I sat picturing to my fancy the visions his words had conjured up; lifting my head at last, I started up to see him so pale and still and bending above him, saw him sleeping, placid as any child, yet with the marks of tears upon his shrunken cheek. CHAPTER XXIII HOW I FOUND MY SOUL The torment by fire, torture by water, rack and thumbscrews, pulley and wheel, the weights, the press, the glove and the boot,--these the devices men hath schemed out for the plaguing of his neighbour, the hellish engines he hath troubled to invent and build for the crushing, twisting, tearing and maiming of his fellow-man, yet of all these devilish machines nought is there so constant, so pitiless and hard of endurance as the agony of suspense; there is a spectre mopping and mowing at our shoulder by day and haunting the misery of our nights; here is a disease slowly but surely sapping hope and courage and life itself. Howbeit it was thus I found it in the time that followed, for little by little I became the prey of a terror that grew, until the opening of the door would bring me to my feet in sweating panic, or the mere rattle of my fellow-prisoner's chains fill me with shivering despair. And because of these sick fears I felt great scorn of myself, and knowing I was in this place of horror by my own will and contrivance, to despair and scorn was added a bitter self-hatred. And now, remembering how Adam had vowed to rescue Sir Richard, I prayed for his coming, at one moment full of hope, the next in an agony of despair lest he should come too late. Thus I fell to my black mood, speaking no word or answering my companion but by curses; and thus would I sit for hours, sullen and morose, gnawing my knuckles and staring on vacancy. Or again, beholding my enemy so serene, so placid and unmoved (and his case no better than my own) I would fall to sudden bitter revilings of him, until, meeting the gentle patience of his look, I would fall silent for very shame. At last, upon a night, tossing upon my wretched bed in dire torment of soul, I chanced to espy my enemy and him sleeping; whereat I fell to fierce anger. "Ha, Brandon!" I cried. "Will ye sleep, man, will ye sleep and I in torment. Wake--wake and tell me, must we die soon? Wake, I say!" At this he raised himself to blink at me in the beam of the lanthorn. "Must we die soon, think ye?" I demanded fiercely. "In God's time, Martin!" said he. "Think ye they will--torture me first?" Now here, seeing his troubled look and how he groped for an answer, I cursed and bade him tell me, aye or no. "Alas, I do fear it!" said he. "We are beyond hope?" I demanded. "Nay, there is always God," said he. "But we are beyond all human aid. This do I know by reason of this airy dungeon and the luxury of food and light. Fra Alexo doeth nought unreasonably; thus we have our lanthorn that we, haply waking from dreams of home and happiness, may behold our prison walls and know an added grief. Instead of the water-dungeon or the black terror of cell deep-hidden from the blessed day, he hath set us in this goodly place that we, beholding the sun, may yearn amain for the blessed freedom of God's green world--" "Ha!" quoth I. "And for those he dooms to the torment he sendeth rich food and generous wine--aye, aye, I see it now--a man strong and full-blooded may endure more agony and longer. So they will torture me--as they did you--but when, ah, God--when?" And here I sank face down upon my bed and lay there shuddering. And presently I was aware of my companion kneeling beside me, his hand upon my shoulder, his gentle voice in my ear: "Comfort ye, Martin, comfort ye, God shall give ye strength--" "Nay, I am a coward!" I cried bitterly, "A shameful craven!" "Yet you do not fear! You have endured! The fire hath no terrors for you!" "Because I am old in suffering, and am done with fear, because, beyond smoke and flame, I shall find God at last." "Think ye there is a God?" "I know it, Martin!" "Yet am I coward!" I groaned. "Though 'tis not death I fear, nor the torture so much, 'tis rather to be thus counting the hours--" "I know," said he, sighing. "I know. 'Tis the waiting for what is to be, ah, the weary, weary waiting--'tis this doth shake the strongest; the hour of suffering may be now, or to-morrow, or a month hence." "God send it be to-night!" said I fervently. "And to-night, and while I am yet the man I am, know this; I, that lived but for vengeance, dying, do renounce it once and for ever. I, that came hither seeking an enemy, find, in place of hated foe, a man ennobled by his sufferings and greater than myself. So, as long as life remains to us, let there be peace and good will betwixt us, Sir Richard. And as you once sued forgiveness of me, now do I sue your friendship--" "Martin!" said he in choking voice, and then again, "Oh, Martin Conisby, thus hath God answered my prayer and thus doth the feud betwixt Conisby and Brandon end--" "Yes!" said I. "Yes--so do I know at last that I have followed a vain thing and lost all the sweetness life had to offer." Now here, seeing me lie thus deject and forlorn, he stooped and set his ragged arm about me. "Grieve not, Martin," said he in strange, glad voice, "grieve not, for in losing so much you have surely found a greater thing. Here, in this dread place, you have found your soul." And presently, sheltered in the frail arm of the man had been my bitter enemy, I took comfort and fell to sweet and dreamless slumber. Another day had dragged its weary length: Sir Richard lay asleep, I think, and I, gloomy and sullen, lay watching the light fade beyond the grating in the wall when; catching my breath, I started and peered up, misdoubting my eyes, for suddenly, 'twixt the bars of this grating, furtive and silent crept a hand that opening, let fall something white and shapeless that struck the stone floor with a sharp, metallic sound, and vanished stealthily as it had come. For a while I stared up at this rusty grating, half-fearing I was going mad at last, yet when I thought to look below, there on the floor lay the shapeless something where it had fallen. With every nerve a-thrill I rose and creeping thither, took it up and saw it was Adam's chart, the which had been taken from me, with all else I possessed; this wrapped about a key and a small, sharp knife; on the back of which, traced in a scrawling hand, I read these words, viz: "A key to your fetters. A knife to your release. Once free of your dungeon take every passage Bearing to the left; so shall you reach the postern. There one shall wait, wearing a white scarf. Follow him and God speed you. You will be visited at sunset." To be lifted thus from blackest despair to hope's very pinnacle wrought on me so that I was like one entranced, staring down at knife and paper and key where they had fallen from my nerveless hold; then, catching up the knife, I stood ecstatic to thumb over point and edge and felt myself a man once more, calm and resolute, to defy every inquisitor in Spanish America, and this merely by reason of the touch of this good steel, since here was a means whereby (as a last resource) I might set myself safe beyond their devilish torments once and for all. And now my soul went out in passionate gratitude to Don Federigo since this (as I judged) must be of his contrivance. But the shadows deepening warned me that the sun had set wherefore I slipped off my shoes as softly as possible not to disturb Sir Richard's slumbers, and made me ready to kill or be killed. And presently I heard the creak of bolts and, creeping in my stockinged feet, posted myself behind the door as it opened to admit the silent, shrouded form of a familiar bearing a lanthorn. Now, seeing he came alone, I set the knife in my girdle and, crouched in the shadow of the door, watched my time; for a moment he stood, seeming to watch Sir Richard who, roused by the light, stirred and, waking, blinked fearfully at this silent shape. "Ah, what now?" he questioned. "Is it me ye seek?" For answer the familiar set down the lanthorn and beckoned with his finger. Then, as Sir Richard struggled painfully to his feet, I sprang and grappled this hateful, muffled form ere he could cry out, had him fast by the throat, and dragging him backwards across my knee, I choked him thus, his hoarse whistling gasps muffled in his enveloping hood. And then Sir Richard was beside me. "Will ye slay him, Martin?" cried he. "Aye!" I nodded and tightened my grip. "Nay, rather spare him because he is an enemy; thus shall your soul go lighter henceforth, Martin." So in the end I loosed my hold, whereupon the familiar sank to the floor and lay, twitching feebly. Hereupon I rent off hood and robe and found him a poor, mean creature that wept and moaned, wherefore I incontinent gagged him with stuff from his own habit and thereafter locked him securely into my fetters. And now, trembling with haste, I donned his habit and, catching up the lanthorn, turned on Sir Richard: "Come!" said I. "Nay!" said he, wringing his fettered hands. "Nay--alas, I should but hamper you--" "Come!" said I, my every nerve a-tingle to be gone. "Come--I will aid you--hurry, man--hurry!" "Nay, 'twere vain, Martin, I can scarce walk--'twere selfish in me to let you run such needless risks. Go, Martin, go--God bless you and bring you safe out of this evil place." Without more ado I tucked my shoes into my bosom, caught up the lanthorn and hasted away. But as I went I must needs remember the pitiful eagerness of Sir Richard's look and the despairing gesture of those helpless, fettered hands. Hereupon I cursed fiercely to myself and, turning about, came running back and, finding him upon his knees, hove him to his feet and, or ever he guessed my purpose, swung him across my shoulder and so away again, finding him no great burden (God knows) for all his fetters that clanked now and then despite his efforts. Presently espying a passage to my left, thither hurried I and so in a little to another; indeed it seemed the place was a very maze and with many evil-looking doors that shut in God only knew what of misery and horror. So I hasted on, while my breath laboured and the sweat ran from me; and with every clank of Sir Richard's fetters my heart leapt with dread lest any hear, though indeed these gloomy passageways seemed quite deserted. And ever as we went, nought was to see save these evil doors and gloomy walls, yet I struggled on until my strength began to fail and I reeled for very weariness, until at last I stopped and set Sir Richard on his feet since I could carry him no further, and leaned panting against the wall, my strength all gone and my heart full of despair, since it seemed I had missed my way. Suddenly, as I leaned thus, I heard the tinkle of a lute and a voice singing, and though these sounds were dull and muffled, I judged them at no great distance; therefore I began to creep forward, the knife ready in one hand, the lanthorn in the other, and thus presently turning a sharp angle, I beheld a flight of steps surmounted by a door. Creeping up to this door, I hearkened and found the singing much nearer; trying the door, I found it yield readily and opening it an inch or so beheld a small chamber lighted by a hanging lamp and upon a table a pair of silver-mounted pistols; coming to the table I took them up and found them primed and loaded. I now beckoned Sir Richard who crept up the stairs with infinite caution lest his fetter-chains should rattle. The chamber wherein we stood seemed the apartment of some officer, for across a small bed lay a cloak and plumed hat together with a silver-hilted rapier, which last I motioned Sir Richard to take. Beyond the bed was another door, and coming thither I heard a sound of voices and laughter, so that I judged here was a guard-room. As I stood listening, I saw Sir Richard standing calm and serene, the gleaming sword grasped in practised hand and such a look of resolution on his lined face as heartened me mightily. And now again came the tinkle of the lute and, giving a sign to Sir Richard, I softly raised the latch and, plucking open the door, stepped into the room behind, the pistols levelled in my hands. Before me were five men--four at cards and a fifth fingering a lute, who turned to gape, one and all, at my sudden appearance. "Hold!" said I in Spanish, through the muffing folds of my hood. "Let a man move and I shoot!" At this they sat still enough, save the man with the lute, a small, fat fellow who grovelled on his knees; to him I beckoned. "Bind me these fellows!" I commanded. "No ropes here!" he stammered. "With their belts, fool; their arms behind them--so!" Which done, I commanded him to free Sir Richard of his gyves; whereupon the little fellow obeyed me very expeditiously with one of the many keys that hung against the wall. Then I gave my pistols to Sir Richard and seizing on the little, fat man, bound him also. Hereupon I gagged them all five as well as I might and having further secured their legs with their scarves and neckerchiefs, I dragged them one by one into the inner chamber (the doors of which I locked) and left them there mightily secure. Then, catching up a good, stout sword and a cloak to cover Sir Richard's rags, I opened another door and, having traversed a sort of anteroom, presently stepped out into the free air. It was a dark night; indeed I never saw Nombre de Dios any other than in the dark, yet the stars made a glory of the heavens and I walked awhile, my eyes upraised in a very ecstasy, clean forgetting my companion until he spoke. "Whither now, Martin?" "I am directed to a postern, and one bearing a white scarf." "The postern?" quoth Sir Richard. "I know it well, as doth many another unhappy soul; 'tis the gate whereby suspects are conveyed secretly to the question!" We kept to the smaller streets and lanes, the which, being ill-lighted, we passed without observation; thus at last, following the loom of a high wall, very grim and forbidding, we came in sight of a small gateway beneath a gloomy arch, where stood two shadowy figures as if on the lookout, whereupon I stopped to reconnoitre them, loosening my sword in the scabbard. But now one of these figures approached and, halting to peer at us, spoke in strange, muffled tones. "Seek ye the white scarf?" questioned the voice in Spanish. "We do!" said I. At this the man opened the long cloak he wore and flourished to view a white scarf. "Aye, but there were two of you," said I. "What is come of your fellow?" "He but goeth before, Señor." And true enough, when I looked, the other dim form had vanished, the which I liked so little that, drawing my sword, I clapped it to the fellow's breast. "Look now," quoth I, "play us false and you die!" "The Señor may rest assured!" says he, never flinching. "Why, then, lead on!" I commanded. Now as we followed this unknown, I had an uncanny feeling that we were being dogged by something or some one that flitted in the darkness, now behind us, now before us, now upon our flank, wherefore I walked soft-treading and with my ears on the stretch. And presently our guide brought us amid the denser gloom of trees whose leaves rustled faintly above us and grass whispered under foot; and thus (straining my ears, as I say) I thought to catch the sound of stealthy movement that was neither leaf nor grass, insomuch that, shifting the sword to my left hand, I drew forth and cocked one of the pistols. At last we came out from among the trees and before us was the gleam of water and I saw we were upon the bank of a stream. Here our guide paused as if unsure; but suddenly was the gleam of a lanthorn and I heard Don Federigo's welcome voice: "Is that Hualipa?" Our guide moved forward and, pausing in the glare of the lanthorn, let fall his cloak and I, beholding that pallid, impressive face, the dull eyes, small mouth, and high thin nose, knew him for Fra Alexo, Chief Inquisitor of Nombre de Dios. Then, lifting one hand to point slim finger at Don Federigo, he spoke in his soft, sweet voice: "Don Federigo, long hath Holy Church suspected thee--and Holy Church hath many eyes--and hands. So is thy messenger dead and so I favoured the escape of these declared heretics that through them thou mightest be taken in thy shameful treachery. Even now come armed servants of the Church to take again these doomed heretics and with them--thee also. Now kill me an you will, but thine apostasy is uncovered; the Holy Inquisition hath thee safe at last. Thy good name, thy pride of birth and place shall not shelter thee from the avenging fire--oh, most treacherous one--" Suddenly he choked, clapped his two hands to his throat, staring horribly; and betwixt his fingers I saw a small, tufted thing deep-buried in his throat. Then all at once there burst from his writhen lips an awful, gasping scream, dreadful to hear, and then he was down, writhing and gasping awhile, with Don Federigo and Sir Richard bending above him. But I, well knowing what this was and remembering the unseen thing that had tracked us, turned to the shadow of a bush hard by and thus beheld a shaggy head that peered amid the leaves, a hairy face with wild, fierce eyes and teeth that gleamed. So the man John stared down at his handiwork, flourished his deadly blowpipe and was gone. "He is dead!" said Don Federigo. "'Tis an Indian poison I have met with ere this--very sudden and deadly. Fra Alexo stands at the tribunal of his God!" and baring his head, Don Federigo glanced down at the dark, contorted shape and thence to the gloomy trees beyond, and beckoning, brought me to a boat moored under the bank hard by. "Señor Martino," said he, "'tis time you were gone, for if Don Alexo hath turned out the guard--" "Nay, sir," quoth I, "they must be some while a-coming," and I told him briefly how we had secured the watch. "And Fra Alexo is dead!" said he. Here I would fain have told him something of my gratitude for the dire risks and perils he had run on my behalf, but he caught my hands and silenced me. "My friend Martino," said he in his careful English, "you adventured your life for me many times; if therefore I save yours, it is but just. And your vengeance--is it achieved?" "Indeed, sir," quoth Sir Richard, "achieved to the very uttermost, for he hath carried that enemy out from the shadow of death, hath perilled his own chances of life that I might know the joys of freedom--I that was his bitter enemy." "So may all enmity pass one day, I pray God," sighed Don Federigo. "And now, as for thee, Martino my friend, vengeance such as thine is thing so rare as maketh me to honour thy friendship and loath to lose thee, since we shall meet no more in this life. Thus I do grieve a little, for I am an old man, something solitary and weary, and my son, alas, is dead. This sword was my father's and should have been his; take you it, I pray, and wear it in memory of me." And speaking, he loosed off his sword and thrust it upon me. "Noble sir," said I, "dear and good friend, it doth not need this to mind me of all your high courage and steadfast friendship--and I have nought to offer in return--" "I shall ever remember your strange method of vengeance!" said he. And when we had embraced each other, I got me into the boat and aided Sir Richard in beside me. "Look now," warned Don Federigo as I loosed the mooring rope, "pull across the river and be wary, for in a little the whole town will be roused upon you. Get clear of the river as speedily as you may. And so, farewell, my friend, and God go with you!" For answer I waved my hand, then, betaking me to the oars, I pulled out--into the stream farther and farther, until the stately form of Don Federigo was merged and lost in the gloom. Sure enough, scarcely had we come into the shadows of the opposite bank than the silence gave place to a distant clamour, lost all at once in a ringing of bells, a rolling of drums and a prodigious blowing of horns and trumpets; the which set me a-sweating in despite the cool night wind, as, chin on shoulder, I paddled slowly along, unsure of my going and very fearful lest I run aground. In the midst of which anxieties I heard Sir Richard's voice, calm and gentle and very comforting: "With a will, Martin--pull! I know the river hereabouts; pull, Martin, and trust to me!" Hereupon I bent to the oars and with no fear of being heard above the din ashore, since every moment bells and drums and trumpets waxed louder. Thus presently we came opposite the town, a place of shadows where lights hovered; and seeing with what nicety Sir Richard steered, keeping ever within the denser shadow of the tree-clad bank, I rowed amain until we were past the raving town, and its twinkling lights were blotted out by a sudden bend of the river. Suddenly I saw Sir Richard stand up, peering, heard his voice quick and commanding: "Ship your oars!" Then came a chorus of hoarse shouts, a shock, and we were rocking, gunwale and gunwale, with a boat where dim figures moved, crying shrill curses. I remember letting drive at one fellow with an oar and thereafter laying about me until the stout timber shivered in my grasp. I remember the dull gleam of Sir Richard's darting blade and then the two boats had drifted apart. Tossing aside my shattered oar, I found me another and rowed until, gasping, I must needs pause awhile and so heard Sir Richard speaking: "Easy, Martin, easy! There lieth the blessed ocean at last; but--see!" Resting on my oars and glancing whither he pointed, I saw a light suspended high in air and knew this for the riding-lanthorn of a ship whose shadowy bulk grew upon me as I gazed, hull and towering masts outlined against the glimmer of stars and the vague light of a young moon. Hereupon I bowed my head, despairing, for this ship lay anchored in midstream, so that no boat might hope to pass unchallenged; thus I began to debate within me whether or no to row ashore and abandon our boat, when Sir Richard questioned me: "Can you sing ever a Spanish boat song, Martin?" "No," said I, miserably. "No--" "Why, then, I must, though mine is a very indifferent voice and rusty from lack o' use; meantime do you get up the mast; the wind serves." Which said, Sir Richard forthwith began to sing a Spanish song very harsh and loud, whiles I sweated amain in panic fear; none the less I contrived to step mast and hoist sail and, crouched on the midship thwart, watched the great galleon as we bore down upon her. And presently came a voice hailing us in Spanish with demand as to who and what we were, whereat Sir Richard broke off his song to shout that we were fishermen, the which simple answer seemed to reassure our questioner, for we heard no more and soon the great ship was merely a vague shadow that, fading on our vision, merged into the night and was gone. And thus in a while, having crossed the troubled waters of the bar, I felt the salt wind sweet and fresh on my brow like a caress, felt the free lift and roll of the seas; and now, beholding this illimitable expanse of sky and ocean, needs must I remember the strait prison and dire horrors whence God had so lately delivered me, and my soul swelled within me too full of gratitude for any words. "Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, for His mercy endureth for ever!" Turning, I espied Sir Richard upon his knees, one hand grasping the tiller sailorly, the other upraised to the glimmering firmament; hereupon I knelt also, joining him in this prayer of thanksgiving. And thus we began our journey. CHAPTER XXIV OF OUR ADVENTURE AT SEA Dawn found us standing easterly before a gentle wind with the land bearing away upon our right, a fair and constantly changing prospect of sandy bays, bold headlands and green uplands backed by lofty mountains blue with distance. And what with all the varied beauties of earth, the blue heaven, the sparkle of sea, the soft, sweet wind, it verily seemed the late gloomy terrors of my dungeon were no more than a nightmare until, hearing a moan, I turned to see my companion stirring in uneasy slumber, his haggard features contorted as by some spasm, whereupon I touched him to wakefulness, bidding him see if we had aught aboard to eat or drink; but he crouched motionless as one rapt in an ecstasy, staring eager-eyed from cloudless heaven to sapphire sea and round about upon the glory of the dawn and fell suddenly a-laughing as from pure joy and as suddenly hid his face within his shrivelled hands. "This--O, glory of God! This, instead of black despair!" said he in weeping voice. "This sweet, healing wind instead of searing flame--and you, Martin, 'tis you have given all this! I dreamed me back in the hell you brought me from! Sun and wind and sea--oh, God love thee--these be your gifts to me that was your enemy--" "Nay, our enmity is dead and done with--" "Martin Conisby," said he, looking on me through his tears, "through you, by God's grace, I know again the joy of living, and, God aiding me, you shall yet know the like happiness an I may compass it!" Now seeing him thus deeply moved I grew abashed and, beckoning him to take the tiller, began to overhaul the contents of the boat's lockers and thus found that Don Federigo had furnished us to admiration with all things to our comfort and defence. Forthwith I set out breakfast, choosing such things as I judged the most perishable, and we ate and drank mighty cheerful. But as Sir Richard sat thus in his rags, staring upon all things with ineffable content, the bright sun showed me the hideous marks of his many sufferings plain and manifest in his bent and twisted frame, the scars that disfigured him and the clumsy movements of his limbs misshapen by the torment, and moreover I noticed how, ever and anon, he would be seized of violent tremblings and shudderings like one in an ague, insomuch that I could scarce abide to look on him for very pity and marvelled within myself that any man could endure so much and yet live. "Oh friend!" said he suddenly, "'tis a wondrous world you have given back to me; I almost grow a man again--" Even as he uttered these brave words the shuddering took him once more, but when I would have aided him he smiled and spake 'twixt chattering teeth: "Never heed me, Martin--this cometh of the water-dungeons--'twill soon pass--" "God knoweth you have suffered over-much--" "Yet He hath brought me forth a better man therefor, though my body is--something the worse, 'tis true. Indeed, I am a sorry companion for a voyage, I doubt--" "Howbeit," said I, "last night, but for your ready wit, we had been taken--" "Say you so, Martin? Here is kind thought and comforting, for I began to dread lest I prove an encumbrance to you. "Nay, sir, never think it!" said I. "For 'tis my earnest hope to bring you to the loving care of one who hath sought you long and patiently--" "Is it Joan? Oh, mean you my daughter Joan? Is she in these latitudes?" "Even so, sir. For you she hath braved a thousand horrors and evils." And here, in answer to his eager questioning, I told him much of what I have writ here concerning the Lady Joan, her resolute spirit and numberless virtues, a theme whereof I never wearied. Thus, heedless of time, of thirst or hunger, I told of the many dire perils she had encountered in her quest, both aboard ship and on the island, to all of which Sir Richard hearkened, his haggard gaze now on my face, now fixed yearningly on the empty distances before us as he would fain conjure up the form of her whose noble qualities I was describing. When at last I had made an end, he sat silent a great while. "I was a proud, harsh man of old," said he at last, "and a father most ungentle--and 'tis thus she doth repay me! You and she were children together--playfellows, Martin." "Aye, sir, 'twas long ago." "And in my prideful arrogance I parted you, because you were the son of my enemy, but God hath brought you together again and His will be done. But, Martin, if she be yet in these latitudes, where may we hope to find her?" "At Darien, in the Gulf!" "Darien?" said he. "Why there, Martin? 'Tis a wild country and full of hostile Indians. I landed there once--" So I told him how Adam had appointed a place of meeting there, showing him also the chart Adam had drawn for my guidance, the which we fell to studying together, whereby we judged we had roughly but some eighty leagues to sail and a notable good sea-boat under us, and that by keeping in sight of the Main we could not fail of fetching up with the rendezvous, always suppose we lost not our bearings by being blown out to sea. "Had I but quadrant and compass, Martin--" "How, sir," said I, "can you navigate?" "I could once," said he, with his faint smile. Hereupon I hasted to reach these instruments from one of the lockers (since it seemed Don Federigo had forgot nothing needful to our welfare), perceiving which, Sir Richard straightened his bowed shoulders somewhat and his sallow cheek flushed. "Here at last I may serve you somewhat, Martin," said he and, turning his back to the sun, he set the instrument to his eye and began moving the three vanes to and fro until he had the proper focus and might obtain the sun's altitude; whereby he had presently found our present position, the which he duly pricked upon the chart. He now showed me how, by standing out on direct course instead of following the tortuous windings of the coast, we could shorten our passage by very many miles. Hereupon we shaped our course accordingly and, the wind freshening somewhat, by afternoon the high coast had faded to a faint blur of distant mountain peaks, and by sunset we had lost it altogether. And so night came down on us, with a kindly wind, cool and refreshing after the heats of the day, a night full of a palpitant, starry splendour and lit by a young, horned moon that showed us this wide-rolling infinity of waters and these vast spaces filled, as it seemed, with the awful majesty of God, so that when we spake (which was seldom) it was in hushed voices. It being my turn to sleep, I lay down, yet could not close my eyes for a while for the wonder of the stars above, and with my gaze thus uplift, I must needs think of my lady and wonder where she might be, with passionate prayers for her safety; and beholding these heavenly splendours, I thought perchance she might be viewing them also and in this thought found me great solace and comfort. And now what must my companion do but speak of her that was thus in my thought. "Martin," he questioned suddenly, "do you love her?" "Aye, I do!" said I, "mightily!" "And she you?" "God grant it!" "Here," said he after some while, "here were a noble ending to the feud, Martin?" "Sir, 'tis ended already, once and for all." "Aye, but," said he with a catch in his voice, "all my days I--have yearned--for a son. More especially now--when I am old and so feeble." "Then, sir, you shall lack no longer, if I can thus make up in some small measure for all you have suffered--" At this he fell silent again but in the dark his trembling hand stole down to touch me lightly as in blessing; and so I fell asleep. Prom this slumber I was suddenly aroused by his calling on my name and, opening drowsy eyes, beheld (as it were) a luminous veil that blotted out moon and stars and ocean, and, looking about, saw we lay becalmed in a white mist. "Martin," said Sir Richard, his face a pale oval in the dimness, "d'ye hear aught?" "No more than the lapping of the waves," I answered, for indeed the sea was very calm and still. "Nay, listen awhile, Martin, for either I'm mad or there's some one or something crying and wailing to larboard of us, an evil sound like one in torment. Three times the cry has reached me, yet here we lie far out to sea. So list ye, son, and tell me if my ears do play me false, for verily I--" His speech died away as from somewhere amid the chill and ghostly vapour there stole a long-drawn, wailing cry, so woful, so desolate, and so unearthly here in this vasty solitude that I caught my breath and stared upon this eddying mist with gaze of fearful expectancy. "You heard it, Martin; you heard it?" "Aye!" I nodded. "'Tis like one cries upon the rack, Martin!" "'Tis belike from some ship hid in the fog yonder," said I, handing him a musket from the arms-locker. "There was no ship to see before this fog came down on us," quoth Sir Richard uneasily; howbeit he took the weapon, handling it so purposefully as was great comfort to see, whereupon I took oars and began to row towards whence I judged this awful cry had come. And presently it rose again, dreadful to hear, a sound to freeze the blood. I heard Sir Richard cock his piece and glanced instinctively to make sure Don Federigo's sword lay within my reach. Three times the cry rose, ere, with weapon poised for action, Sir Richard motioned for me to stop rowing, and glancing over my shoulder, I saw that which loomed upon us through the mist, a dim shape that gradually resolved itself into a large ship's boat or pinnace. Sword in one hand and pistol in the other, I stood up and hailed lustily, yet got no sound in reply save a strange, dull whimpering. Having shouted repeatedly to no better purpose, I took oars again and paddled cautiously nearer until at last, by standing on the thwart, I might look into this strange boat and (the fog being luminous) perceived three dark shapes dreadfully huddled and still; but as I gazed, one of these stirred slightly, and I heard a strange, dull, thumping sound and then I saw this for a great hound. Hereupon I cast our boathook over their gunwale and while Sir Richard held the boats thus grappled, scrambled aboard them, pistol in hand, and so came upon two dead men and beside them this great dog. And now I saw these men had died in fight and not so long since, for the blood that fouled them and the boat was still wet, and even as I bent over them the hound licked the face of him that lay uppermost and whined. And men and dog alike seemed direly thin and emaciate. Now it was in my mind to shoot the dog out of its misery, to which end I cocked my pistol, but seeing how piteously it looked on me and crawled to lick my hand, I resolved to carry it along with us and forthwith (and no little to-do) presently contrived to get the creature into our boat, thereby saving both our lives, as you shall hear. So we cast off and I sat to watch the boat until like a phantom, it melted into the mist and vanished away. Turning, I beheld the hound, his great head on Sir Richard's knee, licking the hand that fondled him. "He is pined of hunger and thirst, Martin; I will tend him whiles you sleep. He shall be a notable good sentinel and these be very keen of scent--the Spaniards do use them to track down poor runaway slaves withal, but these dogs are faithful beasts and this hath been sent us, doubtless, to some good end." CHAPTER XXV WE ARE DRIVEN ASHORE And now were days of stifling heat, of baffling airs and maddening calms, wherein we rolled helpless, until in my impatience I would betake me to the oars in a fever of desire to reach our destination and row until the sweat poured from me. What with sea, wind and fierce sun we grew brown as any Indians, but Sir Richard seemed to mend apace and to my great joy, for as time passed my respect for him deepened and with it a kindlier feeling; for in these long days and nights of our fellowship I grew to know how, by suffering patiently borne, a man might come by a knowledge of himself and his fellows and a kindly sympathy for their sins and sorrows that is (as I do think) the truest of all wisdom. Fain would I set down some of these heart-searching talks, but I fear lest my narration grows over-long; suffice it that few sons ever bore tenderer reverence and love to their father than I to this, my erstwhile enemy. So will I now, passing over much that befell us on these treacherous seas, as scorching calms, torrential rains and rageful winds, and how in despite all these we held true on our course by reason of Sir Richard's sailorly skill, I will (I say) come to a certain grey dawn and myself at the tiller whiles Sir Richard slept and beside him the great hound that we had named Pluto, since he had come to us from the dead. Now presently I saw the dog stir uneasily and lift his head to sniff the air to windward; thereafter, being on his legs, he growled in his throat, staring ever in the one direction, and uttered a loud, deep bay, whereupon up started Sir Richard, full of question. "Sir, look at the dog!" said I, pointing where Pluto stood abaft the mast, snuffing and staring to windward; seeing which, Sir Richard took the perspective-glass and swept with it the hazy distance. "There is wind yonder, Martin; we must reef!" said he, the glass at his eye. So presently, whiles he steered, I shortened sail but saw his gaze bent ever to windward. "Dogs have strange senses!" quoth he. "Take the glass, Martin; your eyes are very keen; tell me if you see aught yonder in the mist against the cloudbank bearing about three points." Looking whither he directed, I made out a dim shape that loomed amid the mist. "You see it, Martin?" "Aye, a ship!" said I, and even as I spoke, the wind freshening, the rain ceased, the mist thinned away, and I saw a large vessel ahead of us standing in for the land which bore some five miles to leeward, a high, rugged coast, very grim and forbidding. "How is she heading, Martin?" "Southwesterly, I make it, which should bring her close upon us mighty soon, if the wind hold." And passing Sir Richard the glass, I sat staring on this distant ship in no little apprehension, since I judged most vessels that plied hereabouts could be but one of two sorts, viz: pirates or Spaniards. "She is a great ship, Martin, and by her cut I think Spanish." "I had liefer she were a pirate!" said I, scowling. "Your wish may be granted soon enough, for she is going free and much wind astern of her." Now whiles Sir Richard watched this oncoming vessel, I took up Don Federigo's sword, and, struck by its beauty, began to examine it as I had not done hitherto. And indeed a very noble weapon it was, the hilt of rare craftsmanship, being silver cunningly inlaid with gold, long and narrow in the blade, whereon, graven in old Spanish, I saw the legend: TRUST IN GOD AND ME. A most excellent weapon, quick in the hand by reason of its marvellous poise and balance. But looking upon this, I must needs remember him that had given it and bethinking me how he had plucked me forth from the horror of death and worse, I raised my head to scowl again upon the oncoming ship, and with teeth hard-set vowed within myself that no power should drag me a living man back to the terrors of dungeon and torment. And now as I crouched thus, scowling on the ship, the naked sword across my knees, Sir Richard called to me: "She is Spanish-built beyond all doubting and whoever chance to be aboard, they've seen us," said he, setting by the glass. "Come now, let us take counsel whether to go about, hold on, or adventure running ashore, the which were desperate risk by the look of things--" "Let us stand on so long as we may," quoth I, "for if the worst come, we have always this," and reaching a pistol, I laid it on the thwart beside me. "Nay, Martin," said he, his hand on my shoulder, "first let us do all we may to live, trusting in God Who hath saved and delivered us thus far. We have arms to our defence and I can still pull trigger at a pinch, or at extremity we may run ashore and contrive to land, though 'tis an evil coast as you may see and I, alack! am a better traveller sitting thus than afoot. As to dying, Martin, if it must be so, why then let us choose our own fashion, for as Sir Richard Grenville hath it, 'better fall into the hands of God than into the claws of Spain!" Thus spake my companion mighty cheering, his serene blue eyes now on me, now on the distant ship, as he held our heeling boat to the freshening wind; hereupon, greatly comforted I grasped his hand and together we vowed never to be taken alive. Then, seeing the ship come down on us apace, I busied myself laying to hand such arsenal as Don Federigo had furnished us withal, viz: four muskets with their bandoliers and two brace of pistols; which done, I took to watching the ship again until she was so close I might discern her lofty, crowded decks. And then, all at once, the wind died utterly away, and left us becalmed, to my inexpressible joy. For now, seeing the great ship roll thus helpless, I seized the oars. "Inshore!" I cried, and began to row might and main, whereat those aboard ship fired a gun to windward and made a waft with their ensign as much as to bid us aboard them. But I heeding no whit, they let fly a great shot at us that, falling short, plunged astern in a whirl of spray. Time and again they fired such fore-chase guns as chanced to bear, but finding us out of range, they gave over wasting more powder and I rejoiced, until suddenly I espied that which made me gloomy enough, for 'twixt the ship and us came a boat full of men who rowed lustily; and they being many and I one, they began to overhaul us rapidly despite my efforts, till, panting in sweating despair, I ceased my vain labour and made to reach for the nearest musket. "Let be, my son!" quoth Sir Richard, on his knees in the stern sheets. "Row, Martin, the boat rides steadier. Ha!" said he, with a little chuckling laugh, as a bullet hummed over us. "So we must fight, after all; well, on their own heads be it!" And as he took up and cocked a musket, I saw his eyes were shining and his lips upcurled in grim smile. "Alas, I was ever too forward for fight in the old days, God forgive me, but here, as I think, is just and sufficient cause for bloodshed." "They come on amain!" I gasped, as I swung to the heavy oars, wondering to behold him so unconcerned and deliberate. "Let them come, Martin!" said he, crouching in the stern sheets, "only keep you an even stroke--so, steady it is! Aye, let them come, Martin, and God's will be done!" And now our pursuers began firing amain, though for the most part their shooting was very wild; but presently, finding we made no reply, they grew bolder, hallooing and shouting blithely and taking better aim, so that their shot hummed ever nearer and once or twice the boat was struck. And as I hearkened to their ribald shouting and the vicious hiss of their bullets, fierce anger took me and I began to curse Sir Richard's delay; then came the roar of his piece and as the smoke cleared I saw a man start up in the bows of the pursuing boat and tossing up his arms, fall backwards upon the rowers, thereby throwing them into clamorous confusion so that their boat fell off and lay rolling helplessly. "Load, Martin!" quoth Sir Richard 'twixt shut teeth. "Load as I fire--for now by God I have 'em--see yonder!" And thrusting towards me his smoking weapon, he caught up the next, levelled and fired again, whereupon their shouting and confusion were redoubled. Thus Sir Richard fired on them repeatedly and with deadly effect, judging by their outcries, for I was too busy loading and priming to afford them a glance, so that Sir Richard maintained as rapid a fire as possible. How long we fought them thus I know not; indeed I remember little of the matter save smoke and noise, Sir Richard's grim figure and the occasional hiss of a bullet about us. Suddenly Sir Richard turned to stare up at me, wild-eyed and trembling, as in one of his ague-fits. "Enough, Martin!" he gasped. "God forgive me, I ha' done enough--and here's the wind at last!" Seeing this indeed was so, I sprang to loose out the reefs, which done, I saw the enemy's boat lie wallowing in the trough and never so much as an oar stirring. But beyond this was another boat hasting to their assistance and beyond this again the ship herself, so that I joyed to feel our little vessel bounding shore-wards. But hearing a groan, I saw Sir Richard crouched at the tiller, his white head bowed upon his hand. "God love me--are you hurt, sir?" I cried, scrambling towards him. "No, Martin, no!" And then, "Ah, God forgive me," he groaned again, "I fear I have been the death of too many of them--more than was needful." "Nay, sir," said I, wondering. "How should this be?" "I killed--for the joy of it, Martin." "'Twas them or us, Sir Richard. And we may have to kill again--see yonder!" And I pointed where the ship was crowding sail after us with intent to cut us off ere we could make the shore--a desolation of shaggy rocks and tree-girt heights that looked ever the more formidable; yet thither we held our course, since it seemed the lesser of two evils. Our boat, as I have said, was a good sailer; none the less the great ship overhauled us until she was near enough to open on us with her fore-chase guns again. But presently (being yet some distance from the shore) the water began to shoal, whereupon the ship bore up lest she run aground, and let fly her whole broadside, the which yet was short of us. In this comparative safety we would have brought to, but seeing the second boat had hoisted sail and was standing into these shallows after us, we perforce ran on for the shore. Soon we were among rocks and before us a line of breakers backed by frowning rocks, very dreadful to behold. And now, at Sir Richard's command, I struck our sail and, taking to the oars, began to row, marvelling at the skill with which he steered amid these difficult waters, and both of us looking here and there for some opening amid the breakers whereby we might gain the land. Presently, sure enough, we espied such a place, though one none would have attempted save poor souls in such desperate case. The air about us seemed full of spume and the noise of mighty waters, but Sir Richard never faltered; his eyes looked upon the death that roared about us, serene and untroubled. And now we were amid the breakers; over my shoulder, through whirling spray, I caught a glimpse of sandy foreshore where lay our salvation; then, with sudden, rending crash, we struck and a great wave engulfed us. Tossed and buffeted among this choking smother, I was whirled, half-stunned, into shoal water and stumbling to my knees, looked back for Sir Richard. And thus I saw the dog Pluto swimming valiantly and dragging at something that struggled feebly, and plunged back forthwith to the good beast's assistance, and thus together we brought Sir Richard ashore and lay there a while, panting and no strength to move. At last, being recovered somewhat, I raised myself to behold my companion, his frail body shaking in an ague, his features blue and pinched. But beholding my look, he smiled and essayed a reassuring nod. "Thanks to you and--the dog, I am very well, Martin!" said he, 'twixt chattering teeth. "But what of the boat; she should come ashore." Looking about, sure enough I espied our poor craft, rolling and tossing helplessly in the shallows hard by, and running thither, was seized of sudden despair, for I saw her bilged and shattered beyond repair. Now as she rolled thus, the sport of each incoming wave, I beheld something bright caught up in her tangled gear, whereupon I contrived to scramble aboard and so found this to be Don Federigo's rapier, the which was some small mitigation of my gloom and put me to great hopes that I might find more useful things, as compass or sextant, and so found a small barrico of water firm-wedged beneath a thwart; but save for this the boat was swept bare. So having secured the barrico (and with no small to-do) I hove it ashore and got myself after it, and so came mighty despondent where sat Sir Richard as one deep in thought, his gaze on the sea, his shrivelled hand upon the head of the dog Pluto crouched beside him. "Truly we are in evil case, Martin!" quoth he, when I had told him the result of my search. "Aye, we are in woful plight! And this land of Darien is very mountainous and ill-travelling as I remember." "Yet needs must we adventure it," said I gloomily. "You must, Martin; but as for me, I bide here." "Here?" said I, glancing around on the barren, unlovely spot. "Sir, you talk wildly, I think; to stay here is to die." "Aye, Martin, so soon as God shall permit." "Surely our case is not so hopeless you despair thus soon?" "Sit down, here beside me," said he, smiling up at me. "Come and let us reason the matter, since 'tis reason lifteth man above the brutes." So there, on the coast of this vast, unknown wilderness, sat we two poor castaways, the great hound at our feet, his bright eyes looking from one to other of us as we spake and reasoned together thus: Sir Richard: First of all, we are destitute, Martin. Myself; True. Sir Richard: Therefore our food must be such game as we can contrive to take and kill empty-handed. Myself: This shall be my duty. Sir Richard: Second, 'tis a perilous country by reason of wild Indians, and we are scant of arms. Third, 'tis a country of vasty mountains, of torrents, swamps and thickets and I am a mighty poor walker, being weak of my leg-joints. Myself: Then will I aid you. Sir Richard: Fourthly, here is a journey where though one may succeed, two cannot: full of peril and hardship for such as have a resolute spirit and strong body, and _I_ am very weak. Myself: Yet shall your resolute spirit sustain you. Sir Richard: Fifthly and lastly, I am a cripple, so will I stay here, Martin, praying God to bring you safe to your weary journey's end. Myself: I had thought you much stronger of late. Sir Richard: Indeed so I am, but my joints have been so oft stretched on the rack that I cannot go far and then but slowly, alas! There was silence awhile, each of us gazing out across the troubled waters, yet I, for one, seeing nothing of them. Glancing presently at Sir Richard, I saw his eyes closed, but his mouth very resolute and grim. "And what of Joan?" I demanded. "What of your daughter?" Now at this he started and glancing at me, his mouth of a sudden lost its grimness and he averted his head when he answered: "Why, Martin, 'tis for her sake I will not hamper you with my useless body." "So is it for her sake I will never leave you here to perish!" "Then here," says he in a little, "here is an end to reason, Martin?" "Aye, indeed, sir!" "God love thee, lad!" cried he, clasping my hand. "For if 'tis reason raiseth us 'bove the brutes 'tis unselfishness surely lifts us nigh to God!" CHAPTER XXVI OUR DESPERATE SITUATION "And now," quoth Sir Richard, "since you are bent on dragging this worn-out carcase along to be your careful burden (for the which may God bless you everlastingly, dear lad!) let us see what equipment Fortune hath left us beside your sword and the water." Herewith, upon investigation we found our worldly possessions amount to the following: In Sir Richard's Pockets: 1 ship's biscuit (somewhat spoiled by water). A small clasp knife. A gunflint. In Mine: A length of small cord. Adam's chart (and very limp). 9 pistol balls. These various objects we set together before us and I for one mighty disconsolate, for, excepting only the knife, a collection of more useless odds and ends could not be imagined. Sir Richard, on the contrary, having viewed each and every with his shrewd, kindly eyes, seemed in no wise cast down, for, said he. "We might be richer, but then we might be poorer--for here we have in this biscuit one meal, though scant 'tis true and not over tasty. A sword and knife for weapons and tools, a flint to make us fires, three yards of small cord wherewith to contrive snares for small game, and though we ha' lost our compass, we have the coast to follow by day and the stars to guide us by night and furthermore--" "Nine pistol balls!" quoth I gloomily. "Hum!" said he, stroking his chin and eyeing me askance. "Having neither weapons nor powder to project them--" "They shall arm me arrows!" "Aye, but will they serve?" he questioned doubtfully. "Well enough, supposing we find aught to shoot at--" "Never fear, in Darien are beasts and fowls a-plenty." "Well and good, sir!" said I, gathering up the bullets, and doing so, espied a piece of driftwood carrying many bent and rusty nails, the which (the wood being very dry and rotten) I presently broke out and to my nine bullets I added some dozen nails, pocketing them to the same purpose. And now having collected our possessions (of more value to us than all the treasures of Peru), we set forth upon our long and toilsome journey, our gaze bent ever upon the cliffs that frowned upon our right hand, looking for some place easy of ascent whereby we might come to the highlands above (where we judged it easier travelling) and with Pluto stalking on before like the dignified animal he was, looking back ever and anon as if bidding us to follow. And as I watched this great beast, the thought occurred to me that here was what should save us from starvation should we come to such extremity; but I spake nothing of this to Sir Richard who had conceived a great affection for the dog from the first. And after some while we came to a place where the cliff had fallen and made a sloping causeway of earth and rocks, topped by shady trees. This we began to mount forthwith and, finding it none so steep, I (lost in my thoughts) climbed apace, forgetful of Sir Richard in my eagerness, until, missing him beside me, I turned to see him on hands and knees, dragging himself painfully after me thus, whereon I hasted back to him full of self-reproaches. "'Tis only my legs!" he gasped, lifting agonised face. "My spirit is willing, Martin, but alas, my poor flesh--" "Nay--'tis I am selfish!" quoth I. "Aye, a selfish man ever, dreaming only of my own woes!" Saying which, I raised him and, setting an arm about his wasted form, aided him as well as I might until, seeing how he failed despite his brave struggles, I made him sit and rest awhile, unheeding his breathless protestations, and thus at last, by easy stages, we came to the top of the ascent amid a grove of very tall trees, in whose pleasant shade we paused awhile, it being now midday and very hot. Behind us lay the ocean, before us a range of mighty mountains blue with distance that rose, jagged peak on peak, far as eye could see, and betwixt them and us a vast and rolling wilderness, a land of vivid sun and stark shadow, dazzling glare on the uplands, gloom in the valleys and above swamp and thicket and trackless forests a vapour that hung sullen and ominous like the brooding soul of this evil country. "Fever!" quoth Sir Richard, stabbing at the sluggish mist with bony fingers. "Ague, the flux--death! We must travel ever by the higher levels, Martin--and I a cripple!" "Why, then," said I, "you shall have a staff to aid you on one side and my arm on t'other, and shall attempt no great distance until you grow stronger." So having found and cut a staff to serve him, we set off together upon our long and arduous pilgrimage. By mid-afternoon we reached a place of rocks whence bubbled a small rill mighty pleasant to behold and vastly refreshing to our parched throats and bodies. Here, though the day was still young and we had come (as I judged) scarce six miles, I proposed to camp for the night, whereon Sir Richard must needs earnestly protest he could go further an I would, but finding me determined, he heaved a prodigious sigh and stretching himself in the cool shadow, lay there silent awhile, yet mighty content, as I could see. "Martin," quoth he at last, "by my reckoning we have some hundred and fifty miles to go." "But, sir, they will be less to-morrow!" said I, busied with my knife on certain branches I had cut. "And but half a ship's biscuit to our sustenance, and that spoiled." "Why, then, throw it away; I will get us better fare!" said I, for as we came along I had spied several of those great birds the which I knew to be very excellent eating. "As how, my son?" he questioned. "With bow and arrows." At this he sat up to watch me at work and very eager to aid me therein. "So you shall, sir," said I, and having tapered my bow-stave sufficiently, I showed him how to trim the shafts as smooth and true as possible with a cleft or notch at one end into which I set one of my rusty nails, binding it there with strips from my tattered shirt; in place of feathers I used a tuft of grass and behold! my arrow was complete, and though a poor thing to look at yet it would answer well enough, as I knew by experience. So we fell to our arrow-making, wherein I found Sir Richard very quick and skilful, as I told him, the which seemed to please him mightily. "For," said he miserably, "I feel myself such a burden to thee, Martin, that anything I can do to lighten thy travail be to me great comfort." "Sir," said I, "these many years have I been a solitary man hungering for companionship, and, in place of enemy, God hath given me a friend and one I do love and honour. As to his crippled body, sir, it beareth no scar but is a badge of honour, and if he halt in his gait or fail by the way, this doth but remind me of his dauntless soul that, despite pain and torment, endured." So saying, I caught up such arrows as were finished (four in all) and taking my bow, set forth in quest of supper, with Pluto at my heels. Nor had I far to seek, for presently I espied several of these monstrous birds among the trees and, stringing my bow with a length of cord, I crept forward until I was in easy range and, setting arrow to string, let fly. Away sang my shaft, a yard wide of the mark, soaring high into the air and far beyond all hope of recovery. This put me in a fine rage, for not only had I lost my precious arrow, but the quarry also, for off flapped my bird, uttering a hoarse cackle as in derision of my ill aim. On I went, seeking for something should serve us for supper, yet look where I would, saw nothing, no, not so much as parrot or macaw that might stay us for lack of better fare. On I went, and mightily hungry, wandering haphazard and nothing to reward me until, reaching an opening or glade shut in by dense thickets beyond, I sat me upon a fallen tree and in mighty ill humour, the dog Pluto at my feet. Suddenly I saw him start and prick his ears, and presently, sure enough, heard a distant stir and rustling in the thickets that grew rapidly nearer and louder to trampling rush; and out from the leaves broke some dozen or so young pigs; but espying the dog they swung about in squealing terror and plunged back again. But in that moment I let fly among them and was mighty glad to see one roll over and lie kicking, filling the air with shrill outcry; then Pluto was upon it and had quickly finished the poor beast, aye, and would have devoured it, too, had I not driven him off with my bow-stave. It was a small pig and something lean, yet never in this world hunter more pleased than I as, shouldering the carcase and with Pluto going before, I made my way back to our halting-place and found Sir Richard had contrived to light a fire and full of wonder to behold my pig. "Though to be sure," said he, "I've heard there were such in Darien, yet I never saw any, Martin, more especially in these high lands." "They were fleeing from some wild beast, as I judge, sir," quoth I. "Why, then, 'twere as well to keep our fire going all night!" said he: to the which I agreed and forthwith set about cutting up the pig, first flaying it as well as I might, since I judged the skin should be very serviceable in divers ways. So this night we supped excellent well. The meal over, Sir Richard cut up what remained of the carcase into strips and set me to gather certain small branches with which he built a sort of grating above some glowing embers and thus dried and smoked the meat after the manner of the buccaneers. "For look now, Martin," said he, "besides drying the meat, these twigs are aromatic and do lend a most excellent flavour, so that there is no better meat in the world--besides, it will keep." Beyond the rocky cleft bright with the light of our fire the vasty wilderness hemmed us in, black and sullen, for the trees being thick hereabouts we could see no glimpse of moon or star. And amid this gloom were things that moved stealthily, shapes that rustled and flitted, and ever and anon would come the howl of some beast, the cry of some bird, hunting or hunted, whereat Pluto, crunching on a bone, would lift his head to growl. So with the fire and the dog's watchfulness we felt tolerably secure and presently fell asleep. CHAPTER XXVII WE COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY Day after day we held on, suffering much by reason of heat, thirst and fatigue, since, fearing lest we should lose sight of our guide, the sea, and go astray to perish miserably in the wild, we followed ever the trend of this mountainous coast. By rocky ways we marched, by swamps and mazy thickets, down precipitous slopes, through tangled woods, across wide savannahs, along perilous tracks high above dim forests that stretched away like a leafy ocean, whence we might behold a wide prospect of all those weary miles before us. And surely nowhere in all this world is to be seen a country more full of marvels and wonders than this land of Darien. For here rise vasty mountains whose jagged summits split the very heaven; here are mighty rivers and roaring cataracts, rolling plains, thirsty deserts and illimitable forests in whose grim shadow lurk all manner of beasts and reptiles strange beyond thought; here lie dense groves and tangled thickets where bloom great flowers of unearthly beauty yet rank of smell and poisonous to the touch; here are birds of every kind and hue and far beyond this poor pen to describe by reason of the beauty and brilliancy of their plumage, some of which would warble so sweet 'twas great joy to hear while the discordant croakings and shrill clamours of others might scarce be endured. Here, too, are trees (like the cocos) so beneficent to yield a man food and drink, aye, and garments to cover him; or others (like the maria and balsam trees) that besides their timber do distil medicinal oils, and yet here also are trees so noxious their mere touch bringeth a painful disease of the skin and to sleep in their shadow breedeth sickness and death; here, too, grow all manner of luscious fruits as the ananas or pineapple, with oranges, grapes, medlars and dates, but here again are other fruits as fair to the eye, yet deadly as fang of snake or sting of _cientopies_. Truly (as I do think), nowhere is there country of such extremes of good and evil as this land of Darien. Thus day by day we held on and daily learned I much of tree and fruit and flower, of beast, bird and reptile from Sir Richard who, it seemed, was deeply versed in the lore of such, both by reading and experience; but hourly I learned more of this man's many and noble qualities, as his fortitude, his unflinching courage and the cheerful spirit that could make light of pain and thirst and weariness so that, misjudging his strength, I would sometimes march him well-nigh beyond his endurance, but knew nought of it since he never complained but masked his suffering in brave and smiling words. And there were times when, burning with impatience, I would quicken my pace (God forgive me) until, missing his plodding figure, I would look back to see him stumbling after me afar. It was upon the fifth day of our journey that, missing him thus, I turned to wait for him to come up and found him nowhere in sight. Hereupon I hasted back the way I had come and after some while beheld him prone in the dust; he lay outstretched upon his face in the hot glare of the sun, the dog Pluto squatting beside him, and as I approached the desolate figure I knew that he was weeping. So came I running to fall beside him on my knees and lifting that abased head, saw indeed the agony of his tears. "Oh, Martin--forgive me!" he gasped. "I can crawl no faster--better were I dead, dear lad, than hamper you thus--" "Rather will I perish!" said I, lifting him in my arms to bear him out of the sun and much grieved to find him a burden so light; and now, sitting 'neath a great tree, I took his head upon my bosom and wiped the tears from his furrowed cheeks and set myself diligently to comfort him, but seeing him so faint and fore-done, I began alternately to berate myself heartily and lament over him so that he must needs presently take to comforting me in turn, vowing himself very well, that it was nought but the heat, that he would be able to go and none the worse in a little, etc. "Besides," said he, "'tis worth such small discomfort to find you so tender of me, Martin. Yet indeed I am stronger than I seem and shall be ready to go on as soon as you will--" "Nay, sir," said I, mighty determined, "here we bide till the sun moderates; 'tis too hot for the dog even," and I nodded where Pluto lay outstretched and panting, hard by. But now, even as I spoke, the dog lifted his head to snuff the air and, getting up, bolted off among the adjacent undergrowth. I was yet idly wondering at this when suddenly, from somewhere afar in the woods below, came a sound there was no mistaking--the faint, sharp crack of a firearm. In a moment I was on my feet and, with Sir Richard beside me, came where we might look into the green depths below us. And sure enough, amid this leafy wilderness I saw a glitter that came and went, the which I knew must be armour, and presently made out the forms of men and horses with divers hooded litters and long files of tramping figures. "Ah!" quoth Sir Richard. "Yon should be the gold-train for Panama or Carthagena, or mayhap Indians being marched to slavery in the mines, poor souls!" As he spake, came a puff of white smoke plain to see and thereafter divers others, and presently the reports of this firing smote upon our ears in rapid succession. "What now?" said I, straining my eyes. "Is there a battle toward--" "Nay, Martin, 'tis more like some poor wretch hath broke his bonds and fled into the woods; if so, God send him safe out of their hands, for I have endured slavery and--" here his voice broke, and casting himself on his knees he clasped his arms about me, and I all amazed to see him so moved. "Oh, Martin!" he wept, in voice of agony, "oh, dear and gentle lad, 'twas to such slavery, such shame and misery I sent thee once--thou--that I do so love--my son--" "Sir," said I, stooping to lift him. "Sir, this is all forgot and out of mind." "Yet, dear lad, you do bear the marks yet, scars o' the whip, marks o' the shackles. I have seen them when you slept--and never a one but set there by my hand--and now--now you must cherish me if I fail by the way--must bear me in your arms--grieve for my weakness--Oh, dear lad, I would you were a little harsher--less kind." Now seeing how it was with him, I sat me down and, folding him within my arm, sought to comfort him in my blundering way, reminding him of all he had endured and that my sufferings could nowise compare with his own and that in many ways I was no whit the worse: "Indeed," said I, "in many ways I am the better man, for solitude hath but taught me to think beyond myself, though 'tis true I am something slow of speech and rude of manner, and hardship hath but made me stronger of body than most men I have met." "Oh, God love you, lad!" cried he of a sudden, 'twixt laughing and weeping. "You will be calling me your benefactor next!" "And wherefore not?" quoth I. "For indeed, being made wise by suffering, you have taught me many things and most of all to love you in despite of myself!" Now at this he looks at me all radiant-eyed, yet when he would have spoken, could not, and so was silence awhile. Now turning to look down into the valley I saw it all deserted and marking how the forest road ran due east, I spoke that which was in my thought. "Sir, yonder, as I think, must be a highway; at least, where others go, so may we, and 'twill be easier travelling than these rocky highlands; how think you?" "Why, truly, if road there be, it must bring us again to the sea soon or late; so come, let us go!" So saying, he got him to his legs, whereupon Pluto leapt and fawned upon him for very joy; and thus finding him something recovered and very earnest to be gone, we set out again (maugre the sun) looking for some place whereby we might get us down into the valley, and after some while came upon a fissure in the cliff face which, though easy going for an able man, was a different matter I thought for my companion; but as I hesitated, the matter was put beyond despite by Sir Richard forthwith cheerily beginning the descent, whereupon I followed him and after me the dog. As we descended, the way grew easier until We reached at last a small plateau pleasantly shaded by palm trees; here (and despite his hardihood), Sir Richard sank down, sweating with the painful effort and gasping for breath, yet needs must he smile up at me triumphant, so that I admired anew the indomitable spirit of him. "Oh, for a drink!" quoth he, as I set an armful of fern beneath his head. "Alas!" said I, "'tis far down to the river--" "Nay--above, lad, look above--yonder is drink for a whole ship's company!" and he pointed feebly to the foliage of the tree 'neath which he lay: "What! Is this a cocos palm?" said I, rejoicing; and forthwith doffing my sword belt, I clambered up this tree hand over fist and had soon plucked and tossed down a sufficiency of great, green nuts about the bigness of my two fists. Now sitting beside him, Sir Richard showed me how I must cut two holes in the green rind and we drank blissfully of this kindly juice that to our parched tongues was very nectar, for verily never in all my days have I tasted drink so delectable and invigorating. As for Pluto, when I offered him of this he merely sniffed and yawned contemptuous. Thus refreshed we went on again, the way growing ever easier until we entered the shade of those vast woods we had seen from above. But scarce were we here than rose such a chattering, whittling and croaking from the leafy mysteries above and around us, such a screaming and wailing as was most distressful to hear, for all about us was a great multitude of birds; the forest seemed full of them, and very wonderful to see by reason of their plumage, its radiant and divers hues, so that as they flitted to and fro in their glowing splendour they seemed like so many flying jewels, while clustering high in the trees or swinging nimbly among the branches were troops of monkeys that screamed and chattered and grimaced down at us for all the world as they had been very fiends of the pit. "Heard ye ever such unholy hubbub, Martin?" said Sir Richard, halting to glance about us. "This portendeth a storm, I judge, for these creatures possess gifts denied to us humans. See how they do begin to cower and seek what shelter they may! We were wise to do the like, my son. I marked a cave back yonder; let us go there, for these woods be an evil place at such times." So back we went accordingly and saw the sunlight suddenly quenched and the sky lower above us ever darker and more threatening, so that by the time we had reached the little cave in question, it almost seemed night was upon us. And now, crouching in this secure haven, I marvelled at the sudden, unearthly stillness of all things; not a leaf stirred and never a sound to hear, for beast and bird alike had fallen mute. Then all at once was a blinding glare followed by roaring thunder-clap that echoed and re-echoed from rugged cliff to mountain summit near and far until this was whelmed and lost in the rush of a booming, mighty wind and this howling riot full of whirling leaves and twigs and riven branches. And now came the rain, a hissing downpour that seemed it would drown the world, while ever the lightning flared and crackled and thunder roared ever more loud until I shrank, blinded and half-stunned. After some while, these awful sounds hushing a little, in their stead was the lash and beat of rain, the rush and trickle of water where it gushed and spouted down from the cliff above in foaming cascades until I began to dread lest this deluge overwhelm us and we be drowned miserably in our little cave. But, all at once, sudden as it had come, the storm was passed, rain and wind and thunder ceased, the sombre clouds rolled away and down beamed the sun to show us a new and radiant world of vivid greens spangled as it were with a myriad shimmering gems, a very glory to behold. "'Tis a passionate country this, Martin," as we stepped forth of our refuge, "but its desperate rages be soon over." By late afternoon we came out upon a broad green track that split the forest east and west, and where, despite the rain, we might yet discern faint traces here and there of the hoofs and feet had trampled it earlier in the day, so that it seemed we must march behind them. On we went, very grateful for the trees that shaded us and the springy grass underfoot, Sir Richard swinging his staff and striding out right cheerily. Suddenly Pluto, uttering a single joyous bark, sprang off among the brush that grew very thick, and looking thither, we espied a small stream and the day being far spent we decided to pass the night hereabouts, so we turned aside forthwith and having gone but a few yards, found ourselves quite hidden from the highway, so thick grew the trees and so dense and tangled the thickets that shut us in; and here ran this purling brook, making sweet, soft noises in the shallows mighty soothing to be heard. And here I would have stayed but Sir Richard shook wise head and was for pushing farther into the wild. "For," said he, "there may be other travellers behind us to spy some gleam of our fire and who shall these be but enemies?" So, following the rill that, it seemed, took its rise from the cliffs to our left, we went on until Sir Richard paused in the shade of a great tree that soared high above its fellows and hard beside the stream. But scarce were we come hither than Pluto uttered a savage growl and turned, snuffing the air, whereupon Sir Richard, grasping the battered collar about his massy throat, bade him sternly to silence. "What saw I, Martin? Some one comes--let us go see, and softly!" So, following whither Pluto led, we presently heard voices speaking the Spanish tongue, and one cursed, and one mocked and one sang. Hereupon I drew sword, and moving with infinite caution, we came where, screened 'mid the leaves, we might behold the highway. And thus we beheld six men approaching and one a horseman; nearer they came until we could see them sweating beneath their armour and the weapons they bore, and driving before them a poor, blood-stained wretch tied to the horseman's stirrup, yet who, despite wounds and blows, strode with head proudly erect, heeding them no whit. Yet suddenly he stumbled and fell, whereupon the horseman swore again and the captive was kicked to his feet and so was dragged on again, reeling for very weariness; and I saw this poor creature was an Indian. "Martin," said Sir Richard, when this sorry cavalcade was gone by, "it would, I think, be action commendable to endeavour rescue of this poor soul." "It would, sir!" quoth I. "And a foolhardy." "Mayhap," said he, "yet am I minded to adventure it" "How, sir--with one sword and a knife?" "Nay, Martin, by God's aid, strategy and a dog. Come then, let us follow; they cannot go far, and I heard them talk of camping hereabouts. Softly, lad!" "But, sir," said I, amazed at this audacity, "will you outface five lusty men well-armed?" "And wherefore not, Martin? Is the outfacing of five rogues any greater matter than outfacing this God's wilderness? Nay, I am not mad," said he, meeting my glance with a smile, "there were times when I adventured greater odds than this and to worse end, God forgive me! Alas, I have wrought so much of evil in the past I would fain offset it with a little good, so bear with me, dear lad--" "Yet this man you risk your life for is but a stranger and an Indian at that!" "And what then, Martin? Cannot an Indian suffer--cannot he die?" Here, finding me silent, he continued. "Moreover, there be very cogent reasons do urge a little risk, for look now, these rogues do go well shod--and see our poor shoes! They bear equipment very necessary to us that have so far to go and their horse should be useful to us. Nor dream I would lightly hazard your life, Martin, for these men have been drinking, will drink more and should therefore sleep sound, and I have a plan whereby Pluto and I--" "Sir Richard," said I, "where you go, I go!" "Why, very well, Martin, 'twere like you--but you shall be subject to my guidance and do nought without my word." As he spoke, his eyes quick and alert, his face grimly purposeful, there was about him that indefinable air of authority I had noticed more than once. Thus, with no better weapons than his staff and knife, and my sword, bow and poor arrows, we held on after these five Spanish soldiers, Sir Richard nothing daunted by this disparity of power but rather the more determined and mighty cheerful by his looks, but myself full of doubts and misgiving. Perceiving which, he presently stopped to slap me on the shoulder: "Martin," said he, "if things go as I think, we shall this night be very well off for equipment and all without a blow, which is good, and save a life, which is better!" "Aye, but, sir, how if things go contrary-wise?" "Why, then, sure a quick death is better than to perish miserably by the way, for we have cruel going before us, thirsty deserts and barren wilds where game is scarce; better steel or bullet than to die raving with thirst or slow starvation--how say ye, lad?" "Lead on!" quoth I and tightened my belt. "Ha!" said he, halting suddenly as arose a sudden crack of twigs and underbrush some distance on our front. "They have turned in to the water--let us sit here and watch for their camp fire." And presently, sure enough, we saw a red glow through the underbrush ahead that grew ever brighter as the shadows deepened; and so came the night. How long we waited thus, our eyes turned ever towards this red fire-glow, I know not, but at last I felt Sir Richard touch me and heard his voice in my ear: "Let us advance until we have 'em in better view!" Forthwith we stole forward, Sir Richard's grasp on Pluto's collar and hushing him to silence, until we were nigh enough to catch the sound of their voices very loud and distinct. Here we paused again and so passed another period of patient waiting wherein we heard them begin to grow merry, to judge by their laughter and singing, a lewd clamour very strange and out of place in these wild solitudes, under cover of which uproar we crept upon them nearer and nearer until we might see them sprawled about the fire, their muskets piled against a tree, their miserable captive lashed fast to another and drooping in his bonds like one sleeping or a-swoon. So lay we watching and waiting while their carouse waxed to a riot and waned anon to sleepy talk and drowsy murmurs and at last to a lusty snoring. And after some wait, Sir Richard's hand ever upon Pluto's collar, we crept forward again until we were drawn close upon that tree where stood the muskets. Then up rose Sir Richard, letting slip the dog and we were upon them, all three of us, our roars and shouts mingled with the fierce raving of the great hound. At the which hellish clamour, these poor rogues waked in sudden panic to behold the dog snapping and snarling about them and ourselves covering them with their own weapons, and never a thought among them but to supplicate our mercy; the which they did forthwith upon their knees and with upraised hands. Hereupon Sir Richard, scowling mighty fierce, bid such of them as loved life to be gone, whereat in the utmost haste and as one man, up started they all five and took themselves off with such impetuous celerity that we stood alone and masters of all their gear in less time than it taketh me to write down. "Well, Martin," said Sir Richard, grim-smiling, "'twas none so desperate a business after all! Come now, let us minister to this poor prisoner." We found him in sorry plight and having freed him of his bonds I fetched water from the brook near by and together we did what we might to his comfort, all of the which he suffered and never a word: which done, we supped heartily all three on the spoil we had taken. Only once did the Indian speak, and in broken Spanish, to know who we were. "Content you, we are no Spaniards!" answered Sir Richard, setting a cloak about him as he lay. "Truly this do I see, my father!" he murmured, and so fell asleep, the which so excellent example I bade Sir Richard follow and this after some demur, he agreed to (though first he must needs help me collect sticks for the fire), then commanding me wake him in two hours without fail, he rolled himself in one of the cloaks and very presently fell soundly asleep like the hardy old campaigner he was. And now, the fire blazing cheerily, Pluto outstretched beside me, one bright eye opening ever and anon, and a pistol in my belt, I took careful stock of our new-come-by possessions and found them to comprise the following, viz: 3 muskets with powder and shot a-plenty. 2 brace of pistols. 3 swords, with belts, hangers, etc. 3 steel backs and breasts. 4 morions. 1 beaver hat excellent wide in the brim, should do for Sir Richard; he suffering much by the sun despite the hat of leaves I had made him. 1 axe heavy and something blunted. 2 excellent knives, 2 wine skins, both empty. 3 flasks, the same. Good store of meat with cakes of very excellent bread of cassava. 1 horse with furniture for same, 5 cloaks, something worn. 3 pair of boots, very serviceable. 1 tinder box. 1 coat. One brass compass in the pocket of same and of more value to us, I thought, than all the rest, the which pleased me mightily; so that for a long time I sat moving it to and fro to watch the swing of the needle and so at last, what with the crackle of the fire and the brooding stillness beyond and around us, I presently fell a-nodding and in a little (faithless sentinel that I was) to heavy slumber. CHAPTER XXVIII WE FALL IN WITH ONE ATLAMATZIN, AN INDIAN CHIEF I waked to a scream, a fierce trampling, an awful snarling, this drowned in the roar of a gun, and started up to see a glitter of darting steel that Sir Richard sought to parry with his smoking weapon. Then I was up, and, sword in hand, leapt towards his assailant, a tall, bearded man whose corselet flashed red in the fire-glow and who turned to meet my onset, shouting fiercely. And so we fell to it point and point; pushing desperately at each other in the half-light and raving pandemonium about us until more by good fortune than skill I ran him in the arm and shoulder, whereupon, gasping out hoarse maledictions, he incontinent made off into the dark. Then turned I to find myself alone; even the Indian had vanished, though from the darkness near at hand was a sound of fierce strife and a ringing shot. Catching up a musket I turned thitherward, but scarce had I gone a step than into the light of the fire limped Sir Richard and Pluto beside him, who licked and licked at his great muzzle as he came. "Oh, Martin!" gasped Sir Richard, leaning on his musket and bowing his head, "oh, Martin--but for Pluto here--" And now, as he paused, I saw the dog's fangs and tongue horribly discoloured. "'Tis all my fault!" said I bitterly. "I fell asleep at my post!" "Aye!" he groaned, "whereby are two men dead and one by my hand, God forgive me!" "Nay, but these were enemies bent on our murder!" "Had they seen you wakeful and vigilant they had never dared attack us. As it is, I have another life on my conscience and I am an old man and soul-weary of strife and bloodshed, yet this it seems is my destiny!" So saying he sat him down by the fire exceeding dejected, and when I would have comforted him I found no word. Suddenly I heard Pluto growl in his throat, saw the hair on neck and shoulders bristle, and looking where he looked, cocked my musket and raised it to my shoulder, then lowered it, as, with no sound of footstep, the Indian stepped into the firelight. In one hand he grasped the axe and as he came nearer I saw axe and hand and arm dripped red. At Sir Richard's word and gesture Pluto cowered down and suffered the Indian to approach, a tall, stately figure, who, coming close beside the fire, held out to us his left hand open and upon the palm three human ears, the which he let fall to stamp upon with his moccasined foot. "Dead, my brothers!" said he in his broken Spanish and holding up three fingers. "So be all enemies of Atlamatzin and his good friends." Saying which he stopped to cleanse himself and the axe in the stream and with the same grave serenity he came back to the fire and stretching himself thereby, composed himself to slumber. But as for Sir Richard and myself no thought had we of sleep but sat there very silent for the most part, staring into the fire until it paled to the day and the woods around us shrilled and echoed to the chatter and cries, the piping and sweet carol of new-waked birds. Then, having broken our fast, we prepared to set out in the early freshness of the morning, when to us came the Indian Atlamatzin and taking my hand, touched it to his breast and forehead and having done as much by Sir Richard, crossed his arms, and looking from one to other of us, spake in his halting Spanish as much as to say, "My father and brother, whither go ye?" At this Sir Richard, who it seemed knew something of the Indian tongue, gave him to understand we went eastwards towards the Gulf. Whereupon the Indian bowed gravely, answering: "Ye be lonely, even as I, and thitherward go I many moons to what little of good, war and evil have left to me. Therefore will I company with ye an ye would have me." To the which we presently agreeing, he forthwith took his share of our burden, and with the axe at his side and our spare musket on his shoulder, went on before, threading his way by brake and thicket with such sureness of direction that we were soon out upon the open thoroughfare. And now seeing how stoutly Sir Richard stepped out (despite the gear he bore as gun, powder horn, water bottle, etc.) what with the sweet freshness here among the trees and seeing us so well provided against circumstances, I came nigh singing for pure lightness of heart. But scarce had we gone a mile than my gaiety was damped and in this fashion. "Here is a land of death, Martin--see yonder!" said Sir Richard and pointed to divers great birds that flapped up heavily from the way before us. Coming nearer, I saw others of the breed that quarrelled and fought and screamed and, upon our nearer approach, hopped along in a kind of torpor ere they rose on lazy wings and flew away; and coming nearer yet I saw the wherefore of their gathering and Sir Richard's words and grew sick within me. It was an Indian woman who lay where she had fallen, a dead babe clasped to dead bosom with one arm, the other shorn off at the elbow. "A Spanish sword-stroke, Martin!" said Sir Richard, pointing to this. "God pity this poor outraged people!" And with this prayer we left these poor remains, and hasting away, heard again the heavy beat of wings and the carrion cry of these monstrous birds. And now I bethought me that the Indian, striding before us, had never so much as turned and scarce deigned a glance at this pitiful sight, as I noted to Sir Richard. "And yet, Martin, he brought in three Spanish ears last night! Moreover, he is an Indian and one of the Maya tribe that at one time were a noble people and notable good fighters, but now slaves, alas, all save a sorry few that do live out of the white man's reach 'mid the ruin of noble cities high up in the Cordilleras--_sic transit gloria mundi_, alas!" For three days we tramped this highway in the wake of the Spanish treasure-convoy and came on the remains of many of these miserable slaves who, overcome with fatigue, had fallen in their chains and being cut free, had been left thus to perish miserably. On this, the fourth day, we turned off from this forest road (the which began to trend southerly); we struck off, I say, following our Indian, into a narrow track bearing east and by north which heartened me much since, according to Adam's chart, this should bring us directly towards that spot he had marked as our rendezvous. And as we advanced, the country changed, the woods thinned away to a rolling hill-country, and this to rocky ways that grew ever steeper and more difficult, and though we had no lack of water, we suffered much by reason of the heat. And now on our right we beheld great mountains towering high above us, peak on peak, soaring aloft to the cloudless heaven where blazed a pitiless sun. Indeed, so unendurable was this heat that we would lie panting in some shade until the day languished and instead of glaring sun was radiant moon to light us on our pilgrimage. And here we were often beset by dreadful tempests where mighty winds shouted and thunder cracked and roared most awful to be heard among these solitary mountains. So we skirted these great mountains, by frowning precipice and dark defile, past foaming cataracts and waters that roared unseen below us. And very thankful we were for such a guide as this Indian Atlamatzin who, grave, solemn and seldom-speaking, was never at a loss and very wise as to this wilderness and all things in it,--beast and bird, tree and herb and flower. And stoutly did Sir Richard bear himself during this weary time, plodding on hour after hour until for very shame I would call a halt, and he, albeit ready to swoon for weariness, would find breath to berate me for a laggard and protest himself able to go on, until, taking him in my arms, I would lay him in some sheltered nook and find him sound asleep before ever I could prepare our meal. Thus held we on until towering mountain and scowling cliff sank behind and we came into a gentle country of placid streams, grassy tracts, with herb and tree and flower a very joy to the eyes. "Martin," said Sir Richard, as we sat at breakfast beside a crystal pool, "Martin," said he, pulling at Pluto's nearest ear with sunburned fingers, "I do begin to think that all these days I have been harbouring a shadow." "How so, sir?" "It hath seemed to me from the first that I should leave this poor body here in Darien--" "God forbid!" quoth I fervently. "'Twould be but my body, Martin; my soul would go along with you, dear lad; aye, 'twould be close by to comfort and aid and bring you safe to--her--my sweet Joan--and mayhap--with you twain--to England." "Nay, dear sir, I had liefer you bear your body along with it. Thank God, you do grow more hearty every day. And the ague scarce troubles you--" "Truly, God hath been very kind. I am thrice the man I was, though I limp wofully, which grieves me since it shortens the day's journey, lad. We have been already these many days and yet, as I compute, we have fully eighty miles yet to go. Alas, dear lad, how my crawling must fret you." "Sir Richard," said I, clapping my hand on his, "no man could have endured more courageously nor with stouter heart than you--no, not even Adam Penfeather himself, so grieve not for your lameness. Adam will wait us, of this I am assured." "What manner of man is this Adam of yours, Martin?" "He is himself, sir, and none other like him: a little, great man, a man of cunning plots and contrivances, very bold and determined and crafty beyond words. He is moreover a notable good seaman and commander, quick of hand and eye. Dangers and difficulty are but a whetstone to set a keener edge to his abilities. He was once a chief of buccaneers and is now a baronet of England and justice of the peace, aye, and I think a member of His Majesty's Parliament beside." "Lord, Martin, you do paint me a very Proteus; fain would I meet such a man." "Why, so you shall, sir, and judge for yourself." Here Sir Richard sighed and turned to gaze where Atlamatzin was busied upon a small fire he had lighted some distance away. Now, as to this Indian, if I have not been particular in his description hitherto, it is because I know not how to do so, seeing he was (to my mind) rather as one of another world, a sombre figure proud and solitary and mostly beyond my ken, though I came to know him something better towards the end and but for him should have perished miserably. Thus then, I will try to show him to you in as few words as I may. Neither young nor old, tall and slender yet of incredible strength; his features pleasing and no darker than my own sunburned skin, his voice soft and deep, his bearing proud and stately and of a most grave courtesy. Marvellous quick was he and nimble save for his tongue, he being less given to talk even than I, so that I have known us march by the hour together and never a word betwixt us. Yet was he a notable good friend, true and steadfast and loyal, as you shall hear. Just now (as I say) he was busy with a fire whereon he cast an armful of wet leaves so that he had presently a thick column of smoke ascending into the stilly air; and now he took him one of the cloaks and covered this smoke, stifling and fanning it aside so that it was no more than a mist, and anon looses it into a column again; and thus he checked or broke his smoky pillar at irregular intervals, so that at last I needs must call to ask him what he did. "Brother," answered he in his grave fashion, "I talk with my people. In a little you shall see them answer me. Hereupon Sir Richard told me how in some parts these Indians will converse long distances apart by means of drums, by which they will send you messages quicker than any relay of post horses may go. And presently, sure enough, from a woody upland afar rose an answering smoke that came and went and was answered by our fire, as in question and answer, until at last Atlamatzin, having extinguished his fire, came and sat him down beside us. "Father and my brother," said he, folding his arms, "I read a tale of blood, fire and battle at sea and along the coast. White men slaying white men, which is good--so they slay enough!" "A battle at sea? Do you mean ships?" I questioned uneasily. "And on land, brother. Spanish soldiers have been espied wounded and yet shouting with singing and laughing. Galleons have sailed from Porto Bello and Carthagena." "God send Adam is not beset!" said I. "Amen!" quoth Sir Richard. "Nay, never despond, Martin, for if he be the man you say he shall not easily be outwitted." "Ah, sir, I think on my dear lady." "And I also, Martin. But she is in the hands of God Who hath cherished her thus far." "Moreover, oh, father and my brother, yonder my people do send you greeting and will entertain you for so long as you will." "Wherefore we thank you, Atlamatzin, good friend, you and them, but if fire and battle are abroad we must on so soon as we may." So saying, Sir Richard got to his feet and we did the like and, taking up our gear, set off with what speed we might. CHAPTER XXIX TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF A STRANGE CITY By midday we were come in sight of this Indian city, a place strange beyond thought, it being builded in vast terraces that rose one upon another up the face of a great cliff, and embattled by divers many towers. And the nearer I came the more grew my wonder by reason of the hugeness of this structure, for these outer defences were builded of wrought stones, but of such monstrous bulk and might as seemed rather the work of sweating Titans than the labour of puny man; as indeed I told Sir Richard. "Aye, truly, Martin," said he, "this is the abiding wonder! Here standeth the noble monument of a once great and mighty people." In a little Atlamatzin brought us to a stair or causeway that mounted up from terrace to terrace, and behold, this stair was lined with warriors grasping shield and lance, and brave in feathered cloaks and headdresses and betwixt their ordered ranks one advancing,--an old man of a reverend bearing, clad in a black robe and on whose bosom shone and glittered a golden emblem that I took for the sun. Upon the lowest platform he halted and lifted up his hands as in greeting, whereon up went painted shield and glittering spear and from the stalwart warriors rose a lusty shout, a word thrice repeated. And now, to my wonder, forth stepped Atlamatzin, a proud and stately figure for all his rags, and lifting one hand aloft, spake to them in voice very loud and clear, pointing to us from time to time. When he had gone they shouted amain and, descending from the platform, the priest (as he proved to be) knelt before Atlamatzin to touch his heart and brow. And now came divers Indians bearing litters, the which, at Altlamatzin's word, Sir Richard and I entered and so, Pluto trotting beside us, were borne up from terrace to terrace unto the town. And I saw this had once been a goodly city though its glory was departed, its noble buildings decayed or ruinated and cheek by jowl with primitive dwellings of clay. And these greater houses were of a noble simplicity, flat-roofed and builded of a red, porous stone, in some cases coated with white cement, whiles here and there, towering high among these, rose huge structures that I took for palaces or temples, yet one and all timeworn and crumbling to decay. Before one of such, standing in a goodly square, we alighted and here found a crowd of people--men, women and children--who stood to behold us; a mild, well-featured people, orderly and of a courteous bearing, yet who stared and pointed, chattering, at sight of the dog. And if this were all of them, a pitiful few I thought them in contrast to this great square whence opened divers wide thoroughfares, and this mighty building that soared above us, its great walls most wonderful to sight by reason of all manner of decorations and carvings wrought into the semblance of writhing serpents cunningly intertwined. Betwixt a kind of gatehouse to right and left we entered an enclosure where stood the temple itself, reared upon terraces. Here Atlamatzin giving us to know we must leave the dog, Sir Richard tied him up, whereon Pluto, seeing us leave him, howled in remonstrance, but, obedient to Sir Richard's word, cowered to silence, yet mighty dismal to behold. And now, Atlamatzin and the High Priest leading the way, we to climb numberless steps, and though Richard found this no small labour despite my aid, at last we stood before the massy portal of the temple that seemed to scowl upon us. And from the dim interior rose a sound of voices chanting, drowned all at once in the roll of drums and blare of trumpets and Atlamatzin and the Priest entered, signing on us to follow. "Have your weapons ready, Martin!" gasped Sir Richard. "For I have heard evil tales of blood and sacrifice in such places as this!" And thus side by side we stepped into the cool dimness of this strange building. Once my eyes were accustomed to the gloom, I stood amazed by the vast extent of this mighty building and awed by the wonder of it. Midway burned a dim fire whose small flame flickered palely; all round us, huge and mountainous, rose the shapes of strange deities wonderfully wrought; round about the altar fire were grouped many black-robed priests and hard by this fire stood a thing that brought back memory of Adam Penfeather his words--of how he had fought for his life on the death-stone; and now, beholding this grim thing, I shifted round my sword and felt if my pistols were to hand. And now rose Atlamatzin's voice, rumbling in the dimness high overhead, and coming to us, he took us each by the hand and, leading us forward, spake awhile to the motionless priests, who, when he had done, came about us with hands uplifted in greeting. And now Atlamatzin spake us on this wise: "Father and my brother, well do I know ye have clean hearts despite your pale skins, so do I make ye welcome and free of this city that once was overruled by my forefathers. And because ye are white men, loving all such foolish things as all white men do love, follow me!" Saying which, he brought us before one of those great idols that glared down on us. I saw him lift one hand, then started back from the square of darkness that yawned suddenly as to engulf us. Taking a torch, Atlamatzin led us down steps and along a broad passage beneath the temple and so into a vasty chamber where lay that which gave back the light he bore; everywhere about us was the sheen of gold. In ordered piles, in great heaps, in scattered pieces it lay, wrought into a thousand fantastic shapes, as idols, serpents, basins, pots and the like,--a treasure beyond the telling. "Behold the white man's God, the cause of my people's woes, the ruin of our cities, of blood and battle!" And here he gives us to understand this wealth was ours if we would; all or such of it as we might bear away with us. Whereupon I shook my head and Sir Richard told him that of more use to him than all this treasure would be pen, inkhorn and paper, and a compass. Nothing speaking, Atlamatzin turned, and by a very maze of winding passageways brought us up the steps and so to a great and lofty chamber or hall where lay a vast medley of things: arms and armour, horse furniture and Spanish gear of every sort, and in one corner a small brass cannon, mounted on wheels. Amongst all of which Sir Richard began searching and had his patience rewarded, for presently he came on that he desired; viz: a travelling writing case with pens, paper, and a sealed bottle of ink, though why he should want such was beyond me, as I told him, whereat he did but smile, nothing speaking. So back we came and unloosed our dog (and he mighty rejoiced to see us) whereafter, by Atlamatzin's command, we were lodged in a chamber very sumptuous and with servants observant to our every want; for our meals were dishes a-plenty, savoury and excellent well cooked and seasoned, and for our drink was milk, or water cunningly flavoured with fruits, as good as any wine, to my thinking. And cups and platters, nay, the very pots, were all of pure gold. This night, having bathed me in a small bathhouse adjacent and very luxurious, I get me to bed early (which was no more than a mat) but Sir Richard, seated upon the floor hard by (for of chairs there were none), Sir Richard, I say, must needs fall to with pen and ink, the great hound drowsing beside him, so that, lulled by the soft scratching of his busy quill, I presently slumbered also. Next morning I awoke late to find Sir Richard squatted where he had sat last night, but this time, instead of writing case, across his knees lay a musket, and he was busied in setting a flint to the lock. "Why, sir--what now?" I questioned. "A musket, lad, and fifty-and-five others in the corner yonder and all serviceable, which is well." Now as I stared at him, his bowed figure and long white hair, there was about him (despite his benevolent expression) a certain grim, fighting look that set me wondering; moreover, upon the air I heard a stir that seemed all about us, a faint yet ominous clamour. "Sir," quoth I, getting to my feet, "what's to do?" "Battle, Martin!" said he, testing the musket's action. "Ha!" cried I, catching up my sword. "Are we beset?" "By an army of Spaniards and hostile Indians, Martin. In the night came Atlamatzin to say news had come of Indians from the West, ancient enemies of this people, led on by Spanish soldiers, cavalry and arquebuseros, and bidding us fly and save ourselves before the battle joined. But you were asleep, Martin, and besides, it seemed ill in us, that had eaten their bread, to fly and leave this poor folk to death--and worse--" "True enough, sir," said I, buckling my weapons about me, "but do you dream that we, you and I, can hinder such?" "'Twere at least commendable in us to so endeavour, Martin. Nor is it thing so impossible, having regard to these fifty-and-five muskets and the brass cannon, seeing there is powder and shot abundant." "How then--must we stay and fight?" I demanded. And beholding the grim set of his mouth and chin, at such odds with his white hair and gentle eyes, I knew that it must be so indeed. "'Twas so I thought, Martin," said he a little humbly, and laying his hands upon my shoulders, "but only for myself, dear lad, I fight better than I walk, so will I stay and make this my cumbersome body of some little use, perchance; but as for thee, dear and loved lad, I would have you haste on--" "Enough, sir," quoth I, catching his hands in mine, "if you must stay to fight, so do I." "Tush, Martin!" said he, mighty earnest. "Be reasonable! Atlamatzin hath vowed, supposing we beat off our assailants, to provide me bearers and a litter, so shall I travel at mine ease and overtake you very soon; wherefore, I bid you go--for her sake!" But finding me no whit moved by this or any other reason he could invent, he alternate frowned and sighed, and thereafter, slipping his arm in mine, brought me forth to show me such dispositions as he had caused to be made for the defence. Thus came we out upon the highest terrace, Pluto at our heels, and found divers of the Indians labouring amain to fill and set up baskets of loose earth after the manner of fascines, and showed me where he had caused them to plant our cannon where it might sweep that stair I have mentioned, and well screened from the enemy's observation and sheltered from his fire. And hard beside the gun stood barrels of musket balls, and round-shot piled very orderly, and beyond these, powder a-plenty in covered kegs. And now he showed me pieces of armour, that is, a vizored headpiece or armet, with cuirass, backplates, pauldrons and vambraces, all very richly gilded, the which it seemed he had chosen for my defence. "So, then, sir, you knew I should stay?" "Indeed, Martin," he confessed, a little discountenanced, "I guessed you might." But I (misliking to be so confined) would have none of this gilded armour until, seeing his distress, I agreed thereto if he would do the like; so we presently armed each other and I for one mighty hot and uncomfortable. Posted upon this, the highest terrace, at every vantage point were Indians armed with bows and arrows--men and women, aye and children--and all gazing ever and anon towards that belt of forest to the West where it seemed Atlamatzin, with ten chosen warriors, was gone to watch the approach of the invading host. Presently, from these greeny depths came a distant shot followed by others in rapid succession, and after some while, forth of the woods broke six figures that we knew for Atlamatzin and five of the ten, at sight of whom spear-points glittered and a lusty shout went up. "See now, Martin," quoth Sir Richard, speaking quick and incisive, a grim and warlike figure in his armour, for all his stoop and limping gait, "here's the way on't: let the Indians shoot their arrows as they may (poor souls!) but we wait until the enemy be a-throng upon the stair yonder, then we open on them with our cannon here,--'tis crammed to the muzzle with musket balls; then whiles you reload, I will to my fifty-and-five muskets yonder and let fly one after t'other, by which time you, having our brass piece ready, will reload so many o' the muskets as you may and so, God aiding, we will so batter these merciless Dons they shall be glad to give over their bloody attempt and leave these poor folk in peace." As he ended, came Atlamatzin, telling us he had fallen suddenly on the enemy's van and slain divers of them, showing us his axe bloody, and so away to hearten his people. At last, forth of the forest marched the enemy, rank on rank, a seemingly prodigious company. First rode horsemen a score, and behind these I counted some sixty musketeers and pikemen as many, marching very orderly and flashing back the sun from their armour, while behind these again came plumed Indians beyond count, fierce, wild figures that leapt and shouted high and shrill very dreadful to hear. On they came, leaping and dancing from the forest, until it seemed they would never end, nearer and nearer until we might see their faces and thus behold how these Spaniards talked and laughed with each other as about a matter of little moment. Indeed, it angered me to see with what careless assurance these steel-clad Spaniards advanced against us in their insolent might, and bold in the thought that they had nought to fear save Indian arrows and lances and they secure in their armour. Halting below the first terrace, they forthwith began assault, for whiles divers of the pikemen began to ascend the stairway, followed by their Indian allies, the musketeers let fly up at us with their pieces to cover their comrades' advance and all contemptuous of the arrows discharged against them. But hard beside the cannon stood Sir Richard, watching keen-eyed, and ever and anon blowing on the slow-match he had made, waiting until the stairway was choked with the glittering helmets and tossing feathers of the assailants. A deafening roar, a belch of flame and smoke that passing, showed a sight I will not seek to describe; nor did I look twice, but fell to work with sponge and rammer, loading this death-dealing piece as quickly as I might, while louder than the awful wailing that came from that gory shambles rose a wild hubbub from their comrades,--shouts and cries telling their sudden panic and consternation. But as they stood thus in huddled amaze, Sir Richard opened on them with his muskets, firing in rapid succession and with aim so deadly that they forthwith turned and ran for it, nor did they check or turn until they were out of range. Then back limped Sir Richard, his cheek flushed, his eyes bright and fierce in the shade of his helmet, his voice loud and vibrant with the joy of battle, and seeing how far the gun was recoiled, summoned divers of the Indians to urge it back into position; while this was doing, down upon this awful stair leapt Atlamatzin and his fellows and had soon made an end of such wounded as lay there. "I pray God," cried Sir Richard, harsh-voiced, as he struck flint and steel to relight his match, "I pray God this may suffice them!" And beholding the wild disorder of our assailants, I had great hopes this was so indeed, but as I watched, they reformed their ranks and advanced again, but with their Indians in the van, who suddenly found themselves with death before them and behind, for the Spanish musketeers had turned their pieces against them to force them on to the attacks. So, having no choice, these poor wretches came on again, leaping and screaming their battle cries until the stair was a-throng with them; on and up they rushed until Death met them in roaring flame and smoke. But now all about us was the hum of bullets, most of which whined harmlessly overhead, though some few smote the wall behind us. But small chance had I to heed such, being hard-set to prime and load as, time after time, these poor Indians, driven on by their cruel masters, rushed, and time after time were swept away; and thus we fought the gun until the sweat ran from me and I panted and cursed my stifling armour, stripping it from me piece by piece as occasion offered. And thus I took a scathe from bullet or splinter of stone, yet heeded not until I sank down sick and spent and roused to find Pluto licking my face and thereafter to see Sir Richard kneeling over me, his goodly armour dinted and scarred by more than one chance bullet. "Drink!" he commanded, and set water to my lips, the which mightily refreshed me. "Sir, what o' the fight?" I questioned. "Done, lad, so far as we are concerned," said he. "Atlamatzin fell upon 'em with all his powers and routed them--hark!" Sure enough, I heard the battle roar away into the forest and beyond until, little by little, it sank to a murmurous hum and died utterly away. But all about us were other sounds, and getting unsteadily to my legs, I saw the plain 'twixt town and forest thick-strewn with the fallen. "So then the town is saved, sir?" "God be praised, Martin!" "Why, then, let us on--to meet my dear lady!" But now came an Indian to bathe my hurt, an ugly tear in my upper arm, whereto he set a certain balsam and a dressing of leaves and so bound it up very deftly and to my comfort. And now was I seized of a fierce desire to be gone; I burned in a fever to tramp those weary miles that lay 'twixt me and my lady Joan; wherefore, heedless alike of my own weakness, of Sir Richard's remonstrances and weariness, or aught beside in my own fevered desire, I set out forthwith, seeing, as in a dream, the forms of Indians, men, women and children, who knelt and cried to us as in gratitude or farewell; fast I strode, all unmindful of the old man who plodded so patiently, limping as fast as he might to keep pace with me, heeding but dimly his appeals, his cries, hasting on and on until, stumbling at last, I sank upon my knees and, looking about, found myself alone and night coming down upon me apace. Then was I seized of pity for him and myself and a great yearning for my lady, and sinking upon my face I wept myself to sleep. CHAPTER XXX WE RESUME OUR JOURNEY I waked in a place of trees, very still and quiet save for the crackle of the fire that blazed near by. Close beside me lay my musket; pendant from a branch within reach dangled my sword. Hereupon, finding myself thus solitary, I began to call on Sir Richard and wondered to hear my voice so weak; yet I persisted in my shouting and after some while heard a joyous bark, and to me bounded Pluto to rub himself against me and butt at me with his great head. While I was caressing this good friend, cometh Sir Richard himself and in his hand a goodly fish much like to a trout. "Lord, Martin!" said he, sitting beside me, "'tis well art thyself again, lad. Last evening you must set out, and night upon us, must stride away like a madman and leave me alone; but for this good dog I should ha' lost you quite. See now, lad, what I have caught for our breakfast. I was a notable good angler in the old days and have not lost my cunning, it seems." Now as he showed me his fish and set about gutting and preparing it, I could not but mark his drawn and haggard look, despite his brave bearing, and my heart smote me. "Sir, you are sick!" quoth I. "Nay, Martin, I am well enough and able to go on as soon as you will. But for the present, rest awhile, lest the fever take you again, this cloak 'neath your head--so!" "What o'clock is it?" "Scarce noon and the sun very hot." "How came I here in the shade?" "I dragged you, Martin. Now sleep, lad, and I'll to my cooking." At this I protested I had no mind for sleep, yet presently slumbered amain, only to dream vilely of fire and of Adam and his fellows in desperate battle, and above the din of fight heard my lady calling on my name as one in mortal extremity and waking in sweating panic, my throbbing head full of this evil vision, was for setting out instantly to her succour. But at Sir Richard's desire I stayed to gulp down such food as he had prepared, telling him meanwhile of my vision and something comforted by his assurance that dreams went by contrary. Howbeit, the meal done, we set out once more, bearing due northeast by the compass Sir Richard had brought from the Maya city. So we journeyed through this tangled wilderness, my' head full of strange and evil fancies, cursing the wound that sapped my strength so that I must stumble for very weakness, yet dreaming ever of my lady's danger, struggling up and on until I sank to lie and curse or weep because of my helplessness. Very evil times were these, wherein I moved in a vague world, sometimes aware of Sir Richard's patient, plodding form, of the dog trotting before, of misty mountains, of rushing streams that must be crossed, of glaring heats and grateful shadow; sometimes I lay dazzled by a blazing sun, sometimes it was the fire and Sir Richard's travel-worn figure beyond, sometimes the calm serenity of stars, but ever and always in my mind was a growing fear, a soul-blasting dread lest our journey be vain, lest the peril that me thought threatened Joan be before us and we find her dead. And this cruel thought was like a whip that lashed me to a frenzy, so that despite wound and weakness I would drive my fainting body on, pursuing the phantom of her I sought and oft calling miserably upon her name like the madman I was; all of the which I learned after from Sir Richard. For, of an early morning I waked to find myself alone, but a fire of sticks burned brightly and against an adjacent rock stood our two muskets, orderly and to hand. Now as I gazed about, I was aware of frequent sighings hard by and going thitherward, beheld Sir Richard upon his knees, absorbed in a passion of prayer, his furrowed cheeks wet with tears. But beyond this I was struck with the change in him, his haggard face burned nigh black with fierce suns, his garments rent and tattered, his poor body more bent and shrunken than I had thought. Before him sat Pluto, wagging his tail responsive to every passionate gesture of those reverently clasped hands, but who, espying me, uttered his deep bark and came leaping to welcome me; whereupon, seeing I was discovered, I went to Sir Richard and, his prayer ended, lifted him in my arms. "Ah, Martin, dear lad," said he, embracing me likewise, "surely God hath answered my prayer. You are yourself again." And now, he sitting beside the fire whiles I prepared such food as we had, he told me how for five days I had been as one distraught, wandering haphazard and running like any madman, calling upon my lady's name, and that he should have lost me but for the dog. "Alas, dear sir," quoth I, abashed by this recital, "I fear in my fool's madness I have worn you out and nigh beyond endurance." "Nay, Martin," said he, "it doth but teach me what I knew, that lusty youth and feeble age are ill travelling companions, for needs must you go, your soul ever ahead of you, yet schooling your pace to mine, and for this I do love you so that I would I were dead and you free to speed on your strength--" "Never say so, dear father," quoth I, folding my arm about his drooping form, "my strength shall be yours henceforth." And presently he grew eager to be gone, but seeing me unwilling, grew the more insistent to travel so far as we might before the scorching heats should overtake us. So we started, I carrying his musket beside my own and despite his remonstrances. An evil country this, destitute of trees and all vegetation save small bushes few and prickly cactus a-many, a desolation of grim and jagged rocks and barren, sandy wastes full of sun-glare and intolerable heat. And now, our water being gone, we began to be plagued with thirst and a great host of flies so bold as to settle on our mouths, nostrils and eyes, so that we must be for ever slapping and brushing them away. Night found us faint and spent and ravenous for water and none to be found, and to add further to our agonies, these accursed flies were all about us still, singing and humming, and whose bite set up a tickling itch, so that what with these and our thirst we got little or no rest. "Martin," said Sir Richard, hearing me groan, "we should be scarce four days from the sea by my reckoning--" "Aye," said I, staring up at the glory of stars, "but how if we come on no water? Our journey shall end the sooner, methinks." "True, Martin," said he, "but we are sure to find water soon or late--" "God send it be soon!" I groaned. Here he sets himself to comfort Pluto who lay betwixt us, panting miserably, with lolling tongue or snapping fiercely at these pestilent flies. And thus we lay agonising until the moon rose and then, by common consent, we stumbled on, seeking our great desire. And now as I went, my mouth parched, my tongue thickening to the roof of my mouth, I must needs think of plashing brooks, of bubbling rills, of sweet and pellucid streams, so that my torment was redoubled, yet we dared not stop, even when day came. Then forth of a pitiless heaven blazed a cruel sun to scorch us, thereby adding to this agony of thirst that parched us where we crawled with fainting steps, our sunken eyes seeking vainly for the kindly shade of some tree in this arid desolation. And always was my mind obsessed by that dream of gurgling brooks and bubbling rills; and now I would imagine I was drinking long, cool draughts, and thrusting leathern tongue 'twixt cracking lips, groaned in sharper agony. So crept we on, mile after mile, hoping the next would show us some blessed glimpse of water, and always disappointed until at last it seemed that here was our miserable end. "Martin," gasped Sir Richard, sinking in my failing clasp, his words scarce articulate, "I can go no farther--leave me, sweet son--'tis better I die here--go you on--" "No!" groaned I, and seeing Sir Richard nigh to swooning, I took him in my arms. Reeling and staggering I bore him on, my gaze upon a few scattered rocks ahead of us where we might at least find shade from this murderous sun. Thus I struggled on until my strength failed and I sank to this burning sand where it seemed we were doomed to perish after all, here in this pitiless wild where even the dog had deserted us. And seeing Death so near, I clasped Sir Richard ever closer and strove to tell him something of my love for him, whereupon he raised one feeble hand to touch my drooping head. Now as I babbled thus, I heard a lazy flap of wings and lifting weary eyes, beheld divers of these great birds that, settling about, hopped languidly towards us and so stood to watch us, raffling their feathers and croaking hoarsely. So I watched them, and well-knowing what they portended, drew forth a pistol and, cocking it, had it ready to hand. But as I did so they broke into shrill clamour and, rising on heavy wings, soared away as came Pluto to leap about us, uttering joyous barks and butting at us with his head. And then I saw him all wet, nay, as I gazed on him, disbelieving my eyes, he shook himself, sprinkling us with blessed water. Somehow I was upon my feet and, taking Sir Richard's swooning body across my shoulder, I stumbled on towards that place of rocks, Pluto running on before and turning ever and anon to bark, as bidding me hasten. So at last, panting and all foredone, came I among these rocks and saw them open to a narrow cleft that gave upon a gorge a-bloom with flowers, a very paradise; and here, close to hand, a little pool fed by a rill or spring that bubbled up amid these mossy rocks. So took I this life-giving water in my two hands and dashed it in Sir Richard's face, and he, opening his eyes, uttered a hoarse cry of rapture. And so we drank, kneeling side by side. Yet our throats and tongues so swollen we could scarce swallow at the first, and yet these scant drops a very ecstasy. But when I would have drunk my fill, Sir Richard stayed me lest I do myself an injury and I, minding how poor souls had killed themselves thus, drank but moderately as he bade me, yet together we plunged our heads and arms into this watery delight, praising God and laughing for pure joy and thankfulness. Then, the rage of our thirst something appeased, we lay down within this shadow side by side and presently fell into a most blessed slumber. I waked suddenly to a piteous whining and, starting up, beheld Pluto crawling towards me, his flank transfixed with an Indian arrow. Up I sprang to wake Sir Richard and peer down into the shadowy gorge below, but saw no more than flowering thickets and bush-girt rock. But as I gazed thus, musket in hand, Sir Richard gave fire and while the report yet rang and echoed, I saw an Indian spring up from amid these bushes and go rolling down into the thickets below. "One, Martin!" quoth Sir Richard and, giving me his piece to reload, turned to minister to Pluto's hurt. Where he lay whining and whimpering. Suddenly an arrow struck the rock hard beside me and then came a whizzing shower, whereupon we took such shelter as offered and whence we might retort upon them with our shot. And after some while, as we lay thus, staring down into the gorge, came the report of a musket and a bullet whipped betwixt us. "Lord, Martin!" quoth Sir Richard cheerily, his eyes kindling. "It was vastly unwise to fall asleep by this well in so thirsty a country; 'tis a known place and much frequented, doubtless. Wisdom doth urge a retreat so soon as you have filled our water bottles; meantime I will do all I may to dissuade our assailants from approaching too near." So saying, he levelled his piece and, dwelling on his aim, fired, whiles I, screened from bullets and arrows alike, filled our flasks and doing so, espied a small cave, excellent suited to our defence and where two determined men might hold in check a whole army. Hereupon I summoned Sir Richard who, seeing this cave commanded the gorge and might only be carried in front, approved it heartily, so thither we repaired, taking Pluto with us and him very woful. And lying thus in our little fort we laid out our armament, that is, our two muskets and four pistols, and took stock of our ammunition, I somewhat dashed to find we had but thirty charges betwixt us, the pistols included. Sir Richard, on the other hand, seemed but the more resolute and cheery therefor. "For look now, Martin," said he, cocking his musket and levelling it betwixt the boulders we had piled to our better defence, "here we have fifteen lives, or say twenty, though you are better with sword than musket I take it; should these not suffice, then we have two excellent swords and lastly our legs, indifferent bad as regards mine own, but in a little 'twill be black dark, the moon doth not rise till near dawn. So here are we snug for the moment and very able to our defence these many hours, God be thanked!" And thus he of his own indomitable spirit cheered me. Suddenly he pulled trigger and as the smoke cleared I saw his bullet had sped true, for amid certain rocks below us a man rose up, clad in Spanish half-armour, and sinking forward, lay there motionless, plain to our view. "Two!" quoth Sir Richard, and fell to reloading his piece, wadding the charge with strips from his ragged garments. The fall of this Spaniard caused no little stir among our unseen assailants, for the air rang with fierce outcries and the shrill battle hootings of the Indians, and a shower of arrows rattled among the rocks about us and thereafter a volley of shot, and no scathe to us. "War is a hateful thing!" quoth Sir Richard suddenly. "See yon Spaniard I shot, God forgive me--hark how he groaneth, poor soul!" And he showed me the Spaniard, who writhed ever and anon where he lay across the rock and wailed feebly for water. "Methinks 'twere merciful to end his sufferings, Martin!" "Mayhap, sir, though we have few enough charges to spare!" "Thus speaketh cold prudence and common sense, Martin, and yet--" But here the matter was put beyond dispute for, even as Sir Richard levelled his musket, the wounded Spaniard slipped and rolled behind the rock and lay quite hid save for a hand and arm that twitched feebly ever and anon. "And he was crying for water!" sighed Sir Richard, "Thirst is an agony, as we do know. Hark, he crieth yet! Twere act commendable to give drink to a dying man, enemy though he be." "Most true, sir, but--nay, what would you?" I said, grasping his arm as he made to rise. "Endeavour as much good as I may in the little of life left to me, Martin. The poor soul lieth none so far and--" "Sir--sir!" quoth I, tightening my hold. "You would be shot ere you had gone a yard--are ye mad indeed or--do you seek death?" Now at this he was silent, and I felt him trembling. "This is as God willeth, Martin!" said he at last. "Howbeit I must go; prithee loose me, dear lad!" "Nay!" cried I harshly. "If you will have our enemy drink, I shall bear it myself--" "No, no!" cried he, grappling me in turn as I rose. "What I may do you cannot--be reasonable, Martin--you bulk so much greater than I, they cannot fail of such a mark--" Now as we argued the matter thus, each mighty determined, Pluto set up a joyous barking and, rising on three legs, stood with ears cocked and tail wagging, the which put me in no small perplexity until, all at once, certain bushes that grew hard by swayed gently and forth of the leaves stepped an Indian clad for battle, like a great chief or cacique (as 'tis called) for on arm and breast and forehead gold glittered, and immediately we knew him for Atlamatzin. "Greeting to ye, father and brother!" said he, saluting us in his grave and stately fashion. "Atlamatzin and his people are full of gratitude to ye and because ye are great and notable warriors, scornful of the white man's God, Atlamatzin and his warriors have followed to do ye homage and bring ye safe to your journey's end, and finding ye, lo! we find also our enemies, whose eyes seeing nought but ye two, behold nought of the death that creepeth about them; so now, when the shadow shall kiss the small rock yonder, do you make your thunder and in that moment shall Atlamatzin smite them to their destruction and, if the gods spare him, shall surely find ye again that are his father and brother!" Something thus spake he below his breath in his halting Spanish, very grave and placid, then saluting us, was gone swift and silent as he came. "An inch!" quoth Sir Richard, pointing to the creeping shadow and so we watched this fateful shade until it was come upon the rock, whereupon I let off my piece and Sir Richard a moment after, and like an echo to these shots rose sudden dreadful clamour, shouts, the rapid discharge of firearms; but wilder, fiercer, and louder than all the shrill and awful Indian battle cry. And now, on bush-girt slopes to right and left was bitter strife, a close-locked fray that burst suddenly asunder and swirled down till pursued and pursuer were lost amid that tangle of blooming thickets where it seemed the battle clamoured awhile, then roared away as the enemy broke and fled before the sudden furious onset of Atlamatzin's warriors. As for us, we lay within our refuge, nor stirred until this din of conflict was but a vague murmur, for though we might see divers of the fallen where they lay, these neither stirred nor made any outcry since it seemed their business was done effectually. "And now, Martin," said Sir Richard, rising, "'tis time we got hence lest any of our assailants come a-seeking us." So being out of the cave, I set myself to see that we had all our gear to hand, to empty and refill my flask with this good water and the like until, missing Sir Richard, I turned to behold him already hard upon that rock where lay the wounded Spaniard, Pluto limping at his heels. Being come to the rock, Sir Richard unslung his water bottle and stopped, was blotted out in sudden smoke-cloud, and, even as the report reached me, I began to run, raving like any madman; and thus, panting out prayers and curses, I came where stood Sir Richard leaning against this rock, one hand clasped to his side, and the fingers of this hand horribly red. And now I was aware of a shrill screaming that, ending suddenly, gave place to dreadful snarling and worrying sound, but heedless of aught but Sir Richard's wound, I ran to bear him in my arms as he fell. "Oh, Martin," said he faintly, looking up at me with his old brave smile, "'tis come at last--my journeying is done--" Scarce knowing what I did, I gathered him to my bosom and bore him back to the cave; and now, when I would have staunched his hurt, he shook feeble head. "Let be, dear lad," said he, "nought shall avail--not all your care and love--for here is friend Death at last come to lift me up to a merciful God!" None the less I did all that I might for his hurt save to probe for the pistol ball that was gone too deep. And presently, as I knelt beside him in a very agony of helplessness, cometh Pluto, fouled with blood other than his own, and limping hither, cast himself down, his great paw across Sir Richard's legs, licking at those weary feet that should tramp beside us no farther. And thus night found us. "Martin," said Sir Richard suddenly, his voice strong, "bear me out where I may behold the stars, for I--ever loved them and the wonder of them--even in my--unregenerate days." So I bore him without, and indeed the heavens were a glory. "Dear lad," said he, clasping my hand, "grieve not that I die, for Death is my friend--hath marched beside me these many weary miles, yet spared me long enough to know and love you ever better for the man you are.--Now as to Joan, my daughter, I--grieve not to see her--but--God's will be done, lad, Amen. And because I knew I must die here in Darien, I writ her a letter--'tis here in my bosom--give it her, saying I--ever loved her greatly more than I let her guess and that--by my sufferings I was a something better man, being--humbler, gentler, and of--a contrite heart. And now, Martin--thou that didst forgive and love thine enemy, saving him at thine own peril and using him as thy dear friend--my time is come--I go into the infinite--Death's hand is on me but--a kindly hand--lifting me--to my God--my love shall go with ye--all the way--you and her--alway. Into Thy hands, O Lord!" And thus died my enemy, like the brave and noble gentleman he was, his head pillowed upon my bosom, his great soul steadfast and unfearing to the last. And I, a lost and desolate wretch, wept at my bitter loss and cried out against the God who had snatched from me this the only man I had ever truly loved and honoured. And bethinking me of his patient endurance, I thought I might have been kinder and more loving in many ways and to my grief was added bitter self-reproaches. At last, the day appearing, I arose and, taking up my dead, bore him down to the gorge and presently came upon a quiet spot unsullied by the foulness of battle; and here, amid the glory of these blooming thickets, I laid him to his last rest, whiles Pluto watched me, whining ever and anon. And when I had made an end, I fell on my knees and would have prayed, yet could not. So back went I at last, slow-footed, to the cave and thus came on Sir Richard's letter, it sealed and superscribed thus: Unto my loved daughter, Joan Brandon, And beholding this beloved name, a great heart-sickness came on me with a vision of a joy I scarce dared think on that had been mine but for my blind selfishness and stubborn will; and with this was a knowledge of all the wasted years and a loss unutterable. And thus my grief took me again, so that this letter was wetted with tears of bitter remorse. At last I arose (the letter in my bosom) and girding my weapons about me (choosing that musket had been Sir Richard's) stood ready to begone. But now, missing the dog, I called to him, and though he howled in answer, he came not, wherefore following his outcries, they brought me to Sir Richard's grave and Pluto crouched thereby, whimpering. At my command he limped towards me a little way, then crawled back again, and this he did as often as I called, wherefore at last I turned away and, setting forth in my loneliness, left these two together. CHAPTER XXXI I MEET A MADMAN Having taken my bearings, I set off at speed nor did I stay for rest or refreshment until I had traversed many miles and the sun's heat was grown nigh intolerable. So I halted in such shade as the place offered and having eaten and drunk, I presently fell asleep and awoke to find the day far spent and to look around for Sir Richard as had become my wont. And finding him not, in rushed memory to smite me anew with his death, so that I must needs fall to thinking of his lonely grave so far behind me in these wilds; wherefore in my sorrow I bitterly cursed this land of cruel heat, of quenchless thirst and trackless, weary ways, and falling on my knees, I prayed as I had never prayed, humbly and with no thought of self, save that God would guide me henceforth and make me more worthy the great health and strength wherewith He had blessed me, and, if it so pleased Him, bring me safe at last to my dear lady's love. Thus after some while I arose and went my solitary way, and it seemed that I was in some ways a different and a better man, by reason of Sir Richard his death and my grief therefor. And as the darkness of night deepened about me and I striding on, guided by the dim-seen needle of my compass, often I would fancy Sir Richard's loved form beside me or the sound of his limping step in my ear, so that in the solitude of this vasty wilderness I was not solitary, since verily his love seemed all about me yet, even as he had promised. All this night I travelled apace nor stayed until I fell for very weariness and lying there, ate such food as I had, not troubling to light a fire, and fell asleep. Now as I lay, it seemed that Sir Richard stood above me, his arm reached out as to fend from me some evil thing, yet when he spoke, voice and words were those of Joanna: "Hola, Martino fool, and must I be for ever saving your life?" And now I saw it was Joanna indeed who stood there, clad in her male attire, hand on hip, all glowing, insolent beauty; but as I stared she changed, and I saw her as I had beheld her last, her gown and white bosom all dabbled with her blood, but on her lips was smile ineffably tender and in her eyes the radiance of a joy great beyond all telling. "Lover Martino," said she, bending above me, "I went for you to death, unfearing, for only the dead do know the perfect love, since death is more than life, so is my love around you for ever--wake, beloved!" Herewith she bent and touched me and, waking, I saw this that touched me was no more than the leafy end of a branch 'neath which I chanced to lie,--but pendant from this swaying branch I espied a monstrous shape that writhed toward me in the dimness; beholding which awful, silent thing I leapt up, crying out for very horror and staying but to snatch my gun, sped from this evil place, nigh sick with dread and loathing. The moon was up, dappling these gloomy shades with her pure light and as I sped, staring fearfully about me, I espied divers of these great serpents twisted among the boughs overhead, and monstrous bat-like shapes that flitted hither and thither so that I ran in sweating panic until the leafage, above and around me, thinning out, showed me the full splendour of this tropic moon and a single great tree that soared mightily aloft to thrust out spreading branches high in air. Now as I approached this, I checked suddenly and, cocking my musket, called out in fierce challenge, for round the bole of this tree peeped the pallid oval of a face; thrice I summoned, and getting no answer, levelled and fired point-blank, the report of my piece waking a thousand echoes and therewith a chattering and screeching from the strange beasts that stirred in the denser woods about me; and there (maugre my shot), there, I say, was the face peering at me evilly as before. But now something in its stark and utter stillness clutched me with new dread as, slinging my musket and drawing pistol, I crept towards this pallid, motionless thing and saw it for a face indeed, with mouth foolishly agape, and presently beheld this for a man fast-bound to the tree and miserably dead by torture. And coming near this awful, writhen form, I apprehended something about it vaguely familiar, and suddenly (being come close) saw this poor body was clad as an English sailor; perceiving which, I shivered in sudden dread and made haste to recharge my musket, spilling some of my precious powder in my hurry, and so hasting from this awful thing with this new dread gnawing at my heart. Presently before me rose steepy crags very wild and desolate, but nowhere a tree to daunt me. Here I halted and my first thought to light a fire, since the gloomy thickets adjacent and the sombre forests beyond were full of unchancy noises, stealthy rustlings, shrill cries and challengings very dismal to hear. But in a while, my fire burning brightly, sword loose in scabbard, musket across my knee and my back 'gainst the rock, I fell to pondering my dream and the wonder of it, of Joanna and her many noble qualities, of her strange, tempestuous nature; and lifting my gaze to the wonder of stars, it seemed indeed that she, though dead, yet lived and must do so for ever, even as these quenchless lights of heaven; and thus I revolved the mystery of life and death until sleep stole upon me. I waked suddenly to snatch up my musket and peer at the dim figure sitting motionless beyond the dying fire, then, as a long arm rose in salutation, lowered my weapon, mighty relieved to recognise the Indian, Atlamatzin. "Greeting, my brother," quoth he; "all yesterday I followed on thy track, but my brother is swift and Atlamatzin weary of battle." "And what of the battle?" "Death, my brother: as leaves of the forest lie the Maya warriors, but of our enemies none return. So am I solitary, my work done, and solitary go I to Pachacamac that lieth beside the Great Sea. But there is an empty place betwixt us, brother--what of the old cacique so cunning in battle--what of my father?" Here, as well as I might, I told him of Sir Richard's cruel murder; at this he was silent a great while, staring sombrely into the fire. Suddenly he started and pointed upward at a great, flitting shape that hovered above us and sprang to his feet as one sore affrighted, whereupon I told him this was but a bat (though of monstrous size) and could nothing harm us. "Nay, brother, here is Zotzilaha Chimalman that reigneth in the House of Bats, for though Atlamatzin was born without fear, yet doth he respect the gods, in especial Zotzilaha Chimalman!" Now hereupon, seeing the dawn was at hand, I rose, nor waited a second bidding for, gods or no, this seemed to me a place abounding in terrors and strange evils, and I mighty glad of this Indian's fellowship. So up I rose, tightening my girdle, but scarce had I shouldered my musket than I stood motionless, my heart a-leaping, staring towards a certain part of the surrounding woods whence had sounded a sudden cry. And hearkening to this, back rushed that sick dread I had known already, for this was a human cry, very desolate and wistful, and the words English: "Jeremy, ahoy--oho, Jeremy!" Breaking the spell that numbed me, I made all haste to discover the wherefore of these dolorous sounds and plunged into the noxious gloom of the woods, Atlamatzin hard on my heels; and ever as we went, guided by these hoarse shouts, the dawn lightened about us. Thus presently I espied a forlorn figure afar off, crouched beneath a tree, a strange, wild figure that tossed a knife from hand to hand and laughed and chattered 'twixt his shouting. "Ahoy, Jerry, I'm all adrift--where be you? I'm out o' my soundings, lad--'tis me--'tis Dick--your old messmate as drank many a pint wi' you alongside Deptford Pool--Ahoy, Jeremy!" Now espying us where we stood, he scrambled to his feet, peering at us, through his tangled hair: then, dropping his knife, comes running, his arms outstretched, then checks as suddenly and stares me over with a cunning leer. "Avast, Dick!" said he, smiting himself on ragged breast. "This bean't poor Jerry--poor Jerry ain't half his size--a little man be Jeremy, not so big as Sir Adam--" "Who!" cried I and, dropping my gun, I caught him by his ragged sleeve, whereupon he grinned foolishly, then as suddenly scowled and wrenched free. "Speak, man!" said I in passionate pleading. "Is it Sir Adam Penfeather you mean--Captain Penfeather?" "Maybe I do an' maybe I don't, so all's one!" said he. "Howsomever, 'tis Jerry I'm arter--my mate Jeremy as went adrift from me--my mate Jerry as could sing so true, but I was the lad to dance!" And here he must needs fall a-dancing in his rags, singing hoarsely: "Heave-ho, lads, and here's my ditty! Saw ye e'er in town or city A lass to kiss so sweet an' pretty As Bess o' Bednall Green. "Heave-ho, lads, she's one to please ye Bess will kiss an' Bess will--" "Oho, Jerry--Jeremy--ahoy--haul your wind, lad; bear up, Jerry, an' let Dick come 'longside ye, lad--!" and here the poor wretch, from singing and dancing, falls to doleful wailing with gush of tears and bitter sobs. "Tell me," said I as gently as I might and laying a hand on his hairy shoulder, "who are you--the name of your ship--who was your captain?" But all I got was a scowl, a sudden buffet of his fist, and away he sped, raising again his hoarse and plaintive cry: "Ahoy, Jerry--Jeremy, ho!" And thus, my mind in a ferment, I must needs watch him go, torn at by briars, tripped by unseen obstacles, running and leaping like the poor, mad thing he was. Long I stood thus in painful perplexity, when I heard a sudden dreadful screaming at no great distance: "Oh, Jerry--Oh, Jerry, lad--what ha' they done to thee--Oh, Christ Jesus!" Then came a ringing shot, and guessing what this was I turned away, "Atlamatzin," said I, taking up my musket, "you spake truth--verily this place is accursed--come, let us begone!" For long hours I strode on, scarce heeding my silent companion or aught else, my mind pondering the mention this poor, mad wretch had made of "Sir Adam," and ever my trouble grew, for if he and the dead man Jeremy were indeed of Adam's company (the which I suspected) how should they come thus lost in the wild, except Adam had met with some disaster, and were this truly so indeed, then what of my dear and gentle lady? And now I must needs picture to myself Adam slain, his men scattered and, for Joan, such horrors that it was great wonder I did not run mad like this poor, lost mariner. Tormented thus of my doubts and most horrid speculations, I went at furious speed, yet ever my fears grew the more passionate until it grew beyond enduring and I sighed and groaned, insomuch that my Indian comrade stood off, eyeing me askance where I had cast myself miserably beside the way. "My brother is haunted by the evil spirits sent abroad for his destruction by Chimalman, so shall he presently run mad and become sacred to Zotzilaha Chimalman and suddenly die, except he obey me. For I, Atlamatzin, that am without fear and wise in the magic of my people, shall drive hence these devils an ye will." "Do aught you will," groaned I, "if you can but rid me of evil fancies and imaginings." Forthwith he kindled a fire and I, watching dull and abstracted, being full of my trouble, was aware of him cracking and bruising certain herbs or leaves he had plucked, mingling these with brownish powder from the deerskin pouch he bore at his girdle, which mixture he cast upon the fire, whence came a smoke very sweet and pungent that he fanned towards me. "Behold my smoke, brother!" saith he, his voice suddenly loud and commanding, "smell of it and watch how it doth thicken and close about thee!" And verily as I looked, I saw nought but a column of whirling smoke that grew ever more dense and in it, this loud compelling voice. "Hearken, my brother, to the voices of thy good angels; behold and see truth afar--" The loud voice died away and in its place came another, and I knew that Joanna spoke to me out of this whirling smoke cloud. "Oh, Martino, hast thou so little faith to think my blood spilt in vain? Did I not give thee unto her that waiteth, living but for thee, yes? Look and behold!" I saw a gleam of metal amid the green and four ship's culverins or demi-cannon mounted on rough, wheeled carriages and hauled at by wild-looking men, who toiled and sweated amain, for the way was difficult and their ordnance heavy; and amongst these men one very quick and active, very masterful of look and imperious of gesture, a small man in battered harness, and knowing him for Adam, I would have hailed him, but even then he was gone and nought to see but this writhing smoke cloud. I beheld a great, orbed moon, very bright and clear, and slumbering in this calm radiance a goodly city with a harbour where rode many ships great and small, and beside this harbour, defending these ships and the city itself, a notable strong castle or fort, high-walled and embattled, with great ordnance mounted both landward and towards the sea. And nigh upon this fort I beheld the stealthy forms of men, toilworn and ragged, whose battered, rusty armour glinted ever and anon as they crept in two companies advancing to right and left. Behind these, masked in the brush on the edge of the forest, four demi-cannon with gunners to serve them, foremost of whom was a short, squat fellow who crept from gun to gun, and him I knew for Godby. And presently from these four guns leapt smoke and flame to batter and burst asunder the postern gate of the fort, and through this ruin I saw Adam leap, sword in hand, his desperate company hard on his heels. I saw a great galleon spread her sails against the moon, and the red glare of her broadside flame against the town as, squaring her yards, she bore away for the open sea. I saw the deck of a ship, deserted save for one desolate figure that stood gazing ever in the one direction; and as I watched, eager-eyed, this lonely figure knelt suddenly and reached towards me yearning arms, and I saw this was my beloved Joan. Now would I have leapt to those empty arms, but the smoke blinded me again, and in this smoke I heard the voice of Joanna. "Oh, Martino, thou that love doth make coward, be comforted and of good courage, for: thy happiness is hers--and mine, yes!" So I presently waked and, staring about me, started up amazed to see it was dawn and the sun rising already, and beyond the fire the sombre form of Atlamatzin. "Are the evil spirits fled from my brother?" he questioned. "Indeed," said I, "I have dreamed wonderfully and to my great comfort." "Great is the magic of Atlamatzin!" quoth he. "'Tis secret that shall die with him and that soon, for now must he begone to achieve his destiny. As for thee--yonder, a day's journey, lieth the Great Water. May Kukulcan have thee in his care, he that is Father of Life--fare ye well." But at this, seeing him on his feet, I rose also, to grasp his hand, asking whither he went. For answer he pointed to the trackless wild and then raised his finger to the sun that was flooding the world with his splendour. "Brother," said Atlamatzin, pointing to this glory, "I go back whence I came, back to Kukulcan that some so call Quetzalcoati, back to the Father of Life!" So saying, he lifted hand aloft in salutation and turning, strode away due east, so that his form was swallowed up (as it were) in this radiant glory. CHAPTER XXXII HOW I FOUND MY BELOVED AT LAST Left alone, I broke my fast with such food as I had, meanwhile meditating upon the visions of last night, debating within myself if this were indeed a marvel conjured up of Atlamatzin his black magic, or no more than a dream of my own tortured mind, to the which I found no answer, ponder the matter how I might. None the less I found myself much easier, the haunting fear clean lifted from me; nay, in my heart sang Hope, blithe as any bird, for the which comfort I did not fail humbly to thank God. I now consulted my compass and decided to bear up more northerly lest I strike too far east and thus overshoot that bay Adam had marked on his chart. So having collected my gear, I took my musket in the crook of my arm and set out accordingly. Before me was a wild, rolling country that rose, level on level, very thick of brush and thickets so tangled that I must oft win me a path by dint of mine axe. Yet I struggled on as speedily as I might (maugre this arduous labour and the sun's heat) for more than once amid the thousand heavy scents of flower and herb and tree, I thought to catch the sweet, keen tang of the sea. All this day I strode resolutely forward, scarce pausing to eat or drink, nor will I say more of this day's journey except that the sun was setting as I reached the top of a wooded eminence and, halting suddenly, fell upon my knees and within me such a joy as I had seen the gates of paradise opening to receive me; for there, all glorious with the blaze of sunset, lay the ocean at last. And beholding thus my long and weary journey so nearly ended, and bethinking me how many times God had preserved me and brought me safe through so many dire perils of this most evil country, I bowed my head and strove to tell Him my heart's gratitude. My prayer ended (and most inadequate!) I began to run, my weariness all forgot, the breath of the sea sweet in my nostrils, nor stayed until I might look down on the foaming breakers far below and hear their distant roar. Long stood I, like one entranced, for from this height I could make out the blue shapes of several islands and beyond these a faint blur upon the horizon, the which added greatly to my comfort and delight, since this I knew must be the opposite shore of Terra Firma or the Main, and this great body of water the Gulf of Darien itself. And so came night. All next day I followed the coast, keeping the sea upon my left, looking for some such landlocked harbourage with its cliff shaped like a lion's head as Adam had described, yet though I was at great pains (and no small risk to my neck) to peer down into every bay I came upon, nowhere did I discover any such bay or cliff as bore out his description; thus night found me eager to push on, yet something despondent and very weary. So I lighted my fire and ate my supper, harassed by a growing dread lest I was come too far to the east, after all. And presently up came the moon in glory; indeed, never do I remember seeing it so vivid bright, its radiance flashing back from the waters far below and showing tree and bush and precipitous cliff, very sharp and clear. Upon my left, as I sat, the jagged coast line curved away out to sea, forming thus the lofty headland I had traversed scarce an hour since, that rose sheer from the moon-dappled waters, a huge, shapeless bluff. Now after some while I arose, and seeing the moon so glorious, shouldered my gun, minded to seek a little further before I slept. I had gone thus but a few yards, my gaze now on the difficult path before me, now upon the sea, when, chancing to look towards the bluff I have mentioned, I stopped to stare amazed, for in this little distance, this formless headland, seen from this angle, had suddenly taken a new shape and there before me, plain and manifest, was the rough semblance of a lion's head; and I knew that betwixt it and the high cliff whereon I stood must be Adam's excellent secure haven. This sudden discovery filled me with such an ecstacy that I fell a-trembling, howbeit I began to quest here and there for some place where I might get me down whence I might behold this bay and see if Adam's ship lay therein. And in a little, finding such a place, I began to descend and found it so easy and secure it seemed like some natural stair, and I did not doubt that Adam and his fellows had belike used it as such ere now. At last I came where I could look down into a narrow bay shut in by these high, bush-girt cliffs and floored with gleaming, silver sand, whose waters, calm and untroubled, mirrored the serene moon, and close under the dense shadows of these cliffs I made out the loom of a great ship. Hereupon I looked no more, but gave all my attention to hands and feet, and so, slipping and stumbling in my eagerness, got me down at last and began running across these silvery sands. But as I approached the ship where she lay now plain in my view, I saw her topmasts were gone, and beholding the ruin of her gear and rigging, I grew cold with sudden dread and came running. She lay upon an even keel, her forefoot deep-buried in the shifting sand that had silted about her with the tide, and beholding her paint and gilding blackened and scorched by fire, her timbers rent and scarred by shot, I knew this fire-blackened, shattered wreck would never sail again. And now as I viewed this dismal ruin, I prayed this might be some strange ship rather than that I had come so far a-seeking and, so praying, waded out beneath her lofty stern (the tide being low) and, gazing up, read as much of her name as the searing fire had left: viz: D E L.... A N C E And hereupon, knowing her indeed for Adam's ship, I took to wandering round about her, gazing idly up at this pitiful ruin, until there rushed upon me the realisation of what all this meant. Adam was dead or prisoner, and my dear lady lost to me after all; my coming was too late. And now a great sickness took me, my strength deserted me and, groaning, I sank upon the sand and lying thus, yearned amain for death. Then I heard a sound, and lifting heavy head, beheld one who stood upon the bulwark above me, holding on by a backstay with one hand and pistol levelled down at me in the other. And beholding this slender, youthful figure thus outlined against the moon, the velvet coat brave with silver lace, the ruffles at throat and wrist, the silken stockings and buckled shoes, I knew myself surely mad, for this I saw was Joanna--alive and breathing. "Shoot!" I cried, "Death has reft from me all I loved--shoot!" "Martin!" cried she, and down came the pistol well-nigh upon me where I lay. "Oh, dear, kind God, 'tis Martin!" "Joan?" said I, wondering, "Damaris--beloved!" I was on my feet and, heaving myself up by means of the tangle of gear that hung from the ship's lofty side I sprang upon the deck and fell on my knees to clasp this lovely, trembling youth in my hungry arms, my head bowed against this tender woman's body, lest she see how I wept out of pure joy and thankfulness. But now she raised my head, and thus I saw her weeping also, felt her tears upon my face; and now she was laughing albeit she wept still, her two hands clasping me to her. "Such a great--fierce--wild man!" she sobbed; and then: "My man!" and stooping, she kissed me on the lips. But as for me, I could but gaze up at her in rapture and never a word to say. Then she was on her knees before me and thus we knelt in each other's fast clasping arms. "Oh, Martin!" said she. "Oh, loved Martin--God hath answered my ceaseless prayers!" And now when she would have voiced to Him her gratitude, I must needs crush her upon my heart to look down into this flushed and tear-wet face that held for me the beauty of all the world and to kiss away her prayers and breath together, yet even so did she return my kisses. At last we arose but had gone scarce a step when we were in each other's arms again, to stand thus fast clasped together, for I almost dreaded she might vanish again and feared to let her go. "We have been parted so cruelly--so often!" said I. "But never again, my Martin!" "No, by God!" quoth I fervently. "Not even death--" "Not even death!" said she. And thus we remained a great while, wandering to and fro upon the weather-beaten deck, very silent for the most part, being content with each other's nearness and, for myself, merely to behold her loveliness was joy unutterable. She brought me into Adam's great cabin under the poop, lighted by a great swinging silver lamp, its stern windows carefully shaded, lest any see this betraying beam; and standing amid all the luxury of tapestried hangings and soft carpets, I felt myself mighty strange and out of place; and presently, catching sight of myself in one of the mirrors, I stood all abashed to behold the unlovely object I was in my rough and weather-stained garments, my face burned nigh black by the sun and all set about in a tangle of wild hair and ragged beard. "Is it so great wonder I should not know you at first, dear Martin, and you so wild and fierce-seeming?" "Indeed I am an ill spectacle," quoth I; at this, beholding me thus rueful, she fell to kissing me, whereat I did but miscall myself the more, telling her 'twas great marvel she should love one so ill-matched with her; for, said I, "here are you beautiful beyond all women, and here stand I, of manners most uncouth, harsh-featured, slow of tongue, dull-witted, and one you have seldom seen but in sorry rags!" "Oh, my dearest heart," said she, nestling but closer in my embrace, "here is long catalogue and 'tis for each and every I do love you infinitely more than you do guess, and for this beside--because you are Martin Conisby that I have loved, do love, and shall love always and ever!" "And there's the marvel!" quoth I, kissing her bowed head. "And you do think me--very beautiful, Martin?" "Aye, I do." "Even clad--in these--these things?" she questioned, not looking at me. "Aye, truly!" "I had not meant you to see me thus, Martin, but it was my custom to watch for your coming, and 'twas hard to climb the cliff in petticoats, and besides, since I have been alone, there was so much to do--and it didn't matter." "Aye, but how came you alone, what of Adam and the rest?" "Nay, 'tis long story." "But why are you thus solitary, you that do so fear solitude, as I remember." "When Adam marched away, I stayed to wait for you, Martin." "For me?" "Yes, Martin!" "Were you not afraid?" "Often," said she, clasping me tighter, "but you are come at last, so are my fears all past and done. And, more than the loneliness I feared lest you should come and find this poor ship all deserted, and lose hope and faith in God's mercy." "Oh, my brave, sweet soul!" said I, falling on my knees to kiss her hands. "Oh, God love you for this--had I found you not, I should have dreamed you dead and died myself, cursing God." "Ah hush," said she, closing my lips with her sweet fingers. "Rather will we bless Him all our days for giving us such a love!" And now having no will or thought to sleep, she sets about preparing supper, while I with scissors, razors, etc. (that she had brought at my earnest entreaty), began to rid my face of its shaggy hair, and busied with my razor, must needs turn ever and anon for blessed sight of her where she flitted lightly to and fro, she bidding me take heed lest I cut myself. Cut myself I did forthwith, and she, beholding the blood, must come running to staunch it and it no more than a merest nick. And now, seeing her thus tender of me who had endured so many hurts and none to grieve or soothe, I came very near weeping for pure joy. And now as she bustled to and fro, she fell silent and oft I caught her viewing me wistfully, and once or twice she made as to speak yet did not, and I, guessing what she would say, would have told her, yet could think of no gentle way of breaking the matter, ponder how I might, and in the end blurted out the bald truth, very sudden and fool-like, as you shall hear. For, at last, supper being over (and we having eaten very little and no eyes for our food or aught in the world save each other) my lady questioned me at last. "Dear Martin, what of my father?" "Why, first," said I, avoiding her eyes, "he is dead!" "Yes!" said she faintly, "this I guessed." "He died nobly like the brave gentleman he was. I buried him in the wilderness, where flowers bloomed, three days march back." "In the wilderness?" says she a little breathlessly. "But he was in prison!" "Aye, 'twas there I found him. But we escaped by the unselfish bravery and kindness of Don Federigo. So together we set out to find you." "Together, Martin?" "Yes, and he very cheery, despite his sufferings." "Sufferings, Martin?" "He--he halted somewhat in his walk--" "Nay, he was strong, as I remember--ah, you mean they--had tortured him--" "Aye," said I, dreading to see her grief. "Yet despite their devilish cruelties, he rose triumphant above agony of body, thereby winning to a great and noble manhood, wherefore I loved and honoured him beyond all men--" "He was--your enemy--" "He was my friend, that comforted me when I was greatly afraid; he was my companion amid the perils of our cruel journey, calm and undismayed, uncomplaining, brave, and unselfish to his last breath, so needs must I cherish his memory." "Martin!" Lifting my head I saw she was looking at me, her vivid lips quivering, her eyes all radiant despite their tears, and then, or ever I might prevent, she was kneeling to me, had caught my hand and kissed it passionately. "Oh, man that I love--you that learned to--love your enemy!" "Nay, my Damaris, 'twas he that taught me how to love him, 'twas himself slew my hatred!" And now, drawing her to my heart, I told her much of Sir Richard's indomitable spirit and bravery, how in my blind haste I would march him until he sank swooning by the way, of our fightings and sufferings and he ever serene and undismayed. I told of how we had talked of her beside our camp fires and how, dying, he had bid me tell her he had ever loved her better than he had let her guess, and bethinking me of his letter at last, I gave it to her. But instead of reading it, she put this letter in her pocket. "Come," said she, "'tis near the dawn, and you weary with your journey, 'tis time you were abed." And when I vowed I was not sleepy, she took my hand (as I had been a child) and bringing me into that had been Adam's cabin, showed me his bed all prepared. "It hath waited for these many weeks, dear Martin!" said she, smoothing the pillows with gentle hand. "But we have so much to tell each other--" "To-morrow!" Hereupon she slipped past me to the door and stood there to shake admonishing finger: "Sleep!" said she, nodding her lovely head mighty determined, "and scowl not, naughty child, I shall be near you--to--to mother you--nay, come and see for yourself." So saying, she took my hand again and brought me into the next cabin, a fragrant nest, dainty-sweet as herself, save that in the panelling above her bed she had driven two nails where hung a brace of pistols. Seeing my gaze on these, she shivered suddenly and nestled into my arm. "Oh, Martin," said she, her face hid against me, "one night I seemed to hear a foot that crept on the deck above, and I thought I should have died with fear. So I kept these ever after, one for--them, and the other for myself." "And all this you endured for my sake!" quoth I. "And God hath sent you safe to me, dear Martin, to take care of me, so am I safe with nought to fright or harm me henceforth." "Nothing under heaven," quoth I. Very gingerly she took down the pistols and gave them to me and, bringing me to the door, kissed me. "Good night, dear heart!" said she softly. "God send you sweet dreams!" Thus came I back to my cabin and laying by the pistols, got me to bed, and mighty luxurious, what with these sheets and pillows, and yet, or ever I had fully appreciated the unwonted comfort, I was asleep. I waked to the sudden clasp of her soft arms and a tear-wet cheek against mine, and opening my eyes, saw her kneeling by my bed in the grey dawn. "Oh, loved Martin," said she, "I love you more than I guessed because you are greater than I dreamed--my father's letter hath told me so much of you--your goodness to your enemy--how you wiped away his tears, ministered to his hurts, carried him in your arms. I have read it but now and--'tis tale so noble--so wonderful, that needs must I come to tell you I do love you so much--so much. And now--" "You are mine!" said I, gathering her in my arms. "Mine for alway." "Yes, dear Martin! But because I am yours so utterly, you will be gentle with me--patient a little and forbearing to a--very foolish maid--" For answer I loosed her, whereupon she caught my hand to press it to her tender cheek, her quivering lips. "Oh, Martin!" she whispered. "For this needs must I worship thee!" And so was gone. CHAPTER XXXIII OF DREAMS I waked marvellous refreshed and full of a great joy to hear her sweet singing and the light tread of her foot going to and fro in the great cabin, where she was setting out a meal, as I guessed by the tinkle of platters, etc., the which homely sound reminded me that I was vastly hungry. Up I sprang to a glory of sun flooding in at shattered window and the jagged rent where a round-shot had pierced the stout timbering above; and having washed and bathed me as well as I might, found my lady had replaced my ragged, weather-stained garments by others chosen from the ship's stores. And so at last forth I stepped into the great cabin, eager for sight of my dear lady, albeit somewhat conscious of my new clothes and hampered by their tightness. "Indeed," said she, holding me off, the better to examine me, "I do find you something better-looking than you were!" "Nay, but I am burned browner than any Indian." "This but maketh your eyes the bluer, Martin. And then you are changed besides--so much more gentle--kindlier--the man I dreamed you might become--" Here I kissed her. "And you," said I, "my Damaris that I have ever loved and shall do, you are more beautiful than my dream of you--" "Am I, Martin--in spite of these things?" "Indeed," said I heartily, "they do but reveal to me so much of--" Here she kissed me and brought me to the table. Now, seeing her as she sat thus beside me, I started and stared, well-nigh open-mouthed. "What now?" she questioned. "Your hair!" "'Twill grow again, Martin. But why must you stare?" "Because when you look and turn so, and your hair short on your shoulders, you are marvellously like to Joanna." Now at this, seeing how my lady shrank and turned from me, I could have cursed my foolish tongue. "What of her, Martin?" "She is dead!" And here I described how bravely Joanna had met Death standing, and her arms outstretched to the infinite. When I had done, my lady was silent, as expecting more, and her head still averted. "And is this--all?" she questioned at last. "Yes!" said I. "Yes!" "Yet you do not tell me of the cruel wrong she did you--and me! You do not say she lied of you." "She is dead!" said I. "And very nobly, as I do think!" Hereupon my lady rose and going into her cabin, was back all in a moment and unfolding a paper, set it before me. "This," said she, "I found after you were fled the ship!" Opening this paper, I saw there, very boldly writ: "I lied about him and 'twas a notable lie, notably spoke. Martino is not like ordinary men and so it is I do most truly love him--yes--for always. So do I take him for mine now, so shall lie become truth, mayhap. "JOANNA." And even as I refolded this letter, my lady's arms were about me, her lovely head upon my shoulder: "Dear," said she, "'twas like you to speak no harsh thing of the dead. And she gave you back to me with her life--so needs must I love her memory for this." And so we presently got to our breakfast,--sweet, white bread new-baked, with divers fish she had caught that morning whiles I slept. And surely never was meal more joyous, the sun twinkling on Adam's silver and cut glass, and my lady sweeter and more radiant than the morn in all the vigour of her glowing beauty. Much we talked and much she said that I would fain set down, since there is nothing about her that is not a joy to me to dwell upon, yet lest I weary my readers with overmuch of lovers' talk, I will only set down all she now told me concerning Adam. "For here were we, Martin," said my lady, "our poor ship much wounded with her many battles and beset by a storm so that we all gave ourselves up for lost; even Adam confessed he could do no more, and I very woful because I must die away from you, yet the storm drove us by good hap into these waters, and next day, the wind moderating, we began to hope we might make this anchorage, though the ship was dreadfully a-leak, and all night and all day I would hear the dreadful clank of the pumps always at work. And thus at last, to our great rejoicing, we saw this land ahead of us that was to be our salvation. But as we drew nearer our rejoicing changed to dismay to behold three ships betwixt us and this refuge. So Sir Adam decided to fight his way through and sailed down upon these three ships accordingly. And presently we were among them and the battle began, and very dreadful, what with the smoke and shouting and noise of guns--" "Ah!" cried I. "And did not Adam see you safely below?" "To be sure, Martin, but I stole up again and found him something hurt by a splinter yet very happy because Godby had shot away one of the enemy's masts and nobody hurt but himself, and so we won past these ships for all their shooting, and I bound up Adam's hurt where he stood conning the ship, shouting orders and bidding me below, all in a breath. But now cometh Amos Marsh, the carpenter, running, to say the enemy's shot had widened our leaks and the water gaining upon the pumps beyond recovery and that we were sinking. 'How long will she last?' said Adam, staring at the two ships that were close behind, and still shooting at us now and then. 'An hour, Captain, maybe less!' said the carpenter. ''Twill serve,' said Adam, in his quiet voice. 'Do you and your lads stand to the pumps, and we will be safe ashore within the hour. But mark me, if any man turn laggard or faint-hearted, shoot that man, but pump your best, Amos--away wi' you!'" "Aye," quoth I, clasping tighter the hand I held, "that was like Adam; 'tis as I had heard him speak. And you in such dire peril of death, my beloved--" "Why, Martin, I did not fear or grieve very much, for methought you were lost to me forever in this life perchance, but in the next--" "This and the next I do pray God," quoth I, and kissed her till she bade me leave her breath for her story. The which she presently did something as followeth: "And now, whiles Godby and his chosen gunners plied our stern cannons, firing very fast and furious, Adam calls for volunteers to set more sail and himself was first aloft for all his wounded arm--" "And where were you?" "Giving water to Godby and his men, for they were parched. And presently back cometh Adam, panting with his exertions. 'God send no spars carry away,' quoth he, 'and we must lay alongside the nearest Spaniard and board.' ''Tis desperate venture,' said Godby, 'they be great ships and full o' Dons.' 'Aye,' said Adam, 'but we are Englishmen and desperate,' And so we stood on, Martin, and these great ships after us, and ever our own poor ship lying lower and lower in the water, until I looked to see it sink under us and go down altogether. But at last we reached this bay and none too soon, for to us cometh Amos Marsh, all wet and woebegone with labour, to say the ship was going. But nothing heeding, Adam took the helm, shouting to him to let fly braces, and with our sails all shivering we ran aground, just as she lies now, poor thing. While I lay half-stunned with the fall, for the shock of grounding had thrown me down, Adam commanded every one on shore with muskets and pistols, so I presently found myself running across the sands 'twixt Adam and Godby, nor stayed we till we reached the cliff yonder, where are many caves very wonderful, as I will show you, Martin. And then I saw the reason of this haste, for the greatest Spanish ship was turning to bring her whole broadside to bear, and so began to shoot off all their cannon, battering our poor ship as you see. Then came Spaniards in boats with fire to burn it, but our men shot so many of these that although they set the ship on fire, yet they did it so hastily because of our shooting that once they were gone, the fire was quickly put out. But the ship was beyond repair which greatly disheartened us all, save only Adam, who having walked around the wreck and examined her, chin in hand, summoned all men to a council on the beach. 'Look now, my comrades,' said he (as well as I remember, Martin), 'we have fought a sinking ship so long as we might, and here we lie driven ashore in a hostile country but we have only one killed and five injured, which is good; but we are Englishmen, which is better and bad to beat. Well, then, shall we stay here sucking our thumbs? Shall we set about building another vessel and the enemy come upon us before 'tis done? Shall we despair? Not us! We stand a hundred and thirty and two men, and every man a proved and seasoned fighter; so will we, being smitten thus, forthwith smite back, and smite where the enemy will least expect. We'll march overland on Carthagena--I know it well--fall on 'em in the dead hush o' night, surprise their fort, spike their guns and down to the harbour for a ship. Here's our vessel a wreck--we'll have one of theirs in place. So, comrades all, who's for Carthagena along with me; who's for a Spanish ship and Old England?'" "Why, then," cried I, amazed, "my dream was true. They have marched across country on Carthagena--" "Yes, Martin, but what dream--?" "With four guns, mounted on wheels?" "Yes, Martin; they built four gun-carriages to Adam's design. But what of your dream?" So I told her of Atlamatzin and the visions I had beheld; "and I saw you also, my loved Joan; aye, as I do remember, you knelt on the deck above, praying and with your arms reached out--" "Why, so I did often--one night in especial, I remember, weeping and calling to you, for I was very fearful and--lonely, dear Martin. And that night, I remember, I dreamed I saw you, your back leaned to a great rock as you were very weary, and staring into a fire, sad-eyed and desolate. Across your knees was your gun and all around you a dark and dismal forest, and I yearned to come to you and could not, and so watched and lay to weep anew.--Oh, dear, loved Martin!" Here she turned, her eyes dark with remembered sorrow, wherefore I took and lifted her to my knee, holding her thus close upon my heart. "Tell me," said I after some while, "when Adam marched on his desperate venture, did he name any day for his likely return?" "Yes, Martin!" "And when was that?" "'Twas the day you came." "Then he is already late," quoth I. "And he was ever mighty careful and exact in his calculations. 'Tis an adventure so daring as few would have attempted, saving only our 'timid' Adam. And how if he never returns, my Damaris--how then?" "Ah, then--we have each other!" said she. "And therein is vast comfort and--for me great joy!" quoth I. CHAPTER XXXIV OF LOVE My first care was to see how we stood in regard to stores, more especially powder and shot great and small, the which I found sufficient and to spare, as also divers weapons, as muskets, pistols, hangers, etc. The more I thought, the more I was determined to put the ship into as good a posture of defence as might be, since I judged it likely the Spaniards might pay us a visit soon or late, or mayhap some chance band of hostile Indians. To this end and with great exertion, by means of lever and tackle, I hauled inboard her four great stern-chase guns, at the which labour my lady chancing to find me, falls to work beside me right merrily. "Why, Martin," said she, when the four pieces stood ready to hand, "I have seen five men strain hard to move one of these; indeed you must be marvellous strong." At this I grew so foolishly pleased that I fell to charging these pieces amain, lest she should see aught of this. "Strong, great men be usually the gentlest," said she. "And generally thick-skulled and dull-witted!" quoth I. "Are you so dull-witted, my Martin?" "Ah, Damaris, my sweet Joan, when I think on all the wasted tears--" "Not wasted, Martin, no, not one, since each hath but helped to make the man I do so love." "That you should so love me is the abiding wonder. I am no man o' the world and with no fine-gentlemanly graces, alas! I am a simple fellow and nought to show for his years of life--" "Wherefore so humble, poor man? You that were so proud and savage in England and must burst open gates and beat my servants and fright me in my chamber--" "Aye, I was brute indeed!" said I, sitting down and clean forgetting my guns in sudden dejection. "And so gloomy with me on the island at the first and then something harsh, and then very wild and masterful; do you remember you would kiss me and I would not--and struggled--so desperately--and vainly--and was compelled?" "Oh, vile!" said I. "You so lonely and helpless, and I would have forced you to my base will." "And did not, Martin! Because yours was a noble love. So is the memory of our dear island unutterably sweet." "Indeed and is this so?" quoth I, lifting my head. "Beyond all expression!" said she a little breathlessly and her eyes very bright. "Ah, did you not know--whatever you did, 'twas you--that I loved. And, dear Martin, at your fiercest, you were ever--so innocent!" "Innocent!" quoth I, wondering. And now her clear gaze wavered, her cheek flushed, and all in a moment she was beside me on her knees, her face hid against me and speaking quick and low and passionate. "I am a very woman--and had loved for all my life--and there were times--on the island when--I, too--oh, dear Martin, oft in the night the sound of your steps going to and fro without our cave--those restless feet--seemed to tread upon my heart! I loved these fierce, strong arms, even whilst I struggled in their hold! A man of the world would have known--taken advantage. But you never guessed because you regarded ever the highest in me. So would I have you do still--honouring me with your patience--a little longer--until Adam be come again, or until we be sure he hath perished and England beyond our reach. Thus, dear, I have confessed my very secret soul to thee and lie here in thy merciful care even more than I did on our island, since I do love thee--greatly better! Therefore, be not so--infinite humble!" Here for a while I was silent, being greatly moved and finding no word to say. At last, clasping her tender loveliness to me, and stooping to kiss this so loved head: "Dear, my lady," said I, "thou art to me the sweetest, holiest thing in all the world, and so shalt thou ever be." Some time after, having put all things in excellent posture to our defence, viz: our four great pieces full-charged astern, with four lighter guns and divers pateraros ranged to sweep the quarter-deck, forecastle and all approaches thereto, I felt my previous charge more secure and myself (seconded by her brave spirit) able to withstand well-nigh any chance attack, so long as our powder and shot held. This done, I brought hammer, nails, etc., from the carpenter's stores and set myself to mend such shot-holes, cracks, and rents in the panelling and the like as I judged would incommode us in wind or rain, and while I did this (and whistling cheerily) needs must I stay ever and anon to watch my sweet soul busy at her cookery (and mighty savoury dishes) and she pause to look on me, until we must needs run to kiss each other and so to our several labours again. For now indeed came I to know a happiness so calm and deep, so much greater than I had ventured to hope that often I would be seized of panic dread lest aught came to snatch it from me. Thus lived we, joying in each hour, busied with such daily duties as came to hand, yet I for one finding these labours sweet by reason of her that shared them; yet ever our love grew and we ever more happy in each other's companionship. And here I, that by mine own folly of stubborn pride had known so little of content and the deep and restful joy of it; here, I say, greatly tempted am I to dwell and enlarge upon these swift-flying, halcyon days whose memory Time cannot wither; I would paint you her changing moods, her sweet gravity, her tender seriousness, her pretty rogueries, her demureness, her thousand winsome tricks of gesture and expression, the vital ring of her sweet voice, her long-lashed eyes, the dimple in her chin, and all the constant charm and wonder of her. But what pen could do the sweet soul justice, what word describe her innumerable graces? Surely not mine, so would it be but vain labour and mayhap, to you who take up this book, great weariness to read. So I will pass to a certain night, the moon flooding her radiance all about me and the world very hushed and still with nought to hear save the murmurous ripple and soft lapping of the incoming tide, and I upon my bed (very wakeful) and full of speculation and the problem I pondered this: Adam (and he so precise and exact in all things) had named to my lady a day for his return, which day was already long past, therefore it was but natural to suppose his desperate venture against this great fortified city a failure, his hardy fellows scattered, and his brave self either slain or a prisoner. What then of our situation, my dear lady's and mine, left thus solitary in a hostile country and little or no chance of ever reaching England, but doomed rather to seek some solitude where we might live secure from hostile Indians or the implacable persecution of the Spaniards. Thus we must live alone with Nature henceforth, she and I and God. And this thought filled me alternately with intoxicating joy for my own sake, since all I sought of life was this loved woman, and despair for her sake, since secretly she must crave all those refinements of life and civilisation as had become of none account to myself. And if Adam were slain indeed and England thus beyond our reach, how long must we wait to be sure of this? Here I started to hear my lady calling me softly: "Art awake, dear Martin?" "Yes, my Joan!" "I dreamed myself alone again. Oh, 'tis good to hear your voice! Are you sleepy?" "No whit." "Then let us talk awhile as we used sometimes on our loved island." "Loved you it--so greatly, Joan?" "Beyond any place in the world, Martin." "Why, then--" said I and stopped, lest my voice should betray the sudden joy that filled me. "Go on, Martin." "'Twas nought." "Aye, but it was! You said 'Why, then.' Prithee, dear sir, continue." Myself (sitting up and blinking at the moon): Why, then, if you--we--are--if we should be so unfortunate as to be left solitary in these cruel wilds and no hope of winning back to England, should you grieve therefor? She (after a moment): Should you, Martin? Myself (mighty fervently): Aye, indeed! She (quickly): Why, Martin--pray why? Myself (clenching my fists): For that we should be miserable outcasts cut off from all the best of life. She: The best? As what, Martin? Myself: Civilisation and all its refinements, all neighbourliness, the comforts of friendship, all security, all laws, and instead of these--dangers, hardship, and solitude. She (softly): Aye, this methinks should break our hearts. Indeed, Martin, you do fright me. Myself (bitterly): Why, 'tis a something desolate possibility! She (dolefully): And alas, Adam cometh not! Myself: Alas, no! She: And is long overdue. Myself: He marched on a perilous venture; aye, mighty hazardous and desperate. She: Indeed, dear Martin, so desperate that I do almost pity the folk of Carthagena. Myself (wondering): Then you do think he will succeed--will come sailing back one day? She: Yes, Martin, if he hath to sail the ship back alone. Myself: And wherefore believe this? She: I know not, except that he is Adam and none like to him. Myself: Yet is he only mortal, to be captured or slain one way or another. How if he cometh never back? She: Why then, Martin--needs must I forego all thought of England, of home, of the comfortable joys of civilisation, of all laws, and instead of all these cleave to you--my beloved! Myself: Damaris! She: Oh, Martin, dear, foolish blunderer to dream you could fright me with tales of hardship, or dangers, or solitude when you were by, to think I must break my heart for home and England when you are both to me. England or home without you were a desert; with you the desert shall be my England, my home all my days, if God so will it. Myself: Oh, loved woman, my brave, sweet Joan! And the laws--what of the laws? She: God shall be our law, shall give us some sign. Myself: Joan--come to me! She (faintly): No! Ah, no! Myself: Come! She: Very well, Martin. In a little I heard her light step, slow and something hesitant, and then she stood before me in her loveliness, wrapped about in my travel-stained boat-cloak; so came she to sink beside me on her knees. "I am here, Martin," said she, "since I am yours and because I know my will, thine also. For sure am I that Adam will yet come and with him cometh law and England and all else; shall we not rest then for God's sign, be it soon or a little late, and I honour thee the more hereafter. If this indeed be foolish scruple to your mind, dear Martin, I am here; but if for this you shall one day reverence your wife the more--beloved, let me go!" "Indeed--indeed, sign or no sign, thus do I love thee!" said I, and loosed her. And now, as she rose from my reluctant arms, even then, soft and faint with distance but plain and unmistakable came the boom of a gun. CHAPTER XXXV THE COMING OF ADAM AND OF OUR GREAT JOY THEREIN The moon was paling to daybreak as, having climbed that rocky stair I have mentioned, we came upon the cliff and stood, hands tight-clasped, where we might behold the infinity of waters; and after some while, looming phantom-like upon the dawn, we descried the lofty sails of a great ship standing in towards the land and growing ever more distinct. And as we watched, and never a word, her towering canvas flushed rosy with coming day, a changing colour that grew ever brighter until it glowed all glorious, and up rose the sun. Suddenly, as we watched the proud oncoming of this ship of glory, my lady uttered a little, soft cry and nestled to me. "The sign, Martin!" cried she, "God hath sent us the sign, beloved; see what she beareth at the main!" And there, sure enough, stirring languid upon the gentle air was the Cross of St. George. And beholding this thing (that was no more than shred of bunting) and in these hostile seas, ship and sea swam upon my vision, and bowing my head lest my beloved behold this weakness, felt her warm lips on mine. "Dear Martin," said she, "hide not your tears from me, for yonder is England, a noble future--home, at last." "Home?" said I, "Aye, home and peace at last and, best of all--you!" Thus stood we, clean forgetting this great ship in each other until, roused by the thunder of another gun, we started and turned to see the ship so near that we could distinguish the glint of armour on her decks here and there, and presently up to us rose a cheer (though faint) and we saw them make a waft with the ensign, so that it seemed they had discovered us where we stood. Hereupon, seeing the ship already going about to fetch into the harbour, we descended the cliff and, reaching the sands below, stood there until the vessel hove into view round the headland that was like unto a lion's head, and, furling upper and lower courses, let go her anchor and brought up in fashion very seamanlike, and she indeed a great and noble vessel from whose lofty decks rose lusty shouts of welcome, drowned all at once in the silvery fanfare of trumpets and a prodigious rolling of drums. Presently, to this merry clamour, a boat was lowered and pulled towards us, and surely never was seen a wilder, more ragged company than this that manned her. In the stem-sheets sat Adam, one hand upon the tiller, the other slung about him by a scarf, his harness rusty and dinted, but his eyes very bright beneath the pent of his weather-beaten hat. Scarce had the boat touched shore than his legs (dight in prodigiously long Spanish boots) were over the side and he came wading ashore, first of any. "Praise God!" said he, halting suddenly to flourish off his battered hat and glance from one to other of us with his old, whimsical look. "Praise God I do see again two souls, the most wilful and unruly in all this world, yet here stand ye that should be most thoroughly dead (what with the peril consequent upon wilfulness) but for a most especial Providence--there stand ye fuller of life and the joy o' living than ever." "And you, Adam," reaching her hands to him in welcome, "you that must march 'gainst a mighty city with men so few! Death surely hath been very nigh you also, yet here are you come back to us unscathed save for your arm; surely God hath been to us infinitely kind and good!" "Amen!" said Adam and stooping, raised these slender hands to his lips. "Howbeit, my Lady Wilfulness," quoth he, shaking his head, "I vow you ha' caused me more carking care than any unhanged pirate or Spaniard on the Main! You that must bide here all alone, contemning alike my prayers and commands, nor suffering any to stay for your comfort and protection and all for sake of this hare-brained, most obstinate comrade o' mine, that must go running his poor sconce into a thousand dangers (which was bad) and upsetting all my schemes and calculations (which was worse, mark you!) and all to chase a will-o'-the-wisp, a mare's nest, a--oh, Lord love you, Martin--!" And so we clasped hands. In a little, my dear lady betwixt us, and Adam discoursing of his adventures and particularly of his men's resolution, endurance and discipline, we got us aboard the _Deliverance_ which the men were already stripping of such stores as remained, filling the air with cheery shouts, and yo-ho-ing as they hove at this or hauled at that. Climbing to the quarter-deck we came at last to the great cabin, where Adam was pleased to commend the means I had taken to our defence, though more than once I noticed his quick glance flash here and there as if seeking somewhat. At last, my lady having left us awhile, he turns his sharp eyes on me: "Comrade, how goeth vengeance nowadays?" he questioned. "What of Sir Richard, your enemy?" "Dead; Adam!" "Aha!" said he, pinching his chin and eyeing me askance, "was it steel or did ye shoot him, comrade?" "God forgive you for saying such thing, Adam!" quoth I, scowling into his lean, brown face. "Aha," said he again, and viewing me with his furtive leer. "Do ye regret his murder then, Martin?" "Aye, I do from my heart--now and always!" "Hum!" said he, seating himself on my tumbled bed and glancing whimsically at me, "Martin," quoth he, "friend--brother--you that talked bloody murder and hell-fire with a heart inside you clean and gentle as a child's, thou'rt plaguey fool to think thy friend Adam be such fool as not to know thee better. Hark'ee now, here's your fashion: If you found the enemy you sought so long and him in a Spanish prison, first you cursed, then you comforted, then eased his pains, watched your chance, throttled your gaoler and away to freedom, bearing your enemy along wi' you--is't not something the way of it--come?" "Truly, Adam!" said I, all amazed, "though how you chance to know this--" "Tush!" said he. "'Tis writ plain all over thee, Martin, and yonder cometh our lady, as peerless a maid as ever blessed man's sight--for all of the which I do love thee, Martin. Come, now, I will take ye aboard the prize and hey for England--this night we sail!" So we joined my lady and coming down to the boat were presently rowed to the Spanish ship, a great vessel, her towering stem brave with gilding and her massy timbers enriched by all manner of carved work. "She had a name well-nigh long as herself, Martin," said Adam, "but Godby christened her _The Joyous Hope_ instead, which shall serve well enough." So we came beneath her high, curving side, where leaned familiar figures--lean, bronzed fellows who welcomed us with cheer that waked many an echo. Upon the quarter-deck was Penruddock the surgeon, who bustled forward to greet us himself as loquacious as ever and very loud in praise of the cure he had once wrought in me; and here, too, was Godby, to make a leg to my lady and grasp my hand. "Why, Mart'n--why, pal, here's j'y, scorch me wi' a port-fire else!" quoth he, then, hearing a hail from the beach, rolled away to look to his many duties. "She's good enough vessel--to look at, Martin," said Adam, bringing us into the panelled splendour of the coach or roundhouse; "aye, she's roomy and handsome enough and rich-laden, though something heavy on her helm; of guns fifty and nine and well-found in all things save clothes, hence my scurvy rags; but we'll better 'em when our stores come aboard." And now, my lady being retired; he showed me over this great galleon, so massy built for all her gilding and carved finery, and so stout-timbered as made her well-nigh shot-proof. "She's a notable rich prize, Adam!" said I, as we came above deck again, where the crew were at work getting aboard us the stores from the _Deliverance_ under Godby's watchful eye. "Aye, we were fortunate, Martin," pausing to view this busy scene, "and all with scarce a blow and but five men lost, and they mostly by sunstroke or snakebite; we could ha' taken the city also had I been so minded." "'Twas marvellous achievement for man so timid, Adam!" quoth I. "Nay, comrade, I did but smite the enemy unbeknown and where least expected; 'twas simple enough. See now, Martin," said he, pinching his chin and averting his head, "I am very fain to learn more of--to hear your adventures--you shall tell me of--of 'em if you will, but later, for we sail on the flood and I have much to do in consequence." So I presently fell to pacing the broad deck alone, dreaming on the future and in my heart a song of gratitude to God. Presently to me comes Godby: "Lord, Mart'n!" said he, hitching fiercely at the broad belt of his galligaskins. "Here's been doin's o' late, pal, doin's as outdoes all other doin's as ever was done! Talk o' glory? Talk o' fame? There's enough on't aboard this here ship t' last every man on us all his days and longer. And what's more to the p'int, Mart'n, there's gold! And silver! In bars! Aye, pal, shoot me if 'tisn't a-laying in the hold like so much ballast! Cap'n Adam hath give his share to be divided atwixt us, which is noble in him and doeth us a power o' good!" "Why, the men deserve it; 'twas a desperate business, Godby!" "Aye, pal, good lads every one, though we had Cap'n Adam to lead 'em. 'Twas ever 'Come' wi' him! Ten minutes arter our first salvo the fort was ours, their guns spiked, an' we running for the harbour, Sir Adam showing the way. And, Lord! To hear the folk in the tower, you'd ha' thought 'twas the last trump--such shrieks and howls, Mart'n. So, hard in Cap'n Adam's wake we scrambled aboard this ship, she laying nighest to shore and well under the guns o' the fort as we'd just spiked so mighty careful, d'ye see, and here was some small disputation wi' steel and pistol, and her people was very presently swimming or rowing for it. So 'twas hoist sail, up anchor and away, and though this galleon is no duck, being something lubberly on a wind, she should bear us home well enough. 'Tis long since I last clapped eye on old England, and never a day I ha'n't blessed that hour I met wi' you at the 'Hop-pole,' for I'm rich, pal, rich, though I'd give a lot for a glimpse o' the child I left a babe and a kiss from his bonny mother." Thus, walking the broad deck of this stout ship that was soon to bear us (and myself especially) to England and a new life, I hearkened to God-be-here Jenkins, who talked, his eyes now cocked aloft at spars or rigging, now observing the serene blue distances, now upon the boats plying busily to and fro, until one of the men came to say the last of our stores was aboard. And presently, being summoned, Adam appeared on the lofty poop in all the bravery of flowing periwig and 'broidered coat. "Ha, Mart'n," sighed Godby, hitching at his belt as we went to meet him, "I love him best in buff and steel, though he'll ever be my cap'n, pal. There aren't what you'd call a lot of him, neither, but what there is goeth a prodigious long way in steel or velvet. Talk o' glory! Talk o' fame! Pal, glory's a goblin and fame's a phantom compared wi' Cap'n Sir Adam Penfeather, and you can keel haul, burn and hang me else!" This night at moonrise we warped out from our anchorage and with drums beating and fifes sounding merrily, stood out into the great deep and never a heart that did not leap at thought of home and England. And now cometh my lady, dressed in gown I thought marvellous becoming, and herself beautiful beyond all women, as I told her, whereat she cast down her eyes and smoothed her dainty silks with her pretty hands. "Fie, Martin!" said she, mighty demure. "Is it well to be so extravagant in praise of your own?" Which last words put me to such ecstasy that I fell dumb forthwith; noting the which, she came a little nearer to slip her cool fingers into mine, "Though, indeed," quoth she, "I am glad to find you so observant! And my hair? Doth it please you, thus?" And now I saw her silky tresses (and for all their mutilation) right cunningly ordered, and amid their beauty that same wooden comb I had made for her on the island. "Well, dear sir?" said she, leaning nearer. At this, being ever a man scant of words (and the deck deserted hereabouts) I kissed her. And now, hand in hand, we stood silent awhile to watch this cruel land of Darien fade upon our sight. At last she turned and I also, to view that vast horizon that lay before us. "What see you, yonder in the distance, dear Martin?" she questioned. "Yourself!" said I. "You fill my world. God make me worthy! Aye, in the future--ever beside me henceforth, I do see you, my Damaris!" "Why, to be sure, loved man! But what more?" "I want for no more!" "Nay, do but look!" said she, soft cheek to mine. "There I do see happiness, fortune, honours--and--mayhap, if God is kind to us--" She stopped, with sound like a little sob. "What, my Joan?" I questioned, fool-like. "Greater blessings--" "But," said I, "what should be greater--" "Ah, Martin--dear--cannot you guess?" "Why, Joan--oh, my beloved!" But stepping out of my hold, she fled from me. "Nay," cried I, "do not leave me so soon." "I must, dear Martin. You--you will be wanting to speak with Adam--" "Not I--Lord, no!" "Why, then--you shall!" said she and vanished into the roundhouse forthwith, leaving me wondering like the dull fellow I was until (and all at once) I understood and my wonder changed to joy so great I might scarce contain myself; wherefore, beholding Adam coming, I hasted to meet him and had clapped him in my arms or ever he was aware. "Marry us, Adam!" said I. "Marry us, man!" "What, ha' ye just thought on't at last, Martin?" "Aye, I have!" "Tush!" said he. "'Twas all arranged by my lady and me hours agone. Come into the coach." And thus, upon the high seas, Adam (being both captain and magistrate) married us forthwith, and because I had no other, I wed my Damaris with my signet ring whereon was graven the motto of my house, viz: a couchant leopard and the words, "Rouse me not." And who so sweet and grave as my dear lady as she made the responses and hearkened to Adam, and he mighty impressive. For witnesses we had Master Penruddock the surgeon and Godby, and now, my lady retiring, we must crack a bottle, all four, though I know not what we drank. And presently Adam drew me out upon the quarter-deck, there to walk with me a while under a great moon. "Martin," said he suddenly, "you have come by rough seas and mighty roundabout course to your happiness, but there be some do never make this blessed haven all their days." "God comfort them, poor souls!" quoth I. "Amen!" said he; and then in changed voice, and his keen gaze aloft amid the swelling sail, "What o' the lady Joanna, shipmate?" So I told him all the best I remembered of her and described how nobly she had died; and he pacing beside me said never a word. "Martin," said he, when I had made an end, "I am a mighty rich man, yet for all this, I shall be something solitary, I guess." "Never in this world, Adam, so long as liveth my dear lady--" "Your wife, comrade--'tis a sweet word!" "Aye--my wife. And then, am I not your sworn brother? So like brothers will we live together in England, and friends always!" And hereupon I clasped an arm about him. "This is well, Martin," said he, gripping my hand. "Aye, 'tis mighty well, for nought under heaven is there to compare with true friendship, except it be the love of a noble woman. So now go, comrade, go to her who hath believed in you so faithfully, hath steadfastly endured so much for you--get you to your wife!" 
55100	----	generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (https://books.google.com) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original map. See 55100-h.htm or 55100-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55100/55100-h/55100-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55100/55100-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through the Google Books Library Project. See https://books.google.com/books?id=Ir8NAAAAQAAJ&hl=en [Illustration: Map of the Caribbean Sea] THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN. by ANTHONY TROLLOPE, Author of "Barchester Towers," "Doctor Thorne," "The Bertrams," etc. London: Chapman & Hall, 193, Piccadilly. 1859. [The right of translation is reserved.] London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street CONTENTS. Chapter I.--Introductory II.--Jamaica--Town III.--Jamaica--Country IV.--Jamaica--Black Men V.--Jamaica--Coloured Men VI.--Jamaica--White Men VII.--Jamaica--Sugar VIII.--Jamaica--Emperor Soulouque IX.--Jamaica--Government X.--Cuba XI.--The Passage of the Windward Islands XII.--British Guiana XIII.--Barbados XIV.--Trinidad XV.--St. Thomas XVI.--New Granada, and the Isthmus of Panamá XVII.--Central America. Panamá to San José XVIII.--Central America. Costa Rica--San José XIX.--Central America. Costa Rica--Mount Irazu XX.--Central America. San José to Greytown XXI.--Central America. Railways, Canals, and Transit XXII.--The Bermudas XXIII.--Conclusion THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. I am beginning to write this book on board the brig ----, trading between Kingston, in Jamaica, and Cien Fuegos, on the southern coast of Cuba. At the present moment there is not a puff of wind, neither land breeze nor sea breeze; the sails are flapping idly against the masts; there is not motion enough to give us the command of the rudder; the tropical sun is shining through upon my head into the miserable hole which they have deluded me into thinking was a cabin. The marine people--the captain and his satellites--are bound to provide me; and all that they have provided is yams, salt pork, biscuit, and bad coffee. I should be starved but for the small ham--would that it had been a large one--which I thoughtfully purchased in Kingston; and had not a kind medical friend, as he grasped me by the hand at Port Royal, stuffed a box of sardines into my pocket. He suggested two boxes. Would that I had taken them! It is now the 25th January, 1859, and if I do not reach Cien Fuegos by the 28th, all this misery will have been in vain. I might as well in such case have gone to St. Thomas, and spared myself these experiences of the merchant navy. Let it be understood by all men that in these latitudes the respectable, comfortable, well-to-do route from every place to every other place is viâ the little Danish island of St. Thomas. From Demerara to the Isthmus of Panamá, you go by St. Thomas. From Panamá to Jamaica and Honduras, you go by St. Thomas. From Honduras and Jamaica to Cuba and Mexico, you go by St. Thomas. From Cuba to the Bahamas, you go by St. Thomas--or did when this was written. The Royal Mail Steam Packet Company dispense all their branches from that favoured spot. But I was ambitious of a quicker transit and a less beaten path, and here I am lying under the lee of the land, in a dirty, hot, motionless tub, expiating my folly. We shall never make Cien Fuegos by the 28th, and then it will be eight days more before I can reach the Havana. May God forgive me all my evil thoughts! Motionless, I said; I wish she were. Progressless should have been my word. She rolls about in a nauseous manner, disturbing the two sardines which I have economically eaten, till I begin to fear that my friend's generosity will become altogether futile. To which result greatly tends the stench left behind it by the cargo of salt fish with which the brig was freighted when she left St. John, New Brunswick, for these ports. "We brought but a very small quantity," the skipper says. If so, that very small quantity was stowed above and below the very bunk which has been given up to me as a sleeping-place. Ugh! "We are very poor," said the blue-nosed skipper when he got me on board. "Well; poverty is no disgrace," said I, as one does when cheering a poor man. "We are very poor indeed; I cannot even offer you a cigar." My cigar-case was immediately out of my pocket. After all, cigars are but as coals going to Newcastle when one intends to be in Cuba in four days. "We are very poor indeed, sir," said the blue-nosed skipper again when I brought out my solitary bottle of brandy--for I must acknowledge to a bottle of brandy as well as to the small ham. "We have not a drop of spirits of any kind on board." Then I altered my mind, and began to feel that poverty was a disgrace. What business had this man to lure me into his stinking boat, telling me that he would take me to Cien Fuegos, and feed me on the way, when he had not a mouthful to eat, or a drop to drink, and could not raise a puff of wind to fill his sails? "Sir," said I, "brandy is dangerous in these latitudes, unless it be taken medicinally; as for myself, I take no other kind of physic." I think that poverty on shipboard is a disgrace, and should not be encouraged. Should I ever be on shore again, my views may become more charitable. Oh, for the good ship 'Atrato,' which I used to abuse with such objurgations because the steward did not come at my very first call; because the claret was only half iced; because we were forced to close our little whist at 11 p.m., the serjeant-at-arms at that hour inexorably extinguishing all the lights! How rancorous were our tongues! "This comes of monopoly," said a stern and eloquent neighbour at the dinner-table, holding up to sight a somewhat withered apple. "And dis," said a grinning Frenchman from Martinique with a curse, exhibiting a rotten walnut--"dis, dis! They give me dis for my moneys--for my thirty-five pounds!" And glancing round with angry eye, he dropped the walnut on to his plate. Apples! and walnuts!! What would I give for the 'Atrato' now; for my berth, then thought so small; for its awning; for a bottle of its soda water; for one cut from one of all its legs of mutton; for two hours of its steam movement! And yet it is only now that I am learning to forgive that withered apple and that ill-iced claret. Having said so much about my present position, I shall be glad to be allowed to say a few words about my present person. There now exists an opportunity for doing so, as I have before me the Spanish passport, for which I paid sixteen shillings in Kingston the day before I left it. It is simply signed Pedro Badan. But it is headed Don Pedro Badan Calderon de la Barca, which sounds to me very much as though I were to call myself Mr. Anthony Trollope Ben Jonson. To this will be answered that such might have been my name. But then I should not have signed myself Anthony Trollope. The gentleman, however, has doubtless been right according to his Spanish lights; and the name sounds very grand, especially as there is added to it two lines declaring how that Don Pedro Badan is a Caballero. He was as dignified a personage as a Spanish Don should be, and seemed somewhat particular about the sixteen shillings, as Spanish and other Dons generally are. He has informed me as to my "Talla," that it is Alta. I rather like the old man on the whole. Never before this have I obtained in a passport any more dignified description of my body than robust. I certainly like the word "Alta." Then my eyes are azure. This he did not find out by the unassisted guidance of personal inspection. "Ojos, blue," he suggested to me, trying to look through my spectacles. Not understanding "Ojos," I said "Yes." My "cejas" are "castañas," and so is my cabello also. Castañas must be chestnut, surely--cejas may mean eyebrows--cabello is certainly hair. Now any but a Spaniard would have declared that as to hair, I was bald; and as to eyebrows, nothing in particular. My colour is sano. There is great comfort in that. I like the word sano. "Mens sana in corpore sano." What has a man to wish for but that? I thank thee once more, Don Pedro Badan Calderon de la Barca. But then comes the mystery. If I have any personal vanity, it is wrapped up in my beard. It is a fine, manly article of dandyism, that wears well in all climates, and does not cost much, even when new. Well, what has the Don said of my beard? It is poblada. I would give five shillings for the loan of a Spanish dictionary at this moment. Poblada! Well, my first effort, if ever I do reach Cuba, shall be made with reference to that word. Oh; we are getting into the trade-winds, are we? Let Æolus be thanked at last. I should be glad to get into a monsoon or a simoom at the present moment, if there be monsoons and simooms in these parts. Yes; it comes rippling down upon us with a sweet, cool, airy breeze; the sails flap rather more loudly, as though they had some life in them, and then fill themselves with a grateful motion. Our three or four sailors rise from the deck where they have been snoring, and begin to stretch themselves. "You may put her about," says the skipper; for be it known that for some hours past her head has been lying back towards Port Royal. "We shall make fine track now, sir," he says, turning to me. "And be at Cien Fuegos on the 28th?" I demanded. "Perhaps, sir; perhaps. We've lost twenty-four hours, sir, doing nothing, you know." Oh, wretched man that I am! the conveyance from Cien Fuegos to the Havana is but once a week. The sails are still flopping against the yard. It is now noon on the 29th of January, and neither captain, mate, crew, nor the one solitary passenger have the least idea when the good brig ---- will reach the port of Cien Fuegos; not even whether she will reach it at all. Since that time we have had wind enough in all conscience--lovely breezes as the mate called them. But we have oversailed our mark; and by how much no man on board this vessel can tell. Neither the captain nor the mate were ever in Cien Fuegos before; and I begin to doubt whether they ever will be there. No one knows where we are. An old stove has, it seems, been stowed away right under the compass, giving a false bias to the needle, so that our only guide guides us wrong. There is not a telescope on board. I very much doubt the skipper's power of taking an observation, though he certainly goes through the form of holding a machine like a brazen spider up to his eye about midday. My brandy and cigars are done; and altogether we are none of us jolly. Flap, flap, flap! roll, roll, roll! The time passes in this way very tediously. And then there has come upon us all a feeling not expressed, though seen in the face of all, of utter want of confidence in our master. There is none of the excitement of danger, for the land is within a mile of us; none of the exhaustion of work, for there is nothing to do. Of pork and biscuits and water there is, I believe, plenty. There is nothing tragic to be made out of it. But comic misery wears one quite as deeply as that of a sterner sort. It is hardly credible that men should be sent about a job for which they are so little capable, and as to which want of experience must be so expensive! Here we are, beating up the coast of Cuba against the prevailing wind, knowing nothing of the points which should guide us, and looking out for a harbour without a sea-glass to assist our eyes. When we reach port, be it Cien Fuegos or any other, the first thing we must do will be to ask the name of it! It is incredible to myself that I should have found my way into such circumstances. I have been unable not to recount my present immediate troubles, they press with such weight upon my spirits; but I have yet to commence my journeyings at their beginning. Hitherto I have but told under what circumstances I began the actual work of writing. On the 17th of November, 1858, I left the port of Southampton in the good ship 'Atrato.' My purposed business, O cherished reader! was not that of writing these pages for thy delectation; but the accomplishment of certain affairs of State, of import grave or trifling as the case may be, with which neither thou nor I shall have further concern in these pages. So much it may be well that I should say, in order that my apparently purposeless wanderings may be understood to have had some method in them. And in the good ship 'Atrato' I reached that emporium of travellers, St. Thomas, on the 2nd of December. We had awfully bad weather, of course, and the ship did wonders. When men write their travels, the weather has always been bad, and the ship has always done wonders. We thought ourselves very uncomfortable--I, for one, now know better--and abused the company, and the captain, and the purser, and the purveyor, and the stewards every day at breakfast and dinner; not always with the eloquence of the Frenchman and his walnut, but very frequently with quite equal energy. But at the end of our journey we were all smiles, and so was the captain. He was tender to the ladies and cordial to the gentlemen; and we, each in our kind, reciprocated his attention. On the whole, O my readers! if you are going to the West Indies, you may do worse than go in the 'Atrato.' But do not think too much of your withered apples. I landed at St. Thomas, where we lay for some hours; and as I put my foot on the tropical soil for the first time, a lady handed me a rose, saying, "That's for love, dear." I took it, and said that it should be for love. She was beautifully, nay, elegantly dressed. Her broad-brimmed hat was as graceful as are those of Ryde or Brighton. The well-starched skirts of her muslin dress gave to her upright figure that look of easily compressible bulk, which, let 'Punch' do what it will, has become so sightly to our eyes. Pink gloves were on her hands. "That's for love, dear." Yes, it shall be for love; for thee and thine, if I can find that thou deservest it. What was it to me that she was as black as my boot, or that she had come to look after the ship's washing? I shall probably have a word or two to say about St. Thomas; but not now. It is a Niggery-Hispano-Dano-Yankee-Doodle place; in which, perhaps, the Yankee-Doodle element, declaring itself in nasal twang and sherry cobblers, seems to be of the strongest flavour; as undoubtedly will be the case in many of these parts as years go on revolving. That nasal twang will sound as the Bocca Romana in coming fashionable western circles; those sherry cobblers will be the Falernian drink of a people masters of half the world. I dined at the hotel, but should have got a better dinner on board the 'Atrato,' in spite of the withered apples. From St. Thomas we went to Kingston, Jamaica, in the 'Derwent.' We were now separated from the large host of Spaniards who had come with us, going to Peru, the Spanish Main, Mexico, Cuba, or Porto Rico; and, to tell the truth, we were not broken-hearted on the occasion. Spaniards are bad fellow-travellers; the Spaniard, at least, of the Western hemisphere. They seize the meats upon the table somewhat greedily; their ablutions are not plentiful; and their timidity makes them cumbersome. That they are very lions when facing an enemy on terra firma, I do not doubt. History, I believe, tells so much for them. But half a gale of wind lays them prostrate, at all hours except feeding-time. We had no Spaniards in the 'Derwent,' but a happy jovial little crew of Englishmen and Englishwomen--or of English subjects rather, for the majority of them belonged to Jamaica. The bad weather was at an end, and all our nautical troubles nearly over; so we ate and drank and smoked and danced, and swore mutual friendship, till the officer of the Board of Health visited us as we rounded the point at Port Royal, and again ruffled our tempers by delaying us for some thirty minutes under a broiling sun. Kingston harbour is a large lagune, formed by a long narrow bank of sand which runs out into the sea, commencing some three or four miles above the town of Kingston, and continuing parallel with the coast on which Kingston is built till it reaches a point some five or six miles below Kingston. This sandbank is called "The Palisades," and the point or end of it is Port Royal. This is the seat of naval supremacy for Jamaica, and, as far as England is concerned, for the surrounding islands and territories. And here lies our flag-ship; and here we maintain a commodore, a dock-yard, a naval hospital, a pile of invalided anchors, and all the usual adjuncts of such an establishment. Some years ago--I am not good at dates, but say seventy, if you will--Port Royal was destroyed by an earthquake. Those who are geographically inclined should be made to understand that the communication between Port Royal and Kingston, as, indeed, between Port Royal and any other part of the island, is by water. It is, I believe, on record that hardy Subs, and hardier Mids, have ridden along the Palisades, and not died from sun-stroke in the effort. But the chances are much against them. The ordinary ingress and egress is by water. The ferry boats usually take about an hour, and the charge is a shilling. The writer of these pages, however, has been two hours and a quarter in the transit. CHAPTER II. JAMAICA--TOWN. Were it arranged by Fate that my future residence should be in Jamaica, I should certainly prefer the life of a country mouse. The town mice, in my mind, have but a bad time of it. Of all towns that I ever saw, Kingston is perhaps, on the whole, the least alluring, and is the more absolutely without any point of attraction for the stranger than any other. It is built down close to the sea--or rather, on the lagune which forms the harbour, has a southern aspect, and is hot even in winter. I have seen the thermometer considerably above eighty in the shade in December, and the mornings are peculiarly hot, so that there is no time at which exercise can be taken with comfort. At about 10 a.m., a sea breeze springs up, which makes it somewhat cooler than it is two hours earlier--that is, cooler in the houses. The sea breeze, however, is not of a nature to soften the heat of the sun, or to make it even safe to walk far at that hour. Then, in the evening, there is no twilight, and when the sun is down it is dark. The stranger will not find it agreeable to walk much about Kingston in the dark. Indeed, the residents in the town, and in the neighbourhood of the town, never walk. Men, even young men, whose homes are some mile or half-mile distant from their offices, ride or drive to their work as systematically as a man who lives at Watford takes the railway. Kingston, on a map--for there is a map even of Kingston--looks admirably well. The streets all run in parallels. There is a fine large square, plenty of public buildings, and almost a plethora of places of worship. Everything is named with propriety, and there could be no nicer town anywhere. But this word of promise to the ear is strangely broken when the performance is brought to the test. More than half the streets are not filled with houses. Those which are so filled, and those which are not, have an equally rugged, disreputable, and bankrupt appearance. The houses are mostly of wood, and are unpainted, disjointed, and going to ruin. Those which are built with brick not unfrequently appear as though the mortar had been diligently picked out from the interstices. But the disgrace of Jamaica is the causeway of the streets themselves. There never was so odious a place in which to move. There is no pathway or trottoir to the streets, though there is very generally some such--I cannot call it accommodation--before each individual house. But as these are all broken from each other by steps up and down, as they are of different levels, and sometimes terminate abruptly without any steps, they cannot be used by the public. One is driven, therefore, into the middle of the street. But the street is neither paved nor macadamized, nor prepared for traffic in any way. In dry weather it is a bed of sand, and in wet weather it is a watercourse. Down the middle of this the unfortunate pedestrian has to wade, with a tropical sun on his head; and this he must do in a town which, from its position, is hotter than almost any other in the West Indies. It is no wonder that there should be but little walking. But the stranger does not find himself naturally in possession of a horse and carriage. He may have a saddle-horse for eight shillings; but that is expensive as well as dilatory if he merely wishes to call at the post-office, or buy a pair of gloves. There are articles which they call omnibuses, and which ply cheap enough, and carry men to any part of the town for sixpence; that is, they will do so if you can find them. They do not run from any given point to any other, but meander about through the slush and sand, and are as difficult to catch as the musquitoes. The city of Havana, in Cuba, is lighted at night by oil-lamps. The little town of Cien Fuegos, in the same island, is lighted by gas. But Kingston is not lighted at all! We all know that Jamaica is not thriving as once it throve, and that one can hardly expect to find there all the energy of a prosperous people. But still I think that something might be done to redeem this town from its utter disgrace. Kingston itself is not without wealth. If what one hears on such subjects contains any indications towards the truth, those in trade there are still doing well. There is a mayor, and there are aldermen. All the paraphernalia for carrying on municipal improvements are ready. If the inhabitants have about themselves any pride in their locality, let them, in the name of common decency, prepare some sort of causeway in the streets; with some drainage arrangement, by which rain may run off into the sea without lingering for hours in every corner of the town. Nothing could be easier, for there is a fall towards the shore through the whole place. As it is now, Kingston is a disgrace to the country that owns it. One is peculiarly struck also by the ugliness of the buildings--those buildings, that is, which partake in any degree of a public character--the churches and places of worship, the public offices, and such like. We have no right, perhaps, to expect good taste so far away from any school in which good taste is taught; and it may, perhaps, be said by some that we have sins enough of our own at home to induce us to be silent on this head. But it is singular that any man who could put bricks and stones and timber together should put them together in such hideous forms as those which are to be seen here. I never met a wider and a kinder hospitality than I did in Jamaica, but I neither ate nor drank in any house in Kingston except my hotel, nor, as far as I can remember, did I enter any house except in the way of business. And yet I was there--necessarily there, unfortunately--for some considerable time. The fact is, that hardly any Europeans, or even white Creoles, live in the town. They have country seats, pens as they call them, at some little distance. They hate the town, and it is no wonder they should do so. That which tends in part to the desolation of Kingston--or rather, to put the proposition in a juster form, which prevents Kingston from enjoying those advantages which would naturally attach to the metropolis of the island--is this: the seat of government is not there, but at Spanish Town. Then our naval establishment is at Port Royal. When a city is in itself thriving, populous, and of great commercial importance, it may be very well to make it wholly independent of the government. New York, probably, might be no whit improved were the National Congress to be held there; nor Amsterdam, perhaps, if the Hague were abandoned; but it would be a great thing for Kingston if Spanish Town were deserted. The Governor lives at the latter place, as do also those satellites or moons who revolve round the larger luminary--the secretaries, namely, and executive officers. These in Jamaica are now so reduced in size that they could not perhaps do much for any city; but they would do a little, and to Kingston any little would be acceptable. Then the Legislative Council and the House of Assembly sit at Spanish Town, and the members--at any rate of the latter body--are obliged to live there during some three months of the year, not generally in very comfortable lodgings. Respectable residents in the island, who would pay some attention to the Governor if he lived at the principal town, find it impossible to undergo the nuisance of visiting Spanish Town, and in this way go neither to the one nor the other, unless when passing through Kingston on their biennial or triennial visits to the old country. And those visits to Spanish Town are indeed a nuisance. In saying this, I reflect in no way on the Governor or the Governor's people. Were Gabriel Governor of Jamaica, with only five thousand pounds a year, and had he a dozen angels with him as secretaries and aides-de-camp, mortal men would not go to them at Spanish Town after they had once seen of what feathers their wings were made. It is like the city of the dead. There are long streets there in which no human inhabitant is ever seen. In others a silent old negro woman may be sitting at an open door, or a child playing, solitary, in the dust. The Governor's house--King's House as it is called--stands on one side of a square; opposite is the house of the Assembly; on the left, as you come out from the Governor's, are the executive offices and house of the Council, and on the right some other public buildings. The place would have some pretension about it did it not seem to be stricken with an eternal death. All the walls are of a dismal dirty yellow, and a stranger cannot but think that the colour is owing to the dreadfully prevailing disease of the country. In this square there are no sounds; men and women never frequent it; nothing enters it but sunbeams--and such sunbeams! The glare from those walls seems to forbid that men and women should come there. The parched, dusty, deserted streets are all hot and perfectly without shade. The crafty Italians have built their narrow streets so that the sun can hardly enter them, except when he is in the mid heaven; but there has been no such craft at Spanish Town. The houses are very low, and when there is any sun in the heavens it can enter those streets; and in those heavens there is always a burning, broiling sun. But the place is not wholly deserted. There is here the most frightfully hideous race of pigs that ever made a man ashamed to own himself a bacon-eating biped. I have never done much in pigs myself, but I believe that pigly grace consists in plumpness and comparative shortness--in shortness, above all, of the face and nose. The Spanish Town pigs are never plump. They are the very ghosts of swine, consisting entirely of bones and bristles. Their backs are long, their ribs are long, their legs are long, but, above all, their heads and noses are hideously long. These brutes prowl about in the sun, and glare at the unfrequent strangers with their starved eyes, as though doubting themselves whether, by some little exertion, they might not become beasts of prey. The necessity which exists for white men going to Spanish Town to see the Governor results, I do not doubt, in some deaths every year. I will describe the first time I was thus punished. Spanish Town is thirteen miles from Kingston, and the journey is accomplished by railway in somewhat under an hour. The trains run about every four hours. On my arrival a public vehicle took me from the station up to King's House, and everything seemed to be very convenient. The streets, certainly, were rather dead, and the place hot; but I was under cover, and the desolation did not seem to affect me. When I was landed on the steps of the government-house, the first idea of my coming sorrows flitted across my mind. "Where shall I call for you?" said the driver; "the train goes at a quarter past four." It was then one: and where was he to call for me? and what was I to do with myself for three hours? "Here," I said; "on these steps." What other place could I name? I knew no other place in Spanish Town. The Governor was all that was obliging--as Governors now-a-days always are--and made an appointment for me to come again on the following day, to see some one or say something, who or which could not be seen or said on that occasion. Thus some twenty minutes were exhausted, and there remained two hours and fifty minutes more upon my hands. How I wished that the big man's big men had not been so rapidly courteous--that they had kept me waiting for some hour or so, to teach me that I was among big people, as used to be done in the good old times! In such event, I should at any rate have had a seat, though a hard one, and shelter from the sun. But not a moment's grace had been afforded me. At the end of twenty minutes I found myself again standing on those glaring steps. What should I do? Where should I go? Looking all around me, I did not see as much life as would serve to open a door if I asked for shelter. I stood upon those desolate steps till the perspiration ran down my face with the labour of standing. Where was I to go? What was I to do? "Inhospitalem caucasum!" I exclaimed, as I slowly made my way down into the square. When an Englishman has nothing to do, and a certain time to wait, his one resource is to walk about. A Frenchman sits down and lights a cigar, an Italian goes to sleep, a German meditates, an American invents some new position for his limbs as far as possible asunder from that intended for them by nature, but an Englishman always takes a walk. I had nothing to do. Even under the full fury of the sun walking is better than standing still. I would take a walk. I moved slowly round the square, and by the time that I had reached an opposite corner all my clothes were wet through. On I went, however, down one dead street and up another. I saw no one but the pigs, and almost envied them their fleshlessness. I turned another corner, and I came upon the square again. That seemed to me to be the lowest depth of all that fiery Pandemonium, and with a quickened step I passed through but a corner of it. But the sun blazed even fiercer and fiercer. Should I go back and ask for a seat, if it were but on a bench in the government scullery, among the female negroes? Something I must do, or there would soon be an end of me. There must be some inn in the place, if I could only find it. I was not absolutely in the midst of the Great Sahara. There were houses on each side of me, though they were all closed. I looked at my watch, and found that ten minutes had passed by since I had been on my legs. I thought I had wandered for an hour. And now I saw an old woman--the first human creature I had seen since I left the light of the Governor's face; the shade I should say, meaning to speak of it in the most complimentary terms. "Madam," said I, "is there an inn here; and if so, where may it be?" "Inn!" repeated the ancient negress, looking at me in a startled way. "Me know noting, massa;" and so she passed on. Inns in Jamaica are called lodging-houses, or else taverns; but I did not find this out till afterwards. And then I saw a man walking quickly with a basket across the street, some way in advance of me. If I did not run I should miss him; so I did run; and I hallooed also. I shall never forget the exertion. "Is there a public-house," I exclaimed, feverishly, "in this ---- place?" I forget the exact word which should fill up the blank, but I think it was "blessed." "Pubberlic-house, massa, in dis d----m place," said the grinning negro, repeating my words after me, only that I know _he_ used the offensive phrase which I have designated. "Pubberlic-house! what dat?" and then he adjusted his basket on his head, and proceeded to walk on. By this time I was half blind, and my head reeled through the effects of the sun. But I could not allow myself to perish there, in the middle of Spanish Town, without an effort. It behoved me as a man to do something to save my life. So I stopped the fellow, and at last succeeded in making him understand that I would give him sixpence if he would conduct me to some house of public entertainment. "Oh, de Vellington tavern," said he; and taking me to a corner three yards from where we stood, he showed me the sign-board. "And now de two quatties," he said. I knew nothing of quatties then, but I gave him the sixpence, and in a few minutes I found myself within the "Wellington." It was a miserable hole, but it did afford me shelter. Indeed, it would not have been so miserable had I known at first, as I did some few minutes before I left, that there was a better room up stairs. But the people of the house could not suppose but what every one knew the "Wellington;" and thought, doubtless, that I preferred remaining below in the dirt. I was over two hours in this place, and even that was not pleasant. When I went up into the fashionable room above, I found there, among others, a negro of exceeding blackness. I do not know that I ever saw skin so purely black. He was talking eagerly with his friends, and after a while I heard him say, in a voice of considerable dignity, "I shall bring forward a motion on de subject in de house to-morrow." So that I had not fallen into bad society. But even under these circumstances two hours spent in a tavern without a book, without any necessity for eating or drinking, is not pleasant; and I trust that when I next visit Jamaica I may find the seat of government moved to Kingston. The Governor would do Kingston some good; and it is on the cards that Kingston might return the compliment. The inns in Kingston rejoice in the grand name of halls. Not that you ask which is the best hall, or inquire at what hall your friend is staying; but such is the title given to the individual house. One is the Date-tree Hall, another Blundle's Hall, a third Barkly Hall, and so on. I took up my abode at Blundle Hall, and found that the landlady in whose custody I had placed myself was a sister of good Mrs. Seacole. "My sister wanted to go to India," said my landlady, "with the army, you know. But Queen Victoria would not let her; her life was too precious." So that Mrs. Seacole is a prophet, even in her own country. Much cannot be said for the West Indian hotels in general. By far the best that I met was at Cien Fuegos, in Cuba. This one, kept by Mrs. Seacole's sister, was not worse, if not much better, than the average. It was clean, and reasonable as to its charges. I used to wish that the patriotic lady who kept it could be induced to abandon the idea that beefsteaks and onions, and bread and cheese and beer composed the only diet proper for an Englishman. But it is to be remarked all through the island that the people are fond of English dishes, and that they despise, or affect to despise, their own productions. They will give you ox-tail soup when turtle would be much cheaper. Roast beef and beefsteaks are found at almost every meal. An immense deal of beer is consumed. When yams, avocado pears, the mountain cabbage, plaintains, and twenty other delicious vegetables may be had for the gathering, people will insist on eating bad English potatoes; and the desire for English pickles is quite a passion. This is one phase of that love for England which is so predominant a characteristic of the white inhabitants of the West Indies. At the inns, as at the private houses, the household servants are almost always black. The manners of these people are to a stranger very strange. They are not absolutely uncivil, except on occasions; but they have an easy, free, patronizing air. If you find fault with them, they insist on having the last word, and are generally successful. They do not appear to be greedy of money; rarely ask for it, and express but little thankfulness when they get it. At home, in England, one is apt to think that an extra shilling will go a long way with boots and chambermaid, and produce hotter water, more copious towels, and quicker attendance than is ordinary. But in the West Indies a similar result does not follow in a similar degree. And in the West Indies it is absolutely necessary that these people should be treated with dignity; and it is not always very easy to reach the proper point of dignity. They like familiarity, but are singularly averse to ridicule; and though they wish to be on good terms with you, they do not choose that these shall be reached without the proper degree of antecedent ceremony. "Halloo, old fellow! how about that bath?" I said one morning to a lad who had been commissioned to see a bath filled for me. He was cleaning boots at the time, and went on with his employment, sedulously, as though he had not heard a word. But he was over sedulous, and I saw that he heard me. "I say, how about that bath?" I continued. But he did not move a muscle. "Put down those boots, sir," I said, going up to him; "and go and do as I bid you." "Who you call fellor? You speak to a gen'lman gen'lmanly, and den he fill de bath." "James," said I, "might I trouble you to leave those boots, and see the bath filled for me?" and I bowed to him. "'Es, sir," he answered, returning my bow; "go at once." And so he did, perfectly satisfied. Had he imagined, however, that I was quizzing him, in all probability he would not have gone at all. There will be those who will say that I had received a good lesson; and perhaps I had. But it would be rather cumbersome if we were forced to treat our juvenile servants at home in this manner--or even those who are not juvenile. I must say this for the servants, that I never knew them to steal anything, or heard of their doing so from any one else. If any one deserves to be robbed, I deserve it; for I leave my keys and my money everywhere, and seldom find time to lock my portmanteau. But my carelessness was not punished in Jamaica. And this I think is the character of the people as regards absolute personal property--personal property that has been housed and garnered--that has, as it were, been made the possessor's very own. There can be no more diligent thieves than they are in appropriating to themselves the fruits of the earth while they are still on the trees. They will not understand that this is stealing. Nor can much be said for their honesty in dealing. There is a great difference between cheating and stealing in the minds of many men, whether they be black or white. There are good shops in Kingston, and I believe that men in trade are making money there. I cannot tell on what principle prices range themselves as compared with those in England. Some things are considerably cheaper than with us, and some much, very much dearer. A pair of excellent duck trousers, if I may be excused for alluding to them, cost me eighteen shillings when made to order. Whereas, a pair of evening white gloves could not be had under four-and-sixpence. That, at least, was the price charged, though I am bound to own that the shop-boy considerately returned me sixpence, discount for ready money. The men in the shops are generally of the coloured race, and they are also extremely free and easy in their manners. From them this is more disagreeable than from the negroes. "Four-and-sixpence for white gloves!" I said; "is not that high?" "Not at all, sir; by no means. We consider it rather cheap. But in Kingston, sir, you must not think about little economies." And he leered at me in a very nauseous manner as he tied his parcel. However, I ought to forgive him, for did he not return to me sixpence discount, unasked? There are various places of worship in Kingston, and the negroes are fond of attending them. But they love best that class of religion which allows them to hear the most of their own voices. They are therefore fond of Baptists; and fonder of the Wesleyans than of the Church of England. Many also are Roman Catholics. Their singing-classes are constantly to be heard as one walks through the streets. No religion is worth anything to them which does not offer the allurement of some excitement. Very little excitement is to be found in the Church-of-England Kingston parish church. The church itself, with its rickety pews, and creaking doors, and wretched seats made purposely so as to render genuflexion impossible, and the sleepy, droning, somnolent service are exactly what was so common in England twenty years since; but which are common no longer, thanks to certain much-abused clerical gentlemen. Not but that it may still be found in England if diligently sought for. But I must not finish my notice on the town of Kingston without a word of allusion to my enemies, the musquitoes. Let no European attempt to sleep there at any time of the year without musquito-curtains. If he do, it will only be an attempt; which will probably end in madness and fever before morning. Nor will musquito-curtains suffice unless they are brushed out with no ordinary care, and then tucked in; and unless, also, the would-be-sleeper, after having cunningly crept into his bed at the smallest available aperture, carefully pins up that aperture. Your Kingston musquito is the craftiest of insects, and the most deadly. CHAPTER III. JAMAICA--COUNTRY. I have spoken in disparaging terms of the chief town in Jamaica, but I can atone for this by speaking in very high terms of the country. In that island one would certainly prefer the life of the country mouse. There is scenery in Jamaica which almost equals that of Switzerland and the Tyrol; and there is also, which is more essential, a temperature among the mountains in which a European can live comfortably. I travelled over the greater part of the island, and was very much pleased with it. The drawbacks on such a tour are the expensiveness of locomotion, the want of hotels, and the badness of the roads. As to cost, the tourist always consoles himself by reflecting that he is going to take the expensive journey once, and once only. The badness of the roads forms an additional excitement; and the want of hotels is cured, as it probably has been caused, by the hospitality of the gentry. And they are very hospitable--and hospitable, too, under adverse circumstances. In olden times, when nobody anywhere was so rich as a Jamaica planter, it was not surprising that he should be always glad to see his own friends and his friends' friends, and their friends. Such visits dissipated the ennui of his own life, and the expense was not appreciable--or, at any rate, not undesirable. An open house was his usual rule of life. But matters are much altered with him now. If he be a planter of the olden days, he will have passed through fire and water in his endeavours to maintain his position. If, as is more frequently the case, he be a man of new date on his estate, he will probably have established himself with a small capital; and he also will have to struggle. But, nevertheless, the hospitality is maintained, perhaps not on the olden scale, yet on a scale that by no means requires to be enlarged. "It is rather hard on us," said a young planter to me, with whom I was on terms of sufficient intimacy to discuss such matters--"We send word to the people at home that we are very poor. They won't quite believe us, so they send out somebody to see. The somebody comes, a pleasant-mannered fellow, and we kill our little fatted calf for him; probably it is only a ewe lamb. We bring out our bottle or two of the best, that has been put by for a gala day, and so we make his heart glad. He goes home, and what does he say of us? These Jamaica planters are princes--the best fellows living; I liked them amazingly. But as for their poverty, don't believe a word of it. They swim in claret, and usually bathe in champagne. Now that is hard, seeing that our common fare is salt fish and rum and water." I advised him in future to receive such inquirers with his ordinary fare only. "Yes," said he, "and then we should get it on the other cheek. We should be abused for our stinginess. No Jamaica man could stand that." It is of course known that the sugar-cane is the chief production of Jamaica; but one may travel for days in the island and only see a cane piece here and there. By far the greater portion of the island is covered with wild wood and jungle--what is there called bush. Through this, on an occasional favourable spot, and very frequently on the roadsides, one sees the gardens or provision-grounds of the negroes. These are spots of land cultivated by them, for which they either pay rent, or on which, as is quite as common, they have squatted without payment of any rent. These provision-grounds are very picturesque. They are not filled, as a peasant's garden in England or in Ireland is filled, with potatoes and cabbages, or other vegetables similarly uninteresting in their growth; but contain cocoa-trees, breadfruit-trees, oranges, mangoes, limes, plantains, jack fruit, sour-sop, avocado pears, and a score of others, all of which are luxuriant trees, some of considerable size, and all of them of great beauty. The breadfruit-tree and the mango are especially lovely, and I know nothing prettier than a grove of oranges in Jamaica. In addition to this, they always have the yam, which is with the negro somewhat as the potato is with the Irishman; only that the Irishman has nothing else, whereas the negro generally has either fish or meat, and has also a score of other fruits besides the yam. The yam, too, is picturesque in its growth. As with the potato, the root alone is eaten, but the upper part is fostered and cared for as a creeper, so that the ground may be unencumbered by its thick tendrils. Support is provided for it as for grapes or peas. Then one sees also in these provision-grounds patches of coffee and arrowroot, and occasionally also patches of sugar-cane. A man wishing to see the main features of the whole island, and proceeding from Kingston as his head-quarters, must take two distinct tours, one to the east and the other to the west. The former may be best done on horseback, as the roads are, one may say, non-existent for a considerable portion of the way, and sometimes almost worse than non-existent in other places. One of the most remarkable characteristics of Jamaica is the copiousness of its rivers. It is said that its original name, Xaymaca, signifies a country of streams; and it certainly is not undeserved. This copiousness, though it adds to the beauty, as no doubt it does also to its salubrity and fertility, adds something too to the difficulty of locomotion. Bridges have not been built, or, sad to say, have been allowed to go to destruction. One hears that this river or that river is "down," whereby it is signified that the waters are swollen; and some of the rivers when so down are certainly not easy of passage. Such impediments are more frequent in the east than elsewhere, and on this account travelling on horseback is the safest as well as the most expeditious means of transit. I found four horses to be necessary, one for the groom, one for my clothes, and two for myself. A lighter weight might have done with three. An Englishman feels some bashfulness in riding up to a stranger's door with such a cortége, and bearing as an introduction a message from somebody else, to say that you are to be entertained. But I always found that such a message was a sufficient passport. "It is our way," one gentleman said to me, in answer to my apology. "When four or five come in for dinner after ten o'clock at night, we do think it hard, seeing that meat won't keep in this country." Hotels, as an institution, are, on the whole, a comfortable arrangement. One prefers, perhaps, ordering one's dinner to asking for it; and many men delight in the wide capability of finding fault which an inn affords. But they are very hostile to the spirit of hospitality. The time will soon come when the backwoodsman will have his tariff for public accommodation, and an Arab will charge you a fixed price for his pipe and cup of coffee in the desert. But that era has not yet been reached in Jamaica. Crossing the same river four-and-twenty times is tedious; especially if this is done in heavy rain, when the road is a narrow track through thickly-wooded ravines, and when an open umbrella is absolutely necessary. But so often had we to cross the Waag-water in our route from Kingston to the northern shore. It was here that I first saw the full effect of tropical vegetation, and I shall never forget it. Perhaps the most graceful of all the woodland productions is the bamboo. It grows either in clusters, like clumps of trees in an English park, or, as is more usual when found in its indigenous state, in long rows by the riversides. The trunk of the bamboo is a huge hollow cane, bearing no leaves except at its head. One such cane alone would be uninteresting enough. But their great height, the peculiarly graceful curve of their growth, and the excessive thickness of the drooping foliage of hundreds of them clustered together produce an effect which nothing can surpass. The cotton-tree is almost as beautiful when standing alone. The trunk of this tree grows to a magnificent height, and with magnificent proportions: it is frequently straight; and those which are most beautiful throw out no branches till they have reached a height greater than that of any ordinary tree with us. Nature, in order to sustain so large a mass, supplies it with huge spurs at the foot, which act as buttresses for its support, connecting the roots immediately with the trunk as much as twenty feet above the ground. I measured more than one, which, including the buttresses, were over thirty feet in circumference. Then from its head the branches break forth in most luxurious profusion, covering an enormous extent of ground with their shade. But the most striking peculiarity of these trees consists in the parasite plants by which they are enveloped, and which hang from their branches down to the ground with tendrils of wonderful strength. These parasites are of various kinds, the fig being the most obdurate with its embraces. It frequently may be seen that the original tree has departed wholly from sight, and I should imagine almost wholly from existence; and then the very name is changed, and the cotton-tree is called a fig-tree. In others the process of destruction may be observed, and the interior trunk may be seen to be stayed in its growth and stunted in its measure by the creepers which surround it. This pernicious embrace the natives describe as "The Scotchman hugging the Creole." The metaphor is sufficiently satirical upon our northern friends, who are supposed not to have thriven badly in their visits to the Western islands. But it often happens that the tree has reached its full growth before the parasites have fallen on it, and then, in place of being strangled, it is adorned. Every branch is covered with a wondrous growth--with plants of a thousand colours and a thousand sorts. Some droop with long and graceful tendrils from the boughs, and so touch the ground; while others hang in a ball of leaves and flowers, which swing for years, apparently without changing their position. The growth of these parasite plants must be slow, though it is so very rich. A gentleman with whom I was staying, and in whose grounds I saw by far the most lovely tree of this description that met my sight, assured me that he had watched it closely for more than twenty years, and that he could trace no difference in the size or arrangement of the parasite plants by which it was surrounded. We went across the island to a little village called Annotta Bay, traversing the Waag-water twenty-four times, as I have said; and from thence, through the parishes of Metcalf and St. George, to Port Antonio. "Fuit ilium et ingens gloria." This may certainly be said of Port Antonio and the adjacent district. It was once a military station, and the empty barracks, standing so beautifully over the sea, on an extreme point of land, are now waiting till time shall reduce them to ruin. The place is utterly desolate, though not yet broken up in its desolation, as such buildings quickly become when left wholly untenanted. A rusty cannon or two still stand at the embrasures, watching the entrance to the fort; and among the grass we found a few metal balls, the last remains of the last ordnance supplies. But Port Antonio was once a goodly town, and the country round it, the parish of Portland, is as fertile as any in the island. But now there is hardly a sugar estate in the whole parish. It is given up to the growth of yams, cocoas, and plantains. It has become a provision-ground for negroes, and the palmy days of the town are of course gone. Nevertheless, there was a decent little inn at Port Antonio, which will always be memorable to me on account of the love sorrows of a young maiden whom I chanced to meet there. The meeting was in this wise:-- I was sitting in the parlour of the inn, after dinner, when a young lady walked in, dressed altogether in white. And she was well dressed, and not without the ordinary decoration of crinoline and ribbons. She was of the coloured race; and her jet black, crisp, yet wavy hair was brushed back in a becoming fashion. Whence she came or who she was I did not know, and never learnt. That she was familiar in the house I presumed from her moving the books and little ornaments on the table, and arranging the cups and shells upon a shelf. "Heigh-ho!" she ejaculated, when I had watched her for about a minute. I hardly knew how to accost her, for I object to the word Miss, as standing alone; and yet it was necessary that I should accost her. "Ah, well: heigh-ho!" she repeated. It was easy to perceive that she had a grief to tell. "Lady," said I--I felt that the address was somewhat stilted, but in the lack of any introduction I knew not how else to begin--"Lady, I fear that you are in sorrow?" "Sorrow enough!" said she. "I'se in de deepest sorrow. Heigh-ho me! Well, de world will end some day," and turning her face full upon me, she crossed her hands. I was seated on a sofa, and she came and sat beside me, crossing her hands upon her lap, and looking away to the opposite wall. I am not a very young man; and my friends have told me that I show strongly that steady married appearance of a paterfamilias which is so apt to lend assurance to maiden timidity. "It will end some day for us all," I replied. "But with you, it has hardly yet had its beginning." "'Tis a very bad world, and sooner over de better. To be treated so's enough to break any girl's heart; it is! My heart's clean broke, I know dat." And as she put both her long, thin dark hands to her side, I saw that she had not forgotten her rings. "It is love then that ails you?" "No!" She said this very sharply, turning full round upon me, and fixing her large black eyes upon mine. "No, I don't love him one bit; not now, and never again. No, not if he were down dere begging." And she stamped her little foot upon the ground as though she had an imaginary neck beneath her heel. "But you did love him?" "Yes." She spoke very softly now, and shook her head gently. "I did love him--oh, so much! He was so handsome, so nice! I shall never see such a man again: such eyes; such a mouth! and then his nose! He was a Jew, you know." I had not known it before, and received the information perhaps with some little start of surprise. "Served me right; didn't it? And I'se a Baptist, you know. They'd have read me out, I know dat. But I didn't seem to mind it den." And then she gently struck one hand with the other, as she smiled sweetly in my face. The trick is customary with the coloured women in the West Indies when they have entered upon a nice familiar, pleasant bit of chat. At this period I felt myself to be sufficiently intimate with her to ask her name. "Josephine; dat's my name. D'you like dat name?" "It's as pretty as its owner--nearly." "Pretty! no; I'se not pretty. If I was pretty, he'd not have left me so. He used to call me Feeny." "What! the Jew did." I thought it might be well to detract from the merit of the lost admirer. "A girl like you should have a Christian lover." "Dat's what dey all says." "Of course they do: you ought to be glad it's over." "I ain't tho'; not a bit; tho' I do hate him so. Oh, I hate him; I hate him! I hate him worse dan poison." And again her little foot went to work. I must confess that it was a pretty foot; and as for her waist, I never saw one better turned, or more deftly clothed. Her little foot went to work upon the floor, and then clenching her small right hand, she held it up before my face as though to show me that she knew how to menace. I took her hand in mine, and told her that those fingers had not been made for threats. "You are a Christian," said I, "and should forgive." "I'se a Baptist," she replied; "and in course I does forgive him: I does forgive him; but--! He'll be wretched in this life, I know; and she--she'll be wretcheder; and when he dies--oh-h-h-h!" In that prolonged expression there was a curse as deep as any that Ernulphus ever gave. Alas! such is the forgiveness of too many a Christian! "As for me, I wouldn't demean myself to touch de hem of her garment! Poor fellow! What a life he'll have; for she's a virgo with a vengeance." This at the moment astonished me; but from the whole tenor of the lady's speech I was at once convinced that no satirical allusion was intended. In the hurry of her fluttering thoughts she had merely omitted the letter "a." It was her rival's temper, not her virtue, that she doubted. "The Jew is going to be married then?" "He told her so; but p'raps he'll jilt her too, you know." It was easy to see that the idea was not an unpleasant one. "And then he'll come back to you?" "Yes, yes; and I'll spit at him;" and in the fury of her mind she absolutely did perform the operation. "I wish he would; I'd sit so, and listen to him;" and she crossed her hands and assumed an air of dignified quiescence which well became her. "I'd listen every word he say; just so. Every word till he done; and I'd smile"--and she did smile--"and den when he offer me his hand"--and she put out her own--"I'd spit at him, and leave him so." And rising majestically from her seat she stalked out of the room. As she fully closed the door behind her, I thought that the interview was over, and that I should see no more of my fair friend; but in this I was mistaken. The door was soon reopened, and she again seated herself on the sofa beside me. "Your heart would permit of your doing that?" said I; "and he with such a beautiful nose?" "Yes; it would. I'd 'spise myself to take him now, if he was ever so beautiful. But I'se sure of this, I'll never love no oder man--never again. He did dance so genteelly." "A Baptist dance!" I exclaimed. "Well; it wasn't de ting, was it? And I knew I'd be read out; oh, but it was so nice! I'll never have no more dancing now. I've just taken up with a class now, you know, since he's gone." "Taken up with a class?" "Yes; I teaches the nigger children; and I has a card for the minister. I got four dollars last week, and you must give me something." Now I hate Baptists--as she did her lover--like poison; and even under such pressure as this I could not bring myself to aid in their support. "You very stingy man! Caspar Isaacs"--he was her lost lover--"gave me a dollar." "But perhaps you gave him a kiss." "Perhaps I did," said she. "But you may be quite sure of this, quite; I'll never give him anoder," and she again slapped one hand upon the other, and compressed her lips, and gently shook her head as she made the declaration, "I'll never give him anoder kiss--dat's sure as fate." I had nothing further to say, and began to feel that I ought not to detain the lady longer. We sat together, however, silent for a while, and then she arose and spoke to me standing. "I'se in a reg'lar difficulty now, however; and it's just about that I am come to ask you." "Well, Josephine, anything that I can do to help you--" "'Tain't much; I only want your advice. I'se going to Kingston, you see." "Ah, you'll find another lover there." "It's not for dat den, for I don't want none; but I'se going anyways, 'cause I live dere." "Oh, you live at Kingston?" "Course I does. And I'se no ways to go but just in de droger"--the West Indian coasting vessels are so called. "Don't you like going in the droger?" I asked. "Oh, yes; I likes it well enough." "Are you sea-sick?" "Oh, no." "Then what's the harm of the droger?" "Why, you see"--and she turned away her face and looked towards the window--"why you see, Isaacs is the captain of her, and 'twill be so odd like." "You could not possibly have a better opportunity for recovering all that you have lost." "You tink so?" "Certainly." "Den you know noting about it. I will never recover noting of him, never. Bah! But I tell you what I'll do. I'll pay him my pound for my passage; and den it'll be a purely 'mercial transaction." On this point I agreed with her, and then she offered me her hand with the view of bidding me farewell. "Good-bye, Josephine," I said; "perhaps you would be happier with a Christian husband." "P'raps I would; p'raps better with none at all. But I don't tink I'll ever be happy no more. 'Tis so dull: good-bye." Were I a girl, I doubt whether I also would not sooner dance with a Jew than pray with a Baptist. "Good-bye, Josephine." I pressed her hand, and so she went, and I never saw nor heard more of her. There was not about my Josephine all the pathos of Maria; nor can I tell my story as Sterne told his. But Josephine in her sorrow was I think more true to human nature than Maria. It may perhaps be possible that Sterne embellished his facts. I, at any rate, have not done that. I had another adventure at Port Antonio. About two o'clock in the morning there was an earthquake, and we were all nearly shaken out of our beds. Some one rushed into my room, declaring that not a stone would be left standing of Port Royal. There were two distinct blows, separated by some seconds, and a loud noise was heard. I cannot say that I was frightened, as I had not time to realize the fact of the earthquake before it was all over. No harm was done, I believe, anywhere, beyond the disseverance of a little plaster from the walls. The largest expanse of unbroken cane-fields in Jamaica is at the extreme south-east, in the parish of St. George's in the East. Here I saw a plain of about four thousand acres under canes. It looked to be prosperous; but I was told by the planter with whom I was staying that the land had lately been deluged with water; that the canes were covered with mud; and that the crops would be very short. Poor Jamaica! It seems as though all the elements are in league against her. I was not sorry to return to Kingston from this trip, for I was tired of the saddle. In Jamaica everybody rides, but nobody seems to get much beyond a walk. Now to me there is no pace on horseback so wearying as an unbroken walk. I did goad my horse into trotting, but it was clear that the animal was not used to it. Shortly afterwards I went to the west. The distances here were longer, but the journey was made on wheels, and was not so fatiguing. Moreover, I stayed some little time with a friend in one of the distant parishes of the island. The scenery during the whole expedition was very grand. The road goes through Spanish Town, and then divides itself, one road going westward by the northern coast, and the other by that to the south. I went by the former, and began my journey by the bog or bogue walk, a road through a magnificent ravine, and then over Mount Diabolo. The Devil assumes to himself all the finest scenery in all countries. Of a delicious mountain tarn he makes his punch-bowl; he loves to leap from crag to crag over the wildest ravines; he builds picturesque bridges in most impassable sites; and makes roads over mountains at gradients not to be attempted by the wildest engineer. The road over Mount Diabolo is very fine, and the view back to Kingston very grand. From thence I went down into the parish of St. Anns, on the northern side. They all speak of St. Anns as being the most fertile district in the island. The inhabitants are addicted to grazing rather than sugarmaking, and thrive in that pursuit very well. But all Jamaica is suited for a grazing-ground, and all the West Indies should be the market for their cattle. On the northern coast there are two towns, Falmouth and Montego Bay, both of which are, at any rate in appearance, more prosperous than Kingston. I cannot say that the streets are alive with trade; but they do not appear to be so neglected, desolate, and wretched as the metropolis or the seat of government. They have jails and hospitals, mayors and magistrates, and are, except in atmosphere, very like small country towns in England. The two furthermost parishes of Jamaica are Hanover and Westmoreland, and I stayed for a short time with a gentleman who lives on the borders of the two. I certainly was never in a more lovely country. He was a sugar planter; but the canes and sugar, which, after all, are ugly and by no means savoury appurtenances, were located somewhere out of sight. As far as I myself might know, from what I saw, my host's ordinary occupations were exactly those of a country gentleman in England. He fished and shot, and looked after his estate, and acted as a magistrate; and over and above this, was somewhat particular about his dinner, and the ornamentation of the land immediately round his house. I do not know that Fate can give a man a pleasanter life. If, however, he did at unseen moments inspect his cane-holes, and employ himself among the sugar hogsheads and rum puncheons, it must be acknowledged that he had a serious drawback on his happiness. Country life in Jamaica certainly has its attractions. The day is generally begun at six o'clock, when a cup of coffee is brought in by a sable minister. I believe it is customary to take this in bed, or rather on the bed; for in Jamaica one's connection with one's bed does not amount to getting into it. One gets within the musquito net, and then plunges about with a loose sheet, which is sometimes on and sometimes off. With the cup of coffee comes a small modicum of dry toast. After that the toilet progresses, not at a rapid pace. A tub of cold water and dilettante dressing will do something more than kill an hour, so that it is half-past seven or eight before one leaves one's room. When one first arrives in the West Indies, one hears much of early morning exercise, especially for ladies; and for ladies, early morning exercise is the only exercise possible. But it appeared to me that I heard more of it than I saw. And even as regards early travelling, the eager promise was generally broken. An assumed start at five a.m. usually meant seven; and one at six, half-past eight. This, however, is the time of day at which the sugar grower is presumed to look at his canes, and the grazier to inspect his kine. At this hour--eight o'clock, that is--the men ride, and _sometimes_ also the ladies. And when the latter ceremony does take place, there is no pleasanter hour in all the four-and-twenty. At ten or half-past ten the nation sits down to breakfast; not to a meal, my dear Mrs. Jones, consisting of tea and bread and butter, with two eggs for the master of the family and one for the mistress; but a stout, solid banquet, consisting of fish, beefsteaks--a breakfast is not a breakfast in the West Indies without beefsteaks and onions, nor is a dinner so to be called without bread and cheese and beer--potatoes, yams, plaintains, eggs, and half a dozen "tinned" productions, namely, meats sent from England in tin cases. Though they have every delicacy which the world can give them of native production, all these are as nothing, unless they also have something from England. Then there are tea and chocolate upon the table, and on the sideboard beer and wine, rum and brandy. 'Tis so that they breakfast at rural quarters in Jamaica. Then comes the day. Ladies may not subject their fair skin to the outrages of a tropical sun, and therefore, unless on very special occasions, they do not go out between breakfast and dinner. That they occupy themselves well during the while, charity feels convinced. Sarcasm, however, says that they do not sin from over energy. For my own part, I do not care a doit for sarcasm. When their lords reappear, they are always found smiling, well-dressed, and pretty; and then after dinner they have but one sin--there is but one drawback--they will go to bed at 9 o'clock. But by the men during the day it did not seem to me that the sun was much regarded, or that it need be much regarded. One cannot and certainly should not walk much; and no one does walk. A horse is there as a matter of course, and one walks upon that; not a great beast sixteen hands high, requiring all manner of levers between its jaws, capricoling and prancing about, and giving a man a deal of work merely to keep his seat and look stately; but a canny little quiet brute, fed chiefly on grass, patient of the sun, and not inclined to be troublesome. With such legs under him, and at a distance of some twenty miles from the coast, a man may get about in Jamaica pretty nearly as well as he can in England. I saw various grazing farms--pens they are here called--while I was in this part of the country; and I could not but fancy that grazing should in Jamaica be the natural and most beneficial pursuit of the proprietor, as on the other side of the Atlantic it certainly is in Ireland. I never saw grass to equal the guinea grass in some of the parishes; and at Knockalva I looked at Hereford cattle which I have rarely, if ever, seen beaten at any agricultural show in England. At present the island does not altogether supply itself with meat; but it might do so, and supply, moreover, nearly the whole of the remaining West Indies. Proprietors of land say that the sea transit is too costly. Of course it is at present; the trade not yet existing; for indeed, at present there is no means of such transit. But screw steamers now always appear quickly enough wherever freight offers itself; and if the cattle were there, they would soon find their way down to the Windward Islands. But I am running away from my day. The inspection of a pen or two, perhaps occasionally of the sugar works when they are about, soon wears through the hours, and at five preparations commence for the six o'clock dinner. The dressing again is a dilettante process, even for the least dandified of mankind. It is astonishing how much men think, and must think, of their clothes when within the tropics. Dressing is necessarily done slowly, or else one gets heated quicker than one has cooled down. And then one's clothes always want airing, and the supply of clean linen is necessarily copious, or, at any rate, should be so. Let no man think that he can dress for dinner in ten minutes because he is accustomed to do so in England. He cannot brush his hair, or pull on his boots, or fasten his buttons at the same pace he does at home. He dries his face very leisurely, and sits down gravely to rest before he draws on his black pantaloons. Dressing for dinner, however, is _de rigeur_ in the West Indies. If a black coat, &c., could be laid aside anywhere as barbaric, and light loose clothing adopted, this should be done here. The soldiers, at least the privates, are already dressed as Zouaves; and children and negroes are hardly dressed at all. But the visitor, victim of tropical fashionable society, must appear in black clothing, because black clothing is the thing in England. "The Governor won't see you in that coat," was said to me once on my way to Spanish Town, "even on a morning." The Governor did see me, and as far as I could observe did not know whether or no I had on any coat. Such, however, is the feeling of the place. But we shall never get to dinner. This again is a matter of considerable importance, as, indeed, where is it not? While in England we are all writing letters to the 'Times,' to ascertain how closely we can copy the vices of Apicius on eight hundred pounds a year, and complaining because in our perverse stupidity we cannot pamper our palates with sufficient variety, it is not open to us to say a word against the luxuries of a West Indian table. We have reached the days when a man not only eats his best, but complains bitterly and publicly because he cannot eat better; when we sigh out loud because no Horace will teach us where the sweetest cabbage grows; how best to souse our living poultry, so that their fibres when cooked may not offend our teeth. These lessons of Horace are accounted among his Satires. But what of that? That which was satire to Augustine Rome shall be simple homely teaching to the subject of Victoria with his thousand a year. But the cook in the Jamaica country house is a person of importance, and I am inclined to think that the lady whom I have accused of idleness does during those vacant interlunar hours occasionally peer into her kitchen. The results at any rate are good--sufficiently so to break the hearts of some of our miserable eight hundred a year men at home. After dinner no wine is taken--none, at least, beyond one glass with the ladies, and, if you choose it, one after they are gone. Before dinner, as I should have mentioned before, a glass of bitters is as much _de rigeur_ as the black coat. I know how this will disgust many a kindly friend in dear good old thickly-prejudiced native England. Yes, ma'am, bitters! No, not gin and bitters, such as the cabmen take at the gin-palaces; not gin and bitters at all, unless you specially request it; but sherry and bitters; and a very pretty habit it is for a warm country. If you don't drink your wine after dinner, why not take it before? I have no doubt that it is the more wholesome habit of the two. Not that I recommend, even in the warmest climate, a second bitter, or a third. There are spots in the West Indies where men take third bitters, and long bitters, in which the bitter time begins when the soda water and brandy time ends--in which the latter commences when the breakfast beer-bottles disappear. There are such places, but they must not be named by me in characters plainly legible. To kiss and tell is very criminal, as the whole world knows. But while on the subject of bitters, I must say this: Let no man ever allow himself to take a long bitter such as men make at ----. It is beyond the power of man to stop at one. A long bitter duly swiggled is your true West Indian syren. And then men and women saunter out on the verandah, or perhaps, if it be starlight or moonlight, into the garden. Oh, what stars they are, those in that western tropical world! How beautiful a woman looks by their light, how sweet the air smells, how gloriously legible are the constellations of the heavens! And then one sips a cup of coffee, and there is a little chat, the lightest of the light, and a little music, light enough also, and at nine one retires to one's light slumbers. It is a pleasant life for a short time, though the flavour of the _dolce far niente_ is somewhat too prevalent for Saxon energies fresh from Europe. Such are the ordinary evenings of society; but there are occasions when no complaint can be made of lack of energy. The soul of a Jamaica lady revels in a dance. Dancing is popular in England--is popular almost everywhere, but in Jamaica it is the elixir of life; the Medea's cauldron, which makes old people young; the cup of Circe, which neither man nor woman can withstand. Look at that lady who has been content to sit still and look beautiful for the last two hours; let but the sound of a polka meet her and she will awake to life as lively, to motion as energetic, as that of a Scotch sportsman on the 12th of August. It is singular how the most listless girl who seems to trail through her long days almost without moving her limbs, will continue to waltz and polk and rush up and down a galopade from ten till five; and then think the hours all too short! And it is not the girls only, and the boys--begging their pardon--who rave for dancing. Steady matrons of five-and-forty are just as anxious, and grave senators, whose years are past naming. See that gentleman with the bald head and grizzled beard, how sedulously he is making up his card! "Madam, the fourth polka," he says to the stout lady in the turban and the yellow slip, who could not move yesterday because of her rheumatism. "I'm full up to the fifth," she replies, looking at the MS. hanging from her side; "but shall be so happy for the sixth, or perhaps the second schottische." And then, after a little grave conference, the matter is settled between them. "I hope you dance quick dances," a lady said to me. "Quick!" I replied in my ignorance; "has not one to go by the music in Jamaica?" "Oh, you goose! don't you know what quick dances are? I never dance anything but quick dances, quadrilles are so deadly dull." I could not but be amused at this new theory as to the quick and the dead--new at least to me, though, alas! I found myself tabooed from all the joys of the night by this invidious distinction. In the West Indies, polkas and the like are quick dances; quadrilles and their counterparts are simply dead. A lady shows you no compliment by giving you her hand for the latter; in that you have merely to amuse her by conversation. Flirting, as any practitioner knows, is spoilt by much talking. Many words make the amusement either absurd or serious, and either alternative is to be avoided. And thus I soon became used to quick dances and long drinks--that is, in my vocabulary. "Will you have a long drink or a short one?" It sounds odd, but is very expressive. A long drink is taken from a tumbler, a short one from a wine-glass. The whole extent of the choice thus becomes intelligible. Many things are necessary, and many changes must be made before Jamaica can again enjoy all her former prosperity. I do not know whether the total abolition of the growth of sugar be not one of them. But this I do know, that whatever be their produce, they must have roads on which to carry it before they can grow rich. The roads through the greater part of the island are very bad indeed; and those along the southern coast, through the parishes of St. Elizabeth, Manchester, and Clarendon, are by no means among the best. I returned to Kingston by this route, and shall never forget some of my difficulties. On the whole, the south-western portion of the island is by no means equal to the northern. I took a third expedition up to Newcastle, where are placed the barracks for our white troops, to the Blue Mountain peak, and to various gentlemen's houses in these localities. For grandeur of scenery this is the finest part of the island. The mountains are far too abrupt, and the land too much broken for those lovely park-like landscapes of which the parishes of Westmoreland and Hanover are full, and of which Stuttlestone, the property of Lord Howard de Walden, is perhaps the most beautiful specimen. But nothing can be grander, either in colour or grouping, than the ravines of the Blue Mountain ranges of hills. Perhaps the finest view in the island is from Raymond Lodge, a house high up among the mountains, in which--so local rumour says--'Tom Cringle's Log' was written. To reach these regions a man must be an equestrian--as must also a woman. No lady lives there so old but what she is to be seen on horseback, nor any child so young. Babies are carried up there on pillows, and whole families on ponies. 'Tis here that bishops and generals love to dwell, that their daughters may have rosy cheeks, and their sons stalwart limbs. And they are right. Children that are brought up among these mountains, though they live but twelve or eighteen miles from their young friends down at Kingston, cannot be taken as belonging to the same race. I can imagine no more healthy climate than the mountains round Newcastle. I shall not soon forget my ride to Newcastle. Two ladies accompanied me and my excellent friend who was pioneering me through the country; and they were kind enough to show us the way over all the break-neck passes in the country. To them and to their horses, these were like easy highroads; but to me,--! It was manifestly a disappointment to them that my heart did not faint visibly within me. I have hunted in Carmarthenshire, and a man who has done that ought to be able to ride anywhere; but in riding over some of these razorback crags, my heart, though it did not faint visibly, did almost do so invisibly. However, we got safely to Newcastle, and our fair friends returned over the same route with no other escort than that of a black groom. In spite of the crags the ride was not unpleasant. One would almost enlist as a full private in one of her Majesty's regiments of the line if one were sure of being quartered for ever at Newcastle--at Newcastle, Jamaica, I mean. Other Newcastles of which I wot have by no means equal attraction. This place also is accessible only by foot or on horseback; and is therefore singularly situated for a barrack. But yet it consists now of a goodly village, in which live colonels, and majors, and chaplains, and surgeons, and purveyors, all in a state of bliss--as it were in a second Eden. It is a military paradise, in which war is spoken of, and dinners and dancing abound. If good air and fine scenery be dear to the heart of the British soldier, he ought to be happy at Newcastle. Nevertheless, I prefer the views from Raymond Lodge to any that Newcastle can afford. And now I have a mournful story to tell. Did any man ever know of any good befalling him from going up a mountain; always excepting Albert Smith, who, we are told, has realized half a million by going up Mont Blanc? If a man can go up his mountains in Piccadilly, it may be all very well; in so doing he perhaps may see the sun rise, and be able to watch nature in her wildest vagaries. But as for the true ascent--the nasty, damp, dirty, slippery, boot-destroying, shin-breaking, veritable mountain! Let me recommend my friends to let it alone, unless they have a gift for making half a million in Piccadilly. I have tried many a mountain in a small way, and never found one to answer. I hereby protest that I will never try another. However, I did go up the Blue Mountain Peak, which ascends--so I was told--to the respectable height of 8,000 feet above the sea level. To enable me to do this, I provided myself with a companion, and he provided me with five negroes, a supply of beef, bread, and water, some wine and brandy, and what appeared to me to be about ten gallons of rum; for we were to spend the night on the Blue Mountain Peak, in order that the rising sun might be rightly worshipped. For some considerable distance we rode, till we came indeed to the highest inhabited house in the island. This is the property of a coffee-planter who lives there, and who divides his time and energies between the growth of coffee and the entertainment of visitors to the mountain. So hospitable an old gentleman, or one so droll in speech, or singular in his mode of living, I shall probably never meet again. His tales as to the fate of other travellers made me tremble for what might some day be told of my own adventures. He feeds you gallantly, sends you on your way with a God-speed, and then hands you down to derision with the wickedest mockery. He is the gibing spirit of the mountain, and I would at any rate recommend no ladies to trust themselves to his courtesies. Here we entered and called for the best of everything--beer, brandy, coffee, ringtailed doves, salt fish, fat fowls, English potatoes, hot pickles, and Worcester sauce. "What, C----, no Worcester sauce! Gammon; make the fellow go and look for it." 'Tis thus hospitality is claimed in Jamaica; and in process of time the Worcester sauce was forthcoming. It must be remembered that every article of food has to be carried up to this place on mules' backs, over the tops of mountains for twenty or thirty miles. When we had breakfasted and drunk and smoked, and promised our host that he should have the pleasure of feeding us again on the morrow, we proceeded on our way. The five negroes each had loads on their heads and cutlasses in their hands. We ourselves travelled without other burdens than our own big sticks. I have nothing remarkable to tell of the ascent. We soon got into a cloud, and never got out of it. But that is a matter of course. We were soon wet through up to our middles, but that is a matter of course also. We came to various dreadful passages, which broke our toes and our nails and our hats, the worst of which was called Jacob's ladder--also a matter of course. Every now and then we regaled the negroes with rum, and the more rum we gave them the more they wanted. And every now and then we regaled ourselves with brandy and water, and the oftener we regaled ourselves the more we required to be regaled. All which things are matters of course. And so we arrived at the Blue Mountain Peak. Our first two objects were to construct a hut and collect wood for firing. As for any enjoyment from the position, that, for that evening, was quite out of the question. We were wet through and through, and could hardly see twenty yards before us on any side. So we set the men to work to produce such mitigation of our evil position as was possible. We did build a hut, and we did make a fire; and we did administer more rum to the negroes, without which they refused to work at all. When a black man knows that you want him, he is apt to become very impudent, especially when backed by rum; and at such times they altogether forget, or at any rate disregard, the punishment that may follow in the shape of curtailed gratuities. Slowly and mournfully we dried ourselves at the fire; or rather did not dry ourselves, but scorched our clothes and burnt our boots in a vain endeavour to do so. It is a singular fact, but one which experience has fully taught me, that when a man is thoroughly wet he may burn his trousers off his legs and his shoes off his feet, and yet they will not be dry--nor will he. Mournfully we turned ourselves before the fire--slowly, like badly-roasted joints of meat; and the result was exactly that: we were badly roasted--roasted and raw at the same time. And then we crept into our hut, and made one of these wretched repasts in which the collops of food slip down and get sat upon; in which the salt is blown away and the bread saturated in beer; in which one gnaws one's food as Adam probably did, but as men need not do now, far removed as they are from Adam's discomforts. A man may cheerfully go without his dinner and feed like a beast when he gains anything by it; but when he gains nothing, and has his boots scorched off his feet into the bargain, it is hard then for him to be cheerful. I was bound to be jolly, as my companion had come there merely for my sake; but how it came to pass that he did not become sulky, that was the miracle. As it was, I know full well that he wished me--safe in England. Having looked to our fire and smoked a sad cigar, we put ourselves to bed in our hut. The operation consisted in huddling on all the clothes we had. But even with this the cold prevented us from sleeping. The chill damp air penetrated through two shirts, two coats, two pairs of trousers. It was impossible to believe that we were in the tropics. And then the men got drunk and refused to cut more firewood, and disputes began which lasted all night; and all was cold, damp, comfortless, wretched, and endless. And so the morning came. That it was morning our watches told us, and also a dull dawning of muddy light through the constant mist; but as for sunrise--! The sun may rise for those who get up decently from their beds in the plains below, but there is no sunrising on Helvellyn, or Righi, or the Blue Mountain Peak. Nothing rises there; but mists and clouds are for ever falling. And then we packed up our wretched traps, and again descended. While coming up some quips and cranks had passed between us and our sable followers; but now all was silent as grim death. We were thinking of our sore hands and bruised feet; were mindful of the dirt which clogged us, and the damp which enveloped us; were mindful also a little of our spoilt raiment, and ill-requited labours. Our wit did not flow freely as we descended. A second breakfast with the man of the mountain, and a glorious bath in a huge tank somewhat restored us, and as we regained our horses the miseries of our expedition were over. My friend fervently and loudly declared that no spirit of hospitality, no courtesy to a stranger, no human eloquence should again tempt him to ascend the Blue Mountains; and I cordially advised him to keep his resolution. I made no vows aloud, but I may here protest that any such vows were unnecessary. I afterwards visited another seat, Flamstead, which, as regards scenery, has rival claims to those of Raymond Lodge. The views from Flamstead were certainly very beautiful; but on the whole I preferred my first love. CHAPTER IV. JAMAICA--BLACK MEN. To an Englishman who has never lived in a slave country, or in a country in which slavery once prevailed, the negro population is of course the most striking feature of the West Indies. But the eye soon becomes accustomed to the black skin and the thick lip, and the ear to the broken patois which is the nearest approach to English which the ordinary negro ever makes. When one has been a week among them, the novelty is all gone. It is only by an exercise of memory and intellect that one is enabled to think of them as a strange race. But how strange is the race of Creole negroes--of negroes, that is, born out of Africa! They have no country of their own, yet have they not hitherto any country of their adoption; for, whether as slaves in Cuba, or as free labourers in the British isles, they are in each case a servile people in a foreign land. They have no language of their own, nor have they as yet any language of their adoption; for they speak their broken English as uneducated foreigners always speak a foreign language. They have no idea of country, and no pride of race; for even among themselves, the word "nigger" conveys their worst term of reproach. They have no religion of their own, and can hardly as yet be said to have, as a people, a religion by adoption; and yet there is no race which has more strongly developed its own physical aptitudes and inaptitudes, its own habits, its own tastes, and its own faults. The West Indian negro knows nothing of Africa except that it is a term of reproach. If African immigrants are put to work on the same estate with him, he will not eat with them, or drink with them, or walk with them. He will hardly work beside them, and regards himself as a creature immeasurably the superior of the new comer. But yet he has made no approach to the civilization of his white fellow-creature, whom he imitates as a monkey does a man. Physically he is capable of the hardest bodily work, and that probably with less bodily pain than men of any other race; but he is idle, unambitious as to worldly position, sensual, and content with little. Intellectually, he is apparently capable of but little sustained effort; but, singularly enough, here he is ambitious. He burns to be regarded as a scholar, puzzles himself with fine words, addicts himself to religion for the sake of appearance, and delights in aping the little graces of civilization. He despises himself thoroughly, and would probably be content to starve for a month if he could appear as a white man for a day; but yet he delights in signs of respect paid to him, black man as he is, and is always thinking of his own dignity. If you want to win his heart for an hour, call him a gentleman; but if you want to reduce him to a despairing obedience, tell him that he is a filthy nigger, assure him that his father and mother had tails like monkeys, and forbid him to think that he can have a soul like a white man. Among the West Indies one may frequently see either course adopted towards them by their unreasoning ascendant masters. I do not think that education has as yet done much for the black man in the Western world. He can always observe, and often read; but he can seldom reason. I do not mean to assert that he is absolutely without mental power, as a calf is. He does draw conclusions, but he carries them only a short way. I think that he seldom understands the purpose of industry, the object of truth, or the results of honesty. He is not always idle, perhaps not always false, certainly not always a thief; but his motives are the fear of immediate punishment, or hopes of immediate reward. He fears that and hopes that only. Certain virtues he copies, because they are the virtues of a white man. The white man is the god present to his eye, and he believes in him--believes in him with a qualified faith, and imitates him with a qualified constancy. And thus I am led to say, and I say it with sorrow enough, that I distrust the negro's religion. What I mean is this: that in my opinion they rarely take in and digest the great and simple doctrines of Christianity, that they should love and fear the Lord their God, and love their neighbours as themselves. Those who differ from me--and the number will comprise the whole clergy of these western realms, and very many beside the clergy--will ask, among other questions, whether these simple doctrines are obeyed in England much better than they are in Jamaica. I would reply that I am not speaking of obedience. The opinion which I venture to give is, that the very first meaning of the terms does not often reach the negro's mind, not even the minds of those among them who are enthusiastically religious. To them religious exercises are in themselves the good thing desirable. They sing their psalms, and believe, probably, that good will result; but they do not connect their psalms with the practice of any virtue. They say their prayers; but, having said them, have no idea that they should therefore forgive offences. They hear the commandments and delight in the responses; but those commandments are not in their hearts connected with abstinence from adultery or calumny. They delight to go to church or meeting; they are energetic in singing psalms; they are constant in the responses; and, which is saying much more for them, they are wonderfully expert at Scripture texts; but--and I say it with grief of heart, and with much trembling also at the reproaches which I shall have to endure--I doubt whether religion does often reach their minds. As I greatly fear being misunderstood on this subject, I must explain that I by no means think that religious teaching has been inoperative for good among the negroes. Were I to express such an opinion, I should be putting them on the same footing with the slaves in Cuba, who are left wholly without such teaching, and who, in consequence, are much nearer the brute creation than their more fortunate brethren. To have learnt the precepts of Christianity--even though they be not learnt faithfully--softens the heart and expels its ferocity. That theft is esteemed a sin; that men and women should live together under certain laws; that blood should not be shed in anger; that an oath should be true; that there is one God the Father who made us, and one Redeemer who would willingly save us--these doctrines the negro in a general way has learnt, and in them he has a sort of belief. He has so far progressed that by them he judges of the conduct of others. What he lacks is a connecting link between these doctrines and himself--an appreciation of the fact that these doctrines are intended for his own guidance. But, though he himself wants the link, circumstances have in some measure produced it As he judges others, so he fears the judgment of others; and in this manner Christianity has prevailed with him. In many respects the negro's phase of humanity differs much from that which is common to us, and which has been produced by our admixture of blood and our present extent of civilization. They are more passionate than the white men, but rarely vindictive, as we are. The smallest injury excites their eager wrath, but no injury produces sustained hatred. In the same way, they are seldom grateful, though often very thankful. They are covetous of notice as is a child or a dog; but they have little idea of earning continual respect. They best love him who is most unlike themselves, and they despise the coloured man who approaches them in breed. When they have once recognized a man as their master, they will be faithful to him; but the more they fear that master, the more they will respect him. They have no care for to-morrow, but they delight in being gaudy for to-day. Their crimes are those of momentary impulse, as are also their virtues. They fear death; but if they can lie in the sun without pain for the hour they will hardly drag themselves to the hospital, though their disease be mortal. They love their offspring, but in their rage will ill use them fearfully. They are proud of them when they are praised, but will sell their daughter's virtue for a dollar. They are greedy of food, but generally indifferent as to its quality. They rejoice in finery, and have in many cases begun to understand the benefit of comparative cleanliness; but they are rarely tidy. A little makes them happy, and nothing makes them permanently wretched. On the whole, they laugh and sing and sleep through life; and if life were all, they would not have so bad a time of it. These, I think, are the qualities of the negro. Many of them are in their way good; but are they not such as we have generally seen in the lower spheres of life? Much of this is strongly opposed to the idea of the Creole negro which has lately become prevalent in England. He has been praised for his piety, and especially praised for his consistent gratitude to his benefactors and faithful adherence to his master's interests. On such subjects our greatest difficulty is perhaps that of avoiding an opinion formed by exceptional cases. That there are and have been pious negroes I do not doubt. That many are strongly tinctured with the language and outward bearing of piety I am well aware. I know that they love the Bible--love it as the Roman Catholic girl loves the doll of a Madonna which she dresses with muslin and ribbons. In a certain sense this is piety, and such piety they often possess. And I do not deny their family attachments; but it is the attachment of a dog. We have all had dogs whom we have well used, and have prided ourselves on their fidelity. We have seen them to be wretched when they lose us for a moment, and have smiled at their joy when they again discover us. We have noted their patience as they wait for food from the hand they know will feed them. We have seen with delight how their love for us glistens in their eyes. We trust them with our children as the safest playmates, and teach them in mocking sport the tricks of humanity. In return for this, the dear brutes give us all their hearts, but it is not given in gratitude; and they abstain with all their power from injury and offence, but they do not abstain from judgment. Let his master ill use his dog ever so cruelly, yet the animal has no anger against him when the pain is over. Let a stranger save him from such ill usage, and he has no thankfulness after the moment. Affection and fidelity are things of custom with him. I know how deep will be the indignation I shall draw upon my head by this picture of a fellow-creature and a fellow-Christian. Man's philanthropy would wish to look on all men as walking in a quick path towards the perfection of civilization. And men are not happy in their good efforts unless they themselves can see their effects. They are not content to fight for the well-being of a race, and to think that the victory shall not come till the victors shall for centuries have been mingled with the dust. The friend of the negro, when he puts his shoulder to the wheel, and tries to rescue his black brother from the degradation of an inferior species, hopes to see his client rise up at once with all the glories of civilization round his head. "There; behold my work; how good it is!" That is the reward to which he looks. But what if the work be not as yet good? What if it be God's pleasure that more time be required before the work be good--good in our finite sense of the word--in our sense, which requires the show of an immediate effect? After all, what we should desire first, and chiefly--is it not the truth? It will avail nothing to humanity to call a man a civilized Christian if the name be not deserved. Philanthropy will gain little but self-flattery and gratification of its vanity by applying to those whom it would serve a euphemistic but false nomenclature. God, for his own purposes--purposes which are already becoming more and more intelligible to his creatures--has created men of inferior and superior race. Individually, the state of an Esquimaux is grievous to an educated mind: but the educated man, taking the world collectively, knows that it is good that the Esquimaux should be, should have been made such as he is; knows also, that that state admits of improvement; but should know also that such cannot be done by the stroke of a wand--by a speech in Exeter Hall--by the mere sounds of Gospel truth, beautiful as those sounds are. We are always in such a hurry; although, as regards the progress of races, history so plainly tells us how vain such hurry is! At thirty, a man devotes himself to proselytizing a people; and if the people be not proselytized when he has reached forty, he retires in disgust. In early life we have aspirations for the freedom of an ill-used nation; but in middle life we abandon our protégé to tyranny and the infernal gods. The process has been too long. The nation should have arisen free, at once, upon the instant. It is hard for man to work without hope of seeing that for which he labours. But to return to our sable friends. The first desire of a man in a state of civilization is for property. Greed and covetousness are no doubt vices; but they are the vices which have grown from cognate virtues. Without a desire for property, man could make no progress. But the negro has no such desire; no desire strong enough to induce him to labour for that which he wants. In order that he may eat to-day and be clothed to-morrow, he will work a little; as for anything beyond that, he is content to lie in the sun. Emancipation and the last change in the sugar duties have made land only too plentiful in Jamaica, and enormous tracts have been thrown out of cultivation as unprofitable. And it is also only too fertile. The negro, consequently, has had unbounded facility of squatting, and has availed himself of it freely. To recede from civilization and become again savage--as savage as the laws of the community will permit--has been to his taste. I believe that he would altogether retrograde if left to himself. I shall now be asked, having said so much, whether I think that emancipation was wrong. By no means. I think that emancipation was clearly right; but I think that we expected far too great and far too quick a result from emancipation. These people are a servile race, fitted by nature for the hardest physical work, and apparently at present fitted for little else. Some thirty years since they were in a state when such work was their lot; but their tasks were exacted from them in a condition of bondage abhorrent to the feelings of the age, and opposed to the religion which we practised. For us, thinking as we did, slavery was a sin. From that sin we have cleansed ourselves. But the mere fact of doing so has not freed us from our difficulties. Nor was it to be expected that it should. The discontinuance of a sin is always the commencement of a struggle. Few, probably, will think that Providence has permitted so great an exodus as that which has taken place from Africa to the West without having wise results in view. We may fairly believe that it has been a part of the Creator's scheme for the population and cultivation of the earth; a part of that scheme which sent Asiatic hordes into Europe, and formed, by the admixture of nations, that race to which it is our pride to belong. But that admixture of blood has taken tens of centuries. Why should we think that Providence should work more rapidly now in these latter ages? No Englishman, no Anglo-Saxon, could be what he now is but for that portion of wild and savage energy which has come to him from his Vandal forefathers. May it not then be fair to suppose that a time shall come when a race will inhabit those lovely islands, fitted by nature for their burning sun, in whose blood shall be mixed some portion of northern energy, and which shall owe its physical powers to African progenitors,--a race that shall be no more ashamed of the name of negro than we are of the name of Saxon? But, in the mean time, what are we to do with our friend, lying as he now is at his ease under the cotton-tree, and declining to work after ten o'clock in the morning? "No, tankee, massa, me tired now; me no want more money." Or perhaps it is, "No; workee no more; money no 'nuff; workee no pay." These are the answers which the suppliant planter receives when at ten o'clock he begs his negro neighbours to go a second time into the cane-fields and earn a second shilling, or implores them to work for him more than four days a week, or solicits them at Christmas-time to put up with a short ten days' holiday. His canes are ripe, and his mill should be about; or else they are foul with weeds, and the hogsheads will be very short if they be not cleansed. He is anxious enough, for all his world depends upon it. But what does the negro care? "No; me no more workee now." The busher (overseer; elide the o and change v into b, and the word will gradually explain itself)--The busher, who remembers slavery and former happy days, d----s him for a lazy nigger, and threatens him with coming starvation, and perhaps with returning monkeydom. "No, massa; no starve now; God send plenty yam. No more monkey now, massa." The black man is not in the least angry, though the busher is. And as for the canes, they remain covered with dirt, and the return of the estate is but one hundred and thirty hogsheads instead of one hundred and ninety. Let the English farmer think of that; and in realizing the full story, he must imagine that the plenteous food alluded to has been grown on his own ground, and probably planted at his own expense. The busher was wrong to curse the man, and wrong to threaten him with the monkey's tail; but it must be admitted that the position is trying to the temper. And who can blame the black man? He is free to work, or free to let it alone. He can live without work and roll in the sun, and suck oranges and eat bread-fruit; ay, and ride a horse perhaps, and wear a white waistcoat and plaited shirt on Sundays. Why should he care for the busher? I will not dig cane-holes for half a crown a day; and why should I expect him to do so? I can live without it; so can he. But, nevertheless, it would be very well if we could so contrive that he should not live without work. It is clearly not Nature's intention that he should be exempted from the general lot of Adam's children. We would not have our friend a slave; but we would fain force him to give the world a fair day's work for his fair day's provender if we knew how to do so without making him a slave. The fact I take it is, that there are too many good things in Jamaica for the number who have to enjoy them. If the competitors were more in number, more trouble would be necessary in their acquirement. And now, just at this moment, philanthropy is again busy in England protecting the Jamaica negro. He is a man and a brother, and shall we not regard him? Certainly, my philanthropic friend, let us regard him well. He _is_ a man; and, if you will, a brother; but he is the very idlest brother with which a hardworking workman was ever cursed, intent only on getting his mess of pottage without giving anything in return. His petitions about the labour market, my excellently-soft-hearted friend, and his desire to be protected from undue competition are--. Oh, my friend, I cannot tell you how utterly they are--gammon. He is now eating his yam without work, and in that privilege he is anxious to be maintained. And you, are you willing to assist him in his views? The negro slave was ill treated--ill treated, at any rate, in that he was a slave; and therefore, by that reaction which prevails in all human matters, it is now thought necessary to wrap him up in cotton and put him under a glass case. The wind must not blow on him too roughly, and the rose-leaves on which he sleeps should not be ruffled. He has been a slave; therefore now let him be a Sybarite. His father did an ample share of work; therefore let the son be made free from his portion in the primeval curse. The friends of the negro, if they do not actually use such arguments, endeavour to carry out such a theory. But one feels that the joke has almost been carried too far when one is told that it is necessary to protect the labour market in Jamaica, and save the negro from the dangers of competition. No immigration of labourers into that happy country should be allowed, lest the rate of wages be lowered, and the unfortunate labourer be made more dependent on his master! But if the unfortunate labourers could be made to work, say four days a week, and on an average eight hours a day, would not that in itself be an advantage? In our happy England, men are not slaves; but the competition of the labour market forces upon them long days of continual labour. In our own country, ten hours of toil, repeated six days a week, for the majority of us will barely produce the necessaries of life. It is quite right that we should love the negroes; but I cannot understand that we ought to love them better than ourselves. But with the most sensible of those who are now endeavouring to prevent immigration into Jamaica the argument has been, not the protection of the Jamaica negro, but the probability of ill usage to the immigrating African. In the first place, it is impossible not to observe the absurdity of acting on petitions from the negroes of Jamaica on such a pretence as this. Does any one truly imagine that the black men in Jamaica are so anxious for the welfare of their cousins in Africa, that they feel themselves bound to come forward and express their anxiety to the English Houses of Parliament? Of course nobody believes it. Of course it is perfectly understood that those petitions are got up by far other persons, and with by far other views; and that not one negro in fifty of those who sign them understands anything whatever about the matter, or has any wish or any solicitude on such a subject. Lord Brougham mentions it as a matter of congratulation, that so large a proportion of the signatures should be written by the subscribers themselves--that there should be so few marksmen; but is it a matter of congratulation that this power of signing their names should be used for so false a purpose? And then comes the question as to these immigrants themselves. Though it is not natural to suppose that their future fellow-labourers in Jamaica should be very anxious about them, such anxiety on the part of others is natural. In the first place, it is for the government to look to them; and then, lest the government should neglect its duty, it is for such men as Lord Brougham to look to the government. That Lord Brougham should to the last be anxious for the welfare of the African is what all men would expect and all desire; but we would not wish to confide even to him the power of absolutely consummating the ruin of the Jamaica planter. Is it the fact that labourers immigrating to the West Indies have been ill treated, whether they be Portuguese from Madeira, Coolies from India, Africans from the Western Coast, or Chinese? In Jamaica, unfortunately, their number is as yet but scanty, but in British Guiana they are numerous. I think I may venture to say that no labourers in any country are so cared for, so closely protected, so certainly saved from the usual wants and sorrows incident to the labouring classes. And this is equally so in Jamaica as far as the system has gone. What would be the usage of the African introduced by voluntary contribution may be seen in the usage of him who has been brought into the country from captured slave-ships. Their clothing, their food, their house accommodation, their hospital treatment, their amount of work and obligatory period of working with one master--all these matters are under government surveillance; and the planter who has allotted to him the privilege of employing such labour becomes almost as much subject to government inspection as though his estate were government property. It is said that an obligatory period of labour amounts to slavery, even though the contract shall have been entered into by the labourer of his own free will. I will not take on myself to deny this, as I might find it difficult to define the term slavery; but if this be so, English apprentices are slaves, and so are indentured clerks; so are hired agricultural servants in many parts of England and Wales; and so, certainly, are all our soldiers and sailors. But in the ordinary acceptation of the word slavery, that acceptation which comes home to us all, whether we can define it or no, men subject to such contracts are not slaves. There is much that is prepossessing in the ordinary good humour of the negro; and much also that is picturesque in his tastes. I soon learned to think the women pretty, in spite of their twisted locks of wool; and to like the ring of their laughter, though it is not exactly silver-sounding. They are very rarely surly when spoken to; and their replies, though they seldom are absolutely witty, contain, either in the sound or in the sense, something that amounts to drollery. The unpractised ear has great difficulty in understanding them, and I have sometimes thought that this indistinctness has created the fun which I have seemed to relish. The tone and look are humorous; and the words, which are hardly heard, and are not understood, get credit for humour also. Nothing about them is more astonishing than the dress of the women. It is impossible to deny to them considerable taste and great power of adaptation. In England, among our housemaids and even haymakers, crinoline, false flowers, long waists, and flowing sleeves have become common; but they do not wear their finery as though they were at home in it. There is generally with them, when in their Sunday best, something of the hog in armour. With the negro woman there is nothing of this. In the first place she is never shame-faced. Then she has very frequently a good figure, and having it, she knows how to make the best of it. She has a natural skill in dress, and will be seen with a boddice fitted to her as though it had been made and laced in Paris. Their costumes on fête days and Sundays are perfectly marvellous. They are by no means contented with coloured calicoes; but shine in muslin and light silks at heaven only knows how much a yard. They wear their dresses of an enormous fulness. One may see of a Sunday evening three ladies occupying a whole street by the breadth of their garments, who on the preceding day were scrubbing pots and carrying weights about the town on their heads. And they will walk in full-dress too as though they had been used to go in such attire from their youth up. They rejoice most in white--in white muslin with coloured sashes; in light-brown boots, pink gloves, parasols, and broad-brimmed straw hats with deep veils and glittering bugles. The hat and the veil, however, are mistakes. If the negro woman thoroughly understood effect, she would wear no head-dress but the coloured handkerchief, which is hers by right of national custom. Some of their efforts after dignity of costume are ineffably ludicrous. One Sunday evening, far away in the country, as I was riding with a gentleman, the proprietor of the estate around us, I saw a young girl walking home from church. She was arrayed from head to foot in virgin white. Her gloves were on, and her parasol was up. Her hat also was white, and so was the lace, and so were the bugles which adorned it. She walked with a stately dignity that was worthy of such a costume, and worthy also of higher grandeur; for behind her walked an attendant nymph, carrying the beauty's prayer-book--on her head. A negro woman carries every burden on her head, from a tub of water weighing a hundredweight down to a bottle of physic. When we came up to her, she turned towards us and curtsied. She curtsied, for she recognized her 'massa;' but she curtsied with great dignity, for she recognized also her own finery. The girl behind with the prayer-book made the ordinary obeisance, crooking her leg up at the knee, and then standing upright quicker than thought. "Who on earth is that princess?" said I. "They are two sisters who both work at my mill," said my friend. "Next Sunday they will change places. Polly will have the parasol and the hat, and Jenny will carry the prayer-book on her head behind her." I was in a shoemaker's shop at St. Thomas, buying a pair of boots, when a negro entered quickly and in a loud voice said he wanted a pair of pumps. He was a labouring man fresh from his labour. He had on an old hat--what in Ireland men would call a caubeen; he was in his shirt-sleeves, and was barefooted. As the only shopman was looking for my boots, he was not attended to at the moment. "Want a pair of pumps--directerly," he roared out in a very dictatorial voice. "Sit down for a moment," said the shopman, "and I will attend to you." He did sit down, but did so in the oddest fashion. He dropped himself suddenly into a chair, and at the same moment rapidly raised his legs from the ground; and as he did so fastened his hands across them just below his knees, so as to keep his feet suspended from his arms. This he contrived to do in such a manner that the moment his body reached the chair his feet left the ground. I looked on in amazement, thinking he was mad. "Give I a bit of carpet," he screamed out; still holding up his feet, but with much difficulty. "Yes, yes," said the shopman, still searching for the boots. "Give I a bit of carpet directerly," he again exclaimed. The seat of the chair was very narrow, and the back was straight, and the position was not easy, as my reader will ascertain if he attempt it. He was half-choked with anger and discomfort. The shopman gave him the bit of carpet. Most men and women will remember that such bits of carpet are common in shoemakers' shops. They are supplied, I believe, in order that they who are delicate should not soil their stockings on the floor. The gentleman in search of the pumps had seen that people of dignity were supplied with such luxuries, and resolved to have his value for his money; but as he had on neither shoes nor stockings, the little bit of carpet was hardly necessary for his material comfort. CHAPTER V. JAMAICA--COLOURED MEN. If in speaking of the negroes I have been in danger of offending my friends at home, I shall be certain in speaking of the coloured men to offend my friends in Jamaica. On this subject, though I have sympathy with them, I have no agreement. They look on themselves as the ascendant race. I look upon those of colour as being so, or at any rate as about to become so. In speaking of my friends in Jamaica, it is not unnatural that I should allude to the pure-blooded Europeans, or European Creoles--to those in whose veins there is no admixture of African blood. "Similia similibus." A man from choice will live with those who are of his own habits and his own way of thinking. But as regards Jamaica, I believe that the light of their star is waning, that their ascendency is over--in short, that their work, if not done, is on the decline. Ascendency is a disagreeable word to apply to any two different races whose fate it may be to live together in the same land. It has been felt to be so in Ireland, when used either with reference to the Saxon Protestant or Celtic Roman Catholic; and it is so with reference to those of various shades of colour in Jamaica. But nevertheless it is the true word. When two rivers come together, the waters of which do not mix, the one stream will be the stronger--will over-power the other--will become ascendant And so it is with people and nations. It may not be pretty-spoken to talk about ascendency; but sometimes pretty speaking will not answer a man's purpose. It is almost unnecessary to explain that by coloured men I mean those who are of a mixed race--of a breed mixed, be it in what proportion it may, between the white European and the black African. Speaking of Jamaica, I might almost say between the Anglo-Saxon and the African; for there remains, I take it, but a small tinge of Spanish blood. Of the old Indian blood there is, I imagine, hardly a vestige. Both the white men and the black dislike their coloured neighbours. It is useless to deny that as a rule such is the case. The white men now, at this very day, dislike them more in Jamaica than they do in other parts of the West Indies, because they are constantly driven to meet them, and are more afraid of them. In Jamaica one does come in contact with coloured men. They are to be met at the Governor's table; they sit in the House of Assembly; they cannot be refused admittance to state parties, or even to large assemblies; they have forced themselves forward, and must be recognized as being in the van. Individuals decry them--will not have them within their doors--affect to despise them. But in effect the coloured men of Jamaica cannot be despised much longer. It will be said that we have been wrong if we have ever despised these coloured people, or indeed, if we have ever despised the negroes, or any other race. I can hardly think that anything so natural can be very wrong. Those who are educated and civilized and powerful will always, in one sense, despise those who are not; and the most educated and civilized and most powerful will despise those who are less so. Euphuists may proclaim against such a doctrine; but experience, I think, teaches us that it is true. If the coloured people in the West Indies can overtop contempt, it is because they are acquiring education, civilization, and power. In Jamaica they are, I hope, in a way to do this. My theory--for I acknowledge to a theory--is this: that Providence has sent white men and black men to these regions in order that from them may spring a race fitted by intellect for civilization; and fitted also by physical organization for tropical labour. The negro in his primitive state is not, I think, fitted for the former; and the European white Creole is certainly not fitted for the latter. To all such rules there are of course exceptions. In Porto Rico, for instance, one of the two remaining Spanish colonies in the West Indies, the Peons, or free peasant labourers, are of mixed Spanish and Indian blood, without, I believe, any negro element. And there are occasional negroes whose mental condition would certainly tend to disprove the former of the two foregoing propositions, were it not that in such matters exceptional cases prove and disprove nothing. Englishmen as a rule are stouter than Frenchmen. Were a French Falstaff and an English Slender brought into a room together, the above position would be not a whit disproved. It is probable also that the future race who shall inhabit these islands may have other elements than the two already named. There will soon be here--in the teeth of our friends of the Anti-Slavery Society--thousands from China and Hindostan. The Chinese and the Coolies--immigrants from India are always called Coolies--greatly excel the negro in intelligence, and partake, though in a limited degree, of the negro's physical abilities in a hot climate. And thus the blood of Asia will be mixed with that of Africa; and the necessary compound will, by God's infinite wisdom and power, be formed for these latitudes, as it has been formed for the colder regions in which the Anglo-Saxon preserves his energy, and works. I know it will be said that there have been no signs of a mixture of breed between the negro and the Coolie, and the negro and the Chinese. The instances hitherto are, I am aware, but rare; but then the immigration of these classes is as yet but recent; and custom is necessary, and a language commonly understood, and habits, which the similitude of position will also make common, before such races will amalgamate. That they will amalgamate if brought together, all history teaches us. The Anglo-Saxon and the negro have done so, and in two hundred years have produced a population which is said to amount to a fifth of that of the whole island of Jamaica, and which probably amounts to much more. Two hundred years with us is a long time; but it is not so in the world's history. From 1660 to 1860 A.D. is a vast lapse of years; but how little is the lapse from the year 1660 to the year 1860, dating from the creation of the world; or rather, how small appears such lapse to us! In how many pages is its history written? and yet God's races were spreading themselves over the earth then as now. Men are in such a hurry. They can hardly believe that that will come to pass of which they have evidence that it will not come to pass in their own days. But then comes the question, whether the mulatto is more capable of being educated than the negro, and more able to work under a hot sun than the Englishman; whether he does not rather lose the physical power of the one, and the intellectual power of the other. There are those in Jamaica who have known them long, and who think that as a race they have deteriorated both in mind and body. I am not prepared to deny this. They probably have deteriorated in mind and body; and nevertheless my theory may be right. Nay, I will go further and say that such deterioration on both sides is necessary to the correctness of my theory. In what compound are we to look for the full strength of each component part? Should punch be as strong as brandy, or as sweet as sugar? Neither the one nor the other. But in order to be good and efficient punch, it should partake duly of the strength of the spirit and of the sweetness of the saccharine--according to the skill and will of the gnostic fabricator, who in mixing knows his own purposes. So has it even been also in the admixture of races. The same amount of physical power is not required for all climates, nor the same amount of mental energy. But the mulatto, though he has deteriorated from the black man in one respect, and from the white in another, does also excel the black man in one respect, and also excel the white in another. As a rule, he cannot work as a negro can. He could not probably endure to labour in the cane-fields for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, as is done by the Cuban slave; but he can work safely under a tropical sun, and can in the day go through a fair day's work. He is not liable to yellow fever, as is the white man, and enjoys as valid a protection from the effects of heat as the heat of these regions requires. Nor, as far as we yet know, have Galileos, Shakespeares, or Napoleons been produced among the mulattos. Few may probably have been produced who are able even to form an accurate judgment as to the genius of such men as these. But that the mulatto race partakes largely of the intelligence and ambition of their white forefathers, it is I think useless, and moreover wicked, to deny; wicked, because the denial arises from an unjust desire to close against them the door of promotion. Let any stranger go through the shops and stores of Kingston, and see how many of them are either owned or worked by men of colour; let him go into the House of Assembly, and see how large a proportion of their debates is carried on by men of colour. I don't think much of the parliamentary excellence of these debates, as I shall have to explain by-and-by; but the coloured men at any rate hold their own against their white colleagues. How large a portion of the public service is carried on by them; how well they thrive, though the prejudices of both white and black are so strong against them! I just now spoke of these coloured men as mulattos. I did so because I was then anxious to refer to the exact and equal division of black and white blood. Of course it is understood that the mulatto, technically so called, is the child of parents one of whom is all white and the other all black; and to judge exactly of the mixed race, one should judge, probably, from such an equal division. But no such distinction can be effectually maintained in speaking, or even in thinking of these people. The various gradations of coloured blood range from all but perfect white to all but perfect black; and the dispositions and capabilities are equally various. In the lower orders, among those who are nearest to the African stock, no attempts I imagine are made to preserve an exact line. One is at first inclined to think that the slightest infusion of white blood may be traced in the complexion and hair, and heard in the voice; but when the matter is closely regarded one often finds it difficult to express an opinion even to oneself. Colour is frequently not the safest guide. To an inquirer really endeavouring to separate the races--should so thankless a task ever be attempted--the speech, I think, and the intelligence would afford the sources of information on which most reliance could be placed. But the distinction between the white and the coloured men is much more closely looked into. And those are the unfortunate among the latter who are tempted, by the closeness of their relationship to Europe, to deny their African parentage. Many do, if not by lip, at any rate by deed, stoutly make such denial; not by lip, for the subject is much too sore for speech, but by every wile by which a white quadroon can seek to deny his ancestry! Such denial is never allowed. The crisp hair, the sallow skin, the known family history, the thick lip of the old remembered granddam, a certain languor in the eye; all or some, or perhaps but one of these tells the tale. But the tale is told, and the life-struggle is made always, and always in vain. This evil--for it is an evil--arises mainly from the white man's jealousy. He who seeks to pass for other than he is makes a low attempt; all attempts at falsehood must of necessity be low. But I doubt whether such energy of repudiation be not equally low. Why not allow the claim; or seem to allow it, if practicable? "White art thou, my friend? Be a white man if thou wilt, or rather if thou canst. All we require of thee is that there remains no negro ignorance, no negro cunning, no negro apathy of brain. Forbear those vain attempts to wash out that hair of thine, and make it lank and damp. We will not regard at all, that little wave in thy locks; not even that lisp in thy tongue. But struggle, my friend, to be open in thy speech. Any wave there we cannot but regard. Speak out the thought that is in thee; for if thy thoughts lisp negrowards, our verdict must be against thee." Is it not thus that we should accept their little efforts? But we do not accept them so. In lieu thereof, we admit no claim that can by any evidence be rejected; and, worse than that, we impute the stigma of black blood where there is no evidence to support such imputation. "A nice fellow, Jones; eh? very intelligent, and well mannered," some stranger says, who knows nothing of Jones's antecedents. "Yes, indeed," answers Smith, of Jamaica; "a very decent sort of fellow. They do say that he's coloured; of course you know that." The next time you see Jones, you observe him closely, and can find no trace of the Ethiop. But should he presently descant on purity of blood, and the insupportable impudence of the coloured people, then, and not till then, you would begin to doubt. But these are evils which beset merely the point of juncture between the two races. With nine-tenths of those of mixed breed no attempts at concealment are by any means possible; and by them, of course, no such attempts are made. They take their lot as it is, and I think that on the whole they make the most of it. They of course are jealous of the assumed ascendency of the white men, and affect to show, sometimes not in the most efficacious manner, that they are his equal in external graces as in internal capacities. They are imperious to the black men, and determined on that side to exhibit and use their superiority. At this we can hardly be surprised. If we cannot set them a better lesson than we do, we can hardly expect the benefit which should arise from better teaching. But the great point to be settled is this: whether this race of mulattos, quadroons, mustes, and what not, are capable of managing matters for themselves; of undertaking the higher walks of life; of living, in short, as an independent people with a proper share of masterdom; and not necessarily as a servile people, as hewers of wood and drawers of water? If not, it will fare badly for Jamaica, and will probably also fare badly in coming years for the rest of the West Indies. Whether other immigration be allowed or no, of one kind of immigration the supply into Jamaica is becoming less and less. Few European white men now turn thither in quest of fortune. Few Anglo-Saxon adventurers now seek her shores as the future home of their adoption. The white man has been there, and has left his mark. The Creole children of these Europeans of course remain, but their numbers are no longer increased by new comers. But I think there is no doubt that they are fit--these coloured people, to undertake the higher as well as lower paths of human labour. Indeed, they do undertake them, and thrive well in them now, much to the disgust of the so-esteemed ascendant class. They do make money, and enjoy it. They practise as statesmen, as lawyers, and as doctors in the colony; and, though they have not as yet shone brightly as divines in our English Church, such deficiency may be attributed more to the jealousy of the parsons of that Church than to their own incapacity. There are, they say, seventy thousand coloured people in the island, and not more than fifteen thousand white people. As the former increase in intelligence, it is not to be supposed that they will submit to the latter. Nor are they at all inclined to submission. But they have still an up-hill battle before them. They are by no means humble in their gait, and their want of meekness sets their white neighbours against them. They are always proclaiming by their voice and look that they are as good as the white man; but they are always showing by their voice and look, also, that they know that this is a false boast. And then they are by no means popular with the negro. A negro, as a rule, will not serve a mulatto when he can serve a European or a white Creole. He thinks that the mulatto is too near akin to himself to be worthy of any respect. In his passion he calls him a nigger--and protests that he is not, and never will be like buckra man. The negroes complain that the coloured men are sly and cunning; that they cannot be trusted as masters; that they tyrannize, bully, and deceive; in short, that they have their own negro faults. There may, doubtless, be some truth in this. They have still a portion of their lesson to learn; perhaps the greater portion. I affirm merely that the lesson is being learned. A race of people with its good and ill qualities is not formed in a couple of centuries. And if it be fated that the Anglo-Saxon race in these islands is to yield place to another people, and to abandon its ground, having done its appointed work, surely such a decree should be no cause of sorrow. To have done their appointed work, and done it well,--should not this be enough for any men? But there are they who protest that such ideas as these with reference to this semi-African people are unpatriotic; are unworthy of an Englishman, who should foster the ascendency of his own race and his own country. Such men will have it as an axiom, that when an Englishman has been master once, he should be master always: that his dominion should not give way to strange hands, or his ascendency yield itself to strange races. It is unpatriotic, forsooth, to suggest that these tawny children of the sun should get the better of their British lords, and rule the roast themselves! Even were it so--should it even be granted that such an idea is unpatriotic, one would then be driven back to ask whether patriotism be a virtue. It is at any rate a virtue in consequence only of the finite aspirations of mankind. To love the universe which God has made, were man capable of such love, would be a loftier attribute than any feeling for one's own country. The Gentile was as dear as the Jew; the Samaritans as much prized as they of Galilee, or as the children of Judah. The present position and prospects of the children of Great Britain are sufficiently noble, and sufficiently extended. One need not begrudge to others their limited share in the population and government of the world's welfare. While so large a part of North America and Australia remain still savage--waiting the white man's foot--waiting, in fact, for the foot of the Englishman, there can be no reason why we should doom our children to swelter and grow pale within the tropics. A certain work has been ours to do there, a certain amount of remaining work it is still probably our lot to complete. But when that is done; when civilization, commerce, and education shall have been spread; when sufficient of our blood shall have been infused into the veins of those children of the sun; then, I think, we may be ready, without stain to our patriotism, to take off our hats and bid farewell to the West Indies. And be it remembered that I am here speaking of the general ascendancy, not of the political power of these coloured races. It may be that after all we shall still have to send out some white Governor with a white aide-de-camp and a white private secretary--some three or four unfortunate white men to support the dignity of the throne of Queen Victoria's great-grandchild's grandchild. Such may be, or may not be. To my thinking, it would be more for our honour that it should not be so. If the honour, glory, and well-being of the child be dear to the parents, Great Britain should surely be more proud of the United States than of any of her colonies. We Britishers have a noble mission. The word I know is unpopular, for it has been foully misused; but it is in itself a good word, and none other will supply its place. We have a noble mission, but we are never content with it. It is not enough for us to beget nations, civilize countries, and instruct in truth and knowledge the dominant races of the coming ages. All this will not suffice unless also we can maintain a king over them! What is it to us, or even to them, who may be their king or ruler--or, to speak with a nearer approach to sense, from what source they be governed--so long as they be happy, prosperous, and good? And yet there are men mad enough to regret the United States! Many men are mad enough to look forward with anything but composure to the inevitable, happily inevitable day, when Australia shall follow in the same path. We have risen so high that we may almost boast to have placed ourselves above national glory. The welfare of the coming world is now the proper care of the Anglo-Saxon race. The coloured people, I have said, have made their way into society in Jamaica. That is, they have made a certain degree of impression on the millstone; which will therefore soon be perforated through and through, and then crumble to pieces like pumice-stone. Nay, they have been or are judges, attorneys-general, prime ministers, leaders of the opposition, and what not. The men have so far made their way. The difficulty now is with the women. And in high questions of society here is always the stumbling-block. All manners of men can get themselves into a room together without difficulty, and can behave themselves with moderate forbearance to each other when in it. But there are points on which ladies are harder than steel, stiffer than their brocaded silks, more obdurate than whalebone. "He wishes me to meet Mrs. So-and-So," a lady said to me, speaking of her husband, "because Mr. So-and-So is a very respectable good sort of man. I have no objection whatever to Mr. So-and-So; but if I begin with her, I know there will be no end." "Probably not," I said; "when you once commence, you will doubtless have to go on--in the good path." I confess that the last words were said _sotto voce_. On that occasion the courage was wanting in me to speak out my mind. The lady was very pretty, and I could not endure to be among the unfavoured ones. "That is just what I have said to Mr. ----; but he never thinks about such things; he is so very imprudent. If I ask Mrs. So-and-So here, how can I keep out Mrs. Such-a-One? They are both very respectable, no doubt; but what were their grandmothers?" Ah! if we were to think of their grandmothers, it would doubtless be a dark subject. But what, O lady, of their grandchildren? That may be the most important, and also most interesting side from whence to view the family. "These people marry now," another lady said to me--a lady not old exactly, but old enough to allude to such a subject; and in the tone of her voice I thought I could catch an idea that she conceived them in doing so to be trenching on the privileges of their superiors. "But their mothers and grandmothers never thought of looking to that at all. Are we to associate with the children of such women, and teach our daughters that vice is not to be shunned?" Ah! dear lady--not old, but sufficiently old--this statement of yours is only too true. Their mothers and grandmothers did not think much of matrimony--had but little opportunity of thinking much of it. But with whom did the fault chiefly lie? These very people of whom we are speaking, would they not be your cousins but for the lack of matrimony? Your uncle, your father, your cousins, your grandfather, nay, your very brother, are they not the true criminals in this matter--they who have lived in this unhallowed state with women of a lower race? For the sinners themselves of either sex I would not ask _your_ pardon; but you might forgive the children's children. The life of coloured women in Jamaica some years since was certainly too often immoral. They themselves were frequently illegitimate, and they were not unwilling that their children should be so also. To such a one it was preferable to be a white man's mistress than the wife of such as herself; and it did not bring on them the same disgrace, this kind of life, as it does on women in England, or even, I may say, on women in Europe, nor the same bitter punishment. Their master, though he might be stern enough and a tyrant, as the owner of slaves living on his own little principality might probably be, was kinder to her than to the other females around her, and in a rough sort of way was true to her. He did not turn her out of the house, and she found it to be promotion to be the mother of his children and the upper servant in his establishment. And in those days, days still so near to us, the coloured woman was a slave herself, unless specially manumitted either in her own generation or in that immediately above her. It is from such alliances as these that the coloured race of Jamaica has sprung. But all this, if one cannot already boast that it is changed, is quickly changing. Matrimony is in vogue, and the coloured women know their rights, and are inclined to claim them. Of course among them, as among us at home, and among all people, there are various ranks. There are but few white labourers in Jamaica, and but few negroes who are not labourers. But the coloured people are to be found in all ranks, from that of the Prime Minister--for they have a Prime Minister in Jamaica--down to the worker in the cane-fields. Among their women many are now highly educated, for they send their children to English schools. Perhaps if I were to say fashionably educated, I might be more strictly correct They love dearly to shine; to run over the piano with quick and loud fingers; to dance with skill, which they all do, for they have good figures and correct ears; to know and display the little tricks and graces of English ladies--such tricks and graces as are to be learned between fifteen and seventeen at Ealing, Clapham, and Homsey. But the coloured girls of a class below these--perhaps I should say two classes below them--are the most amusing specimens of Jamaica ladies. I endeavoured to introduce my readers to one at Port Antonio. They cannot be called pretty, for the upper part of the face almost always recedes; but they have good figures and well-turned limbs. They are singularly free from _mauvaise honte_, and yet they are not impertinent or ill-mannered. They are gracious enough with the pale faces when treated graciously, but they can show a very high spirit if they fancy that any slight is shown to them. They delight to talk contemptuously of niggers. Those people are dirty niggers, and nasty niggers, and mere niggers. I have heard this done by one whom I had absolutely taken for a negro, and who was not using loud abusive language, but gently speaking of an inferior class. With these, as indeed with coloured people of a higher grade, the great difficulty is with their language. They cannot acquire the natural English pronunciation. As far as I remember, I have never heard but two negroes who spoke unbroken English; and the lower classes of the coloured people, though they are not equally deficient, are still very incapable of plain English articulation. The "th" is to them, as to foreigners, an insuperable difficulty. Even Josephine, it may be remembered, was hardly perfect in this respect. CHAPTER VI. JAMAICA--WHITE MEN. It seems to us natural that white men should hold ascendency over those who are black or coloured. Although we have emancipated our own slaves, and done so much to abolish slavery elsewhere, nevertheless we regard the negro as born to be a servant. We do not realize it to ourselves that it is his right to share with us the high places of the world, and that it should be an affair of individual merit whether we wait on his beck or he on ours. We have never yet brought ourselves so to think, and probably never shall. They still are to us a servile race. Philanthropical abolitionists will no doubt deny the truth of this; but I have no doubt that the conviction is strong with them--could they analyze their own convictions--as it is with others. Where white men and black men are together, the white will order and the black will obey, with an obedience more or less implicit according to the terms on which they stand. When those terms are slavery, the white men order with austerity, and the black obey with alacrity. But such terms have been found to be prejudicial to both. Each is brutalized by the contact. The black man becomes brutal and passive as a beast of burden; the white man becomes brutal and ferocious as a beast of prey. But there are various other terms on which they may stand as servants and masters. There are those well-understood terms which regulate employment in England and elsewhere, under which the poor man's time is his money, and the rich man's capital his certain means of obtaining labour. As far as we can see, these terms, if properly carried out, are the best which human wisdom can devise for the employment and maintenance of mankind. Here in England they are not always properly carried out. At an occasional spot or two things will run rusty for a while. There are strikes, and there are occasional gluts of labour, very distressing to the poor man; and occasional gluts of the thing laboured, very embarrassing to the rich man. But on the whole, seeing that after all the arrangement is only human, here in England it does work pretty well. We intended, no doubt, when we emancipated our slaves in Jamaica, that the affair should work in the same way there. But the terms there at present are as far removed from the English system as they are from the Cuban, and are almost as abhorrent to justice as slavery itself--as abhorrent to justice, though certainly not so abhorrent to mercy and humanity. What would a farmer say in England if his ploughman declined to work, and protested that he preferred going to his master's granary and feeding himself and his children on his master's corn? "Measter, noa; I beez a-tired thick day, and dunna mind to do no wark!" Then the poorhouse, my friend, the poorhouse! And hardly that; starvation first, and nakedness, and all manner of misery. In point of fact, our friend the ploughman must go and work, even though his o'erlaboured bones be tired, as no doubt they often are. He knows it, and does it, and in his way is not discontented. And is not this God's ordinance? His ordinance in England and elsewhere, but not so, apparently, in Jamaica. There we had a devil's ordinance in those days of slavery; and having rid ourselves of that, we have still a devil's ordinance of another sort. It is not perhaps very easy for men to change devil's work into heavenly work at once. The ordinance that at present we have existing there is that _far niente_ one of lying in the sun and eating yams--"of eating, not your own yams, you lazy, do-nothing, thieving darkee; but my yams; mine, who am being ruined, root and branch, stock and barrel, house and homestead, wife and bairns, because you won't come and work for me when I offer you due wages; you thieving, do-nothing, lazy nigger." "Hush!" will say my angry philanthropist. "For the sake of humanity, hush! Will coarse abuse and the calling of names avail anything? Is he not a man and a brother?" No, my angry philanthropist; while he will not work and will only steal, he is neither the one nor the other, in my estimation. As for his being a brother, that we may say is--fudge; and I will call no professional idler a man. But the abuse above given is not intended to be looked on as coming out of my own mouth, and I am not, therefore, to be held responsible for the wording of it. It is inserted there--with small inverted commas, as you see--to show the language with which our angry white friends in Jamaica speak of the extraordinary condition in which they have found themselves placed. Slowly--with delay that has been awfully ruinous--they now bethink themselves of immigration--immigration from the coast of Africa, immigration from China, Coolie immigrants from Hindostan. When Trinidad and Guiana have helped themselves, then Jamaica bestirs itself. And what then? Then the negroes bestir themselves. "For heaven's sake let us be looked to! Are we not to be protected from competition? If labourers be brought here, will not these white people again cultivate their grounds? Shall we not be driven from our squatting patches? Shall we not starve; or, almost worse than that, shall we not again fall under Adam's curse? Shall we not again be slaves, in reality, if not in name? Shall we not have to work?" The negro's idea of emancipation was and is emancipation not from slavery but from work. To lie in the sun and eat breadfruit and yams is his idea of being free. Such freedom as that has not been intended for man in this world; and I say that Jamaica, as it now exists, is still under a devil's ordinance. One cannot wonder that the white man here should be vituperative in his wrath. First came emancipation. He bore that with manful courage; for it must be remembered that even in that he had much to bear. The price he got for his slave was nothing as compared with that slave's actual value. And slavery to him was not repugnant as it is to you and me. One's trade is never repugnant to one's feelings. But so much he did bear with manly courage. He could no longer make slave-grown sugar, but he would not at any rate be compelled to compete with those who could. The protective duties would save him there. Then free trade became the fashion, and protective duties on sugar were abolished. I beg it may not be thought that I am an advocate for such protection. The West Indians were, I think, thrown over in a scurvy manner, because they were thrown over by their professed friends. But that was, we all know, the way with Sir Robert Peel. Well, free trade in sugar became the law of the land, and then the Jamaica planter found the burden too heavy for his back. The money which had flown in so freely came in such small driblets that he could make no improvement. Portions of his estate went out of cultivation, and then the negro who should have tilled the remainder squatted on it, and said, "No, massa, me no workee to-day." And now, to complete the business, now that Jamaica is at length looking in earnest for immigration--for it has long been looking for immigration with listless dis-earnest--the planter is told that the labour of the black man must be protected. If he be vituperative, who can wonder at it? To speak the truth, he is somewhat vituperative. The white planter of Jamaica is sore and vituperative and unconvinced. He feels that he has been ill used, and forced to go to the wall; and that now he is there, he is meanly spoken of, as though he were a bore and a nuisance--as one of whom the Colonial Office would gladly rid itself if it knew how. In his heart of hearts there dwells a feeling that after all slavery was not so vile an institution--that that devil as well as some others has been painted too black. In those old days the work was done, the sugar was made, the workmen were comfortably housed and fed, and perhaps on his father's estate were kindly treated. At any rate, such is his present memory. The money came in, things went on pleasantly, and he cannot remember that anybody was unhappy. But now--! Can it be wondered at that in his heart of hearts he should still have a sort of yearning after slavery? In one sense, at any rate, he has been ill used. The turn in the wheel of Fortune has gone against him, as it went against the hand-loom weavers when machinery became the fashion. Circumstances rather than his own fault have brought him low. Well-disciplined energy in all the periods of his adversity might perhaps have saved him, as it has saved others; but there has been more against him than against others. As regards him himself, the old-fashioned Jamaica planter, the pure blooded white owner of the soil, I think that his day in Jamaica is done. The glory, I fear, has departed from his house. The hand-loom weavers have been swept into infinite space, and their children now poke the engine fires, or piece threads standing in a factory. The children of the old Jamaica planter must also push their fortunes elsewhere. It is a thousand pities, for he was, I may still say is, the prince of planters--the true aristocrat of the West Indies. He is essentially different as a man from the somewhat purse-proud Barbadian, whose estate of two hundred acres has perhaps changed hands half a dozen times in the last fifty years, or the thoroughly mercantile sugar manufacturer of Guiana. He has so many of the characteristics of an English country gentleman that he does not strike an Englishman as a strange being. He has his pedigree, and his family house, and his domain around him. He shoots and fishes, and some few years since, in the good days, he even kept a pack of hounds. He is in the commission of the peace, and as such has much to do. A planter in Demerara may also be a magistrate,--probably is so; but the fact does not come forward as a prominent part of his life's history. In Jamaica too there is scope for a country gentleman. They have their counties and their parishes; in Barbados they have nothing but their sugar estates. They have county society, local balls, and local race-meetings. They have local politics, local quarrels, and strong old-fashioned local friendships. In all these things one feels oneself to be much nearer to England in Jamaica than in any other of the West Indian islands. All this is beyond measure pleasant, and it is a thousand pities that it should not last. I fear, however, that it will not last--that, indeed, it is not now lasting. That dear lady's unwillingness to obey her lord's behests, when he asked her to call on her brown neighbour, nay, the very fact of that lord's request, both go to prove that this is so. The lady felt that her neighbour was cutting the very ground from under her feet. The lord knew "that old times were changed, old manners gone." The game was almost up when he found himself compelled to make such a request. At present, when the old planter sits on the magisterial bench, a coloured man sits beside him; one probably on each side of him. At road sessions he cannot carry out his little project because the coloured men out-vote him. There is a vacancy for his parish in the House of Assembly. The old planter scorns the House of Assembly, and will have nothing to do with it. A coloured man is therefore chosen, and votes away the white man's taxes; and then things worse and worse arise. Not only coloured men get into office, but black men also. What is our old aristocratic planter to do with a negro churchwarden on one side, and a negro coroner on another? "Fancy what our state is," a young planter said to me; "I dare not die, for fear I should be sat upon by a black man!" I know that it will be thought by many, and probably said by some, that these are distinctions to which we ought not to allude. But without alluding to them in one's own mind it is impossible to understand the state of the country; and without alluding to them in speech it is impossible to explain the state of the country. The fact is, that in Jamaica, at the present day, the coloured people do stand on strong ground, and that they do not so stand with the goodwill of the old aristocracy of the country. They have forced their way up, and now loudly protest that they intend to keep it. I think that they will keep it, and that on the whole it will be well for us Anglo-Saxons to have created a race capable of living and working in the climate without inconvenience. It is singular, however, how little all this is understood in England. There it is conceived that white men and coloured men, white ladies and coloured ladies, meet together and amalgamate without any difference. The Duchess of This and Lord That are very happy to have at their tables some intelligent dark gentleman, or even a well-dressed negro, though he may not perhaps be very intelligent. There is some little excitement in it, some change from the common; and perhaps also an easy opportunity of practising on a small scale those philanthropic views which they preach with so much eloquence. When one hobnobs over a glass of champagne with a dark gentleman, he is in some sort a man and a brother. But the duchess and the lord think that because the dark gentleman is to their taste, he must necessarily be as much to the taste of the neighbours among whom he has been born and bred; of those who have been accustomed to see him from his childhood. There never was a greater mistake. A coloured man may be a fine prophet in London; but he will be no prophet in Jamaica, which is his own country; no prophet at any rate among his white neighbours. I knew a case in which a very intelligent--nay, I believe, a highly-educated young coloured gentleman, was sent out by certain excellent philanthropic big-wigs to fill an official situation in Jamaica. He was a stranger to Jamaica, never having been there before. Now, when he was so sent out, the home big-wigs alluded to, intimated to certain other big-wigs in Jamaica that their dark protégé would be a great acquisition to the society of the place. I mention this to show the ignorance of those London big-wigs, not as to the capability of the young gentleman, which probably was not over-rated, but as to the manners and life of the place. I imagine that the gentleman has hardly once found himself in that society which it was supposed he would adorn. The time, however, will probably come when he and others of the same class will have sufficient society of their own. I have said elsewhere that the coloured people in Jamaica have made their way into society; and in what I now say I may seem to contradict myself. Into what may perhaps be termed public society they have made their way. Those who have seen the details of colonial life will know that there is a public society to which people are admitted or not admitted, according to their acknowledged rights. Governor's parties, public balls, and certain meetings which are semi-official and semi-social, are of this nature. A Governor in Jamaica would, I imagine, not conceive himself to have the power of excluding coloured people from his table, even if he wished it. But in Barbados I doubt whether a Governor could, if he wished it, do the reverse. So far coloured people in Jamaica have made their footing good; and they are gradually advancing beyond this. But not the less as a rule are they disliked by the old white aristocracy of the country; in a strong degree by the planters themselves, but in a much stronger by the planters' wives. So much for my theory as to the races of men in Jamaica, and as to the social condition of the white and coloured people with reference to each other. Now I would say a word or two respecting the white man as he himself is, without reference either to his neighbour or to his prospects. A better fellow cannot be found anywhere than a gentleman of Jamaica, or one with whom it is easier to live on pleasant terms. He is generally hospitable, affable, and generous; easy to know, and pleasant when known; not given perhaps to much deep erudition, but capable of talking with ease on most subjects of conversation; fond of society, and of pleasure, if you choose to call it so; but not generally addicted to low pleasures. He is often witty, and has a sharp side to his tongue if occasion be given him to use it. He is not generally, I think, a hard-working man. Had he been so, the country perhaps would not have been in its present condition. But he is bright and clever, and in spite of all that he has gone through, he is at all times good-humoured. No men are fonder of the country to which they belong, or prouder of the name of Great Britain than these Jamaicans. It has been our policy--and, as regards our larger colonies, the policy I have no doubt has been beneficial--to leave our dependencies very much to themselves; to interfere in the way of governing as little as might be; and to withdraw as much as possible from any participation in their internal concerns. This policy is anything but popular with the white aristocracy of Jamaica. They would fain, if it were possible, dispense altogether with their legislature, and be governed altogether from home. In spite of what they have suffered, they are still willing to trust the statesmen of England, but are most unwilling to trust the statesmen of Jamaica. Nothing is more peculiar than the way in which the word "home" is used in Jamaica, and indeed all through the West Indies, With the white people, it always signifies England, even though the person using the word has never been there. I could never trace the use of the word in Jamaica as applied by white men or white women to the home in which they lived, not even though that home had been the dwelling of their fathers as well as of themselves. The word "home" with them is sacred, and means something holier than a habitation in the tropics. It refers always to the old country. In this respect, as in so many others, an Englishman differs greatly from a Frenchman. Though our English, as a rule, are much more given to colonize than they are; though we spread ourselves over the face of the globe, while they have established comparatively but few settlements in the outer world; nevertheless, when we leave our country, we almost always do so with some idea, be it ever so vague, that we shall return to it again, and again make it our home. But the Frenchman divests himself of any such idea. He also loves France, or at any rate loves Paris; but his object is to carry his Paris with him; to make a Paris for himself, whether it be in a sugar island among the Antilles, or in a trading town upon the Levant. And in some respects the Frenchman is the wiser man. He never looks behind him with regret. He does his best to make his new house comfortable. The spot on which he fixes is his home, and so he calls it, and so regards it. But with an Englishman in the West Indies--even with an English Creole--England is always his home. If the people in Jamaica have any prejudice, it is on the subject of heat. I suppose they have a general idea that their island is hotter than England; but they never reduce this to an individual idea respecting their own habitation. "Come and dine with me," a man says to you; "I can give you a cool bed." The invitation at first sounded strange to me, but I soon got used to it; I soon even liked it, though I found too often that the promise was not kept. How could it be kept while the quicksilver was standing at eighty-five in the shade? And each man boasts that his house is ten degrees cooler than that of his neighbours; and each man, if you contest the point, has a reason to prove why it must be so. But a stranger, at any rate round Kingston, is apt to put the matter in a different light. One place may be hotter than another, but cool is a word which he never uses. On the whole, I think that the heat of Kingston, Jamaica, is more oppressive than that of any other place among the British West Indies. When one gets down to the Spanish coast, then, indeed, one can look back even to Kingston with regret. CHAPTER VII. JAMAICA--SUGAR. That Jamaica was a land of wealth, rivalling the East in its means of riches, nay, excelling it as a market for capital, as a place in which money might be turned; and that it now is a spot on the earth almost more poverty-stricken than any other--so much is known almost to all men. That this change was brought about by the manumission of the slaves, which was completed in 1838, of that also the English world is generally aware. And there probably the usual knowledge about Jamaica ends. And we may also say that the solicitude of Englishmen at large goes no further. The families who are connected with Jamaica by ties of interest are becoming fewer and fewer. Property has been abandoned as good for nothing, and nearly forgotten; or has been sold for what wretched trifle it would fetch; or left to an overseer, who is hardly expected to send home proceeds--is merely ordered imperatively to apply for no subsidies. Fathers no longer send their younger sons to make their fortunes there. Young English girls no longer come out as brides. Dukes and earls do not now govern the rich gem of the west, spending their tens of thousands in royal magnificence, and laying by other tens of thousands for home consumption. In lieu of this, some governor by profession, unfortunate for the moment, takes Jamaica with a groan, as a stepping-stone to some better Barataria--New Zealand perhaps, or Frazer River; and by strict economy tries to save the price of his silver forks. Equerries, aides-de-camp, and private secretaries no longer flaunt it about Spanish Town. The flaunting about Spanish Town is now of a dull sort. Ichabod! The glory of that house is gone. The palmy days of that island are over. Those who are failing and falling in the world excite but little interest; and so it is at present with Jamaica. From time to time we hear that properties which used to bring five thousand pounds a year are not now worth five hundred pounds in fee simple. We hear it, thank our stars that we have not been brought up in the Jamaica line, and there's an end of it. If we have young friends whom we wish to send forth into the world, we search the maps with them at our elbows; but we put our hands over the West Indies--over the first fruits of the courage and skill of Columbus--as a spot tabooed by Providence. Nay, if we could, we would fain forget Jamaica altogether. But there it is; a spot on the earth not to be lost sight of or forgotten altogether, let us wish it ever so much. It belongs to us, and must be in some sort thought of and managed, and, if possible, governed. Though the utter sinking of Jamaica under the sea might not be regarded as a misfortune, it is not to be thought of that it should belong to others than Britain. How should we look at the English politician who would propose to sell it to the United States; or beg Spain to take it as an appendage to Cuba? It is one of the few sores in our huge and healthy carcase; and the sore has been now running so long, that we have almost given over asking whether it be curable. This at any rate is certain--it will not sink into the sea, but will remain there, inhabited, if not by white men, then by coloured men or black; and must unfortunately be governed by us English. We have indulged our antipathy to cruelty by abolishing slavery. We have made the peculiar institution an impossibility under the British crown. But in doing so we overthrew one particular interest; and, alas! we overthrew also, and necessarily so, the holders of that interest. As for the twenty millions which we gave to the slave-owners, it was at best but as though we had put down awls and lasts by Act of Parliament, and, giving the shoemakers the price of their tools, told them they might make shoes as they best could without them; failing any such possibility, that they might live on the price of their lost articles. Well; the shoemakers did their best, and continued their trade in shoes under much difficulty. But then we have had another antipathy to indulge, and have indulged it--our antipathy to protection. We have abolished the duty on slave-grown sugar; and the shoemakers who have no awls and lasts have to compete sadly with their happy neighbours, possessed of these useful shoemaking utensils. Make no more shoes, but make something in lieu of shoes, we say to them. The world wants not shoes only--make hats. Give up your sugar, and bring forth produce that does not require slave labour. Could the men of Jamaica with one voice speak out such words as the experience of the world might teach them, they would probably answer thus:--"Yes; in two hundred years or so we will do so. So long it will take to alter the settled trade and habit of a community. In the mean time, for ourselves, our living selves, our late luxurious homes, our idle, softly-nurtured Creole wives, our children coming and to come--for ourselves--what immediate compensation do you intend to offer us, Mr. Bull?" Mr. Bull, with sufficient anger at such importunity; with sufficient remembrance of his late twenty millions of pounds sterling; with some plain allusions to that payment, buttons up his breeches-pocket and growls angrily. Abolition of slavery is good, and free trade is good. Such little insight as a plain man may have into the affairs around him seems to me to suffice for the expression of such opinion. Nor will I presume to say that those who proposed either the one law or the other were premature. To get a good law passed and out of hand is always desirable. There are from day to day so many new impediments! But the law having been passed, we should think somewhat of the sufferers. Planters in Jamaica assert that when the abolition of slavery was hurried on by the termination of the apprentice system before the time first stipulated, they were promised by the government at home that their interests should be protected by high duties on slave-grown sugar. That such pledge was ever absolutely made, I do not credit. But that, if made, it could be worth anything, no man looking to the history of England could imagine. What minister can pledge his successors? In Jamaica it is said that the pledge was given and broken by the same man--by Sir Robert Peel. But when did Sir Robert Peel's pledge in one year bind even his own conduct in the next? The fact perhaps is this, that no one interest can ever be allowed to stand in the way of national progress. We could not stop machinery for the sake of the hand-loom weavers. The poor hand-loom weavers felt themselves aggrieved; knew that the very bread was taken from their mouths, their hard-earned cup from their lips. They felt, poor weavers! that they could not take themselves in middle life to poking fires and greasing wheels. Time, the eater of things, has now pretty well eaten the hand-loom weavers--them and their miseries. Must it not be so also with the Jamaica planters? In the mean time the sight, as regards the white man, is a sad one to see; and almost the sadder in that the last three or four years have been in a slight degree prosperous to the Jamaica sugar-grower; so that this question of producing sugar in that island at a rate that will pay for itself is not quite answered. The drowning man still clings by a rope's end, though it be but by half an inch, and that held between his teeth. Let go, thou unhappy one, and drown thyself out of the way! Is it not thus that Great Britain, speaking to him from the high places in Exeter Hall, shouts to him in his death struggles? Are Englishmen in general aware that half the sugar estates in Jamaica, and I believe more than half the coffee plantations, have gone back into a state of bush?--that all this land, rich with the richest produce only some thirty years since, has now fallen back into wilderness?--that the world has hereabouts so retrograded?--that chaos and darkness have reswallowed so vast an extent of the most bountiful land that civilization had ever mastered, and that too beneath the British government? And of those who are now growing canes in Jamaica a great portion are gentlemen who have lately bought their estates for the value of the copper in the sugar-boilers, and of the metal in the rum-stills. If to this has been added anything like a fair value for wheels in the machinery, the estate has not been badly sold. Some estates there are, and they are not many, which are still worked by the agents--attorneys is the proper word--of rich proprietors in England; of men so rich that they have been able to bear the continual drain of properties that for years have been always losing--of men who have had wealth and spirit to endure this. It is hardly necessary to say that they are few; and that many whose spirit has been high, but wealth insufficient, have gone grievously to the wall in the attempt. And there are still some who, living on the spot, have hitherto pulled through it all; who have watched houses falling and the wilderness progressing, and have still stuck to their homes and their work; men whose properties for ten years, counting from the discontinuance of protection, have gradually grown less and less beneath their eyes, till utter want has been close to them. And yet they have held on. In the good times they may have made five hundred hogsheads of sugar every year. It has come to that with them that in some years they have made but thirty. But they have made that thirty and still held on. All honour at least to them! For their sake, if for that of no others, we would be tempted to pray that these few years of their prosperity may be prolonged and grow somewhat fatter. The exported produce of Jamaica consists chiefly of sugar and rum. The article next in importance is coffee. Then they export also logwood, arrowroot, pimento, and ginger; but not in quantities to make them of much national value. Mahogany is also cut here, and fustic. But sugar and rum are still the staples of the island. Now all the world knows that rum and sugar are made from the same plant. And yet every one will tell you that the cane can hardly be got to thrive in Jamaica without slave labour; will tell you, also, that the land of Jamaica is so generous that it will give forth many of the most wonderful fruits of the world, almost without labour. Putting these two things together, would not any simple man advise them to abandon sugar? Ah! he would be very simple if he were to do so with a voice that could make itself well heard, and should dare to do so in Jamaica. Men there are generally tolerant of opinion on most matters, and submit to be talked to on their own shortcomings and colonial mismanagement with a decent grace. You may advise them to do this, and counsel them to do that, referring to their own immediate concerns, without receiving that rebuke which your interference might probably deserve. But do not try their complaisance too far. Do not advise them to give over making sugar. If you give such advice in a voice loud enough to be heard, the island will soon be too hot to hold you. Sugar is loved there, whether wisely loved or not. If not wisely, then too well. When I hear a Jamaica planter talking of sugar, I cannot but think of Burns, and his muse that had made him poor and kept him so. And the planter is just as ready to give up his canes as the poet was to abandon his song. The production of sugar and the necessary concomitant production of rum--for in Jamaica the two do necessarily go together--is not, one would say, an alluring occupation. I do not here intend to indulge my readers with a detailed description of the whole progress, from the planting or ratooning of the cane till the sugar and the rum are shipped. Books there are, no doubt, much wiser than mine in which the whole process is developed. But I would wish this much to be understood, that the sugar planter, as things at present are, must attend to and be master of, and practically carry out three several trades. He must be an agriculturist, and grow his cane; and like all agriculturists must take his crop from the ground and have it ready for use; as the wheat grower does in England, and the cotton grower in America. But then he must also be a manufacturer, and that in a branch of manufacture which requires complicated machinery. The wheat grower does not grind his wheat and make it into bread. Nor does the cotton grower fabricate calico. But the grower of canes must make sugar. He must have his boiling-houses and trash-houses; his water power and his steam power; he must dabble in machinery, and, in fact, be a Manchester manufacturer as well as a Kent farmer. And then, over and beyond this, he must be a distiller. The sugar leaves him fit for your puddings, and the rum fit for your punch--always excepting the slight article of adulteration which you are good enough to add afterwards yourselves. Such a complication of trades would not be thought very alluring to a gentleman farmer in England. And yet the Jamaica proprietor holds faithfully by his sugar-canes. It has been said that sugar is an article which for its proper production requires slave labour. That this is absolutely so is certainly not the fact, for very good sugar is made in Jamaica without it. That thousands of pounds could be made with slaves where only hundreds are made--or, as the case may be, are lost--without it, I do not doubt. The complaint generally resolves itself to this, that free labour in Jamaica cannot be commanded; that it cannot be had always, and up to a certain given quantity at a certain moment; that labour is scarce, and therefore high priced, and that labour being high priced, a negro can live on half a day's wages, and will not therefore work the whole day--will not always work any part of the day at all, seeing that his yams, his breadfruit, and his plantains are ready to his hands. But the slaves!--Oh! those were the good times! I have in another chapter said a few words about the negroes as at present existing in Jamaica, I also shall say a few words as to slavery elsewhere; and I will endeavour not to repeat myself. This much, however, is at least clear to all men, that you cannot eat your cake and have it. You cannot abolish slavery to the infinite good of your souls, your minds, and intellects, and yet retain it for the good of your pockets. Seeing that these men are free, it is worse than useless to begrudge them the use of their freedom. If I have means to lie in the sun and meditate idle, why, O my worthy taskmaster! should you expect me to pull out at thy behest long reels of cotton, long reels of law jargon, long reels of official verbosity, long reels of gossamer literature--Why, indeed? Not having means so to lie, I do pull out the reels, taking such wages as I can get, and am thankful. But my friend and brother over there, my skin-polished, shining, oil-fat negro, is a richer man than I. He lies under his mango-tree, and eats the luscious fruit in the sun; he sends his black urchin up for a breadfruit, and behold the family table is spread. He pierces a cocoa-nut, and, lo! there is his beverage. He lies on the grass surrounded by oranges, bananas, and pine-apples. Oh, my hard taskmaster of the sugar-mill, is he not better off than thou? why should he work at thy order? "No, massa, me weak in me belly; me no workee to-day; me no like workee just 'em little moment." Yes, Sambo has learned to have his own way; though hardly learned to claim his right without lying. That this is all bad--bad nearly as bad can be--bad perhaps as anything short of slavery, all men will allow. It will be quite as bad in the long run for the negro as for the white man--worse, indeed; for the white man will by degrees wash his hands of the whole concern. But as matters are, one cannot wonder that the black man will not work. The question stands thus: cannot he be made to do so? Can it not be contrived that he shall be free, free as is the Englishman, and yet compelled, as is the Englishman, to eat his bread in the sweat of his brow? I utterly disbelieve in statistics as a science, and am never myself guided by any long-winded statement of figures from a Chancellor of the Exchequer or such like big-wig. To my mind it is an hallucination. Such statements are "ignes fatui." Figures, when they go beyond six in number, represent to me not facts, but dreams, or sometimes worse than dreams. I have therefore no right myself to offer statistics to the reader. But it was stated in the census taken in 1844 that there were sixteen thousand white people in the island, and about three hundred thousand blacks. There were also about seventy thousand coloured people. Putting aside for the moment the latter as a middle class, and regarding the black as the free servants of the white, one would say that labour should not be so deficient But what, if your free servants don't work; unfortunately know how to live without working? The political question that presses upon me in viewing Jamaica, is certainly this--Will the growth of sugar pay in Jamaica, or will it not? I have already stated my conviction that a change is now taking place in the very blood and nature of the men who are destined to be the dominant classes in these western tropical latitudes. That the white man, the white Englishman, or white English Creole, will ever again be a thoroughly successful sugar grower in Jamaica I do not believe. That the brown man may be so is very probable; but great changes must first be made in the countries around him. While the "peculiar institution" exists in Cuba, Brazil, Porto Rico, and the Southern States, it cannot, I think, come to pass. A plentiful crop in Cuba may in any year bring sugar to a price which will give no return whatever to the Jamaica grower. A spare crop in Jamaica itself will have the same result; and there are many causes for spare crops; drought, for instance, and floods, and abounding rats, and want of capital to renew and manure the plants. At present the trade will only give in good years a fair profit to those who have purchased their land almost for nothing. A trade that cannot stand many misfortunes can hardly exist prosperously. This trade has stood very many; but I doubt whether it can stand more. The "peculiar institution," however, will not live for ever. The time must come when abolition will be popular even in Louisiana. And when it is law there, it will be the law in Cuba also. If that day shall have arrived before the last sugar-mill in the island shall have been stopped, Jamaica may then compete with other free countries. The world will not do without sugar, let it be produced by slaves or free men. But though a man may venture to foretell the abolition of slavery in the States, and yet call himself no prophet, he must be a wiser man than I who can foretell the time. It will hardly be to-morrow; nor yet the next day. It will scarcely come so that we may see it. Before it does come it may easily be that the last sugar-mill in poor Jamaica will in truth have stopped. CHAPTER VIII. JAMAICA--EMPEROR SOULOUQUE. We all remember the day when Mr. Smith landed at Newhaven and took up his abode quietly at the inn there. Poor Mr. Smith! In the ripeness of time he has betaken himself a stage further on his long journey, travelling now probably without disguise, either that of a citizen King or of a citizen Smith. And now, following his illustrious example, the ex-Emperor Soulouque has sought the safety always to be found on English territories by sovereigns out of place. In January, 1859, his Highness landed at Kingston, Jamaica, having made his town of Port au Prince and his kingdom of Hayti somewhat too hot to hold him. All the world probably knows that King Soulouque is a black man. One blacker never endured the meridian heat of a tropical sun. The island, which was christened Hispaniola by Columbus, has resumed its ancient name of Hayti. It is, however, divided into two kingdoms--two republics one may now say. That to the east is generally called St. Domingo, having borrowed the name given by Columbus to a town. This is by far the larger, but at the same time the poorer division of the island. That to the west is now called Hayti, and over this territory Soulouque reigned as emperor. He reigned as emperor, and was so styled, having been elected as President; in which little change in his state he has been imitated by a neighbour of ours with a success almost equal to his own. For some dozen years the success of Soulouque was very considerable. He has had a dominion which has been almost despotic; and has, so rumour says, invested some three or four hundred thousand pounds in European funds. In this latter point his imitator has, I fear, hardly equalled him. But a higher ambition fired the bosom of Soulouque, and he sighed after the territories of his neighbours--not generously to bestow them on other kings, but that he might keep them on his own behoof. Soulouque desired to be emperor of the whole island, and he sounded his trumpet and prepared his arms. He called together his army, and put on the boots of Bombastes. He put on the boots of Bombastes and bade his men meet him--at the Barleymow or elsewhere. But it seems that his men were slow in coming to the rendezvous. Nothing that Soulouque could say, nothing that he could do, no admonitions through his sternest government ministers, no reading of the mutiny act by his commanders and generals, would induce them actually to make an assault at arms. Then Soulouque was angry, and in his anger he maltreated his army. He put his men into pits, and kept them there without food; left them to be eaten by vermin--to be fed upon while they could not feed; and played, upon the whole, such a melodrama of autocratic tricks and fantasies as might have done honour to a white Nero. Then at last black human nature could endure no more, and Soulouque, dreading a pit for his own majesty, was forced to run. In one respect he was more fortunate than Mr. Smith. In his dire necessity an English troop-ship was found to be at hand. The 'Melbourne' was steaming home from Jamaica, and the officer in command having been appealed to for assistance, consented to return to Kingston with the royal suite. This she did, and on the 22nd of January, Soulouque, with his wife and daughter, his prime minister, and certain coal-black maids of honour, was landed at the quays. When under the ægis of British protection, the ex-emperor was of course safe. But he had not exactly chosen a bed of roses for himself in coming to Jamaica. It might be probable that a bed of roses was not easily to be found at the moment. At Kingston there were collected many Haytians, who had either been banished by Soulouque in the plenitude of his power, or had run from him as he was now running from his subjects. There were many whose brothers and fathers had been destroyed in Hayti, whose friends had perished under the hands of the tyrant's executioner, for whom pits would have been prepared had they not vanished speedily. These refugees had sought safety also in Jamaica, and for them a day of triumph had now arrived. They were not the men to allow an opportunity for triumph to pass without enjoying it. These were mostly brown men--men of a mixed race; men, and indeed women also. With Soulouque and his government such had found no favour. He had been glad to welcome white residents in his kingdom, and of course had rejoiced in having black men as his subjects. But of the coloured people he had endeavoured in every way to rid himself. He had done so to a great extent, and many of them were now ready to welcome him at Kingston. Kingston does not rejoice in public equipages of much pretensions; nor are there to be hired many carriages fit for the conveyance of royalty, even in its decadence. Two small, wretched vehicles were however procured, such as ply in the streets there, and carry passengers to the Spanish Town railway at sixpence a head. In one of these sat Soulouque and his wife, with a British officer on the box beside the driver, and with two black policemen hanging behind. In another, similarly guarded, were packed the Countess Olive--that being the name of the ex-emperor's daughter--and her attendants. And thus travelling by different streets they made their way to their hotel. One would certainly have wished, in despite of those wretched pits, that they had been allowed to do so without annoyance; but such was not the case. The banished Haytians had it not in their philosophy to abstain from triumphing on a fallen enemy. They surrounded the carriages with a dusky cloud, and received the fugitives with howls of self-congratulation at their abasement. Nor was this all. When the royal party was duly lodged at the Date-Tree tavern, the ex-Haytians lodged themselves opposite. There they held a dignity ball in token of their joy; and for three days maintained their position in order that poor Soulouque might witness their rejoicings. "They have said a mass over him, the wretched being!" said the landlady of my hotel to me, triumphantly. "Said a mass over him?" "Yes, the black nigger--king, indeed! said a mass over him 'cause he's down. Thank God for that! And pray God keep him so. Him king indeed, the black nigger!" All which could not have been comfortable for poor Soulouque. The royal party had endeavoured in the first instance to take up their quarters at this lady's hotel, or lodging-house, as they are usually called. But the patriotic sister of Mrs. Seacole would listen to no such proposition. "I won't keep a house for black men," she said to me. "As for kings, I would despise myself to have a black king. As for that black beast and his black women--Bah!" Now this was certainly magnanimous, for Soulouque would have been prepared to pay well for his accommodation. But the ordinary contempt which the coloured people have for negroes was heightened in this case by the presumption of black royalty--perhaps also by loyalty. "Queen Victoria is my king," said Mrs. Seacole's sister. I must confess that I endeavoured to excite her loyalty rather than her compassion. A few friends were to dine with me that day; and where would have been my turtle soup had Soulouque and his suite taken possession of the house? The deposed tyrant, when he left Hayti, published a short manifesto, in which he set forth that he, Faustin the First, having been elected by the free suffrages of his fellow countrymen, had endeavoured to govern them well, actuated by a pure love of his country; that he had remained at his post as long as his doing so had been pleasing to his countrymen; but that now, having discovered by sure symptoms that his countrymen desired to see him no longer on the throne, he voluntarily and immediately abdicated his seat. From henceforth he could only wish well to the prosperity of Hayti. Free suffrages of his people! Ah, me! Such farces strike us but as farces when Hayti and such like lands are concerned. But when they come nearer to us they are very sad. Soulouque is a stout, hale man, apparently of sixty-five or sixty-eight years of age. It is difficult to judge of the expression of a black man's face unless it be very plainly seen; but it appeared to me to be by no means repulsive. He has been, I believe, some twelve years Emperor of Hayti, and as he has escaped with wealth he cannot be said to have been unfortunate. CHAPTER IX. JAMAICA--THE GOVERNMENT. Queen, Lords, and Commons, with the full paraphernalia of triple readings, adjournments of the house, and counting out, prevails in Jamaica as it does in Great Britain. By this it will be understood that there is a Governor, representing the Crown, whose sanction or veto is of course given, as regards important measures, in accordance with instructions from the Colonial Office. The Governor has an Executive Committee, which tallies with our Cabinet. It consists at present of three members, one of whom belongs to the upper House and two to the lower. The Governor may appoint a fourth member if it so please him. These gentlemen are paid for their services, and preside over different departments, as do our Secretaries of State, &c. And there is a Most Honourable Privy Council, just as we have at home. Of this latter, the members may or may not support the Governor, seeing that they are elected for life. The House of Lords is represented by the Legislative Council. This quasi-peerage is of course not hereditary, but the members sit for life, and are nominated by the Governor. They are seventeen in number. The Legislative Council can of course put a veto on any bill. The House of Assembly stands in the place of the House of Commons. It consists of forty-seven members, two being elected by nineteen parishes, and three each by three other parishes, those, namely, which contain the towns of Kingston, Spanish Town, and Port Royal. In one respect this House of Commons falls short of the privileges and powers of our House at home. It cannot suggest money bills. No honourable member can make a proposition that so much a year shall be paid for such a purpose. The government did not wish to be driven to exercise the invidious power of putting repeated vetos on repeated suggestions for semi-public expenditure; and therefore this power has been taken away. But any honourable member can bring before the House a motion to the effect that the Governor be recommended himself to propose, by one of the Executive Committee, such or such a money bill; and then if the Governor decline, the House can refuse to pass his supplies, and can play the "red devil" with his Excellency. So that it seems to come pretty nearly to the same thing. At home in England, Crown, Lords, and Commons really seem to do very well. Some may think that the system wants a little shove this way, some the other. Reform may, or may not be, more or less needed. But on the whole we are governed honestly, liberally, and successfully; with at least a greater share of honesty, liberality, and success than has fallen to the lot of most other people. Each of the three estates enjoys the respect of the people at large, and a seat, either among the Lords or the Commons, is an object of high ambition. The system may therefore be said to be successful. But it does not follow that because it answers in England it should answer in Jamaica; that institutions which suit the country which is perhaps in the whole world the furthest advanced in civilization, wealth, and public honesty, should suit equally well an island which is unfortunately very far from being advanced in those good qualities; whose civilization, as regards the bulk of the population, is hardly above that of savages, whose wealth has vanished, and of whose public honesty--I will say nothing. Of that I myself will say nothing, but the Jamaicans speak of it in terms which are not flattering to their own land. I do not think that the system does answer in Jamaica. In the first place, it must be remembered that it is carried on there in a manner very different from that exercised in our other West-Indian colonies. In Jamaica any man may vote who pays either tax or rent; but by a late law he must put in his claim to vote on a ten shilling stamp. There are in round numbers three hundred thousand blacks, seventy thousand coloured people, and fifteen thousand white; it may therefore easily be seen in what hands the power of electing must rest. Now in Barbados no coloured man votes at all. A coloured man or negro is doubtless qualified to vote if he own a freehold; but then, care is taken that such shall not own freeholds. In Trinidad, the legislative power is almost entirely in the hands of the Crown. In Guiana, which I look upon as the best governed of them all, this is very much the case. It is not that I would begrudge the black man the right of voting because he is black, or that I would say that he is and must be unfit to vote, or unfit even to sit in a house of assembly; but the amalgamation as at present existing is bad. The objects sought after by a free and open representation of the people are not gained unless those men are as a rule returned who are most respected in the commonwealth, so that the body of which they are the units may be respected also. This object is not achieved in Jamaica, and consequently the House of Assembly is not respected. It does not contain the men of most weight and condition in the island, and is contemptuously spoken of even in Jamaica itself, and even by its own members. Some there are, some few, who have gotten themselves to be elected, in order that things which are already bad may not, if such can be avoided, become worse. They, no doubt, are they who best do their duty by the country in which their lot lies. But, for the most part, those who should represent Jamaica will not condescend to take part in the debates, nor will they solicit the votes of the negroes. It would appear from these observations as though I thought that the absolute ascendency of the white man should still be maintained in Jamaica. By no means. Let him be ascendant who can--in Jamaica or elsewhere--who honestly can. I doubt whether such ascendency, the ascendency of Europeans and white Creoles, can be longer maintained in this island. It is not even now maintained; and for that reason chiefly I hold that this system of Lords and Commons is not compatible with the present genius of the place. Let coloured men fill the public offices, and enjoy the sweets of official pickings. I would by no means wish to interfere with any good things which fortune may be giving them in this respect. But I think there would be greater probability of their advancing in their new profession honestly and usefully, if they could be made to look more to the Colonial Office at home, and less to the native legislature. At home, no member of the House of Commons can hold a government contract. The members of the House of Assembly in Jamaica have no such prejudicial embargo attached to the honour of their seats. They can hold the government contracts; and it is astonishing how many of them are in their hands. The great point which strikes a stranger is this, that the House of Assembly is not respected in the island. Jamaicans themselves have no confidence in it. If the white men could be polled, the majority I think would prefer to be rid of it altogether, and to be governed, as Trinidad is governed, by a Governor with a council; of course with due power of reference to the Colonial Office. Let any man fancy what England would be if the House of Commons were ludicrous in the eyes of Englishmen; if men ridiculed or were ashamed of all their debates. Such is the case as regards the Jamaica House of Commons. In truth, there is not room for a machinery so complicated in this island. The handful of white men can no longer have it all their own way; and as for the negroes--let any warmest advocate of the "man and brother" position say whether he has come across three or four of the class who are fit to enact laws for their own guidance and the guidance of others. It pains me to write words which may seem to be opposed to humanity and a wide philanthropy; but a spade is a spade, and it is worse than useless to say that it is something else. The proof of the truth of what I say with reference to this system of Lords and Commons is to be found in the eating of the pudding. It may not perhaps be fair to adduce the prosperity of Barbados, and to compare it with the adversity of Jamaica, seeing that local circumstances were advantageous to Barbados at the times of emancipation and equalization of the sugar duties. Barbados was always able to command a plentiful supply of labour. But it is quite fair to compare Jamaica with Guiana or Trinidad. In both these colonies the negro was as well able to shirk his work as in Jamaica. And in these two colonies the negro did shirk his work, just as he did in Jamaica; and does still to a great extent. The limits of these colonies are as extensive as Jamaica is, and the negro can squat. They are as fertile as Jamaica is, and the negro can procure his food almost without trouble. But not the less is it a fact that the exportation of sugar from Guiana and Trinidad now exceeds the amount exported in the time of slavery, while the exportation from Jamaica is almost as nothing. But in Trinidad and Guiana they have no House of Commons, with Mr. Speaker, three readings, motions for adjournment, and unlimited powers of speech. In those colonies the governments--acting with such assistance as was necessary--have succeeded in getting foreign labour. In Jamaica they have as yet but succeeded in talking about it. In Guiana and Trinidad they make much sugar, and boast loudly of making more. In Jamaica they make but very little, and have not self-confidence enough left with them to make any boast whatsoever. With all the love that an Englishman should have for a popular parliamentary representation, I cannot think it adapted to a small colony, even were that colony not from circumstances so peculiarly ill fitted for it as is Jamaica. In Canada and Australia it is no doubt very well; the spirit of a fresh and energetic people struggling on into the world's eminence will produce men fit for debating, men who can stand on their legs without making a house of legislature ridiculous. But what could Lords and Commons do in Malta, or in Jersey? What would they do in the Scilly Islands? What have they been doing in the Ionian Islands? And, alas! what have they done in Jamaica? Her roads are almost impassable, her bridges are broken down, her coffee plantations have gone back to bush, her sugar estates have been sold for the value of the sugar-boilers. Kingston as a town is the most deplorable that man ever visited, unless it be that Spanish Town is worse. And yet they have Lords and Commons with all but unlimited powers of making motions! It has availed them nothing, and I fear will avail them nothing. This I know may be said, that be the Lords and Commons there for good or evil, they are to be moved neither by men nor gods. It is I imagine true, that no power known to the British empire could deprive Jamaica of her constitution. It has had some kind of a house of assembly since the time of Charles II.; nay, I believe, since the days of Cromwell; which by successive doctoring has grown to be such a parody, as it now is, on our home mode of doing business. How all this may now be altered and brought back to reason, perhaps no man can say. Probably it cannot be altered till some further smash shall come; but it is not on that account the less objectionable. The House of Assembly and the Chamber of the Legislative Council are both situated in the same square with the Governor's mansion in Spanish Town. The desolateness of this place I have attempted to describe elsewhere, and yet, when I was there, Parliament was sitting! What must the place be during the nine months when Parliament does not sit? They are yellow buildings, erected at considerable expense, and not without some pretence. But nevertheless, they are ugly--ugly from their colour, ugly from the heat, and ugly from a certain heaviness which seems natural to them and to the place. The house itself in which the forty-seven members sit is comfortable enough, and not badly adapted for its purposes. The Speaker sits at one end all in full fig, with a clerk at the table below; opposite to him, two-thirds down the room, a low bar, about four feet high, runs across it. As far as this the public are always admitted; and when any subject of special interest is under discussion twelve or fifteen persons may be seen there assembled. Then there is a side room opening from the house, into which members take their friends. Indeed it is, I believe, generally open to any one wearing a decent coat. There is the Bellamy of the establishment, in which honourable members take such refreshment as the warmth of the debate may render necessary. Their tastes seemed to me to be simple, and to addict themselves chiefly to rum and water. I was throwing away my cigar as I entered the precincts of the house. "Oh, you can smoke," said my friend to me; "only, when you stand at the doorway, don't let the Speaker's eye catch the light; but it won't much matter." So I walked on, and stood at the side door, smoking my cigar indeed, but conscious that I was desecrating the place. I saw five or six coloured gentlemen in the house, and two negroes--sitting in the house as members. As far as the two latter men were concerned, I could not but be gratified to see them in the fair enjoyment of the objects of a fair ambition. Had they not by efforts of their own made themselves greatly superior to others of their race, they would not have been there. I say this, fearing that it may be thought that I begrudge a black man such a position. I begrudge the black men nothing that they can honestly lay hands on; but I think that we shall benefit neither them nor ourselves by attempting with a false philanthropy to make them out to be other than they are. The subject under debate was a railway bill. The railway system is not very extended in the island; but there is a railway, and the talk was of prolonging it. Indeed, the house I believe had on some previous occasion decided that it should be prolonged, and the present fight was as to some particular detail. What that detail was I did not learn, for the business being performed was a continual series of motions for adjournment carried on by a victorious minority of three. It was clear that the conquered majority of--say thirty--was very angry. For some reason, appertaining probably to the tactics of the house, these thirty were exceedingly anxious to have some special point carried and put out of the way that night, but the three were inexorable. Two of the three spoke continually, and ended every speech with a motion for adjournment. And then there was a disagreement among the thirty. Some declared all this to be "bosh," proposed to leave the house without any adjournment, play whist, and let the three victors enjoy their barren triumph. Others, made of sterner stuff, would not thus give way. One after another they made impetuous little speeches, then two at a time, and at last three. They thumped the table, and called each other pretty names, walked about furiously, and devoted the three victors to the infernal gods. And then one of the black gentlemen arose, and made a calm, deliberate little oration. The words he spoke were about the wisest which were spoken that night, and yet they were not very wise. He offered to the house a few platitudes on the general benefit of railways, which would have applied to any railway under the sun, saying that eggs and fowls would be taken to market; and then he sat down. On his behalf I must declare that there were no other words of such wisdom spoken that night. But this relief lasted only for three minutes. After a while two members coming to the door declared that it was becoming unbearable, and carried me away to play whist. "My place is close by," said one, "and if the row becomes hot we shall hear it. It is dreadful to stay there with such an object, and with the certainty of missing one's object after all." As I was inclined to agree with him, I went away and played whist. But soon a storm of voices reached our ears round the card-table. "They are hard at it now," said one honourable member. "That's So-and-So, by the screech." The yell might have been heard at Kingston, and no doubt was. "By heavens they are at it," said another. "Ha, ha, ha! A nice house of assembly, isn't it?" "Will they pitch into one another?" I asked, thinking of scenes of which I had read of in another country; and thinking also, I must confess, that an absolute bodily scrimmage on the floor of the house might be worth seeing. "They don't often do that," said my friend. "They trust chiefly to their voices; but there's no knowing." The temptation was too much for me, so I threw down my cards and rushed back to the Assembly. When I arrived the louder portion of the noise was being made by one gentleman who was walking round and round the chamber, swearing in a loud voice that he would resign the very moment the Speaker was seated in the chair; for at that time the house was in committee. The louder portion of the noise, I say, for two other honourable members were speaking, and the rest were discussing the matter in small parties. "Shameful, abominable, scandalous, rascally!" shouted the angry gentleman over and over again, as he paced round and round the chamber. "I'll not sit in such a house; no man should sit in such a house. By G----, I'll resign as soon as I see the Speaker in that chair. Sir, come and have a drink of rum and water." In his angry wanderings his steps had brought him to the door at which I was standing, and these last words were addressed to me. "Come and have a drink of rum and water," and he seized me with a hospitable violence by the arm. I did not dare to deny so angry a legislator, and I drank the rum and water. Then I returned to my cards. It may be said that nearly the same thing does sometimes occur in our own House of Commons--always omitting the threats of resignation and the drink. With us at home a small minority may impede the business of the house by adjournments, and members sometimes become loud and angry. But in Jamaica the storm raged in so small a teapot! The railway extension was to be but for a mile or two, and I fear would hardly benefit more than the eggs and fowls for which the dark gentleman pleaded. In heading this chapter I have spoken of the government, and it may be objected to me that in writing it I have written only of the legislature, and not at all of the mode of governing. But in truth the mode of government depends entirely on the mode of legislature. As regards the Governor himself and his ministers, I do not doubt that they do their best; but I think that their best might be much better if their hands were not so closely tied by this teapot system of Queen, Lords, and Commons. CHAPTER X. CUBA. Cuba is the largest and the most westerly of the West Indian islands. It is in the shape of a half-moon, and with one of its horns nearly lies across the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico. It belongs to the Spanish crown, of which it is by far the most splendid appendage. So much for facts--geographical and historical. The journey from Kingston to Cien Fuegos, of which I have said somewhat in my first chapter, was not completed under better auspices than those which witnessed its commencement. That perfidious bark, built in the eclipse, was bad to the last, and my voyage took nine days instead of three. My humble stock of provisions had long been all gone, and my patience was nearly at as low an ebb. Then, as a finale, the Cuban pilot who took us in hand as we entered the port, ran us on shore just under the Spanish fort, and there left us. From this position it was impossible to escape, though the shore lay close to us, inasmuch as it is an offence of the gravest nature to land in those ports without the ceremony of a visit from the medical officer; and no medical officer would come to us there. And then two of our small crew had been taken sick, and we had before us in our mind's eye all the pleasures of quarantine. A man, and especially an author, is thankful for calamities if they be of a tragic dye. It would be as good as a small fortune to be left for three days without food or water, or to run for one's life before a black storm on unknown seas in a small boat. But we had no such luck as this. There was plenty of food, though it was not very palatable; and the peril of our position cannot be insisted on, as we might have thrown a baby on shore from the vessel, let alone a biscuit. We did what we could to get up a catastrophe among the sharks, by bathing off the ship's sides. But even this was in vain. One small shark we did see. But in lieu of it eating us, we ate it. In spite of the popular prejudice, I have to declare that it was delicious. But at last I did find myself in the hotel at Cien Fuegos. And here I must say a word in praise of the civility of the Spanish authorities of that town--and, indeed, of those gentlemen generally wherever I chanced to meet them. They welcome you with easy courtesy; offer you coffee or beer; assure you at parting that their whole house is at your disposal; and then load you--at least they so loaded me--with cigars. "My friend," said the captain of the port, holding in his hand a huge parcel of these articles, each about seven inches long--"I wish I could do you a service. It would make me happy for ever if I could truly serve you." "Señor, the service you have done me is inestimable in allowing me to make the acquaintance of Don ----." "But at least accept these few cigars;" and then he pressed the bundle into my hand, and pressed his own hand over mine. "Smoke one daily after dinner; and when you procure any that are better, do a fastidious old smoker the great kindness to inform him where they are to be found." This treasure to which his fancy alluded, but in the existence of which he will never believe, I have not yet discovered. Cien Fuegos is a small new town on the southern coast of Cuba, created by the sugar trade, and devoted, of course, to commerce. It is clean, prosperous, and quickly increasing. Its streets are lighted with gas, while those in the Havana still depend upon oil-lamps. It has its opera, its governor's house, its alaméda, its military and public hospital, its market-place, and railway station; and unless the engineers deceive themselves, it will in time have its well. It has also that institution which in the eyes of travellers ranks so much above all others, a good and clean inn. My first object after landing was to see a slave sugar estate. I had been told in Jamaica that to effect this required some little management; that the owners of the slaves were not usually willing to allow strangers to see them at work; and that the manufacture of sugar in Cuba was as a rule kept sacred from profane eyes. But I found no such difficulty. I made my request to an English merchant at Cien Fuegos, and he gave me a letter of introduction to the proprietor of an estate some fifteen miles from the town; and by their joint courtesy I saw all that I wished. On this property, which consisted altogether of eighteen hundred acres--the greater portion of which was not yet under cultivation--there were six hundred acres of cane pieces. The average year's produce was eighteen hundred hogsheads, or three hogsheads to the acre. The hogshead was intended to represent a ton of sugar when it reached the market, but judging from all that I could learn it usually fell short of it by more than a hundredweight. The value of such a hogshead at Cien Fuegos was about twenty-five pounds. There were one hundred and fifty negro men on the estate, the average cash value of each man being three hundred and fifty pounds; most of the men had their wives. In stating this it must not be supposed that either I or my informant insist much on the validity of their marriage ceremony; any such ceremony was probably of rare occurrence. During the crop time, at which period my visit was made, and which lasts generally from November till May, the negroes sleep during six hours out of the twenty-four, have two for their meals, and work for sixteen! No difference is made on Sunday. Their food is very plentiful, and of a good and strong description. They are sleek and fat and large, like well-preserved brewers' horses; and with reference to them, as also with reference to the brewers' horses, it has probably been ascertained what amount of work may be exacted so as to give the greatest profit. During the remainder of the year the labour of the negroes averages twelve hours a day, and one day of rest in the week is usually allowed to them. I was of course anxious to see what was the nature of the coercive measures used with them. But in this respect my curiosity was not indulged. I can only say that I saw none, and saw the mark and signs of none. No doubt the whip is in use, but I did not see it. The gentleman whose estate I visited had no notice of our coming, and there was no appearance of anything being hidden from us. I could not, however, bring myself to inquire of him as to their punishment. The slaves throughout the island are always as a rule baptized. Those who are employed in the town and as household servants appear to be educated in compliance with, at any rate the outward doctrines of, the Roman Catholic church. But with the great mass of the negroes--those who work on the sugar-canes--all attention to religion ends with their baptism. They have the advantage, whatever it may be, of that ceremony in infancy; and from that time forth they are treated as the beasts of the stall. From all that I could hear, as well as from what I could see, I have reason to think that, regarding them as beasts, they are well treated. Their hours of labour are certainly very long--so long as to appear almost impossible to a European workman. But under the system, such as it is, the men do not apparently lose their health, though, no doubt, they become prematurely old, and as a rule die early. The property is too valuable to be neglected or ill used. The object of course is to make that property pay; and therefore a present healthy condition is cared for, but long life is not regarded. It is exactly the same with horses in this country. When all has been said that can be said in favour of the slave-owner in Cuba, it comes to this--that he treats his slaves as beasts of burden, and so treating them, does it skilfully and with prudence. The point which most shocks an Englishman is the absence of all religion, the ignoring of the black man's soul. But this, perhaps, may be taken as an excuse, that the white men here ignore their own souls also. The Roman Catholic worship seems to be at a lower ebb in Cuba than almost any country in which I have seen it. It is singular that no priest should even make any effort on the subject with regard to the negroes; but I am assured that such is the fact. They do not wish to do so; nor will they allow of any one asking them to make the experiment. One would think that had there been any truth or any courage in them, they would have declared the inutility of baptism, and have proclaimed that negroes have no souls. But there is no truth in them; neither is there any courage. The works at the Cuban sugar estate were very different from those I had seen at Jamaica. They were on a much larger scale, in much better order, overlooked by a larger proportion of white men, with a greater amount of skilled labour. The evidences of capital were very plain in Cuba; whereas, the want of it was frequently equally plain in our own island. Not that the planters in Cuba are as a rule themselves very rich men. The estates are deeply mortgaged to the different merchants at the different ports, as are those in Jamaica to the merchants of Kingston. These merchants in Cuba are generally Americans, Englishmen, Germans, Spaniards from the American republics--anything but Cubans; and the slave-owners are but the go-betweens, who secure the profits of the slave-trade for the merchants. My friend at the estate invited us to a late breakfast after having shown me what I came to see. "You have taken me so unawares," said he, "that we cannot offer you much except a welcome." Well, it was not much--for Cuba perhaps. A delicious soup, made partly of eggs, a bottle of excellent claret, a paté de foie gras, some game deliciously dressed, and half a dozen kinds of vegetables; that was all. I had seen nothing among the slaves which in any way interfered with my appetite, or with the cup of coffee and cigar which came after the little nothings above mentioned. We then went down to the railway station. It was a peculiar station I was told, and the tickets could not be paid for till we reached Cien Fuegos. But, lo! on arriving at Cien Fuegos there was nothing more to pay. "It has all been done," said some one to me. If one was but convinced that those sleek, fat, smiling bipeds were but two legged beasts of burden, and nothing more, all would have been well at the estate which we visited. All Cuba was of course full of the late message from the President of the United States, which at the time of my visit was some two months old there. The purport of what Mr. Buchanan said regarding Cuba may perhaps be expressed as follows:--"Circumstances and destiny absolutely require that the United States should be the masters of that island. That we should take it by filibustering or violence is not in accordance with our national genius. It will suit our character and honesty much better that we should obtain it by purchase. Let us therefore offer a fair price for it. If a fair price be refused, that of course will be a casus belli. Spain will then have injured us, and we may declare war. Under these circumstances we should probably obtain the place without purchase; but let us hope better things." This is what the President has said, either in plain words or by inference equally plain. It may easily be conceived with what feeling such an announcement has been received by Spain and those who hold Spanish authority in Cuba. There is an outspoken insolence in the threat, which, by a first-class power, would itself have been considered a cause for war. But Spain is not a first-class power, and like the other weak ones of the earth must either perish or live by adhering to and obeying those who will protect her. Though too ignoble to be strong, she has been too proud to be obedient. And as a matter of course she will go to the wall. A scrupulous man who feels that he would fain regulate his course in politics by the same line as that used for his ordinary life, cannot but feel angry at the loud tone of America's audacious threat. But even such a one knows that that threat will sooner or later be carried out, and that humanity will benefit by its accomplishment. Perhaps it may be said that scrupulous men should have but little dealing in state policy. The plea under which Mr. Buchanan proposes to quarrel with Spain, if she will not sell that which America wishes to buy, is the plea under which Ahab quarrelled with Naboth. A man is, individually, disgusted that a President of the United States should have made such an utterance. But looking at the question in a broader point of view, in one which regards future ages rather than the present time, one can hardly refrain from rejoicing at any event which will tend to bring about that which in itself is so desirable. We reprobate the name of filibuster, and have a holy horror of the trade. And it is perhaps fortunate that with us the age of individual filibustering is well-nigh gone by. But it may be fair for us to consider whether we have not in our younger days done as much in this line as have the Americans--whether Clive, for instance, was not a filibuster--or Warren Hastings. Have we not annexed, and maintained, and encroached; protected, and assumed, and taken possession in the East--doing it all of course for the good of humanity? And why should we begrudge the same career to America? That we do begrudge it is certain. That she purchased California and took Texas went at first against the grain with us; and Englishmen, as a rule, would wish to maintain Cuba in the possession of Spain. But what Englishman who thinks about it will doubt that California and Texas have thriven since they were annexed, as they never could have thriven while forming part of the Mexican empire--or can doubt that Cuba, if delivered up to the States, would gain infinitely by such a change of masters? Filibustering, called by that or some other name, is the destiny of a great portion of that race to which we Englishmen and Americans belong. It would be a bad profession probably for a scrupulous man. With the unscrupulous man, what stumbling-blocks there may be between his deeds and his conscience is for his consideration and for God's judgment. But it will hardly suit us as a nation to be loud against it. By what other process have poor and weak races been compelled to give way to those who have power and energy? And who have displaced so many of the poor and weak, and spread abroad so vast an energy, such an extent of power as we of England? The truth may perhaps be this:--that a filibuster needs expect no good word from his fellow-mortals till he has proved his claim to it by success. From such information as I could obtain, I am of opinion that the Cubans themselves would be glad enough to see the transfer well effected. How, indeed, can it be otherwise? At present they have no national privilege except that of undergoing taxation. Every office is held by a Spaniard. Every soldier in the island--and they say that there are twenty-five thousand--must be a Spaniard. The ships of war are commanded and manned by Spaniards. All that is shown before their eyes of brilliancy and power and high place is purely Spanish. No Cuban has any voice in his own country. He can never have the consolation of thinking that his tyrant is his countryman, or reflect that under altered circumstances it might possibly have been his fortune to tyrannize. What love can he have for Spain? He cannot even have the poor pride of being slave to a great lord. He is the lacquey of a reduced gentleman, and lives on the vails of those who despise his master. Of course the transfer would be grateful to him. But no Cuban will himself do anything to bring it about. To wish is one thing; to act is another. A man standing behind his counter may feel that his hand is restricted on every side, and his taxes alone unrestricted; but he must have other than Hispano-Creole blood in his veins if he do more than stand and feel. Indeed, wishing is too strong a word to be fairly applicable to his state of mind. He would be glad that Cuba should be American; but he would prefer that he himself should lie in a dormant state while the dangerous transfer is going on. I have ventured to say that humanity would certainly be benefited by such a transfer. We, when we think of Cuba, think of it almost entirely as a slave country. And, indeed, in this light, and in this light only, is it peculiar, being the solitary land into which slaves are now systematically imported out of Africa. Into that great question of guarding the slave coast it would be futile here to enter; but this I believe is acknowledged, that if the Cuban market be closed against the trade, the trade must perish of exhaustion. At present slaves are brought into Cuba in spite of us; and as we all know, can be brought in under the American stars and stripes. But no one accuses the American Government of systematically favouring an importation of Africans into their own States. When Cuba becomes one of them the trade will cease. The obstacle to that trade which is created by our vessels of war on the coast of Africa may, or may not, be worth the cost. But no man who looks into the subject will presume to say that we can be as efficacious there as the Americans would be if they were the owners of the present slave-market. I do not know whether it be sufficiently understood in England, that though slavery is an institution of the United States, the slave-trade, as commonly understood under that denomination, is as illegal there as in England. That slavery itself would be continued in Cuba under the Americans--continued for a while--is of course certain. So is it in Louisiana and the Carolinas. But the horrors of the middle passage, the kidnapping of negroes, the African wars which are waged for the sake of prisoners, would of necessity come to an end. But this slave-trade is as opposed to the laws of Spain and its colonies as it is to those of the United States or of Great Britain. This is true; and were the law carried out in Cuba as well as it is in the United States, an Englishman would feel disinclined to look on with calmness at the violent dismemberment of the Spanish empire. But in Cuba the law is broken systematically. The Captain-General in Cuba will allow no African to be imported into the island--except for a consideration. It is said that the present Captain-General receives only a gold doubloon, or about three pounds twelve shillings, on every head of wool so brought in; and he has therefore the reputation of being a very moderate man. O'Donnel required twice as large a bribe. Valdez would take nothing, and he is spoken of as the foolish Governor. Even he, though he would take no bribe, was not allowed to throw obstacles in the way of the slave-trade. That such a bribe is usually demanded, and as a matter of course paid, is as well known--ay, much better known, than any other of the island port duties. The fact is so notorious to all men, that it is almost as absurd to insist on it as it would be to urge that the income of the Queen of England is paid from the taxes. It is known to every one, and among others is known to the government of Spain. Under these circumstances, who can feel sympathy with her, or wish that she should retain her colony? Does she not daily show that she is unfit to hold it? There must be some stage in misgovernment which will justify the interference of bystanding nations, in the name of humanity. That rule in life which forbids a man to come between a husband and his wife is a good rule. But nevertheless, who can stand by quiescent and see a brute half murder the poor woman whom he should protect? And in other ways, and through causes also, humanity would be benefited by such a transfer. We in England are not very fond of a republic. We would hardly exchange our throne for a president's chair, or even dispense at present with our House of Peers or our Bench of Bishops. But we can see that men thrive under the stars and stripes; whereas they pine beneath the red and yellow flag of Spain. This, it may be said, is attributable to the race of the men rather than to the government. But the race will be improved by the infusion of new blood. Let the world say what chance there is of such improvement in the Spanish government. The trade of the country is falling into the hands of foreigners--into those principally of Americans from the States. The Havana will soon become as much American as New Orleans. It requires but little of the spirit of prophecy to foretell that the Spanish rule will not be long obeyed by such people. On the whole I cannot see how Englishmen can refrain from sympathizing with the desire of the United States to become possessed of this fertile island. As far as we ourselves are concerned, it would be infinitely for our benefit. We can trade with the United States when we can hardly do so with Spain. Moreover, if Jamaica, and the smaller British islands can ever again hold up their heads against Cuba as sugar-producing colonies, it will be when the slave-trade has been abolished. Till such time it can never be. And then where are our professions for the amelioration, and especially for the Christianity of the human race? I have said what is the religious education of the slaves in Cuba. I may also say that in this island no place of Protestant worship exists, or is possible. The Roman Catholic religion is alone allowed, and that is at its very lowest point. "The old women of both sexes go to mass," a Spaniard told me; "and the girls when their clothes are new." But above all things it behoves us to rid ourselves of the jealousy which I fear we too often feel towards American pretension. "Jonathan is getting bumptious," we are apt to say; "he ought to have--" this and that other punishment, according to the taste of the offended Englishman. Jonathan is becoming bumptious, no doubt. Young men of genius, when they succeed in life at comparatively early years, are generally afflicted more or less with this disease. But one is not inclined to throw aside as useless, the intellect, energy, and genius of youth because it is not accompanied by modesty, grace, and self-denial. Do we not, in regard to all our friends, take the good that we find in them, aware that in the very best there will be some deficiency to forgive? That young barrister who is so bright, so energetic, so useful, is perhaps _soi-disant_ more than a little. One cannot deny it. But age will cure that. Have we a right to expect that he should be perfect? And are the Americans the first bumptious people on record? Has no other nation assumed itself to be in advance of the world; to be the apostle of progress, the fountain of liberty, the rock-spring of manly work? If the Americans were not bumptious, how unlike would they be to the parent that bore them! The world is wide enough for us and for our offspring, and we may be well content that we have it nearly all between us. Let them fulfil their destiny in the West, while we do so in the East. It may be that there also we may establish another child who in due time shall also run alone, shall also boast somewhat loudly of its own doings. It is a proud reflection that we alone, of all people, have such children; a proud reflection, and a joyous one; though the weaning of the baby will always be in some respects painful to the mother. Nowhere have I met a kinder hospitality than I did at Cien Fuegos, whether from Spaniards, Frenchmen, Americans, or Englishmen; for at Cien Fuegos there are men of all these countries. But I must specify my friend Mr. �---. Why should such a man be shut up for life at such an outlandish place? Full of wit, singing an excellent song, telling a story better, I think, than any other man to whom I have ever listened, speaking four or five languages fluently, pleasant in manner, hospitable in heart, a thorough good fellow at all points, why should he bury himself at Cien Fuegos? "Auri sacra fames." It is the presumable reason for all such burials. English reader, shouldst thou find thyself at Cien Fuegos in thy travels, it will not take thee long to discover my friend �---. He is there known to every one. It will only concern thee to see that thou art worthy of his acquaintance. From Cien Fuegos I went to the Havana, the metropolis, as all the world knows, of Cuba. Our route lay by steamer to Batavano, and thence by railway. The communication round Cuba--that is from port to port--is not ill arranged or ill conducted. The boats are American built, and engineered by Englishmen or Americans. Breakfast and dinner are given on board, and the cost is included in the sum paid for the fare. The provisions are plentiful, and not bad, if oil can be avoided. As everything is done to foster Spain, Spanish wine is always used, and Spanish ware, and, above all things, Spanish oil. Now Spain does not send her best oil to her colonies. I heard great complaint made of the fares charged on board these boats. The fares when compared with those charged in America doubtless are high; but I do not know that any one has a right to expect that he shall travel as cheaply in Cuba as in the States. I had heard much of the extravagant charges made for all kinds of accommodation in Cuba; at hotels, in the shops, for travelling, for chance work, and the general wants of a stranger. I found these statements to be much exaggerated. Railway travelling by the first class is about 3½_d._ a mile, which is about 1_d._ a mile more than in England. At hotels the charge is two and a half or three dollars a day. The former sum is the more general. This includes a cup of coffee in the morning, a very serious meal at nine o'clock together with fairly good Catalan wine, dinner at four with another cup of coffee and more wine _ad libitum_, bed, and attendance. Indeed, a man may go out of his hotel, without inconvenience, paying nothing beyond the regular daily charge. Extras are dear. I, for instance, having in my ignorance asked for a bottle of champagne, paid for it seventeen shillings. A friend dining with one also, or breakfasting, is an expensive affair. The two together cost considerably more than one's own total daily payment. Thus, as one pays at an hotel whether one's dinner be eaten or no, it becomes almost an insane expense for friends at different hotels to invite each other. But let it not be supposed that I speak in praise of the hotels at the Havana. Far be it from me to do so. I only say that they are not dear. I found it impossible to command the luxury of a bedroom to myself. It was not the custom of the country they told me. If I chose to pay five dollars a day, just double the usual price, I could be indulged as soon--as circumstances would admit of it; which was intended to signify that they would be happy to charge me for the second bed as soon as the time should come that they had no one else on whom to levy the rate. And the dirt of that bedroom! I had been unable to get into either of the hotels at the Havana to which I had been recommended, every corner in each having been appropriated. In my grief at the dirt of my abode, and at the too near vicinity of my Spanish neighbour--the fellow-occupant of my chamber was from Spain--I complained somewhat bitterly to an American acquaintance, who had as I thought been more lucky in his inn. "One companion!" said he; "why, I have three; one walks about all night in a bed-gown, a second snores, and the other is dying!" A friend of mine, an English officer, was at another house. He also was one of four; and it so occurred that he lost thirty pounds out of his sac de nuit. On the whole I may consider myself to have been lucky. Labour generally is dear, a workman getting a dollar or four shillings and twopence, where in England a man might earn perhaps half a crown. A porter therefore for whom sixpence might suffice in England will require a shilling. A volante--I shall have a word to say about volantes by-and-by--for any distance within the walls costs eightpence. Outside the walls the price seems to be unconscionably higher. Omnibuses which run over two miles charge some fraction over sixpence for each journey. I find that a pair of boots cost me twenty-five shillings. In London they would cost about the same. Those procured in Cuba, however, were worth nothing, which certainly makes a difference. Meat is eightpence the English pound. Bread is somewhat dearer than in England, but not much. House rent may be taken as being nearly four times as high as it is in any decent but not fashionable part of London, and the wages of house servants are twice as high as they are with us. The high prices in the Havana are such therefore as to affect the resident rather than the stranger. One article, however, is very costly; but as it concerns a luxury not much in general use among the inhabitants this is not surprising. If a man will have his linen washed he will be made to pay for it. There is nothing attractive about the town of Havana; nothing whatever to my mind, if we except the harbour. The streets are narrow, dirty, and foul. In this respect there is certainly much difference between those within and without the wall. The latter are wider, more airy, and less vile. But even in them there is nothing to justify the praises with which the Havana is generally mentioned in the West Indies. It excels in population, size, and no doubt in wealth any other city there; but this does not imply a great eulogium. The three principal public buildings are the Opera House, the Cathedral, and the palace of the Captain-General. The former has been nearly knocked down by an explosion of gas, and is now closed. I believe it to be an admirable model for a second-rate house. The cathedral is as devoid of beauty, both externally and internally, as such an edifice can be made. To describe such a building would be an absurd waste of time and patience. We all know what is a large Roman Catholic church, built in the worst taste, and by a combination of the lowest attributes of Gothic and Latin architecture. The palace, having been built for a residence, does not appear so utterly vile, though it is the child of some similar father. It occupies one side of a public square or pláza, and from its position has a moderately-imposing effect. Of pictures in the Havana there are none of which mention should be made. But the glory of the Havana is the Paseo--the glory so called. This is the public drive and fashionable lounge of the town--the Hyde Park, the Bois de Boulogne, the Cascine, the Corso, the Alaméda. It is for their hour on the Paseo that the ladies dress themselves, and the gentlemen prepare their jewelry. It consists of a road running outside a portion of the wall, of the extent perhaps of half a mile, and ornamented with seats and avenues of trees, as are the boulevards at Paris. If it is to be compared with any other resort of the kind in the West Indies, it certainly must be owned there is nothing like it; but a European on first seeing it cannot understand why it is so eulogized. Indeed, it is probable that if he first goes thither alone, as was the case with me, he will pass over it, seeking for some other Paseo. But then the glory of the Paseo consists in its volantes. As one boasts that one has swum in a gondola, so will one boast of having sat in a volante. It is the pride of Cuban girls to appear on the Paseo in these carriages on the afternoons of holidays and Sundays; and there is certainly enough of the picturesque about the vehicle to make it worthy of some description. It is the most singular of carriages, and its construction is such as to give a flat contradiction to all an Englishman's preconceived notions respecting the power of horses. The volante is made to hold two sitters, though there is sometimes a low middle seat which affords accommodation to a third lady. We will commence the description from behind. There are two very huge wheels, rough, strong, high, thick, and of considerable weight. The axles generally are not capped, but the nave shines with coarse polished metal. Supported on the axletree, and swinging forward from it on springs, is the body of a cabriolet such as ordinary cabriolets used to be, with the seat, however, somewhat lower, and with much more room for the feet. The back of this is open, and generally a curtain hangs down over the open space. A metal bar, which is polished so as to look like silver, runs across the footboard and supports the feet. The body, it must be understood, swings forward from these high wheels, so that the whole of the weight, instead of being supported, hangs from it. Then there are a pair of shafts, which, counting from the back of the carriage to the front where they touch the horse at the saddle, are about fourteen feet in length. They do not go beyond the saddle, or the tug depending from the saddle in which they hang. From this immense length it comes to pass that there is a wide interval, exceeding six feet, between the carriage and the horse's tail; and it follows also, from the construction of the machine, that a large portion of the weight must rest on the horse's back. In addition to this, the unfortunate horse has ordinarily to bear the weight of a rider. For with a volante your servant rides, and does not drive you. With the fashionable world on the Paseo a second horse is used--what we should call an outrider--and the servant sits on this. But as regards those which ply in the town, there is but one horse. How animals can work beneath such a yoke was to me unintelligible. The great point in the volante of fashion is the servant's dress. He is always a negro, and generally a large negro. He wears a huge pair--not of boots, for they have no feet to them--of galligaskins I may call them, made of thick stiff leather, but so as to fit the leg exactly. The top of them comes some nine inches above the knee, so that when one of these men is seen seated at his ease, the point of his boot nearly touches his chin. They are fastened down the sides with metal fastenings, and at the bottom there is a huge spur. The usual dress of these men, over and above their boots, consists of white breeches, red jackets ornamented with gold lace, and broad-brimmed straw hats. Nothing can be more awkward, and nothing more barbaric than the whole affair; but nevertheless there is about it a barbaric splendour, which has its effect. The great length of the equipage, and the distance of the horse from his work, is what chiefly strikes an Englishman. The carriage usually holds, when on the Paseo, two or three ladies. Their great object evidently has been to expand their dresses, so that they may group well together, and with a good result as regards colour. It must be confessed that in this respect they are generally successful. They wear no head-dress when in their carriages, and indeed may generally be seen out of doors with their hair uncovered. Though they are of Spanish descent, the mantilla is unknown here. Nor could I trace much similarity to Spanish manner in other particulars. The ladies do not walk like Spanish women--at least not like the women of Andalusia, with whom one would presume them to have had the nearest connection. The walk of the Andalusian women surpasses that of any other, while the Cuban lady is not graceful in her gait. Neither can they boast the brilliantly dangerous beauty of Seville. In Cuba they have good eyes, but rarely good faces. The forehead and the chin too generally recede, leaving the nose with a prominence that is not agreeable. But as my gallantry has not prevented me from speaking in this uncourteous manner of their appearance, my honesty bids me add, that what they lack in beauty they make up in morals, as compared with their cousins in Europe. For travelling _en garçon_ I should probably prefer the south of Spain. But were I doomed to look for domesticity in either clime--and God forbid that such a doom should be mine!--I might perhaps prefer a Cuban mother for my children. But the volante is held as very precious by the Cuban ladies. The volante itself I mean--the actual vehicle. It is not intrusted, as coaches are with us, to the dusty mercies of a coach-house. It is ordinarily kept in the hall, and you pass it by as you enter the house; but it is by no means uncommon to see it in the dining-room. As the rooms are large and usually not full of furniture, it does not look amiss there. The amusements of the Cubans are not very varied, and are innocent in their nature; for the gambling as carried on there I regard rather as a business than an amusement They greatly love dancing, and have dances of their own and music of their own, which are peculiar, and difficult to a stranger. Their tunes are striking, and very pretty. They are fond of music generally, and maintain a fairly good opera company at the Havana. In the pláza there--the square, namely, in front of the Captain-General's house--a military band plays from eight to nine every evening. The place is then thronged with people, but by far the majority of them are men. It is the custom at all the towns in Cuba for the family, when at home, to pass their evening seated near the large low open window of their drawing-rooms; and as these windows almost always look into the streets, the whole internal arrangement is seen by every one who passes. These windows are always protected by iron bars, as though they were the windows of a prison; in other respects they are completely open. Four chairs are to be seen ranged in a row, and four more opposite to them, running from the window into the room, and placed close together. Between these is generally laid a small piece of carpet. The majority of these chairs are made to rock; for the Creole lady always rocks herself. I have watched them going through the accustomed motion with their bodies, even when seated on chairs with stern immovable legs. This is the usual evening living-place of the family; and I never yet saw an occupant of one of these chairs with a book in her hand, or in his. I asked an Englishman, a resident in the Havana, whether he had ever done so. "A book!" he answered; "why, the girls can't read, in your sense of the word reading." The young men, and many of those who are no longer young, spend their evenings, and apparently a large portion of their days, in eating ices and playing billiards. The accommodation in the Havana for these amusements is on a very large scale. The harbour at the Havana is an interesting sight. It is in the first place very picturesque, which to the ordinary visitor is the most important feature. But it is also commodious, large, and safe. It is approached between two forts. That to the westward, which is the principal defence, is called the Morro. Here also stands the lighthouse. No Englishman omits to hear, as he enters the harbour, that these forts were taken by the English in Albemarle's time. Now, it seems to me, they might very easily be taken by any one who chose to spend on them the necessary amount of gunpowder. But then I know nothing about forts. This special one of the Morro I did take; not by gunpowder, but by stratagem. I was informed that no one was allowed to see it since the open defiance of the island contained in the last message of the United States' President. But I was also informed--whisperingly, in the ear � that a request to see the lighthouse would be granted, and that as I was not an American the fort should follow. It resulted in a little black boy taking me over the whole edifice--an impudent little black boy, who filled his pockets with stones and pelted the sentries. The view of the harbour from the lighthouse is very good, quite worth the trouble of the visit. The fort itself I did not understand, but a young English officer, who was with me, pooh-poohed it as a thing of nothing. But then young English officers pooh-pooh everything. Here again I must add that nothing can exceed the courtesy of all Spanish officials. If they could only possess honesty and energy as well as courtesy! By far the most interesting spot in the Havana is the Quay, to which the vessels are fastened end-ways, the bow usually lying against the Quay. In other places the side of the vessel is, I believe, brought to the wharf. Here there are signs of true life. One cannot but think how those quays would be extended, and that life increased, if the place were in the hands of other people. I have said that I regarded gambling in Cuba, not as an amusement, but an occupation. The public lotteries offer the daily means to every one for gratifying this passion. They are maintained by the government, and afford a profit, I am told, of something over a million dollars per annum. In all public places tickets are hawked about. One may buy a whole ticket, half, a quarter, an eighth, or a sixteenth. It is done without any disguise or shame, and the institution seemed, I must say, to be as popular with the Europeans living there as with the natives. In the eyes of an Englishman new from Great Britain, with his prejudices still thick upon him, this great national feature loses some of its nobility and grandeur. This, together with the bribery, which is so universal, shows what is the spirit of the country. For a government supported by the profits of a gambling-hell, and for a Governor enriched by bribes on slaves illegally imported, what Englishman can feel sympathy? I would fain hope that there is no such sympathy felt in England. I have been answered, when expressing indignation at the system, by a request that I would first look at home; and have been so answered by Englishmen. "How can you blame the Captain-General," they have said, "when the same thing is done by the French and English consuls through the islands?" That the French and English consuls do take bribes to wink at the importation of slaves, I cannot and do not believe. But Cæsar's wife should not even be suspected. I found it difficult to learn what is exactly the present population of Cuba. I believe it to be about 1,300,000, and of this number about 600,000 are slaves. There are many Chinese now in the island, employed as household servants, or on railways, or about the sugar-works. Many are also kept at work on the cane-pieces, though it seems that for this labour they have hardly sufficient strength. These unfortunate deluded creatures receive, I fear, very little better treatment than the slaves. My best wish for the island is that it may speedily be reckoned among the annexations of the United States. CHAPTER XI. THE PASSAGE OF THE WINDWARD ISLANDS. In the good old days, when men called things by their proper names, those islands which run down in a string from north to south, from the Virgin Islands to the mouth of the Orinoco River, were called the Windward Islands--the Windward or Caribbean Islands. They were also called the Lesser Antilles. The Leeward Islands were, and properly speaking are, another cluster lying across the coast of Venezuela, of which Curaçoa is the chief. Oruba and Margarita also belong to this lot, among which, England, I believe, never owned any.* [*The greater Antilles are Cuba, Jamaica, Hayti, and Porto Rico, though I am not quite sure whether Porto Rico does not more properly belong to the Virgin Islands. The scattered assemblage to the north of the greater Antilles are the Bahamas, at one of the least considerable of which, San Salvador, Columbus first landed. Those now named, I believe, comprise all the West India Islands.] But now-a-days we Britishers are not content to let the Dutch and others keep a separate name for themselves; we have, therefore, divided the Lesser Antilles, of which the greater number belong to ourselves, and call the northern portion of these the Leeward Islands. Among them Antigua is the chief, and is the residence of a governor supreme in this division. After leaving St. Thomas the first island seen of any note is St. Christopher, commonly known as St. Kitts, and Nevis is close to it. Both these colonies are prospering fairly. Sugar is exported, now I am told in increasing, though still not in great quantities, and the appearance of the cultivation is good. Looking up the side of the hills one sees the sugar-canes apparently in cleanly order, and they have an air of substantial comfort. Of course the times are not so bright as in the fine old days previous to emancipation; but nevertheless matters have been on the mend, and people are again beginning to get along. On the journey from Nevis to Antigua, Montserrat is sighted, and a singular island-rock called the Redonda is seen very plainly. Montserrat, I am told, is not prospering so well as St. Kitts or Nevis. These islands are not so beautiful, not so greenly beautiful, as are those further south to which we shall soon come. The mountains of Nevis are certainly fine as they are seen from the sea, but they are not, or do not seem to be covered with that delicious tropical growth which is so lovely in Jamaica and Trinidad, and, indeed, in many of the smaller islands. Antigua is the next, going southward. This was, and perhaps is, an island of some importance. It is said to have been the first of the West Indian colonies which itself advocated the abolition of slavery, and to have been the only one which adopted complete emancipation at once, without any intermediate system of apprenticeship. Antigua has its own bishop, whose diocese includes also such of the Virgin Islands as belong to us, and the adjacent islands of St. Kitts, Nevis, and Montserrat. Neither is Antigua remarkable for its beauty. It is approached, however, by an excellent and picturesque harbour, called English Harbour, which in former days was much used by the British navy; indeed, I believe it was at one time the head-quarters of a naval station. Premising, in the first place, that I know very little about harbours, I would say that nothing could be more secure than that. Whether or no it may be easy for sailing vessels to get in and out with certain winds, that, indeed, may be doubtful. St. John's, the capital of Antigua, is twelve miles from English Harbour. I was in the island only three or four hours, and did not visit it. I am told that it is a good town--or city, I should rather say, now that it has its own bishop. In all these islands they have Queen, Lords, and Commons in one shape or another. It may, however, be hoped, and I believe trusted, that, for the benefit of the communities, matters chiefly rest in the hands of the first of the three powers. The other members of the legislature, if they have in them anything of wisdom to say, have doubtless an opportunity of saying it--perhaps also an opportunity when they have nothing of wisdom. Let us trust, however, that such opportunities are limited. After leaving Antigua we come to the French island of Guadaloupe, and then passing Dominica, of which I will say a word just now, to Martinique, which is also French. And here we are among the rich green wild beauties of these thrice beautiful Caribbean islands. The mountain grouping of both these islands is very fine, and the hills are covered up to their summits with growth of the greenest. At both these islands one is struck with the great superiority of the French West Indian towns to those which belong to us. That in Guadaloupe is called Basseterre, and the capital of Martinique is St. Pierre. These towns offer remarkable contrasts to Roseau and Port Castries, the chief towns in the adjacent English islands of Dominica and St. Lucia. At the French ports one is landed at excellently contrived little piers, with proper apparatus for lighting, and well-kept steps. The quays are shaded by trees, the streets are neat and in good order, and the shops show that ordinary trade is thriving. There are water conduits with clear streams through the towns, and every thing is ship-shape. I must tell a very different tale when I come to speak of Dominica and St. Lucia. The reason for this is, I think, well given in a useful guide to the West Indies, published some years since, under the direction of the Royal Mail Steam-Packet Company. Speaking of St. Pierre, in Martinique, the author says: "The streets are neat, regular, and cleanly. The houses are high, and have more the air of European houses than those of the English colonies. Some of the streets have an avenue of trees, which overshadow the footpath, and on either side are deep gutters, down which the water flows. There are five booksellers houses, and the fashions are well displayed in other shops. The French colonists, whether Creoles* or French, consider the West Indies as their country. They cast no wistful looks towards France. They marry, educate, and build in and for the West Indies, and for the West Indies alone. In our colonies it is different. They are considered more as temporary lodging-places, to be deserted as soon as the occupiers have made money enough by molasses and sugar to return _home_." [*It should be understood that a Creole is a person born in the West Indies, of a race not indigenous to the islands. There may be white Creoles, coloured Creoles, or black Creoles. People talk of Creole horses and Creole poultry; those namely which have not been themselves imported, but which have been bred from imported stock. The meaning of the word Creole is, I think, sometimes misunderstood.] All this is quite true. There is something very cheering to an English heart in that sound, and reference to the word home--in that great disinclination to the idea of life-long banishment. But nevertheless, the effect as shown in these islands is not satisfactory to the _amour propre_ of an Englishman. And it is not only in the outward appearance of things that the French islands excel those belonging to England which I have specially named. Dominica and St. Lucia export annually about 6,000 hogsheads of sugar each. Martinique exports about 60,000 hogsheads. Martinique is certainly rather larger than either of the other two, but size has little or nothing to do with it. It is anything rather than want of fitting soil which makes the produce of sugar so inconsiderable in Dominica and St. Lucia. These French islands were first discovered by the Spaniards; but since that time they, as well as the two English islands above named, have passed backwards and forwards between the English and French, till it was settled in 1814 that Martinique and Guadaloupe should belong to France, and Dominica and St. Lucia, with some others, to England. It certainly seems that France knew how to take care of herself in the arrangement. There is another little island belonging to France, at the back of Guadaloupe to the westward, called Marie-Galante; but I believe it is but of little value. To my mind, Dominica, as seen from the sea, is by far the most picturesque of all these islands. Indeed, it would be difficult to beat it either in colour or grouping. It fills one with an ardent desire to be off and rambling among those green mountains--as if one could ramble through such wild, bush country, or ramble at all with the thermometer at 85. But when one has only to think of such things without any idea of doing them, neither the bushes nor the thermometer are considered. One is landed at Dominica on a beach. If the water be quiet, one gets out dryshod by means of a strong jump; if the surf be high, one wades through it; if it be very high, one is of course upset. The same things happen at Jacmel, in Hayti; but then Englishmen look on the Haytians as an uncivilized, barbarous race. Seeing that Dominica lies just between Martinique and Guadaloupe, the difference between the English beach and surf and the French piers is the more remarkable. And then, the perils of the surf being passed, one walks into the town of Roseau. It is impossible to conceive a more distressing sight. Every house is in a state of decadence. There are no shops that can properly be so called; the people wander about chattering, idle and listless; the streets are covered with thick, rank grass; there is no sign either of money made or of money making. Everything seems to speak of desolation, apathy, and ruin. There is nothing, even in Jamaica, so sad to look at as the town of Roseau. The greater part of the population are French in manner, religion, and language, and one would be so glad to attribute to that fact this wretched look of apathetic poverty--if it were only possible. But we cannot do that after visiting Martinique and Guadaloupe. It might be said that a French people will not thrive under British rule. But if so, what of Trinidad? This look of misery has been attributed to a great fire which occurred some eighty years since; but when due industry has been at work great fires have usually produced improved towns. Now eighty years have afforded ample time for such improvement if it were forthcoming. Alas! it would seem that it is not forthcoming. It must, however, be stated in fairness that Dominica produces more coffee than sugar, and that the coffee estates have latterly been the most thriving. Singularly enough, her best customer has been the neighbouring French island of Martinique, in which some disease has latterly attacked the coffee plants. We then reach St. Lucia, which is also very lovely as seen from the sea. This, too, is an island French in its language, manners, and religion; perhaps more entirely so than any other of the islands belonging to ourselves. The laws even are still French, and the people are, I believe, blessed (?) with no Lords and Commons. If I understand the matter rightly, St. Lucia is held as a colony or possession conquered from the French, and is governed, therefore, by a quasi-military governor, with the aid of a council. It is, however, in some measure dependent on the Governor of Barbados, who is again one of your supreme governors. There has, I believe, been some recent change which I do not pretend to understand. If these changes be not completed, and if it would not be presumptuous in me to offer a word of advice, I would say that in the present state of the island, with a Negro-Gallic population who do little or nothing, it might be as well to have as much as possible of the Queen, and as little as possible of the Lords and Commons. To the outward physical eye, St. Lucia is not so triste as Dominica. There is good landing there, and the little town of Castries, though anything but prosperous in itself, is prosperous in appearance as compared with Roseau. St. Lucia is peculiarly celebrated for its snakes. One cannot walk ten yards off the road--so one is told--without being bitten. And if one be bitten, death is certain--except by the interposition of a single individual of the island, who will cure the sufferer--for a consideration. Such, at least, is the report made on this matter. The first question one should ask on going there is as to the whereabouts and usual terms of that worthy and useful practitioner. There is, I believe, a great deal that is remarkable to attract the visitor among the mountains and valleys of St. Lucia. And then in the usual course, running down the island, one goes to that British advanced post, Barbados--Barbados, that lies out to windward, guarding the other islands as it were! Barbados, that is and ever was entirely British! Barbados, that makes money, and is in all respects so respectable a little island! King George need not have feared at all; nor yet need Queen Victoria. If anything goes wrong in England--Napoleon coming there, not to kiss Her Majesty this time, but to make himself less agreeable--let Her Majesty come to Barbados, and she will be safe! I have said that Jamaica never boasts, and have on that account complained of her. Let such complaint be far from me when I speak of Barbados. But shall I not write a distinct chapter as to this most respectable little island--an island that pays its way? St. Vincent is the next in our course, and this, too, is green and pretty, and tempting to look at. Here also the French have been in possession but comparatively for a short time. In settling this island, the chief difficulty the English had was with the old native Indians, who more than once endeavoured to turn out their British masters. The contest ended in their being effectually turned out by those British masters, who expelled them all bodily to the island of Ruatan, in the Bay of Honduras; where their descendants are now giving the Anglo-American diplomatists so much trouble in deciding whose subjects they truly are. May we not say that, having got rid of them out of St. Vincent, we can afford to get rid of them altogether? Kingston is the capital here. It looks much better than either Roseau or Castries, though by no means equal to Basseterre or St. Pierre. This island is said to be healthy, having in this respect a much better reputation than its neighbour St. Lucia, and as far as I could learn it is progressing--progressing slowly, but progressing--in spite even of the burden of Queens, Lords, and Commons. The Lords and Commons are no doubt considerably modified by official influence. And then the traveller runs down the Grenadines, a petty cluster of islands lying between St. Vincent and Grenada, of which Becquia and Cariacou are the chief. They have no direct connection with the mail steamers, but are, I believe, under the Governor of Barbados. They are very pretty, though not, as a rule, very productive. Of one of them I was told that the population were all females. What a Paradise of Houris, if it were but possible to find a good Mahommedan in these degenerate days! Grenada will be the last upon the list; for I did not visit or even see Tobago, and of Trinidad I have ventured to write a separate chapter, in spite of the shortness of my visit. Grenada is also very lovely, and is, I think, the head-quarters of the world for fruit. The finest mangoes I ever ate I found there; and I think the finest oranges and pine apples. The town of St. Georges, the capital, must at one time have been a place of considerable importance, and even now it has a very different appearance from those that I have just mentioned. It is more like a goodly English town than any other that I saw in any of the smaller British islands. It is well built, though built up and down steep hills, and contains large and comfortable houses. The market-place also looks like a market-place, and there are shops in it, in which trade is apparently carried on and money made. Indeed, Grenada was once a prince among these smaller islands, having other islands under it, with a Governor supreme, instead of tributary. It was fertile also, and productive--in every way of importance. But now here, as in so many other spots among the West Indies, we are driven to exclaim, Ichabod! The glory of our Grenada has departed, as has the glory of its great namesake in the old world. The houses, though so goodly, are but as so many Alhambras, whose tenants now are by no means great in the world's esteem. All the hotels in the West Indies are, as I have said, or shall say in some other place, kept by ladies of colour; in the most part by ladies who are no longer very young. They are generally called familiarly by their double name. Betsy Austen, for instance; and Caroline Lee. I went to the house of some such lady in St. Georges, and she told me a woful tale of her miseries. She was Kitty something, I think--soon, apparently, to become Kitty of another world. "An hotel," she said. "No; she kept no hotel now-a-days--what use was there for an hotel in St. Georges? She kept a lodging-house; though, for the matter of that, no lodgers ever came nigh her. That little granddaughter of hers sometimes sold a bottle of ginger beer; that was all." It must be hard for living eyes to see one's trade die off in that way. There is a feminine accomplishment so much in vogue among the ladies of the West Indies, one practised there with a success so specially brilliant, as to make it deserving of special notice. This art is one not wholly confined to ladies, although, as in the case with music, dancing, and cookery, it is to be looked for chiefly among the female sex. Men, indeed, do practise it in England, the West Indies, and elsewhere; and as Thalberg and Soyer are greatest among pianists and cooks, so perhaps are the greatest adepts in this art to be found among the male practitioners;--elsewhere, that is, than in the West Indies. There are to be found ladies never equalled in this art by any effort of manhood. I speak of the science of flirting. And be it understood that here among these happy islands no idea of impropriety--perhaps remembering some of our starched people at home, I should say criminality--is attached to the pursuit. Young ladies flirt, as they dance and play, or eat and drink, quite as a matter of course. There is no undutiful, unfilial idea of waiting till mamma's back be turned; no uncomfortable fear of papa; no longing for secluded corners, so that the world should not see. The doing of anything that one is ashamed of is bad. But as regards flirting, there is no such doing in the West Indies. Girls flirt not only with the utmost skill, but with the utmost innocence also. Fanny Grey, with her twelve admirers, required no retired corners, no place apart from father, mother, brothers, or sisters. She would perform with all the world around her as some other girl would sing, conscious that in singing she would neither disgrace herself nor her masters. It may be said that the practice of this accomplishment will often interfere with the course of true love. Perhaps so, but I doubt whether it does not as often assist it. It seemed to me that young ladies do not hang on hand in the West Indies. Marriages are made up there with apparently great satisfaction on both sides; and then the flirting is laid aside--put by, at any rate, till the days of widowhood, should such evil days come. The flirting is as innocent as it is open, and is confined to ladies without husbands. It is confined to ladies without husbands, but the victims are not bachelors alone. No position, or age, or state of health secures a man from being drawn, now into one and now into another Circean circle, in which he is whirled about, sometimes in a most ridiculous manner, jostled amongst a dozen neighbours, left without power to get out or to plunge further in, pulled back by a skirt at any attempt to escape, repulsed in the front at every struggle made to fight his way through. Rolling about in these Charybdis pools are, perhaps, oftenest to be seen certain wearers of red coats; wretches girt with tight sashes, and with gilding on their legs and backs. To and fro they go, bumping against each other without serious injury, but apparently in great discomfort. And then there are black-coated strugglers, with white neck-ties, very valiant in their first efforts, but often to be seen in deep grief, with heads thoroughly submersed. And you may see gray-haired sufferers with short necks, making little useless puffs, puffs which would be so impotent were not Circe merciful to those short-necked gray-haired sufferers. If there were, as perhaps there should be, a college in the West Indies, with fellowships and professorships,--established with the view of rewarding proficiency in this science--Fanny Grey should certainly be elected warden, or principal, or provost of that college. Her wondrous skill deserves more than mere praise, more than such slight glory as my ephemeral pages can give her. Pretty, laughing, brilliant, clever Fanny Grey! Whose cheeks ever were so pink, whose teeth so white, whose eyes so bright, whose curling locks so raven black! And then who ever smiled as she smiled? or frowned as she can frown? Sharply go those brows together, and down beneath the gurgling pool sinks the head of the red-coated wretch, while with momentary joy up pops the head of another, who is received with a momentary smile. Yes; oh my reader! it is too true, I also have been in that pool, making, indeed, no wilful struggles, attempting no Leander feat of swimming, sucked in as my steps unconsciously strayed too near the dangerous margin; sucked in and then buffeted about, not altogether unmercifully when my inaptitude for such struggling was discovered. Yes; I have found myself choking in those Charybdis waters, have glanced into the Circe cave. I have been seen in my insane struggles. But what shame of that? All around me, from the old patriarch dean of the island to the last subaltern fresh from Chatham, were there as well as I. CHAPTER XII. BRITISH GUIANA. When I settle out of England, and take to the colonies for good and all, British Guiana shall be the land of my adoption. If I call it Demerara perhaps I shall be better understood. At home there are prejudices against it I know. They say that it is a low, swampy, muddy strip of alluvial soil, infested with rattlesnakes, gallinippers, and musquitoes as big as turkey-cocks; that yellow fever rages there perennially; that the heat is unendurable; that society there is as stagnant as its waters; that men always die as soon as they reach it; and when they live are such wretched creatures that life is a misfortune. Calumny reports it to have been ruined by the abolition of slavery; milk of human kindness would forbid the further exportation of Europeans to this white man's grave; and philanthropy, for the good of mankind, would wish to have it drowned beneath its own rivers. There never was a land so ill spoken of--and never one that deserved it so little. All the above calumnies I contradict; and as I lived there for a fortnight--would it could have been a month!--I expect to be believed. If there were but a snug secretaryship vacant there--and these things in Demerara are very snug--how I would invoke the goddess of patronage; how I would nibble round the officials of the Colonial Office; how I would stir up my friends' friends to write little notes to their friends! For Demerara is the Elysium of the tropics--the West Indian happy valley of Rasselas--the one true and actual Utopia of the Caribbean Seas--the Transatlantic Eden. The men in Demerara are never angry, and the women are never cross. Life flows along on a perpetual stream of love, smiles, champagne, and small-talk. Everybody has enough of everything. The only persons who do not thrive are the doctors; and for them, as the country affords them so little to do, the local government no doubt provides liberal pensions. The form of government is a mild despotism, tempered by sugar. The Governor is the father of his people, and the Governor's wife the mother. The colony forms itself into a large family, which gathers itself together peaceably under parental wings. They have no noisy sessions of Parliament as in Jamaica, no money squabbles as in Barbados. A clean bill of health, a surplus in the colonial treasury, a rich soil, a thriving trade, and a happy people--these are the blessings which attend the fortunate man who has cast his lot on this prosperous shore. Such is Demerara as it is made to appear to a stranger. That custom which prevails there, of sending to all new comers a deputation with invitations to dinner for the period of his sojourn, is an excellent institution. It saves a deal of trouble in letters of introduction, economizes one's time, and puts one at once on the most-favoured-nation footing. Some may fancy that they could do better as to the bestowal of their evenings by individual diplomacy; but the matter is so well arranged in Demerara that such people would certainly find themselves in the wrong. If there be a deficiency in Georgetown--it is hardly necessary to explain that Georgetown is the capital of the province of Demerara, and that Demerara is the centre province in the colony of British Guiana; or that there are three provinces, Berbice, Demerara, and Essequibo, so called from the names of the three great rivers of the country--But if there be a deficiency in Georgetown, it is in respect to cabs. The town is extensive, as will by-and-by be explained; and though I would not so far militate against the feelings of the people as to say that the weather is ever hot--I should be ungrateful as well as incredulous were I to do so--nevertheless, about noonday one's inclination for walking becomes subdued. Cabs would certainly be an addition to the luxuries of the place. But even these are not so essential as might at the first sight appear, for an invitation to dinner always includes an offer of the host's carriage. Without a carriage no one dreams of dragging on existence in British Guiana. In England one would as soon think of living in a house without a fireplace, or sleeping in a bed without a blanket. For those who wander abroad in quest of mountain scenery it must be admitted that this colony has not much attraction. The country certainly is flat. By this I mean to intimate, that go where you will, travel thereabouts as far as you may, the eye meets no rising ground. Everything stands on the same level. But then, what is the use of mountains? You can grow no sugar on them, even with ever so many Coolies. They are big, brown, valueless things, cumbering the face of the creation; very well for autumn idlers when they get to Switzerland, but utterly useless in a colony which has to count its prosperity by the number of its hogsheads. Jamaica has mountains, and look at Jamaica! Yes; Demerara is flat; and Berbice is flat; and so is Essequibo. The whole of this land is formed by the mud which has been brought down by these great rivers and by others. The Corentyne is the most easterly, separating our colony from Dutch Guiana, or Surinam. Then comes the Berbice. The next, counting only the larger rivers, is the Demerara. Then, more to the west, the Essequibo, and running into that the Mazarony and the Cuyuni; and then, north-west along the coast, the Pomeroon; and lastly of our own rivers, the Guiana, though I doubt whether for absolute purposes of colonization we have ever gone so far as this. And beyond that are rolled in slow but turbid volume the huge waters of the Orinoco. On its shores we make no claim. Though the delta of the Orinoco is still called Guiana, it belongs to the republic of Venezuela. These are our boundaries along the South American shore, which hereabouts, as all men know, looks northward, with an easterly slant towards the Atlantic. Between us and our Dutch friends on the right hand the limits are clear enough. On the left hand, matters are not quite so clear with the Venezuelians. But to the rear! To the rear there is an eternity of sugar capability in mud running back to unknown mountains, the wildernesses of Brazil, the river Negro, and the tributaries of the Amazon--an eternity of sugar capability, to which England's colony can lay claim if only she could manage so much as the surveying of it. "Sugar!" said an enterprising Demerara planter to me. "Are you talking of sugar? Give me my heart's desire in Coolies, and I will make you a million of hogsheads of sugar without stirring from the colony!" Now, the world's supply, some twelve years ago, was about a million hogsheads. It has since increased maybe by a tenth. What a land, then, is this of British Guiana, flowing with milk and honey--with sugar and rum! A million hogsheads can be made there, if we only had the Coolies. I state this on the credit of my excellent enterprising friend. But then the Coolies! Guiana is an enormous extent of flat mud, the alluvial deposit of those mighty rivers which for so many years have been scraping together earth in those wild unknown upland countries, and bringing it down conveniently to the sea-board, so that the world might have sugar to its tea. I really think my friend was right. There is no limit to the fertility and extent of this region. The only limit is in labour. The present culture only skirts the sea-board and the riversides. You will hardly find an estate--I do not think that you can find one--that has not a water frontage. This land formerly belonged to the Dutch, and by them was divided out into portions which on a map have about them a Euclidical appearance. Let A B C D be a right-angled parallelogram, of which the sides A B and C D are three times the length of the other sides A C and B D. 'Tis thus you would describe a Demerara property, and the Q. E. D. would have reference to the relative quantities of sugar, molasses, and rum producible therefrom. But these strips of land, though they are thus marked out on the maps with four exact lines, are presumed to run back to any extent that the owner may choose to occupy. He starts from the water, and is bounded on each side; but backwards! Backwards he may cultivate canes up to the very Andes, if only he could get Coolies. Oh, ye soft-hearted, philanthropic gentry of the Anti-Slavery Society, only think of that; a million hogsheads of sugar--and you like cheap sugar yourselves--if you will only be quiet, or talk on subjects that you understand! The whole of this extent of mud, beyond the present very limited sugar-growing limits, is covered by timber. One is apt to think of an American forest as being as magnificent in its individual trees as it is huge in its extent of surface. But I doubt much whether this is generally the case. There are forest giants no doubt; but indigenous primeval wood is, I take it, for the most part a disagreeable, scrubby, bushy, sloppy, unequal, inconvenient sort of affair, to walk through which a man should be either an alligator or a monkey, and to make much way he should have a touch of both. There be no forest glades there in which uncivilized Indian lovers walk at ease, with their arms round each other's naked waists; no soft grass beneath the well-trimmed trunk on which to lie and meditate poetical. But musquitoes abound there; and grass flies, which locate themselves beneath the toe-nails; and marabunters, a villanous species of wasp; and gallinippers, the grandfathers of musquitoes; and from thence up to the xagua and the boa constrictor all nature is against a cool comfortable ramble in the woods. But I must say a word about Georgetown, and a word also about New Amsterdam, before I describe the peculiarities of a sugar estate in Guiana. A traveller's first thought is about his hotel; and I must confess, much as I love Georgetown--and I do love Georgetown--that I ought to have coupled the hotel with the cabs, and complained of a joint deficiency. The Clarendon--the name at any rate is good--is a poor affair; but poor as it is, it is the best. It is a ricket, ruined, tumble-down, wooden house, into which at first one absolutely dreads to enter, lest the steps should fail and let one through into unutterable abysses below. All the houses in Georgetown are made of wood, and therefore require a good deal of repair and paint. And all the houses seem to receive this care except the hotel. Ah, Mrs. Lenny, Mrs. Lenny! before long you and your guests will fall prostrate, and be found buried beneath a pile of dust and a colony of cockroaches! And yet it goes against my heart to abuse the inn, for the people were so very civil. I shall never forget that big black chambermaid; how she used to curtsy to me when she came into my room in the morning with a huge tub of water on her head! That such a weight should be put on her poor black skull--a weight which I could not lift--used to rend my heart with anguish. But that, so weighted, she should think that manners demanded a curtsy! Poor, courteous, overburdened maiden! "Don't, Sally; don't. Don't curtsy," I would cry. "Yes, massa," she would reply, and curtsy again, oh, so painfully! The tub of water was of such vast proportions! It was big enough--big enough for me to wash in! This house, as I have said, was all in ruins, and among other ruined things was my bedroom-door lock. The door could not be closed within, except by the use of a bolt; and without the bolt would swing wide open to the winds, exposing my arrangements to the public, and disturbing the neighbourhood by its jarring. In spite of the inconvenient difficulty of ingress I was forced to bolt it. At six every morning came Sally with the tub, knocking gently at the door--knocking gently at the door with that ponderous tub upon her skull! What could a man do when so appealed to but rush quickly from beneath his musquito curtains to her rescue? So it was always with me. But having loosed the bolt, time did not suffice to enable me to take my position again beneath the curtain. A jump into bed I might have managed--but then, the musquito curtain! So, under those circumstances, finding myself at the door in my deshabille, I could only open it, and then stand sheltered behind it, as behind a bulwark, while Sally deposited her burden. But, no. She curtsied, first at the bed; and seeing that I was not there, turned her head and tub slowly round the room, till she perceived my whereabouts. Then gently, but firmly, drawing away the door till I stood before her plainly discovered in my night-dress, she curtsied again. She knew better than to enter a room without due salutation to the guest--even with a tub of water on her head. Poor Sally! Was I not dressed from my chin downwards, and was not that enough for her? "Honi soit qui mal y pense." After that, how can I say ought against the hotel? And when I complained loudly of the holes in the curtain, the musquitoes having driven me to very madness, did not they set to work, Sunday as it was, and make me a new curtain? Certainly without avail--for they so hung it that the musquitoes entered worse than ever. But the intention was no less good. And that waiter, David; was he not for good-nature the pink of waiters? "David, this house will tumble down! I know it will--before I leave it. The stairs shook terribly as I came up." "Oh no, massa," and David laughed benignly. "It no tumble down last week, and derefore it no tumble down next." It did last my time, and therefore I will say no more. Georgetown to my eyes is a prepossessing city, flat as the country round it is, and deficient as it is--as are all the West Indies--in anything like architectural pretension. The streets are wide and airy. The houses, all built of wood, stand separately, each a little off the road; and though much has not been done in the way of their gardens--for till the great coming influx of Coolies all labour is engaged in making sugar--yet there is generally something green attached to each of them. Down the centre of every street runs a wide dyke. Of these dykes I must say something further when I come to speak again of the sugar doings; for their importance in these provinces cannot well be overrated. The houses themselves are generally without a hall. By that I mean that you walk directly into some sitting-room. This, indeed, is general through the West Indies; and now that I bethink me of the fact, I may mention that a friend of mine in Jamaica has no door whatsoever to his house. All ingress and egress is by the windows. My bedroom had no door, only a window that opened. The sitting-rooms in Georgetown open through to each other, so that the wind, let it come which way it will, may blow through the whole house. For though it is never absolutely hot in Guiana--as I have before mentioned--nevertheless, a current of air is comfortable. One soon learns to know the difference of windward and leeward when living in British Guiana. The houses are generally of three stories; but the two upper only are used by the family. Outer steps lead up from the little front garden, generally into a verandah, and in this verandah a great portion of their life is led. It is cooler than the inner rooms. Not that I mean to say that any rooms in Demerara are ever hot. We all know the fine burst with which Scott opens a certain canto in one of his poems:-- Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? * * * If such there breathe, go, mark him well. At any rate, there breathes no such man in this pleasant colony. A people so happily satisfied with their own position I never saw elsewhere, except at Barbados. And how could they fail to be satisfied, looking at their advantages? A million hogsheads of sugar to be made when the Coolies come! They do not, the most of them, appeal to the land as being that of their nativity, but they love it no less as that of their adoption. "Look at me," says one; "I have been thirty years without leaving it, and have never had a headache." I look and see a remarkably hale man, of forty I should say, but he says fifty. "That's nothing," says another, who certainly may be somewhat stricken in years: "I have been here five-and-fifty years, and was never ill but once, when I was foolish enough to go to England. Ugh! I shall never forget it. Why, sir, there was frost in October!" "Yes," I said, "and snow in May sometimes. It is not all sunshine with us, whatever it may be with you." "Not that we have too much sunshine," interposed a lady. "You don't think we have, do you?" "Not in the least. Who could ask more, madam, than to bask in such sunshine as yours from year's end to year's end?" "And is commerce tolerably flourishing?" I asked of a gentleman in trade. "Flourishing, sir! If you want to make money, here's your ground. Why, sir, here, in this wretched little street, there has been more money turned in the last ten years than--than--than--" And he rummaged among the half-crowns in his breeches-pocket for a simile, as though not a few of the profits spoken of had found their way thither. "Do you ever find it dull here?" I asked of a lady--perhaps not with very good taste--for we Englishmen have sometimes an idea that there is perhaps a little sameness about life in a small colony. "Dull! no. What should make us dull? We have a great deal more to amuse us than most of you have at home." This perhaps might be true of many of us. "We have dances, and dinner-parties, and private theatricals. And then Mrs. ----!" Now Mrs. ---- was the Governor' wife, and all eulogiums on society in Georgetown always ended with a eulogium upon her. I went over the hospital with the doctor there; for even in Demerara they require a hospital for the negroes. "And what is the prevailing disease of the colony?" I asked him. "Dropsy with the black men," he answered; "and brandy with the white." "You don't think much of yellow fever?" I asked him. "No; very little. It comes once in six or seven years; and like influenza or cholera at home, it requires its victims. What is that to consumption, whose visits with you are constant, who daily demands its hecatombs? We don't like yellow fever, certainly; but yellow fever is not half so bad a fellow as the brandy bottle." Should this meet the eye of any reader in this colony who needs medical advice, he may thus get it, of a very good quality, and without fee. On the subject of brandy I say nothing myself, seeing how wrong it is to kiss and tell. Excepting as regards yellow fever, I do not imagine that Demerara is peculiarly unhealthy. And as regards yellow fever, I am inclined to think that his Satanic majesty has in this instance been painted too black. There are many at home--in England--who believe that yellow fever rages every year in some of these colonies, and that half the white population of the towns is swept off by it every August. As far as I can learn it is hardly more fatal at one time of the year than at another. It returns at intervals, but by no means regularly or annually. Sometimes it will hang on for sixteen or eighteen months at a time, and then it will disappear for five or six years. Those seem to be most subject to it who have been out in the West Indies for a year or so: after that, persons are not so liable to it. Sailors, and men whose work keeps them about the sea-board and wharves, seem to be in the greatest danger. White soldiers also, when quartered in unhealthy places, have suffered greatly. They who are thoroughly acclimatized are seldom attacked; and there seems to be an idea that the white Creoles are nearly safe. I believe that there are instances in which coloured people and even negroes have been attacked by yellow fever. But such cases are very rare. Cholera is the negroes' scourge. Nor do I think that this fever rages more furiously in Demerara than among the islands. It has been very bad in its bad times at Kingston, Jamaica, at Trinidad, at Barbados, among the shipping at St. Thomas, and nowhere worse than at the Havana. The true secret of its fatality I take to be this:--that the medical world has not yet settled what is the proper mode of medical treatment. There are, I believe, still two systems, each directly opposite to the other; but in the West Indies they call them the French system and the English. In a few years, no doubt, the matter will be better understood. From Georgetown, Demerara, to New Amsterdam, Berbice, men travel either by steamer along the coast, or by a mail phaeton. The former goes once a week to Berbice and back, and the latter three times. I went by the mail phaeton and returned by the steamer. And here, considering the prosperity of the colony, the well-being and comfort of all men and women in it, the go-ahead principles of the place, and the coming million hogsheads of sugar--the millennium of a West Indian colony--considering all these great existing characteristics of Guiana, I must say that I think the Governor ought to look to the mail phaeton. It was a woful affair, crumbling to pieces along the road in the saddest manner; very heart-rending to the poor fellow who had to drive it, and body-rending to some of the five passengers who were tossed to and fro as every fresh fragment deserted the parent vehicle with a jerk. And then, when we had to send the axle to be mended, that staying in the road for two hours and a half among the musquitoes! Ohe! ohe! Ugh! ugh! It grieves me to mention this, seeing that rose colour was so clearly the prevailing tint in all matters belonging to Guiana. And I would have forgiven it had the phaeton simply broken down on the road. All sublunar phaetons are subject to such accidents. Why else should they have been named after him of the heavens who first suffered from such mishaps? But this phaeton had broken down before it commenced its journey. It started on a system of ropes, bandages, and patches which were disgraceful to such a colony and such a Governor; and I should intromit a clear duty, were I to allow it to escape the gibbet. But we did reach New Amsterdam not more than five hours after time. I have but very little to say of the road, except this: that there is ample scope for sugar and ample room for Coolies. Every now and then we came upon negro villages. All villages in this country must be negro villages, one would say, except the few poor remaining huts of the Indians, which are not encountered on the white man's path. True; but by a negro village I mean a site which is now the freehold possession of negroes, having been purchased by them since the days of emancipation, with their own money, and for their own purposes; so that they might be in all respects free; free to live in idleness, or to do such work as an estated man may choose to do for himself, his wife, his children, and his property. There are many such villages in Guiana, and I was told that when the arrangements for the purchases were made the dollars were subscribed by the negroes so quickly and in such quantities that they were taken to the banks in wheelbarrows. At any rate, the result has been that tracts of ground have been bought by these people and are now owned by them in fee simple. It is grievous to me to find myself driven to differ on such points as these from men with whose views I have up to this period generally agreed. But I feel myself bound to say that the freeholding negroes in Guiana do not appear to me to answer. In the first place it seems that they have found great difficulty in dividing the land among themselves. In all such combined actions some persons must be selected as trustworthy; and those who have been so selected have not been worthy of the trust. And then the combined action has ceased with the purchase of the land, whereas, to have produced good it should have gone much further. Combined draining would have been essential; combined working has been all but necessary; combined building should have been adopted. But the negroes, the purchase once made, would combine no further. They could not understand that unless they worked together at draining, each man's own spot of ground would be a swamp. Each would work a little for himself; but none would work for the community. A negro village therefore is not a picturesque object. They are very easily known. The cottages, or houses--for some of them have aspired to strong, stable, two-storied slated houses--stand in extreme disorder, one here and another there, just as individual caprice may have placed them. There seems to have been no attempt at streets or lines of buildings, and certainly not at regularity in building. Then there are no roads, and hardly a path to each habitation. As the ground is not drained, in wet weather the whole place is half drowned. Most of the inhabitants will probably have made some sort of dyke for the immediate preservation of their own dwellings; but as those dykes are not cut with any common purpose, they become little more than overflowing ponds, among which the negro children crawl and scrape in the mud; and are either drowned, or escape drowning, as Providence may direct. The spaces between the buildings are covered with no verdure; they are mere mud patches, and are cracked in dry weather, wet, slippery, and filthy in the rainy seasons. The plantation grounds of these people are outside the village, and afford, I am told, cause for constant quarrelling. They do, however, also afford means of support for the greater part of the year, so that the negroes can live, some without work and some by working one or two days in the week. It may perhaps be difficult to explain why a man should be expected to work if he can live on his own property without working, and enjoy such comforts as he desires. And it may be equally difficult to explain why complaint should be made as to the wretchedness of any men who do not themselves feel that their own state is wretched. But, nevertheless, on seeing what there is here to be seen, it is impossible to withstand the instinctive conviction that a village of freeholding negroes is a failure; and that the community has not been served by the process, either as regards themselves or as regards the country. Late at night we did reach New Amsterdam, and crossed the broad Berbice after dark in a little ferryboat which seemed to be perilously near the water. At ten o'clock I found myself at the hotel, and pronounce it to be, without hesitation, the best inn, not only in that colony, but in any of these Western colonies belonging to Great Britain. It is kept by a negro, one Mr. Paris Brittain, of whom I was informed that he was once a slave. "O, si sic omnes!" But as regards my experience, he is merely the exception which proves the rule. I am glad, however, to say a good word for the energies and ambition of one of the race, and shall be glad if I can obtain for Mr. Paris Brittain an innkeeper's immortality. His deserts are so much the greater in that his scope for displaying them is so very limited. No man can walk along the broad strand street of New Amsterdam, and then up into its parallel street, so back towards the starting-point, and down again to the sea, without thinking of Knickerbocker and Rip van Winkle. The Dutchman who built New Amsterdam and made it once a thriving town must be still sleeping, as the New York Dutchman once slept, waiting the time when an irruption from Paramaribo and Surinam shall again restore the place to its old possessors. At present life certainly stagnates at New Amsterdam. Three persons in the street constitute a crowd, and five collected for any purpose would form a goodly club. But the place is clean and orderly, and the houses are good and in good repair. They stand, as do the houses in Georgetown, separately, each surrounded by its own garden or yard, and are built with reference to the wished-for breeze from the windows. The estates up the Berbice river, and the Canje creek which runs into it, are, I believe, as productive as those on the coast, or on the Demerara or Essequibo rivers, and are as well cultivated; but their owners no longer ship their sugars from New Amsterdam. The bar across the Berbice river is objectionable, and the trade of Georgetown has absorbed the business of the colony. In olden times Berbice and Demerara were blessed each with its own Governor, and the two towns stood each on its own bottom as two capitals. But those halcyon days--halcyon for Berbice--are gone; and Rip van Winkle, with all his brethren, is asleep. I should have said, in speaking of my journey from Demerara to Berbice, that the first fifteen miles were performed by railway. The colony would have fair ground of complaint against me were I to omit to notice that it has so far progressed in civilization as to own a railway. As far as I could learn, the shares do not at present stand at a high premium. From Berbice I returned in a coasting steamer. It was a sleepy, dull, hot journey, without subject of deep interest. I can only remember of it that they gave us an excellent luncheon on board, and luncheons at such times are very valuable in breaking the tedium of the day. And now a word as to the million hogsheads of sugar and as to the necessary Coolies. Guiana has some reason to be proud, seeing that at present it beats all the neighbouring British colonies in the quantity of sugar produced. I believe that it also beats them all as to the quantity of rum, though Jamaica still stands first as to the quality. In round numbers the sugar exported from Guiana may be stated at seventy thousand hogsheads. Barbados exports about fifty thousand, Trinidad and Jamaica under forty thousand. No other British West Indian colony gives fifteen thousand; but Guadaloupe and Martinique, two French islands, produce, one over fifty thousand and the other nearly seventy thousand hogsheads. In order to make this measurement intelligible, I may explain that a hogshead is generally said to contain a ton weight of sugar, but that, when reaching the market, it very rarely does come up to that weight. I do not give this information as statistically correct, but as being sufficiently so to guide the ideas of a man only ordinarily anxious to be acquainted in an ordinary manner with what is going on in the West Indies. I would not, therefore, recommend any Member of Parliament to quote the above figures in the House. Some twelve years ago the whole produce of sugar in the West Indies, including Guiana and excluding the Spanish islands, was 275,000 hogsheads. The amount which I have above recapitulated, in which the smaller islands have been altogether omitted, exceeds 310,000. It may therefore be taken as a fact that, on the whole, the evil days have come to their worst, and that the tables are turned. It must however be admitted that the above figures tell more for French than for English prosperity. In these countries sugar and labour are almost synonymous; at any rate, they are convertible substances. In none of the colonies named, except Barbados, is the amount of sugar produced limited by any other law than the amount of labour to be obtained, and in none of them, with that one exception, can any prosperity be hoped for, excepting by means of immigrating labour. What I mean to state is this: that the extent of native work which can be obtained by the planters and land-owners at terms which would enable them to grow their produce and bring it to the market does not in any of these colonies suffice for success. It can be worth no man's while to lay out his capital in Jamaica, in Trinidad, or in Guiana, unless he has reasonable hope that labouring men will be brought into those countries. The great West Indian question is now this: Is there reasonable ground for such hope? The Anti-Slavery Society tells us that we ought to have no such hope--that it is simply hoping for a return of slavery; that black or coloured labourers brought from other lands to the West Indies cannot be regarded as free men; that labourers so brought will surely be ill-used; and that the native negro labourer requires protection. As to that question of the return to slavery I have already said what few words I have to offer. In one sense, no dependent man working for wages can be free. He must abide by the terms of his contract. But in the usually accepted sense of the word freedom, the Coolie or Chinaman immigrating to the West Indies is free. As to the charge of ill usage, it appears to me that these men could not be treated with more tenderness, unless they were put separately, each under his own glass case, with a piece of velvet on which to lie. In England we know of no such treatment for field labourers. On their arrival in Demerara they are distributed among the planters by the Governor, to each planter according to his application, his means of providing for them, and his willingness and ability to pay the cost of the immigration by yearly instalments. They are sent to no estate till a government officer shall have reported that there are houses for them to occupy. There must be a hospital for them on the estate, and a regular doctor with a sufficient salary. The rate of their wages is stipulated, and their hours of work. Though the contract is for five years, they can leave the estate at the end of the first three, transferring their services to any other master, and at the end of the five years they are entitled to a free passage home. If there be no hardship in all this to the immigrating Coolie, it may, perhaps, be thought that there is hardship to the planter who receives him. He is placed very much at the mercy of the Governor, who, having the power of giving or refusing Coolies, becomes despotic. And then, when this stranger from Hindostan has been taught something of his work, he can himself select another master, so that one planter may bribe away the labourers of another. This, however, is checked to a certain degree by a regulation which requires the bribing interloper to pay a portion of the expense of immigration. As to the native negro requiring protection--protection, that is, against competitive labour--the idea is too absurd to require any argument to refute it. As it at present is, the competition having been established, and being now in existence to a certain small extent, these happy negro gentlemen will not work on an average more than three days a week, nor for above six hours a day. I saw a gang of ten or twelve negro girls in a cane-piece, lying idle on the ground, waiting to commence their week's labour. It was Tuesday morning. On the Monday they had of course not come near the field. On the morning of my visit they were lying with their hoes beside them, meditating whether or no they would measure out their work. The planter was with me, and they instantly attacked him. "No, massa; we no workey; money no nuff," said one. "Four bits no pay! no pay at all!" said another. "Five bits, massa, and we gin morrow 'arly." It is hardly necessary to say that the gentleman refused to bargain with them. "They'll measure their work to-morrow," said he; "on Thursday they will begin, and on Friday they will finish for the week." "But will they not look elsewhere for other work?" I asked. "Of course they will," he said; "occupy a whole day in looking for it; but others cannot pay better than I do, and the end will be as I tell you." Poor young ladies! It will certainly be cruel to subject them to the evil of competition in their labour. In Guiana the bull has been taken by the horns, as in Jamaica it unfortunately has not; and the first main difficulties of immigration have, I think, been overcome. For some years past, both from India and from China, labourers have been brought in freely, and during the last twelve months the number has been very considerable. The women also are coming now as well as the men, and they have learned to husband their means and put money together. Such an affair as this--the regular exodus, that is, of a people to another land--has always progressed with great rapidity when it has been once established. The difficulty is to make a beginning. It is natural enough that men should hesitate to trust themselves to a future of which they know nothing; and as natural that they should hasten to do so when they have heard of the good things which Providence has in store for them. It required that some few should come out and prosper, and return with signs of prosperity. This has now been done, and as regards Guiana it will not, I imagine, be long before negro labour is, if not displaced, made, at any rate, of secondary consequence in the colony. As far as the workmen are concerned, the million hogsheads will, I think, become a possibility, though not perhaps in the days of my energetic hopeful friend. Both the Coolies and the Chinamen have aptitude in putting money together; and when a man has this aptitude he will work as long as good wages are to be earned. "Crescit amor nummi quantum ipsa, &c." We teach our children this lesson, intending them to understand that it is pretty nearly the worst of all "amors," and we go on with the "irritamenta malorum" till we come to the "Spernere fortior." It is all, however, of no use. "Naturam expellas furcâ;" but the result is still the same. Nature knows what she is about. The love of money is a good and useful love. What would the world now be without it? Or is it even possible to conceive of a world progressing without such a love? Show me ten men without it, and I will show you nine who lack zeal for improvement. Money, like other loved objects--women, for instance--should be sought for with honour, won with a clean conscience, and used with a free hand. Provided it be so guided, the love of money is no ignoble passion. The negroes, as a class, have not this aptitude, consequently they lie in the sun and eat yams, and give no profitable assistance towards that saccharine millennium. "Spernere fortior!" That big black woman would so say, she who is not contented with four bits, if her education had progressed so far. And as she said it, how she would turn up her African nose, and what contempt she would express with her broad eyes! Doubtless she does so express herself among her negro friends in some nigger patois--"Pernere forshaw." If so, her philosophy does but little to assist the world, or herself. There is another race of men, and of women too, who have been and now are of the greatest benefit to this colony, and with them the "Spernere fortior" is by no means a favourite doctrine. There are the Portuguese who have come to Demerara from Madeira. I believe that they are not to be found in any of the islands; but here, in Guiana, they are in great numbers, and thrive wonderfully. At almost every corner of two streets in Georgetown is to be seen a small shop; and those shops are, I think without exception, kept by Portuguese. Nevertheless they all reached the Demerara river in absolute poverty, intending to live on the wages of field labour, and certainly prepared to do their work like men. As a rule, they are a steady, industrious class, and have proved themselves to be good citizens. In the future amalgamation of races, which will take place here as elsewhere in the tropics, the Portugee-Madeira element will not be the least efficient. I saw the works on three or four sugar estates in Demerara, and though I am neither a sugar grower nor a mechanic, I am able to say that the machinery and material of this colony much exceed anything I have seen in any of our own West Indian islands; and in the point of machinery, equals what I saw in Cuba. Everything is done on a much larger scale, and in a more proficient manner than at--Barbados, we will say. I instance Barbados because the planters there play so excellent a melody on their own trumpets. In that island not one planter in five, not one I believe in fifteen, has any steam appliance on his estate. They trust to the wind for their motive power, as did their great-great-grandfather. But there is steam on every estate in Guiana. The vacuum pan and the centrifugal machine for extracting the molasses are known only by name in Barbados, whereas they are common appliances in Demerara. There two hundred hogsheads is a considerable produce for one planter. Here they make eight hundred hogsheads, a thousand, and twelve hundred. A Barbados man will reply to this that the thing to be looked to is the profit, or what he will call the clearance. The sugar-consuming world, however, will know nothing about this, will hear nothing of individual profits. But it will recognize the fact that the Demerara sugar is of a better quality than that which comes from Barbados, and will believe that the merchant or planter who does not use the latest appliances of science, whether it be in manufacture or agriculture, will before long go to the wall. Looking over a sugar estate and sugar works is an exciting amusement certainly, but nevertheless it palls upon one at last. I got quite into the way of doing it; and used to taste the sugars and examine the crystals; make comparisons and pronounce, I must confess as regards Barbados, a good deal of adverse criticism. But this was merely to elicit the true tone of Barbadian eloquence, the long-drawn nasal fecundity of speech which comes forth so fluently when their old windmills are attacked. But the amusement, as I have said, does pall upon one. In spite of the difference of the machinery, the filtering-bags and centrifugals in one, the Gadsden pans in another, and the simple oscillators in a third--(the Barbados estate stands for the third)--one does get weary of walking up to a sugar battery, and looking at the various heated caldrons, watching till even the inexperienced eye perceives that the dirty liquor has become brown sugar, as it runs down from a dipper into a cooling vat. I wonder whether I could make the process in any simple way intelligible; or whether in doing so I should afford gratification to a single individual? Were I myself reading such a book of travels, I should certainly skip such description. Reader, do thou do likewise. Nevertheless, it shall not exceed three or four pages. The cane must first be cut. As regards a planted cane, that is the first crop from the plant--(for there are such things as ratoons, of which a word or two will be found elsewhere)--as regards the planted cane, the cutting, I believe, takes place after about fourteen months' growth. The next process is that of the mill; the juice, that is, has to be squeezed out of it. The cane should not lie above two days before it is squeezed. It is better to send it to the mill the day after it is cut, or the hour after; in fact, as soon indeed as may be. In Demerara they are brought to the mill by water always; in Barbados, by carts and mules; in Jamaica, by waggons and oxen; so also in Cuba. The mill consists of three rollers, which act upon each other like cogwheels. The canes are passed between two, an outside one, say, and a centre one; and the refuse stalk, or trash (so called in Jamaica), or magass (so called in Barbados and Demerara), comes out between the same centre one and the other outside roller. The juice meanwhile is strained down to a cistern or receptacle below. These rollers are quite close, so that it would seem to be impossible that the cane should go through; but it does go through with great ease, if the mill be good and powerful; but frequently with great difficulty, if the mill be bad and not powerful; for which latter alternative vide Barbados. The canes give from sixty to seventy per cent. of juice. Sometimes less than sixty, not often over seventy. The juice, which is then of a dirty-yellow colour, and apparently about the substance of milk, is brought from the mill through a pipe into the first vat, in which it is tempered. This is done with lime, and the object is to remedy the natural acidity of the juice. In this first vat it is warmed, but not more than warmed. It then runs from these vats into boilers, or at any rate into receptacles in which it is boiled. These in Barbados are called taches. At each of these a man stands with a long skimmer, skimmering the juice as it were, and scraping off certain skum which comes to the top. There are from three to seven of these taches, and below them, last of all, is the boiler, the veritable receptacle in which the juice becomes sugar. In the taches, especially the first of them, the liquor becomes dark green in colour. As it gets nearer the boiler it is thicker and more clouded, and begins to assume its well-known tawny hue. Over the last boiler stands the man who makes the sugar. It is for him to know what heat to apply and how long to apply it. The liquor now ceases to be juice and becomes sugar. This is evident to the eye and nose, for though the stuff in the boiler is of course still liquid, it looks like boiled melted sugar, and the savour is the savour of sugar. When the time has come, and the boiling is boiled, a machine suspended from on high, and called a dipper, is let down into the caldron. It nearly fits the caldron, being, as it were, in itself a smaller caldron going into the other. The sugar naturally runs over the side of this and fills it, some little ingenuity being exercised in the arrangement. The dipper, full of sugar, is then drawn up on high. At the bottom of it is a valve, so that on the pulling of a rope, the hot liquid runs out. This dipper is worked like a crane, and is made to swing itself from over the boiler to a position in which the sugar runs from it through a wooden trough to the flat open vats in which it is cooled. But at this part of the manufacture there are various different methods. According to that which is least advanced the sugar is simply cooled in the vat, then put into buckets in a half-solid state, and thrown out of the buckets into the hogsheads. According to the more advanced method it runs from the dipper down through filtering bags, is then pumped into a huge vacuum pan, a utensil like a kettle-drum turned topsy-turvy, a kettle-drum that is large enough to hold six tons of sugar. Then it is reheated, and then put into open round boxes called centrifugals, the sides of which are made of metal pierced like gauze. These are whisked round and round by steam-power at an enormous rate, and the molasses flies out through the gauze, leaving the sugar dry and nearly white. It is then fit to go into the hogshead, and fit also to be shipped away. But in the simpler process, the molasses drains from the sugar in the hogshead. To facilitate this, as the sugar is put into the cask, reeds are stuck through it, which communicate with holes at the bottom, so that there may be channels through which the molasses may run. The hogsheads stand upon beams lying a foot apart from each other, and below is a dark abyss into which the molasses falls. I never could divest myself of the idea that the negro children occasionally fall through also, and are then smothered and so distilled into rum. There are various other processes, intermediate between the highly-civilized vacuum pan and the simple cooling, with which I will not trouble my reader. Nor will I go into the further mystery of rum-making. That the rum is made from the molasses every one knows; and from the negro children, as I suspect. The process of sugar-making is very rapid if the appliances be good. A planter in Demerara assured me that he had cut his canes in the morning, and had the sugar in Georgetown in the afternoon. Fudge! however, was the remark made by another planter to whom I repeated this. Whether it was fudge or not I do not know; but it was clearly possible that such should be the case. The manufacture is one which does not require any delay. In Demerara an acre of canes will on an average give over a ton and a half of sugar. But an acre of cane ground will not give a crop once in twelve months. Two crops in three years may perhaps be the average. So much for the manufacture of sugar. I hope my account may not be criticised by those who are learned in the art, as it is only intended for those who are utterly unlearned. But if looking over sugar-works be at last fatiguing, what shall I say to that labour of "going aback," which Guiana planters exact from their visitors. Going aback in Guiana means walking from the house and manufactory back to the fields where the canes grow. I have described the shape of a Demerara estate. The house generally stands not far from the water frontage, so that the main growth of the sugar is behind. This going aback generally takes place before breakfast. But the breakfast is taken at eleven; and a Demerara sun is in all its glory for three hours before that. Remember, also, that there are no trees in these fields, no grass, no wild flowers, no meandering paths. Everything is straight, and open, and ugly; and everything has a tendency to sugar, and no other tendency whatever, unless it be to rum. Sugar-canes is the only growth. So that a walk aback, except to a very close inquirer, is not delightful. It must however be confessed that the subsequent breakfast makes up for a deal of misery. There is no such breakfast going as that of a Guiana planter. Talk of Scotland! Pooh! But one has to think of that doctor's dictum--"The prevalent disease, sir? Brandy!" It seems, however, to me to show itself more generally in the shape of champagne. There is one other peculiar characteristic of landed property in this colony which I must mention. All the carriage is by water, not only from the works to the town, but from the fields to the works, and even from field to field. The whole country is intersected by drains, which are necessary to carry off the surface waters; there is no natural fall of water, or next to none, and but for its drains and sluices the land would be flooded in wet weather. Parallel to these drains are canals; there being, as nearly as I could learn, one canal between each two drains. These different dykes are to a stranger similar in appearance, but their uses are always kept distinct. Nor do these canals run only between wide fields, or at a considerable distance from each other. They pierce every portion of land, so that the canes when cut have never to be carried above a few yards. The expense of keeping them in order is very great, but the labour of making them must have been immense. It was done by the Dutch. One may almost question whether any other race would have had the patience necessary for such a work. I was told on one estate that there were no less than sixty-three miles of these cuttings to be kept in order. But the gentleman who told me was he to whom the other gentleman alluded, when he used our old friend, Mr. Burchell's exclamation. There can be no doubt but that these Guiana planters know each other. On the whole, I must express my conviction that this is a fine colony, and will become of very great importance. Our great Thunderer the other day spoke of the governance of a sugar island as a duty below a man's notice; as being almost worthy of contempt. We cannot all be gods and forge thunderbolts. But we all wish to consume sugar; and if we can do in one of our colonies without slaves what Cuba is doing with slaves, the work I think will not be contemptible, nor the land contemptible in which it is done. I do look to see our free Cuba in Guiana, and even have my hopes as to that million of hogsheads. I have said, in speaking of Jamaica, that I thought the negro had hardly yet shown himself capable of understanding the teaching of the Christian religion. As regards Guiana, what I heard on this matter I heard chiefly from clergymen of the Church of England; and though they would of course not agree with me--for it is not natural that a man should doubt the efficacy of his own teaching--nevertheless, what I gathered from them strengthens my former opinions. I do think that the Guiana negro is in this respect somewhat superior to his brother in Jamaica. He is more intelligent, and comes nearer to our idea of a thoughtful being. But still even here it seems to me that he never connects his religion with his life; never reflects that his religion should bear upon his conduct. Here, as in the islands, the negroes much prefer to belong to a Baptist congregation, or to a so-called Wesleyan body. That excitement is there allowed to them which is denied in our Church. They sing and halloa and scream, and have revivals. They talk of their "dear brothers" and "dear sisters," and in their ecstatic howlings get some fun for their money. I doubt also whether those disagreeable questions as to conduct are put by the Baptists which they usually have to undergo from our clergymen. "So-called Wesleyans," I say, because the practice of their worship here is widely removed from the sober gravity of the Wesleyan churches in England. I have said that the form of government in Guiana was a mild despotism, tempered by sugar. The Governor, it must be understood, has not absolute authority. There is a combined house, with a power of voting, by whom he is controlled--at any rate in financial matters. But of those votes he commands many as Governor, and as long as he will supply Coolies quick enough--and Coolies mean sugar--he may command them all. "We are not particular to a shade," the planters wisely say to him, "in what way we are governed. If you have any fads of your own about this or about that, by all means indulge them. Even if you want a little more money, in God's name take it. But the business of a man's life is sugar: there's the land; the capital shall be forthcoming, whether begged, borrowed, or stolen;--do you supply the labour. Give us Coolies enough, and we will stick at nothing. We are an ambitious colony. There looms before us a great future--a million hogsheads of sugar!" The form of government here is somewhat singular. There are two Houses--Lords and Commons--but not acting separately as ours do. The upper House is the Court of Policy. This consists of five official members, whose votes may therefore be presumed to be at the service of the Governor, and of five elected members. The Governor himself, sitting in this court, has the casting vote. But he also has something to say to the election of the other five. They are chosen by a body of men called Kiezers--probably Dutch for choosers. There is a college of Kiezers, elected for life by the tax-payers, whose main privilege appears to be that of electing these members of the Court of Policy. But on every occasion they send up two names, and the Governor selects one; so that he can always keep out any one man who may be peculiarly disagreeable to him. This Court of Policy acts, I think, when acting by itself, more as a privy council to the Governor than as a legislative body. Then there are six Financial Representatives; two from Berbice, one from town and one from country; two from Demerara, one from town and one from country; and two from Essequibo, both from the country, there being no town. These are elected by the tax-payers. They are assembled for purposes of taxation only, as far as I understood; and even as regards this they are joined with the Court of Policy, and thus form what is called the Combined Court. The Crown, therefore, has very little to tie its hands; and I think that I am justified in describing the government as a mild despotism, tempered by sugar. So much for British Guiana. I cannot end this crude epitome of crude views respecting the colony without saying that I never met a pleasanter set of people than I found there, or ever passed my hours much more joyously. CHAPTER XIII. BARBADOS. Barbados is a very respectable little island, and it makes a great deal of sugar. It is not picturesquely beautiful, as are almost all the other Antilles, and therefore has but few attractions for strangers. But this very absence of scenic beauty has saved it from the fate of its neighbours. A country that is broken into landscapes, that boasts of its mountains, woods, and waterfalls, that is regarded for its wild loveliness, is seldom propitious to agriculture. A portion of the surface in all such regions defies the improving farmer. But, beyond this, such ground under the tropics offers every inducement to the negro squatter. In Jamaica, Dominica, St. Lucia, and Grenada, the negro, when emancipated, could squat and make himself happy; but in Barbados there was not an inch for him. When emancipation came there was no squatting ground for the poor Barbadian. He had still to work and make sugar--work quite as hard as he had done while yet a slave. He had to do that or to starve. Consequently, labour has been abundant in this island, and in this island only; and in all the West Indian troubles it has kept its head above water, and made sugar respectably--not, indeed, showing much sugar genius, or going ahead in the way of improvements, but paying twenty shillings in the pound, supporting itself, and earning its bread decently by the sweat of its brow. The pity is that the Barbadians themselves should think so much of their own achievements. The story runs, that when Europe was convulsed by revolutions and wars--when continental sovereigns were flying hither and thither, and there was so strong a rumour that Napoleon was going to eat us--the great Napoleon I mean--that then, I say, the Barbadians sent word over to poor King George the Third, bidding him fear nothing. If England could not protect him, Barbados would. Let him come to them, if things looked really blue on his side of the channel It was a fine, spirited message, but perhaps a little self glorious. That, I should say, is the character of the island in general. As to its appearance, it is, as I have said, totally different from any of the other islands, and to an English eye much less attractive in its character. But for the heat its appearance would not strike with any surprise an Englishman accustomed to an ordinary but ugly agricultural country. It has not the thick tropical foliage which is so abundant in the other islands, nor the wild, grassy dells. Happily for the Barbadians every inch of it will produce canes; and, to the credit of the Barbadians, every inch of it does so. A Barbadian has a right to be proud of this, but it does not make the island interesting. It is the waste land of the world that makes it picturesque. But there is not a rood of waste land in Barbados. It certainly is not the country for a gipsy immigration. Indeed, I doubt whether there is even room for a picnic. The island is something over twenty miles long, and something over twelve broad. The roads are excellent, but so white that they sadly hurt the eye of a stranger. The authorities have been very particular about their milestones, and the inhabitants talk much about their journeys. I found myself constantly being impressed with ideas of distance, till I was impelled to suggest a rather extended system of railroads--a proposition which was taken in very good part. I was informed that the population was larger than that of China, but my informant of course meant by the square foot. He could hardly have counted by the square mile in Barbados. And thus I was irresistibly made to think of the frog that would blow itself out and look as large as an ox. Bridgetown, the metropolis of the island, is much like a second or third rate English town. It has none of the general peculiarities of the West Indies, except the heat. The streets are narrow, irregular, and crooked, so that at first a stranger is apt to miss his way. They all, however, converge at Trafalgar Square, a spot which, in Barbados, is presumed to compete with the open space at Charing Cross bearing the same name. They have this resemblance, that each contains a statue of Nelson. The Barbadian Trafalgar Square contains also a tree, which is more than can be said for its namesake. It can make also this boast, that no attempt has been made within it which has failed so grievously as our picture gallery. In saying this, however, I speak of the building only--by no means of the pictures. There are good shops in Bridgetown--good, respectable, well-to-do shops, that sell everything, from a candle down to a coffin, including wedding-rings, corals, and widows' caps. But they are hot, fusty, crowded places, as are such places in third-rate English towns. But then the question of heat here is of such vital moment! A purchase of a pair of gloves in Barbados drives one at once into the ice-house. And here it may be well to explain this very peculiar, delightful, but too dangerous West Indian institution. By-the-by, I do not know that there was any ice-house in Kingston, Jamaica. If there be one there, my friends were peculiarly backward, for I certainly was not made acquainted with it. But everywhere else--at Demerara, Trinidad, Barbados, and St. Thomas--I was duly introduced to the ice-house. There is something cool and mild in the name, which makes one fancy that ladies would delight to frequent it. But, alas! a West Indian ice house is but a drinking-shop--a place where one goes to liquor, as the Americans call it, without the knowledge of the feminine creation. It is a drinking-shop, at which the draughts are all cool, are all iced, but at which, alas! they are also all strong. The brandy, I fear, is as essential as the ice. A man may, it is true, drink iced soda-water without any concomitant, or he may simply have a few drops of raspberry vinegar to flavour it. No doubt many an easy-tempered wife so imagines. But if so, I fear that they are deceived. Now the ice-house in Bridgetown seemed to me to be peculiarly well attended. I look upon this as the effect of the white streets and the fusty shops. Barbados claims, I believe--but then it claims everything--to have a lower thermometer than any other West Indian island--to be, in fact, cooler than any of her sisters. As far as the thermometer goes, it may be possible; but as regards the human body, it is not the fact. Let any man walk from his hotel to morning church and back, and then judge. There is a mystery about hotels in the British West Indies. They are always kept by fat, middle-aged coloured ladies, who have no husbands. I never found an exception except at Berbice, where my friend Paris Brittain keeps open doors in the city of the sleepers. These ladies are generally called Miss So-and-So; Miss Jenny This, or Miss Jessy That; but they invariably seemed to have a knowledge of the world, especially of the male hotel-frequenting world, hardly compatible with a retiring maiden state of life. I only mention this. I cannot solve the riddle. "Davus sum, non Oedipus." But it did strike me as singular that the profession should always be in the hands of these ladies, and that they should never get husbands. As a rule, there is not much to be said against these hotels, though they will not come up to the ideas of a traveller who has been used to the inns of Switzerland. The table is always plentifully supplied, and the viands generally good. Of that at Barbados I can make no complaint, except this; that the people over the way kept a gray parrot which never ceased screaming day or night. I was deep in my Jamaica theory of races, and this wretched bird nearly drove me wild. "Can anything be done to stop it, James?" "No, massa." "Nothing? Wouldn't they hang a cloth over it for a shilling?" "No, massa; him only make him scream de more to speak to him." I took this as final, though whether the "him" was the man or the parrot, I did not know. But such a bird I never heard before, and the street was no more than twelve feet broad. He was, in fact, just under my window. Thrice had I to put aside my theory of races. Otherwise than on this score, Miss Caroline Lee's hotel at Barbados is very fair. And as for hot pickles--she is the very queen of them. Whether or no my informant was right in saying that the population of Barbados is more dense than that of China, I cannot say; but undoubtedly it is very great; and hence, as the negroes cannot get their living without working, has come the prosperity of the island. The inhabitants are, I believe, very nearly 150,000 in number. This is a greater population than that of the whole of Guiana. The consequence is, that the cane-pieces are cultivated very closely, and that all is done that manual labour can do. The negroes here differ much, I think, from those in the other islands, not only in manner, but even in form and physiognomy. They are of heavier build, broader in the face, and higher in the forehead. They are also certainly less good-humoured, and more inclined to insolence; so that if anything be gained in intelligence it is lost in conduct. On the whole, I do think that the Barbados negroes are more intelligent than others that I have met. It is probable that this may come from more continual occupation. But if the black people differ from their brethren of the other islands, so certainly do the white people. One soon learns to know a--Bim. That is the name in which they themselves delight, and therefore, though there is a sound of slang about it, I give it here. One certainly soon learns to know a Bim. The most peculiar distinction is in his voice. There is always a nasal twang about it, but quite distinct from the nasality of a Yankee. The Yankee's word rings sharp through his nose; not so that of the first-class Bim. There is a soft drawl about it, and the sound is seldom completely formed. The effect on the ear is the same as that on the hand when a man gives you his to shake, and instead of shaking yours, holds his own still. When a man does so to me I always wish to kick him. I had never any wish to kick the Barbadian, more especially as they are all stout men; but I cannot but think that if he were well shaken a more perfect ring would come out of him. The Bims, as I have said, are generally stout fellows. As a rule they are larger and fairer than other West Indian Creoles, less delicate in their limbs, and more clumsy in their gait. The male graces are not much studied in Barbados. But it is not only by their form or voice that you may know them--not only by the voice, but by the words. No people ever praised themselves so constantly; no set of men were ever so assured that they and their occupations are the main pegs on which the world hangs. Their general law to men would be this: "Thou shalt make sugar in the sweat of thy brow, and make it as it is made in Barbados." Any deviation from that law would be a deviation from the highest duty of man. Of many of his sister colonies a Barbadian can speak with temper. When Jamaica is mentioned philanthropic compassion lights up his face, and he tells you how much he feels for the poor wretches there who call themselves planters. St. Lucia also he pities, and Grenada; and of St. Vincent he has some hope. Their little efforts he says are praiseworthy; only, alas! they are so little! He does not think much of Antigua; and turns up his nose at Nevis and St. Kitts, which in a small way are doing a fair stroke of business. The French islands he does not love, but that is probably patriotism: as the French islands are successful sugar growers such patriotism is natural. But do not speak to him of Trinadad; that subject is very sore. And as for Guiana--! One knows what to expect if one holds a red rag up to a bull. Praise Guiana sugar-making in Bridgetown, and you will be holding up a red rag to a dozen bulls, no one of which will refuse the challenge. And thus you may always know a Bim. When I have met four or five together, I have not dared to try this experiment, for they are wrathy men, and have rough sides to their tongues; but I have so encountered two at a time. "Yes," I have said; "the superiority of Barbados cannot be doubted. We all grant that. But which colony is second in the race?" "It is impossible to say," said A. "They are none of them well circumstanced." "None of them have got any labour," said B. "They can't make returns," said A. "Just look at their clearances," said B; "and then look at ours." "Jamaica sugar is paying now," I remarked. "Jamaica, sir, has been destroyed root and branch," said A, well pleased; for they delight to talk of Jamaica. "And no one can lament it more than I do," said B. "Jamaica is a fine island, only utterly ruined." "Magnificent! such scenery!" I replied. "But it can't make sugar," said B. "What of Trinidad?" I asked. "Trinidad, sir, is a fine wild island; and perhaps some day we may get our coal there." "But Demerara makes a little sugar," I ventured to remark. "It makes deuced little money, I know," said A. "Every inch of it is mortgaged," said B. "But their steam-engines," said I. "Look at their clearances," said A. "They have none," said B. "At any rate, they have got beyond windmills," I remarked, with considerable courage. "Because they have got no wind," said A. "A low bank of mud below the sea-level," said B. "But a fine country for sugar," said I. "They don't know what sugar is," said A. "Look at their vacuum pans," said I. "All my eye," said B. "And their filtering-bags," said I. "Filtering-bags be d----," said A. "Centrifugal machines," said I, now nearly exhausted. "We've tried them, and abandoned them long ago," said B, only now coming well on to the fight. "Their sugar is nearly white," said I; "and yours is a dirty brown." "Their sugar don't pay," said A, "and ours does." "Look at the price of our land," said B. "Yes, and the extent of it," said I. "Our clearances, sir! The clearances, sir, are the thing," said A. "The year's income," said B. "A hogshead to the acre," said I; "and that only got from guano." This was my last shot at them. They both came at me open-mouthed together, and I confess that I retired, vanquished, from the field. It is certainly the fact that they do make their sugar in a very old-fashioned way in Barbados, using wind-mills instead of steam, and that you see less here of the improved machinery for the manufacture than in Demerara, or Cuba, or Trinidad, or even in Jamaica. The great answer given to objections is that the old system pays best. It may perhaps do so for the present moment, though I should doubt even that. But I am certain that it cannot continue to do so. No trade, and no agriculture can afford to dispense with the improvements of science. I found some here who acknowledged that the mere produce of the cane from the land had been pressed too far by means of guano. A great crop is thus procured, but it appears that the soil is injured, and that the sugar is injured also. The canes, moreover, will not ratoon as they used to do, and as they still do in other parts of the West Indies. The cane is planted, and when ripe is cut. If allowed, another cane will grow from the same plant, and that is a ratoon; and again a third will grow, giving a third crop from the same plant; and in many soils a fourth; and in some few many more; and one hears of canes ratooning for twenty years. If the same amount and quality of sugar be produced, of course the system of ratooning must be by far the cheapest and most profitable. In I believe most of our colonies the second crop is as good as the first, and I understand that it used to be so in Barbados. But it is not so now. The ratoon almost always looks poor, and the second ratoons appear to be hardly worth cutting. I believe that this is so much the case that many Barbados planters now look to get but one crop only from each planting. This falling off in the real fertility of the soil is I think owing to the use of artificial manure, such as guano. There is a system all through these sugar-growing countries of burning the magass, or trash; this is the stalk of the cane, or remnant of the stalk after it comes through the mill. What would be said of an English agriculturist who burnt his straw? It is I believe one of the soundest laws of agriculture that the refuse of the crop should return to the ground which gave it. To this it will be answered that the English agriculturist is not called on by the necessity of his position to burn his straw. He has not to boil his wheat, nor yet his beef and mutton; whereas the Barbados farmer is obliged to boil his crop. At the present moment the Barbados farmer is under this obligation; but he is not obliged to do it with the refuse produce of his fields. He cannot perhaps use coals immediately under his boilers, but he can heat them with steam which comes pretty much to the same thing. All this applies not to Barbados only, but to Guiana, Jamaica, and the other islands also. At all of them the magass or trash is burnt. But at none of them is manure so much needed as at Barbados. They cannot there take into cultivation new fresh virgin soil when they wish it, as they can in Guiana. And then one is tempted to ask the question, whether every owner of land is obliged to undertake all the complete duties which now are joined together at a sugar estate? It certainly is the case, that no single individual could successfully set himself against the system. But I do not see why a collection of individuals should not do so. A farmer in England does not grow the wheat, then grind it, and then make the bread. The growing is enough for him. Then comes the miller, and the baker. But on a sugar estate, one and the same man grows the cane, makes the sugar, and distils the rum; thus altogether opposing the salutary principle of the division of labour. I cannot see why the grower should not sell his canes to a sugar manufacturer. There can, I believe, be no doubt of this, that sugar can be made better and cheaper in large quantities than in small. But the clearance, sir; that is the question. How would this affect the clearance? The sugar manufacturer would want his profit. Of course he would, as do the miller and the baker. They complain greatly at Barbados, as they do indeed elsewhere, that they are compelled to make bad sugar by the differential duty. The duty on good sugar is so much higher than that on bad sugar, that the bad or coarse sugar pays them best. This is the excuse they give for not making a finer article, and I believe that the excuse is true. I made one or two excursions in the island, and was allowed the privilege of attending an agricultural breakfast, at which there were some twenty or thirty planters. It seems that a certain number of gentlemen living in the same locality had formed themselves into a society, with the object of inspecting each other's estates. A committee of three was named in each case by the president; and this committee, after surveying the estate in question, and looking at the works and stock, drew up a paper, either laudatory or the reverse, which paper was afterwards read to the society. These readings took place after the breakfast, and the breakfast was held monthly. To the planter probably the reading of the documents was the main object. It may not be surprising that I gave the preference to the breakfast, which of its kind was good. But this was not the only breakfast of the sort at which I was allowed to be a guest. The society has always its one great monthly breakfast; but the absolute inspection gives occasions for further breakfasts. I was also at one of these, and assisted in inspecting the estate. There were, however, too many Barbadians present to permit of my producing my individual views respecting the Guiana improvements. The report is made at the time of the inspection, but it is read in public at the monthly meeting. The effect no doubt is good, and the publicity of the approval or disapproval stimulates the planter. But I was amused with the true Barbadian firmness with which the gentlemen criticised declared that they would not the less take their own way, and declined to follow the advice offered to them in the report. I heard two such reports read, and in both cases this occurred. All this took place at Hookleton cliff, which the Barbadians regard as the finest point for scenery in the island. The breakfast I own was good, and the discourse useful and argumentative. But as regards the scenery, there is little to be said for it, considering that I had seen Jamaica, and was going to see Trinidad. Even in Barbados, numerous as are the negroes, they certainly live an easier life than that of an English labourer, earn their money with more facility, and are more independent of their masters. A gentleman having one hundred and fifty families living on his property would not expect to obtain from them the labour of above ninety men at the usual rate of pay, and that for not more than five days a week. They live in great comfort, and in some things are beyond measure extravagant. "Do you observe," said a lady to me, "that the women when they walk never hold up their dresses?" "I certainly have," I answered. "Probably they are but ill shod, and do not care to show their feet." "Not at all. Their feet have nothing to do with it. But they think it economical to hold up their petticoats. It betokens a stingy, saving disposition, and they prefer to show that they do not regard a few yards of muslin more or less." This is perfectly true of them. As the shopman in Jamaica said to me--In this part of the world we must never think of little economies. The very negroes are ashamed to do so. Of the coloured people I saw nothing, except that the shops are generally attended by them. They seemed not to be so numerous as they are elsewhere, and are, I think, never met with in the society of white people. In no instance did I meet one, and I am told that in Barbados there is a very rigid adherence to this rule. Indeed, one never seems to have the alternative of seeing them; whereas in Jamaica one has not the alternative of avoiding them. As regards myself, I would much rather have been thrown among them. I think that in all probability the white settlers in Barbados have kept themselves more distinct from the negro race, and have not at any time been themselves so burdened with coloured children as is the case elsewhere. If this be so, they certainly deserve credit for their prudence. Here also there is a King, Lords, and Commons, or a governor, a council, and an assembly. The council consists of twelve, and are either chosen by the Crown, or enjoy their seat by virtue of office held by appointment from the Crown. The Governor in person sits in the council. The assembly consists of twenty-two, who are annually elected by the parishes. None but white men do vote at these elections, though no doubt a black man could vote, if a black man were allowed to obtain a freehold. Of course, therefore, none but white men can be elected. How it is decided whether a man be white or not, that I did not hear. The greater part of the legislative business of the island is done by committees, who are chosen from these bodies. Here, as elsewhere through the West Indies, one meets with unbounded hospitality. A man who dines out on Monday will receive probably three invitations for Tuesday, and six for Wednesday. And they entertain very well. That haunch of mutton and turkey which are now the bugbear of the English dinner-giver do not seem to trouble the minds or haunt the tables of West Indian hosts. And after all, Barbados--little England as it delights to call itself--is and should be respected among islands. It owes no man anything, pays its own way, and never makes a poor mouth. Let us say what we will, self-respect is a fine quality, and the Barbadians certainly enjoy that. It is a very fine quality, and generally leads to respect from others. They who have nothing to say for themselves will seldom find others to say much for them. I therefore repeat what I said at first. Barbados is a very respectable little island, and considering the limited extent of its acreage, it does make a great deal of sugar. CHAPTER XIV. TRINIDAD. No scenery can be more picturesque than that afforded by the entrance to Port of Spain, the chief town in the island of Trinidad. Trinidad, as all men doubtless know, is the southernmost of the West Indian islands, and lies across the delta of the Orinoco river. The western portion of the island is so placed that it nearly reaches with two horns two different parts of the mainland of Venezuela, one of the South American republics. And thus a bay is formed closed in between the island and the mainland, somewhat as is the Gulf of Mexico by the island of Cuba; only that the proportions here are much less in size. This enclosed sea is called the Gulf of Paria. The two chief towns, I believe I may say the two only towns in Trinidad are situated in this bay. That which is the larger, and the seat of government, is called the Port of Spain, and lies near to the northern horn. San Fernando, the other, which is surrounded by the finest sugar districts of the island, and which therefore devotes its best energies to the export of that article, is on the other side of the bay and near the other horn. The passages into the enclosed sea on either side are called the Bocas, or mouths. Those nearest to the delta of the Orinoco are the Serpent's mouths. The ordinary approach from England or the other islands is by the more northern entrance. Here there are three passages, of which the middle is the largest one, the Boca Grande. That between the mainland and a small island is used by the steamers in fine weather, and is by far the prettiest. Through this, the Boca di Mona, or monkey's mouth, we approached Port of Spain. These northern entrances are called the Dragon's mouths. What may be the nautical difference between the mouth of a dragon and that of a serpent I did not learn. On the mainland, that is the land of the main island, the coast is precipitous, but clothed to the very top with the thickest and most magnificent foliage. With an opera-glass one can distinctly see the trees coming forth from the sides of the rocks as though no soil were necessary for them, and not even a shelf of stone needed for their support And these are not shrubs, but forest trees, with grand spreading branches, huge trunks, and brilliant coloured foliage. The small island on the other side is almost equally wooded, but is less precipitous. Here, however, there are open glades, and grassy enclosures, which tempt one to wish that it was one's lot to lie there in the green shade and eat bananas and mangoes. This little island in the good old days, regretted by not a few, when planters were planters, and slaves were slaves, produced cotton up to its very hill-tops. Now I believe it yields nothing but the grass for a few cattle. Our steamer as she got well into the boca drew near to the shore of the large island, and as we passed along we had a succession of lovely scenes. Soft-green smiling nooks made themselves visible below the rocks, the very spots for picnics. One could not but long to be there with straw hats and crinoline, pigeon pies and champagne baskets. There was one narrow shady valley, into which a creek of the sea ran up, that must have been made for such purposes, either for that, or for the less noisy joys of some Paul of Trinidad with his Creole Virginia. As we steamed on a little further we came to a whaling establishment. Ideas of whaling establishments naturally connect themselves with icebergs and the North Pole. But it seems that there are races of whales as there are of men, proper to the tropics as well as to the poles; and some of the former here render up their oily tributes. From the look of the place I should not say that the trade was flourishing. The whaling huts are very picturesque, but do not say much for the commercial enterprise of the proprietors. From them we went on through many smaller islands to Port of Spain. This is a large town, excellently well laid out, with the streets running all at right angles to each other, as is now so common in new towns. The spaces have been prepared for a much larger population than that now existing, so that it is at present straggling, unfilled, and full of gaps. But the time will come, and that before long, when it will be the best town in the British West Indies. There is at present in Port of Spain a degree of commercial enterprise quite unlike the sleepiness of Jamaica or the apathy of the smaller islands. I have now before me at the present moment of writing a debate which took place in the House of Commons the other day--it is only the other day as I now write--on a motion made by Mr. Buxton for a committee to inquire into the British West Indies; and though somewhat afraid of being tedious on the subject of immigration to these parts, I will say a few words as to this motion in as far as it affects not only Trinidad, but all those colonies. Of all subjects this is the one that is of real importance to the West Indies; and it may be expected that the sugar colonies will or will not prosper, as that subject is or is not understood by its rulers. I think I may assume that the intended purport of Mr. Buxton's motion was to throw impediments in the way of the immigration of Coolies into Jamaica; and that in making it he was acting as the parliamentary mouthpiece of the Anti-Slavery Society. The legislature of Jamaica has at length passed a law with the object of promoting this immigration, as it has been promoted at the Mauritius and in a lesser degree in British Guiana and Trinidad; but the Anti-Slavery Society have wished to induce the Crown to use its authority and abstain from sanctioning this law, urging that it will be injurious to the interests of the negro labourers. The "peculiar institution" of slavery is, I imagine, quite as little likely to find friends in England now as it was when the question of its abolition was so hotly pressed some thirty years since. And God forbid that I should use either the strength or the weakness of my pen in saying a word in favour of a system so abhorrent to the feelings of a Christian Englishman. But may we not say that that giant has been killed? Is it not the case that the Anti-Slavery Society has done its work?--has done its work at any rate as regards the British West Indies? What should we have said of the Anti-Corn-Law League, had it chosen to sit in permanence after the repeal of the obnoxious tax, with the view of regulating the fixed price of bread? Such is the attempt now being made by the Anti-Slavery Society with reference to the West Indian negroes. If any men are free, these men are so. They have been left without the slightest constraint or bond over them. In the sense in which they are free, no English labourer is free. In England a man cannot select whether he will work or whether he will let it alone. He, the poor Englishman, has that freedom which God seems to have intended as good for man; but work he must. If he do not do so willingly, compulsion is in some sort brought to bear upon him. He is not free to be idle; and I presume that no English philanthropists will go so far as to wish to endow him with that freedom. But that is the freedom which the negro has in Jamaica, which he still has in many parts of Trinidad, and which the Anti-Slavery Society is so anxious to secure for him. It--but no; I will give the Society no monopoly of such honour. We, we Englishmen, have made our negroes free. If by further efforts we can do anything towards making other black men free--if we can assist in driving slavery from the earth, in God's name let us still be doing. Here may be scope enough for an Anti-Slavery Society. But I maintain that these men are going beyond their mark--that they are minding other than their own business, in attempting to interfere with the labour of the West Indian colonies. Gentlemen in the West Indies see at once that the Society is discussing matters which it has not studied, and that interests of the utmost importance to them are being played with in the dark. Mr. Buxton grounded his motion on these two pleas:--Firstly, That the distress of the West Indian planters had been brought about by their own apathy and indiscretion. And secondly, That that distress was in course of relief, would quickly be relieved, without any further special measures for its mitigation. I think that he was substantially wrong in both these allegations. That there were apathetic and indiscreet planters--that there were absentees whose property was not sufficient to entitle them to the luxury of living away from it, may doubtless have been true. But the tremendous distress which came upon these colonies fell on them in too sure a manner, with too sudden a blow, to leave any doubt as to its cause. Slavery was first abolished, and the protective duty on slave-grown sugar was then withdrawn. The second measure brought down almost to nothing the property of the most industrious as well as that of the most idle of the planters. Except in Barbados, where the nature of the soil made labour compulsory, where the negro could no more be idle and exist than the poor man can do in England, it became impossible to produce sugar with a profit on which the grower could live. It was not only the small men who fell, or they who may be supposed to have been hitherto living on an income raised to an unjustly high pitch. Ask the Gladstone family what proceeds have come from their Jamaica property since the protective duty was abolished. Let Lord Howard de Walden say how he has fared. Mr. Buxton has drawn a parallel between the state of Ireland at and after the famine and that of the West Indies at and after the fall in the price of sugar, of which I can by no means admit the truth. In the one case, that of Ireland, the blow instantly effected the remedy. A tribe of pauper landlords had grown up by slow degrees who, by their poverty, their numbers, their rapacity, and their idleness, had eaten up and laid waste the fairest parts of the country. Then came the potato rot, bringing after it pestilence, famine, and the Encumbered Estates Court; and lo! in three years the air was cleared, the cloud had passed away, and Ireland was again prosperous. Land bought at fifteen pounds the acre was worth thirty before three crops had been taken from it. The absentees to whom Mr. Buxton alludes were comparatively little affected. They were rich men whose backs were broad enough to bear the burden for a while, and they stood their ground. It is not their property which as a rule has changed hands, but that of the small, grasping, profit-rent landlords whose lives had been passed in exacting the last farthing of rent from the cottiers. When no farthing of rent could any longer be exacted, they went to the wall at once. There was nothing like this in the case of the West Indies. Indiscretion and extravagance there may have been. These are vices which will always be more or less found among men living with the thermometer at eighty in the shade. But in these colonies, long and painful efforts were made, year after year, to bear against the weight which had fallen on them. In the West Indies the blow came from man, and it was withstood on the whole manfully. In Ireland the blow came from God, and submission to it was instantaneous. Mr. Buxton then argues that everything in the West Indies is already righting itself, and that therefore nothing further need be done. The facts of the case exactly refute this allegation. The four chief of these colonies are Barbados, British Guiana, Trinidad, and Jamaica. In Barbados, as has been explained, there was no distress, and of course no relief has been necessary. In British Guiana and Trinidad very special measures have been taken. Immigration of Coolies to a great extent has been brought about--to so great an extent that the tide of human beings across the two oceans will now run on in an increasing current. But in Jamaica little or nothing has yet been done. And in Jamaica, the fairest, the most extensive, the most attractive of them all; in Jamaica, of all the islands on God's earth the one most favoured by beauty, fertility, and natural gifts; in Jamaica the earth can hardly be made to yield its natural produce. All this was excellently answered by Sir Edward Lytton, who, whatever may have been his general merits as a Secretary of State, seems at any rate to have understood this matter. He disposed altogether of the absurdly erroneous allegations which had been made as to the mortality of these immigrants on their passage. As is too usual in such cases arguments had been drawn from one or two specially unhealthy trips. Ninety-nine ships ride safe to port, while the hundredth unfortunately comes to grief. But we cannot on that account afford to dispense with the navigation of the seas. Sir Edward showed that the Coolies themselves--for the Anti-Slavery Society is as anxious to prevent this immigration on behalf of the Coolies, who in their own country can hardly earn twopence a day, as it is on the part of the negroes, who could with ease, though they won't, earn two shillings a day--he showed that these Coolies, after having lived for a few years on plenty in these colonies, return to their own country with that which is for them great wealth. And he showed also that the present system--present as regards Trinidad, and proposed as regards Jamaica--of indenturing the immigrant on his first arrival is the only one to which we can safely trust for the good usage of the labourer. For the present this is clearly the case. When the Coolies are as numerous in these islands as the negroes--and that time will come--such rules and restrictions will no doubt be withdrawn. And when these different people have learned to mix their blood--which in time will also come--then mankind will hear no more of a lack of labour, and the fertility of these islands will cease to be their greatest curse. I feel that I owe an apology to my reader for introducing him to an old, forgotten, and perhaps dull debate. In England the question is one not generally of great interest. But here, in the West Indies, it is vital. The negro will never work unless compelled to do so; that is, the negro who can boast of pure unmixed African blood. He is as strong as a bull, hardy as a mule, docile as a dog when conscious of a master--a salamander as regards heat. He can work without pain and without annoyance. But he will never work as long as he can eat and sleep without it. Place the Coolie or Chinaman alongside of him, and he must work in his own defence. If he do not, he will gradually cease to have an existence. We are now speaking more especially of Trinidad. It is a large island, great portions of which are but very imperfectly known; of which but comparatively a very small part has been cultivated. During the last eight or ten years, ten or twelve thousand immigrants, chiefly Coolies from Madras and Calcutta, have been brought into Trinidad, forming now above an eighth part of its entire population; and the consequence has been that in two years, from 1855, namely, to 1857, its imports were increased by one-third, and its exports by two-thirds! In other words, it produced, with its Coolies, three hogsheads of sugar, where without them it only produced one. The difference is of course that between absolute distress and absolute prosperity. Such having hitherto been the result of immigration into Trinidad, such also having been the result in British Guiana, it does appear singular that men should congregate in Exeter Hall with the view of preventing similar immigration into Jamaica! This would be altogether unintelligible were it not that similar causes have produced similar effects in so many other cases. Men cannot have enough of a good thing. Exactly the same process has taken place with reference to criminals in England. Some few years since we ill used them, stowed them away in unwholesome holes, gave them bad food for their bodies and none for their minds, and did our best to send them devilwards rather than Godwards. Philanthropists have now remedied this, and we are very much obliged to them. But the philanthropists will not be content unless they be allowed to pack all their criminals up in lavender. They must be treated not only as men, but much better than men of their own class who are not criminal. In this matter of the negroes, the good thing is negro-protection, and our friends cannot have enough of that. The negroes in being slaves were ill used; and now it is not enough that they should all be made free, but each should be put upon his own soft couch, with rose-leaves on which to lie. Now your Sybarite negro, when closely looked at, is not a pleasing object. Distance may doubtless lend enchantment to the view. As my sojourn in Trinidad did not amount to two entire days, I do not feel myself qualified to give a detailed description of the whole island. Very few, I imagine, are so qualified, for much of it is unknown; there is a great want of roads, and a large proportion of it has, I believe, never been properly surveyed. Immediately round Port of Spain the country is magnificent, and the views from the town itself are very lovely. Exactly behind the town, presuming the sea to be the front, is the Savanah, a large enclosed, park-like piece of common, the race-course and Hyde Park of Trinidad. I was told that the drive round it was three English miles in length; but if it be so much, the little pony which took me that drive in a hired buggy must have been a fast trotter. On the further side of this lives the Governor of the island, immediately under the hills. When I was there the Governor's real house was being repaired, and the great man was living in a cottage hard by. Were I that great man I should be tempted to wish that my great house might always be under repair, for I never saw a more perfect specimen of a pretty spacious cottage, opening as a cottage should do on all sides and in every direction, with a great complexity as to doors and windows, and a delicious facility of losing one's way. And then the necessary freedom from boredom, etiquette, and Governor's grandeur, so hated by Governors themselves, which must necessarily be brought about by such a residence! I could almost wish to be a Governor myself, if I might be allowed to live in such a cottage. On the other side of the Savanah nearest to the town, and directly opposite to those lovely hills, are a lot of villa residences, and it would be impossible, I imagine, to find a more lovely site in which to fix one's house. With the Savanah for a foreground, the rising gardens behind the Governor's house in the middle distance, and a panorama of magnificent hills in the back of the picture, it is hardly within the compass of a man's eye and imagination to add anything to the scene. I had promised to call on Major ----, who was then, and perhaps is still, in command of the detachment of white troops in Trinidad, and I found him and his young wife living in this spot. "And yet you abuse Trinidad," I said, pointing to the view. "Oh! people can't live altogether upon views," she answered; "and besides, we have to go back to the barracks. The yellow fever is over now." The only place at which I came across any vestiges of the yellow fever was at Trinidad. There it had been making dreadful havoc, and chiefly among the white soldiers. My visit was in March, and the virulence of the disease was then just over. It had been raging, therefore, not in the summer but during the winter months. Indeed, as far as I could learn, summer and winter had very little to do with the matter. The yellow fever pays its visit in some sort periodically, though its periods are by no means understood. But it pays them at any time of the year that may suit itself. At this time a part of the Savanah was covered with tents, to which the soldiers had been moved out of their barracks. The barracks are lower down, near the shore, at a place called St. James, and the locality is said to be wretchedly unhealthy. At any rate, the men were stricken with fever there, and the proportion of them that died was very great. I believe, indeed, that hardly any recovered of those on whom the fever fell with any violence. They were then removed into these tents, and matters began to mend. They were now about to return to their barracks, and were, I was told, as unwilling to do so as my fair friend was to leave her pretty house. If it be necessary to send white troops to the West Indies--and I take it for granted that it is necessary--care at any rate should be taken to select for their barracks sites as healthy as may be found. It certainly seems that this has not been done at Trinidad. They are placed very low, and with hills immediately around them. The good effect produced by removing them to the Savanah--a very inconsiderable distance; not, as I think, much exceeding a mile--proves what may be done by choosing a healthy situation. But why should not the men be taken up to the mountains, as has been done with the white soldiers in Jamaica? There they are placed in barracks some three or four thousand feet above the sea, and are perfectly healthy. This cannot be done in Barbados, for there are no mountains to which to take them. But in Trinidad it may be done, quite as easily, and indeed at a lesser distance, and therefore with less cost for conveyance, than in Jamaica. At the first glance one would be inclined to say that white troops would not be necessary in the West Indies, as we have regiments of black soldiers, negroes dressed in Zouave costume, specially trained for the service; but it seems that there is great difficulty in getting these regiments filled. Why should a negro enlist any more than work? Are there not white men enough--men and brothers--to do the somewhat disagreeable work of soldiering for him? Consequently, except in Barbados, it is difficult to get recruits. Some men have been procured from the coast of Africa, but our philanthropy is interfering even with this supply. Then the recruiting officers enlisted Coolies, and these men made excellent soldiers; but when interfered with or punished, they had a nasty habit of committing suicide, a habit which it was quite possible the negro soldier might himself assume; and therefore no more Coolies are to be enlisted. Under such circumstances white men must, I presume, do the work. A shilling a day is an object to them, and they are slow to blow out their own brains; but they should not be barracked in swamps, or made to live in an air more pestilential than necessary. My hostess, the lady to whom I have alluded, had been attacked most virulently by the yellow fever, and I had heard in the other islands that she was dead. Her case had indeed been given up as hopeless. On the morning after my arrival I took a ride of some sixteen miles through the country before breakfast, and the same lady accompanied me. "We must start very early," she said; "so as to avoid the heat. I will have coffee at half-past four, and we will be on horseback at five." I have had something to say as to early hours in the West Indies before, and hardly credited this. A morning start at five usually means half-past seven, and six o'clock is a generic term for moving before nine. So I meekly asked whether half-past four meant half-past four. "No," said the husband. "Yes," said the wife. So I went away declaring that I would present myself at the house at any rate not after five. And so I did, according to my own very excellent watch, which had been set the day before by the ship's chronometer. I rode up to the door two minutes before five, perfectly certain that I should have the pleasure of watching the sun's early manoeuvres for at least an hour. But, alas! my friend had been waiting for me in her riding-habit for more than that time. Our watches were frightfully at variance. It was perfectly clear to me that the Trinidadians do not take the sun for their guide as to time. But in such a plight as was then mine, a man cannot go into his evidence and his justification. My only plea was for mercy; and I hereby take it on myself to say that I do not know that I ever kept any lady waiting before--except my wife. At five to the moment--by my watch--we started, and I certainly never rode for three hours through more lovely scenery. At first, also, it was deliciously cool, and as our road lay entirely through woods, it was in every way delightful. We went back into the hills, and returned again towards the sea-shore over a break in one of the spurs of the mountain called the Saddle; from whence we had a distant view into the island, as fine as any view I ever saw without the adjunct of water. I should imagine that a tour through the whole of Trinidad would richly repay the trouble, though, indeed, it would be troublesome. The tourist must take his own provisions, unless, indeed, he provided himself by means of his gun, and must take also his bed. The musquitoes, too, are very vexatious in Trinidad, though I hardly think that they come up in venom to their brethren in British Guiana. The first portion of our ride was delightful; but on our return we came down upon a hot, dusty road, and then the loss of that hour in the morning was deeply felt. I think that up to that time I had never encountered such heat, and certainly had never met with a more disagreeable, troublesome amount of dust, all which would have been avoided had I inquired over-night into the circumstances of the Trinidad watches. But the lady said never a word, and so heaped coals of fire on my head in addition to the consuming flames of that ever-to-be-remembered sun. As Trinidad is an English colony, one's first idea is that the people speak English; and one's second idea, when that other one as to the English has fallen to the ground, is that they should speak Spanish, seeing that the name of the place is Spanish. But the fact is that they all speak French; and, out of the town, but few of the natives speak anything else. Whether a Parisian would admit this may be doubted; but he would have to acknowledge that it was a French patois. And the religion is Roman Catholic. The island of course did belong to France, and in manners, habits, language, and religion is still French. There is a Roman Catholic archbishop resident in Trinidad, who is, I believe, at present an Italian. We pay him, I have been told, some salary, which he declines to take for his own use, but applies to purposes of charity. There is a Roman Catholic cathedral in Port of Spain, and a very ugly building it is. The form of government also is different from that, or rather those, which have been adopted in the other West Indian colonies, such as Jamaica, Barbados, and British Guiana. As this was a conquered colony, the people of the island are not allowed to have so potent a voice in their own management. They have no House of Commons or Legislative Assembly, but take such rules or laws as may be necessary for their guidance direct from the Crown. The Governor, however, is assisted by a council, in which sit the chief executive officers in the island. That the fact of the colony having been conquered need preclude it from the benefit (?) of self-government, one does not clearly see. But one does see clearly enough, that as they are French in language and habits, and Roman Catholic in religion, they would make even a worse hash of it than the Jamaicans do in Jamaica. And it is devoutly to be hoped, for the island's sake, that it may be long before it is endowed with a constitution. It would be impossible now-a-days to commence a legislature in the system of electing which all but white men should be excluded from voting. Nor would there be white men enough to carry on an election. And may Providence defend my friends there from such an assembly as would be returned by French negroes and hybrid mulattoes! A scientific survey has just been completed of this island, with reference to its mineral productions, and the result has been to show that it contains a very large quantity of coal. I was fortunate enough to meet one of the gentlemen by whom this was done, and he was kind enough to put into my hand a paper showing the exact result of their investigation. But, unfortunately, the paper was so learned, and I was so ignorant, that I could not understand one word of it. The whole matter also was explained to me verbally, but not in language adapted to my child-like simplicity. So I am not able to say whether the coal be good or bad--whether it would make a nice, hot, crackling, Christmas fire, or fly away in slaty flakes and dirty dust. It is a pity that science cannot be made to recognize the depth of unscientific ignorance. There is also here in Trinidad a great pitch lake, of which all the world has heard, and out of which that indefatigable old hero, Lord Dundonald, tried hard to make wax candles and oil for burning. The oil and candles, indeed, he did make, but not, I fear, the money which should have been consequent upon their fabrication. I have no doubt, however, that in time we shall all have our wax candles from thence; for Lord Dundonald is one of those men who are born to do great deeds of which others shall reap the advantages. One of these days his name will be duly honoured, for his conquests as well as for his candles. And so I speedily took my departure, and threaded my way back again through the Bocas, in that most horrid of all steam-vessels, the 'Prince.' CHAPTER XV. ST. THOMAS. All persons travelling in the West Indies have so much to do with the island of St. Thomas, that I must devote a short chapter to it. My circumstances with reference to it were such that I was compelled to remain there a longer time, putting all my visits together, than in any other of the islands except Jamaica. The place belongs to the Danes, who possess also the larger and much more valuable island of Santa Cruz, as they do also the small island of St. Martin. These all lie among the Virgin Islands, and are considered as belonging to that thick cluster. As St. Thomas at present exists, it is of considerable importance. It is an emporium, not only for many of the islands, but for many also of the places on the coast of South and Central America. Guiana, Venezuela, and New Granada, deal there largely. It is a depôt for cigars, light dresses, brandy, boots, and Eau de Cologne. Many men therefore of many nations go thither to make money, and they do make it. These are men, generally not of the tenderest class, or who have probably been nursed in much early refinement. Few men will select St. Thomas as a place of residence from mere unbiassed choice and love of the locale. A wine merchant in London, doing a good trade there, would hardly give up that business with the object of personally opening an establishment in this island: nor would a well-to-do milliner leave Paris with the same object. Men who settle at St. Thomas have most probably roughed it elsewhere unsuccessfully. These St. Thomas tradesmen do make money I believe, and it is certainly due to them that they should do so. Things ought not, if possible, to be all bad with any man; and I cannot imagine what good can accrue to a man at St. Thomas if it be not the good of amassing money. It is one of the hottest and one of the most unhealthy spots among all these hot and unhealthy regions. I do not know whether I should not be justified in saying that of all such spots it is the most hot and the most unhealthy. I have said in a previous chapter that the people one meets there may be described as an Hispano-Dano-Niggery-Yankee-doodle population. In this I referred not only to the settlers, but to those also who are constantly passing through it. In the shops and stores, and at the hotels, one meets the same mixture. The Spanish element is of course strong, for Venezuela, New Granada, Central America, and Mexico are all Spanish, as also is Cuba. The people of these lands speak Spanish, and hereabouts are called Spaniards. To the Danes the island belongs. The soldiers, officials, and custom-house people are Danes. They do not, however, mix much with their customers. They affect, I believe, to say that the island is overrun and destroyed by these strange comers, and that they would as lief be without such visitors. If they are altogether indifferent to money making, such may be the case. The labouring people are all black--if these blacks can be called a labouring people. They do coal the vessels at about a dollar a day each--that is, when they are so circumstanced as to require a dollar. As to the American element, that is by no means the slightest or most retiring. Dollars are going there, and therefore it is of course natural that Americans should be going also. I saw the other day a map, "The United States as they now are, and in prospective;" and it included all these places--Mexico, Central America, Cuba, St. Domingo, and even poor Jamaica. It may be that the man who made the map understood the destiny of his country; at any rate, he understood the tastes of his countrymen. All these people are assembled together at St. Thomas, because St. Thomas is the meeting-place and central depôt of the West Indian steam-packets. That reason can be given easily enough; but why St. Thomas should be the meeting-place of these packets,--I do not know who can give me the reason for that arrangement. Tortola and Virgin Gorda, two of the Virgin islands, both belong to ourselves, and are situated equally well for the required purpose as is St. Thomas. I am told also, that at any rate one, probably at both, good harbour accommodation is to be found. It is certain that in other respects they are preferable. They are not unhealthy, as is St. Thomas; and, as I have said above, they belong to ourselves. My own opinion is that Jamaica should be the head-quarters of these packets; but the question is one which will not probably be interesting to the reader of these pages. "They cannot understand at home why we dislike the inter-colonial work so much," said the captain of one of the steam-ships to me. By inter-colonial work he meant the different branch services from St. Thomas. "They do not comprehend at home what it is for a man to be burying one young officer after another; to have them sent out, and then to see them mown down in that accursed hole of a harbour by yellow fever. Such a work is not a very pleasant one." Indeed this was true. The life cannot be a very pleasant one. These captains themselves and their senior officers are doubtless acclimated. The yellow fever may reach them, but their chance of escape is tolerably good; but the young lads who join the service, and who do so at an early age, have at the first commencement of their career to make St. Thomas their residence, as far as they have any residence. They live of course on board their ships; but the peculiarity of St. Thomas is this; that the harbour is ten times more fatal than the town. It is that hole, up by the coaling wharves, which sends so many English lads to the grave. If this be so, this alone, I think, constitutes a strong reason why St. Thomas should not be so favoured. These vessels now form a considerable fleet, and some of them spend nearly a third of their time at this place. The number of Englishmen so collected and endangered is sufficient to warrant us in regarding this as a great drawback on any utility which the island may have--if such utility there be. But we must give even the devil his due. Seen from the water St. Thomas is very pretty. It is not so much the scenery of the island that pleases as the aspect of the town itself. It stands on three hills or mounts, with higher hills, green to their summit, rising behind them. Each mount is topped by a pleasant, cleanly edifice, and pretty-looking houses stretch down the sides to the water's edge. The buildings do look pretty and nice, and as though chance had arranged them for a picture. Indeed, as seen from the harbour, the town looks like a panorama exquisitely painted. The air is thin and transparent, and every line shows itself clearly. As so seen the town of St. Thomas is certainly attractive. But it is like the Dead Sea fruit; all the charm is gone when it is tasted. Land there, and the beauty vanishes. The hotel at St. Thomas is quite a thing of itself. There is no fair ground for complaint as regards the accommodation, considering where one is, and that people do not visit St. Thomas for pleasure; but the people that one meets there form as strange a collection as may perhaps be found anywhere. In the first place, all languages seem alike to them. One hears English, French, German, and Spanish spoken all around one, and apparently it is indifferent which. The waiters seem to speak them all. The most of these guests I take it--certainly a large proportion of them--are residents of the place, who board at the inn. I have been there for a week at a time, and it seemed that all then around me were so. There were ladies among them, who always came punctually to their meals, and went through the long course of breakfast and long course of dinner with admirable perseverance. I never saw eating to equal that eating. When I was there the house was always full; but the landlord told me that he found it very hard to make money, and I can believe it. A hot climate, it is generally thought, interferes with the appetite, affects the gastric juices with lassitude, gives to the stomach some of the apathy of the body, and lessens at any rate the consumption of animal food. That charge cannot be made against the air of St. Thomas. To whatever sudden changes the health may be subject, no lingering disinclination for food affects it. Men eat there as though it were the only solace of their life, and women also. Probably it is so. They never talk at meals. A man and his wife may interchange a word or two as to the dishes; or men coming from the same store may whisper a syllable as to their culinary desires; but in an ordinary way there is no talking. I myself generally am not a mute person at my meals; and having dined at sundry tables d'hôte, have got over in a great degree that disinclination to speak to my neighbour which is attributed--I believe wrongly--to Englishmen. But at St. Thomas I took it into my head to wait till I was spoken to, and for a week I sat, twice daily, between the same persons without receiving or speaking a single word. I shall not soon forget the stout lady who sat opposite to me, and who was married to a little hooked-nosed Jew, who always accompanied her. Soup, fish, and then meat is the ordinary rule at such banquets; but here the fashion is for the guests, having curried favour with the waiters, to get their plates of food brought in and put round before them in little circles; so that a man while taking his soup may contemplate his fish and his roast beef, his wing of fowl, his allotment of salad, his peas and potatoes, his pudding, pie, and custard, and whatever other good things a benevolent and well-fee'd waiter may be able to collect for him. This somewhat crowds the table, and occasionally it becomes necessary for the guest to guard his treasures with an eagle's eye;--hers also with an eagle's eye, and sometimes with an eagle's talon. This stout lady was great on such occasions. "A bit of that," she would exclaim, with head half turned round, as a man would pass behind her with a dish, while she was in the very act of unloading within her throat a whole knifeful charged to the hilt. The efforts which at first affected me as almost ridiculous advanced to the sublime as dinner went on. There was no shirking, no half measures, no slackened pace as the breath became short. The work was daily done to the final half-pound of cheese. Cheese and jelly, guava jelly, were always eaten together. This I found to be the general fashion of St. Thomas. Some men dipped their cheese in jelly; some ate a bit of jelly and then a bit of cheese; some topped up with jelly and some topped up with cheese, all having it on their plates together. But this lady--she must have spent years in acquiring the exercise--had a knack of involving her cheese in jelly, covering up by a rapid twirl of her knife a bit about an inch thick, so that no cheesy surface should touch her palate, and then depositing the parcel, oh, ever so far down, without dropping above a globule or two of the covering on her bosom. Her lord, the Israelite, used to fight hard too; but the battle was always over with him long before the lady showed even a sign of distress. He was one of those flashy weedy animals that make good running for a few yards and are then choked off. She was game up to the winning-post. There were many animals running at those races, but she might have given all the others the odds of a pound of solid food, and yet have beaten them. But then, to see her rise from the table! Well; pace and extra weight together will distress the best horse that ever was shod! Over and above this I found nothing of any general interest at St. Thomas. CHAPTER XVI. NEW GRANADA, AND THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMÁ. It is probably known to all that New Granada is the most northern of the republics of South America; or it should rather be said that it is the state nearest to the isthmus, of which indeed it comprehends a considerable portion; the territory of the Gulf of Darien and the district of Panamá all being within the limits of New Granada. It was, however, but the other day that New Granada formed only a part of the republic of Columbia, the republic of which Bolivar was the hero. As the inhabitants of Central America found it necessary to break up their state into different republics, so also did the people of Columbia. The heroes and patriots of Caracas and Quito could not consent to be governed from Bogotá; and therefore three states were formed out of one. They are New Granada, with its capital of Bogotá; Venezuela, with its capital of Caracas, lying exactly to the east of New Granada; and Ecuador--the state, that is, of Equator--lying to the south of New Granada, having its seaport at Guayaquil on the Pacific, with Quito, its chief city, exactly on the line. The district of Columbia was one of the grandest appanages of the Spanish throne when the appanages of the Spanish throne were grand indeed. The town and port of Cartagena, on the Atlantic, were admirably fortified, as was also Panamá on the Pacific. Its interior cities were populous, flourishing, and, for that age, fairly civilized. Now the whole country has received the boon of Utopian freedom; and the mind loses itself in contemplating to what lowest pitch of human degradation the people will gradually fall. Civilization here is retrograding. Men are becoming more ignorant than their fathers, are learning to read less, to know less, to have fewer aspirations of a high order; to care less for truth and justice, to have more and more of the contentment of a brute,--that contentment which comes from a full belly and untaxed sinews; or even from an empty belly, so long as the sinews be left idle. To what this will tend a prophet in these days can hardly see; or rather none less than a prophet can pretend to see. That those lands which the Spaniards have occupied, and to a great extent made Spanish, should have no higher destiny than that which they have already accomplished, I can hardly bring myself to think. That their unlimited fertility and magnificent rivers should be given for nothing; that their power of producing all that man wants should be intended for no use, I cannot believe. At present, however, it would seem that Providence has abandoned it. It is making no progress. Land that was cultivated is receding from cultivation; cities that were populous are falling into ruins; and men are going back into animals, under the influence of unlimited liberty and universal suffrage. In 1851 emancipation from slavery was finally established in New Granada; and so far, doubtless, a good deed was done. But it was established at the same time that every man, emancipated slave or other, let him be an industrial occupier of land, or idle occupier of nothing, should have an equal vote in electing presidents and members of the Federal Congress, and members of the Congress of the different states; that, in short, all men should be equal for all state purposes. And the result, as may be supposed, is not gratifying. As far as I am able to judge, a negro has not generally those gifts of God which enable one man to exercise rule and masterdom over his fellow-men. I myself should object strongly to be represented, say in the city of London, by any black man that I ever saw. "The unfortunate nigger gone masterless," whom Carlyle so tenderly commiserates, has not strong ideas of the duties even of self-government, much less of the government of others. Universal suffrage in such hands can hardly lead to good results. Let him at any rate have first saved some sixty pounds in a savings-bank, or made himself undoubted owner--an easy thing in New Granada--of a forty-shilling freehold! Not that pure-blooded negroes are common through the whole of New Granada. At Panamá and the adjacent districts they are so; but in the other parts of the republic they are, I believe, few in number. At Santa Martha, where I first landed, I saw few, if any. And yet the trace of the negroes, the woolly hair and flat nose, were common enough, mixed always with Indian blood, and of course to a great extent with Spanish blood also. This Santa Martha is a wretched village--a city it is there called--at which we, with intense cruelty, maintain a British Consul, and a British post-office. There is a cathedral there of the old Spanish order, with the choir removed from the altar down towards the western door; and there is, I was informed, a bishop. But neither bishop nor cathedral were in any way remarkable. There is there a governor of the province, some small tradesman, who seemed to exercise very few governing functions. It may almost be said that no trade exists in the place, which seemed indeed to be nearly dead. A few black or nearly black children run about the streets in a state almost of nudity; and there are shops, from the extremities of which, as I was told, crinoline and hats laden with bugles may be extracted. "Every one of my predecessors here died of fever," said the Consul to me, in a tone of triumph. What could a man say to him on so terribly mortal a subject? "And my wife has been down in fever thirteen times!" Heavens, what a life! That is, as long as it is life. I rode some four or five miles into the country to visit the house in which Bolivar died. It is a deserted little country villa or chateau, called San Pedro, standing in a farm-yard, and now containing no other furniture than a marble bust of the Dictator, with a few wretchedly coloured French prints with cracked glass plates. The bust is not a bad one, and seems to have a solemn and sad meaning in its melancholy face, standing there in its solitary niche in the very room in which the would-be liberator died. For Bolivar had grand ideas of freedom, though doubtless he had grand ideas also of personal power and pre-eminence; as has been the case with most of those who have moved or professed to move in the vanguard of liberty. To free mankind from all injurious thraldom is the aspiration of such men; but who ever thought that obedience to himself was a thraldom that could be injurious? And here in this house, on the 17th December, 1830, Bolivar died, broken-hearted, owing his shelter to charity, and relieved in his last wants by the hands of strangers to his country. When the breath was out of him and he was well dead, so that on such a matter he himself could probably have no strong wish in any direction, they took away his body, of course with all honour, to the district that gave him birth, and that could afford to be proud of him now that he was dead;--into Venezuela and reburied him at Caracas. But dying poverty and funeral honours have been the fate of great men in other countries besides Columbia. "And why did you come to visit such a region as this?" asked Bolivar, when dying, of a Frenchman to whom in his last days he was indebted for much. "For freedom," said the Frenchman. "For freedom!" said Bolivar. "Then let me tell you that you have missed your mark altogether; you could hardly have turned in a worse direction." Our ride from Santa Martha to the house had been altogether between bushes, among which we saw but small signs of cultivation. Round the house I saw none. On my return I learnt that the place was the property of a rich man who possessed a large estate in its vicinity. "But will nothing grow there?" I asked. "Grow there! yes; anything would grow there. Some years since the whole district was covered with sugar-canes." But since the emancipation in 1851 it had become impossible to procure labour; men could not be got to work; and so bush had grown up, and the earth gave none of her increase; except indeed where half-caste Indians squatted here and there, and made provision grounds. I then went on to Cartagena. This is a much better town than Santa Martha, though even this is in its decadence. It was once a flourishing city, great in commerce and strong in war. It was taken by the English, not however without signal reverses on our part, and by the special valour--so the story goes--of certain sailors who dragged a single gun to the summit of a high abrupt hill called the "Papa," which commands the town. If the thermometer stood in those days as high at Cartagena as it does now, pretty nearly through the whole of the year, those sailors ought to have had the Victoria cross. But these deeds were done long years ago, in the time of Drake and his followers; and Victoria crosses were then chiefly kept for the officers. The harbour at Cartagena is singularly circumstanced. There are two entrances to it, one some ten miles from the city and the other close to it. This nearer aperture was blocked up by the Spaniards, who sank ships across the mouth; and it has never been used or usable since. The present entrance is very strongly fortified. The fortifications are still there, bristling down to the water's edge; or they would bristle, were it not that all the guns have been sold for the value of the brass metal. Cartagena was hotter even than Santa Martha; but the place is by no means so desolate and death-like. The shops there are open to the streets, as shops are in other towns. Men and women may occasionally be seen about the square; and there is a trade,--in poultry if in nothing else. There is a cathedral here also, and I presume a bishop. The former is built after the Spanish fashion, and boasts a so-called handsome, large, marble pulpit. That it is large and marble, I confess; but I venture to question its claims to the other epithet. There are pictures also in the cathedral; of spirits in a state of torture certainly; and if I rightly remember of beatified spirits also. But in such pictures the agonies of the damned always excite more attention and a keener remembrance than the ecstasies of the blest. I cannot say that the artist had come up either to the spirit of Fra Angelico, or to the strength of Orcagna. At Cartagena I encountered a family of native ladies and gentlemen, who were journeying from Bogotá to Peru. Looking at the map, one would say that the route from Bogotá to Buena-ventura on the Pacific was both easy and short. The distance as the crow flies--the condor I should perhaps more properly say--would not be much over two hundred miles. And yet this family, of whom one was an old woman, had come down to Cartagena, having been twenty days on the road, having from thence a long sea journey to the isthmus, thence the passage over it to Panamá, and then the journey down the Pacific! The fact of course is that there are no means of transit in the country except on certain tracks, very few in number; and that even on these all motion is very difficult. Bogotá is about three hundred and seventy miles from Cartagena, and the journey can hardly be made in less than fourteen days. From Cartagena I went on to the isthmus; the Isthmus of Panamá, as it is called by all the world, though the American town of Aspinwall will gradually become the name best known in connexion with the passage between the two oceans. This passage is now made by a railway which has been opened by an American company between the town of Aspinwall, or Colon, as it is called in England, and the city of Panamá. Colon is the local name for this place, which also bears the denomination of Navy Bay in the language of sailors. But our friends from Yankee-land like to carry things with a high hand, and to have a nomenclature of their own. Here, as their energy and their money and their habits are undoubtedly in the ascendant, they will probably be successful; and the place will be called Aspinwall in spite of the disgust of the New Granadians, and the propriety of the English, who choose to adhere to the names of the existing government of the country. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and Colon or Aspinwall will be equally vile however you may call it. It is a wretched, unhealthy, miserably situated but thriving little American town, created by and for the railway and the passenger traffic which comes here both from Southampton and New York. That from New York is of course immensely the greatest, for this is at present the main route to San Francisco and California. I visited the place three times, for I passed over the isthmus on my way to Costa Rica, and on my return from that country I went again to Panamá, and of course back to Colon. I can say nothing in its favour. My only dealing there was with a washerwoman, and I wish I could place before my readers a picture of my linen in the condition in which it came back from that artist's hands. I confess that I sat down and shed bitter tears. In these localities there are but two luxuries of life, iced soda-water and clean shirts. And now I was debarred from any true enjoyment of the latter for more than a fortnight. The Panamá railway is certainly a great fact, as men now-a-days say when anything of importance is accomplished. The necessity of some means of passing the isthmus, and the question as to the best means, has been debated since, I may say, the days of Cortes. Men have foreseen that it would become a necessity to the world that there should be some such transit, and every conceivable point of the isthmus has, at some period or by some nation, been selected as the best for the purpose. This railway is certainly the first that can be regarded as a properly organized means of travelling; and it may be doubted whether it will not remain as the best, if not the only permanent mode of transit. Very great difficulty was experienced in erecting this line. In the first place, it was necessary that terms should be made with the government of the country through which the line should pass, and to effect this it was expedient to hold out great inducements. Among the chief of these is an understanding that the whole line shall become the absolute property of the New Granadian government when it shall have been opened for forty-nine years. But who can tell what government will prevail in New Granada in forty-nine years? It is not impossible that the whole district may then be an outlying territory belonging to the United States. At any rate, I should imagine that it is very far from the intention of the American company to adhere with rigid strictness to this part of the bargain. Who knows what may occur between this and the end of the century? And when these terms were made there was great difficulty in obtaining labour. The road had to be cut through one continuous forest, and for the greater part of the way along the course of the Chagres river. Nothing could be more unhealthy than such work, and in consequence the men died very rapidly. The high rate of wages enticed many Irishmen here, but most of them found their graves amidst the works. Chinese were tried, but they were quite inefficacious for such labour, and when distressed had a habit of hanging themselves. The most useful men were to be got from the coast round Cartagena, but they were enticed thither only by very high pay. The whole road lies through trees and bushes of thick tropical growth, and is in this way pretty and interesting. But there is nothing wonderful in the scenery, unless to one who has never before witnessed tropical forest scenery. The growth here is so quick that the strip of ground closely adjacent to the line, some twenty yards perhaps on each side, has to be cleared of timber and foliage every six months. If left for twelve months the whole would be covered with thick bushes, twelve feet high. At intervals of four and a half miles there are large wooden houses--pretty-looking houses they are, built with much taste,--in each of which a superintendent with a certain number of labourers resides. These men are supplied with provisions and all necessaries by the company. For there are no villages here in which workmen can live, no shops from which they can supply themselves, no labour which can be hired as it may be wanted. From this it may be imagined that the line is maintained at a great cost. But, nevertheless, it already pays a dividend of twelve and a half per cent. So much at least is acknowledged; but those who pretend to understand the matter declare that the real profit accruing to the shareholders is hardly less than five-and-twenty per cent. The sum charged for the passage is extremely high, being twenty-five dollars, or five pounds for a single ticket. The distance is under fifty miles. And there is no class but the one. Everybody passing over the isthmus, if he pay his fare, must pay twenty-five dollars. Steerage passengers from New York to San Francisco are at present booked through for fifty dollars. This includes their food on the two sea voyages, which are on an average of about eleven days each. And yet out of this fifty dollars twenty-five are paid to the railway for this conveyance over fifty miles! The charge for luggage, too, is commensurately high. The ordinary kit of a travelling Englishman--a portmanteau, bag, desk, and hat-box--would cost two pounds ten shillings over and above his own fare. But at the same time, nothing can be more liberal than the general management of the line. On passengers journeying from New York to California, or from Southampton to Chili and Peru, their demand no doubt is very high. But to men of all classes, merely travelling from Aspinwall to Panamá for pleasure--or, apparently, on business, if travelling only between those two places,--free tickets are given almost without restriction. One train goes each way daily, and as a rule most of the passengers are carried free, except on those days when packets have arrived at either terminus. On my first passage over I paid my fare, for I went across with other passengers out of the mail packet. But on my return the superintendent not only gave me a ticket, but asked me whether I wanted others for any friends. The line is a single line throughout. Panamá has doubtless become a place of importance to Englishmen and Americans, and its name is very familiar to our ears. But nevertheless it is a place whose glory has passed away. It was a large Spanish town, strongly fortified, with some thirty thousand inhabitants. Now its fortifications are mostly gone, its churches are tumbling to the ground, its old houses have so tumbled, and its old Spanish population has vanished. It is still the chief city of a State, and a congress sits there. There is a governor and a judge, and there are elections; but were it not for the passengers of the isthmus there would soon be but little left of the city of Panamá. Here the negro race abounds, and among the common people the negro traits are stronger and more marked than those either of the Indians or Spaniards. Of Spanish blood among the natives of the surrounding country there seems to be but little. The negroes here are of course free, free to vote for their own governors, and make their own laws; and consequently they are often very troublesome, the country people attacking those in the town, and so on. "And is justice ultimately done on the offenders?" I asked. "Well, sir; perhaps not justice. But some notice is taken; and the matter is smoothed over." Such was the answer. There is a Spanish cathedral here also, in which I heard a very sweet-toned organ, and one magnificent tenor voice. The old church buildings still standing here are not without pretence, and are interesting from the dark tawny colour of the stone, if from no other cause. I should guess them to be some two centuries old. Their style in many respects resembles that which is so generally odious to an Englishman's eye and ear, under the title of Renaissance. It is probably an offshoot of that which is called Plateresque in the south of Spain. During the whole time that I was at Panamá the thermometer stood at something above ninety. In Calcutta I believe it is often as high as one hundred and ten, so that I have no right to speak of the extreme heat. But, nevertheless, Panamá is supposed to be one of the hottest places in the western world; and I was assured, while there, that weather so continuously hot for the twenty-four hours had not been known during the last nine years. The rainy season should have commenced by this time--the early part of May. But it had not done so; and it appeared that when the rain is late, that is the hottest period of the whole year. The heat made me uncomfortable, but never made me ill. I lost all pleasure in eating, and indeed in everything else. I used to feel a craving for my food, but no appetite when it came. I was lethargic, as though from repletion, when I did eat, and was always glad when my watch would allow me to go to bed. But yet I was never ill. The country round the town is pretty, and very well adapted for riding. There are large open savanahs which stretch away for miles and miles, and which are kept as grazing-farms for cattle. These are not flat and plain, but are broken into undulations, and covered here and there with forest bushes. The horses here are taught to pace, that is, move with the two off legs together and then with the two near legs. The motion is exceedingly gentle, and well fitted for this hot climate, in which the rougher work of trotting would be almost too much for the energies of debilitated mankind. The same pace is common in Cuba, Costa Rica, and other Spanish countries in the west. Off from Panamá, a few miles distant in the western ocean, there are various picturesque islands. On two of these are the depôts of two great steam-packet companies, that belonging to the Americans which carries on the trade to California, and an English company whose vessels run down the Pacific to Peru and Chili. I visited Toboga, in which are the head-quarters of the latter. Here I found a small English maritime colony, with a little town of their own, composed of captains, doctors, engineers, officers, artificers, and sailors, living together on the company's wages, and as regards the upper classes, at tables provided by the company. But I saw there no women of any description. I beg therefore to suggest to the company that their servants would probably be much more comfortable if the institution partook less of the monastic order. If, as is probable, this becomes one of the high-roads to Australia, then another large ship company will have to fix its quarters here. CHAPTER XVII. CENTRAL AMERICA--PANAMÁ TO SAN JOSÉ. I had intended to embark at Panamá in the American steam-ship 'Columbus' for the coast of Central America. In that case I should have gone to San Juan del Sur, a port in Nicaragua, and made my way from thence across the lake, down the river San Juan to San Juan del Norte, now called Greytown, on the Atlantic. But I learnt that the means of transit through Nicaragua had been so utterly destroyed--as I shall by-and-by explain--that I should encounter great delay in getting across the lake; and as I found that one of our men-of-war steamers, the 'Vixen,' was immediately about to start from Panamá to Punta-arenas, on the coast of Costa Rica, I changed my mind, and resolved on riding through Costa Rica to Greytown. And accordingly I did ride through Costa Rica. My first work was to make petition for a passage in the 'Vixen,' which was accorded to me without difficulty. But even had I failed here, I should have adhered to the same plan. The more I heard of Costa Rica, the more I was convinced that that republic was better worth a visit than Nicaragua. At this time I had in my hands a pamphlet written by M. Belly, a Frenchman, who is, or says that he is, going to make a ship canal from the Atlantic to the Pacific. According to him the only Paradise now left on earth is in this republic of Costa Rica. So I shipped myself on board the 'Vixen.' I had never before been on the waters of the Pacific. Now when one premeditates one's travels, sitting by the domestic fireside, one is apt to think that all those advancing steps into new worlds will be taken with some little awe, some feeling of amazement at finding oneself in very truth so far distant from Hyde Park Corner. The Pacific! I was absolutely there, on the ocean in which lie the Sandwich Islands, Queen Pomare, and the Cannibals! But no; I had no such feeling. My only solicitude was whether my clean shirts would last me on to the capital of Costa Rica. And in travelling these are the things which really occupy the mind. Where shall I sleep? Is there anything to eat? Can I have my clothes washed? At Panamá I did have my clothes washed in a very short space of time; but I had to pay a shilling apiece for them all round. In all these ports, in New Granada, Central America, and even throughout the West Indies, the luxury which is the most expensive in proportion to its cost in Europe is the washing of clothes--the most expensive, as it is also the most essential. But I must not omit to say that before shipping myself in the 'Vixen' I called on the officers on board the United States frigate 'Merrimac,' and was shown over that vessel. I am not a very good judge of ships, and can only say that the officers were extremely civil, the sherry very good, and the guns very large. They were coaling, the captain told me, and he professed to be very much ashamed of the dirt. Had I not been told so I should not have known that the ship was dirty. The 'Merrimac,' though rated only as a frigate, having guns on one covered deck only, is one of their largest men-of-war, and has been regarded by them, and by us, as a show vessel. But according to their own account, she fails altogether as a steamer. The greatest pace her engines will give is seven knots an hour; and this is felt to be so insufficient for the wants of the present time, that it is intended to take them out of her and replace them by a new set as soon as an opportunity will allow. This will be done, although the vessel and the engines are new. I mention this, not as reflecting in any way disgracefully on the dockyard from whence she came; but to show that our Admiralty is not the only one which may have to chop and change its vessels after they are built. We hear much--too much perhaps--of the misfortunes which attend our own navy; but of the misfortunes of other navies we hear very little. It is a pity that we cannot have some record of all the blunders committed at Cherbourg. The 'Merrimac' carries the flag of Flag-officer Long, on whom also we called. He is a fine old gentleman, with a magnificent head and forehead, looking I should say much more like an English nobleman than a Yankee sailor. Flag-officer Long! Who will explain to us why the Americans of the United States should persist in calling their senior naval officers by so awkward an appellation, seeing that the well-known and well-sounding title of admiral is very much at their disposal? When I returned to the shore from the 'Merrimac' I had half an hour to pack before I again started for the 'Vixen.' As it would be necessary that I should return to Panamá, and as whatever luggage I now took with me would have to be carried through the whole of Costa Rica on mules' backs, it became expedient that I should leave the greater part of my kit behind me. Then came the painful task of selection, to be carried out with the thermometer at ninety, and to be completed in thirty minutes! To go or not to go had to be asked and answered as to every shirt and pair of trousers. Oh, those weary clothes! If a man could travel as a dog, how delightful it would be to keep moving from year's end to year's end! We steamed up the coast for two days quietly, placidly, and steadily. I cannot say that the trip was a pleasant one, remembering how intense was the heat. On one occasion we stopped for practice-shooting, and it behoved me of course to mount the paddle-box and see what was going on. This was at eleven in the morning, and though it did not last for above an hour, I was brought almost to fainting by the power of the sun. Punta-arenas--Sandy Point--is a small town and harbour situated in Costa Rica, near the top of the Bay of Nicoya, The sail up the bay is very pretty, through almost endless woods stretching away from the shores to the hills. There is, however, nothing majestic or grand about the scenery here. There are no Andes in sight, no stupendous mountains such as one might expect to see after coming so far to see them. It is all pretty quiet and ordinary; and on the whole perhaps superior to the views from the sea at Herne Bay. The captain of the 'Vixen' had decided on going up to San José with me, as at the last moment did also the master, San José being the capital of Costa Rica. Our first object therefore was to hire a guide and mules, which, with the assistance of the acting English consul, we soon found. For even at Punta-arenas the English flag flies, and a distressed British subject can claim protection. It is a small village lying along a creek of the sea, inside the sandy point from whence it is named. Considerable business is done here in the exportation of coffee, which is the staple produce of Costa Rica. It is sent chiefly to England; but it seemed to me that the money-making inhabitants of Punta-arenas were mostly Americans; men who either had been to California or who had got so far on their road thither and then changed their minds. It is a hot, dusty, unattractive spot, with a Yankee inn, at which men may "liquor," and a tram railroad running for twelve miles into the country. It abounds in oysters and beer, on which we dined before we started on our journey. I was thus for the first time in Central America. This continent, if it may be so called, comprises the five republics of Guatemala, Honduras, San Salvador, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. When this country first broke away from Spanish rule in 1821, it was for a while content to exist as one state, under the name of the Republic of Guatemala; as it had been known for nearly three hundred years as a Spanish province under the same denomination--that of Guatemala. After a hard tussle with Mexico, which endeavoured to devour it, and which forty years ago was more prone to annex than to be annexed, this republic sat itself fairly going, with the city of Guatemala for its capital. But the energies and ambition of the different races comprised among the two million inhabitants of Central America would not allow them to be governed except each in its own province. Some ten years since, therefore, the five States broke asunder. Each claimed to be sovereign and independent. Each chose its own president and had its own capital; and consequently, as might be expected, no part of the district in question has been able to enjoy those natural advantages with which Providence has certainly endowed it. To these States must be added, in counting up the countries of Central America, British Honduras, consisting of Belize and the adjacent district, and the Mosquito coast which so lately was under British protection; and which is--. But here I must be silent, or I may possibly trench upon diplomatic subjects still unsettled. My visit was solely to Costa Rica, which has in some respects done better than its neighbours. But this has been owing to the circumstances of its soil and climate rather than to those of its government, which seems to me to be as bad as any can be which deserves that name. In Costa Rica there certainly is a government, and a very despotic one it is. I am not much given to the sins of dandyism, but I must own I was not a little proud of my costume as I left Punta-arenas. We had been told that according to the weather our ride would be either dusty or muddy in no ordinary degree, and that any clothes which we might wear during the journey would be utterly useless as soon as the journey was over. Consequently we purchased for ourselves, in an American store, short canvas smock-frocks, which would not come below the saddle, and coarse holland trousers. What class of men may usually wear these garments in Costa Rica I cannot say; but in England I have seen navvies look exactly as my naval friends looked; and I flatter myself that my appearance was quite equal to theirs. I had procured at Panamá a light straw hat, with an amazing brim, and had covered the whole with white calico. I have before said that my beard had become "poblada," so that on the whole I was rather gratified than otherwise when I was assured by the storekeeper that we should certainly be taken for three filibusters. Now the name of filibuster means something serious in those localities, as I shall in a few pages have to explain. We started on our journey by railroad, for there is a tramway that runs for twelve miles through the forest. We were dragged along on this by an excellent mule, till our course was suddenly impeded by a tree which had fallen across the road. But in course of time this was removed, and in something less than three hours we found ourselves at a saw-mill in the middle of the forest. The first thing that met my view on stepping out of the truck was a solitary Englishman seated on a half-sawn log of wood. Those who remember Hood's Whims and Oddities may bear in mind a heart-rending picture of the last man. Only that the times do not agree, I should have said that this poor fellow must have sat for the picture. He was undeniably an English labourer. No man of any other nation would have had that face, or worn those clothes, or kicked his feet about in that same awkward, melancholy humour. He was, he said, in charge of the saw-mill, having been induced to come out into that country for three years. According to him, it was a wretched, miserable place. "No man," he said, "ever found himself in worse diggings." He earned a dollar and a half a day, and with that he could hardly buy shoes and have his clothes washed. "Why did he not go home?" I asked. "Oh, he had come for three years, and he'd stay his three years out--if so be he didn't die." The saw-mill was not paying, he said; and never would pay. So that on the whole his account of Costa Rica was not encouraging. We had been recommended to stay the first night at a place called Esparza, where there is a decent inn. But before we left Punta-arenas we learnt that Don Juan Rafael Mora, the President of the Republic, was coming down the same road with a large retinue of followers to inaugurate the commencement of the works of the canal. He would be on his way to meet his brother-president of the next republic, Nicaragua, at San Juan del Sur; and at a spot some little distance from thence this great work was to be begun at once. He and his party were to sleep at Esparza. Therefore we decided on going on further before we halted; and in truth at that place we did meet Don Juan and his retinue. As both Costa Rica and Nicaragua are chiefly of importance to the eastern and western worlds, as being the district in which the isthmus between the two Americas may be most advantageously pierced by a canal--if it be ever so pierced--this subject naturally intrudes itself into all matters concerning these countries. Till the opening of the Panamá railway the transit of passengers through Nicaragua was immense. At present the railway has it all its own way. But the subject, connected as it has been with that of filibustering, mingles itself so completely with all interests in Costa Rica, that nothing of its present doings or politics can be well understood till something is understood on this canal subject. Sooner or later I must write a chapter on it; and it would almost be well if the reader would be pleased to take it out of its turn and get through it at once. The chapter, however, cannot well be brought in till these, recording my travels in Costa Rica, are completed. Don Juan Mora and his retinue had arrived some hours before us, and had nearly filled the little hotel. This was kept by a Frenchman, and as far as provisions and beer were concerned seemed to be well kept. Our requirements did not go beyond these. On entering the public sitting-room a melodiously rich Irish brogue at once greeted my ears, and I saw seated at the table, joyous in a semi-military uniform, The O'Gorman Mahon, great as in bygone unemancipated days, when with head erect and stentorian voice he would make himself audible to half the County Clare. The head was still as erect, and the brogue as unexceptionable. He speedily introduced us to a brother-workman in the same mission, the Prince Polignac. With the President himself I had not the honour of making acquaintance, for he speaks only Spanish, and my tether in that language is unfortunately very short. But the captain of the 'Vixen' was presented to him. He seemed to be a courteous little gentleman, though rather flustered by the magnitude of the work on which he was engaged. There was something singular in the amalgamation of the three men who had thus got themselves together in this place to do honour to the coming canal. The President of the Republic, Prince Polignac, and The O'Gorman Mahon! I could not but think of the heterogeneous heroes of the 'Groves of Blarney.' "There were Nicodemus, and Polyphemus, Oliver Cromwell, and Leslie Foster."* [*I am not quoting the words rightly I fear; but the selection in the true song is miscellaneous in the same degree.] "And now, boys, ate a bit of what's going, and take a dhrop of dhrink," said The O'Gorman, patting us on the shoulders with kind patronage. We did as we were bid, ate and drank, paid the bill, and went our way rejoicing. That night, or the next morning rather, at about 2 a.m., we reached a wayside inn called San Mateo, and there rested for five or six hours. That we should obtain any such accommodation along the road astonished me, and of such as we got we were very glad. But it must not be supposed that it was of a very excellent quality. We found three bedsteads in the front room into which the door of the house opened. On these were no mattresses, not even a palliasse. They consisted of flat boards sloping away a little towards the feet, with some hard substance prepared for a pillow. In the morning we got a cup of coffee without milk. For these luxuries and for pasturage for the mules we paid about ten shillings a head. Indeed, everything of this kind in Costa Rica is excessively dear. Our next day's journey was a very long one, and to my companions very fatiguing, for they had not latterly been so much on horseback as had been the case with myself. Our first stage before breakfast was of some five hours' duration, and from the never-ending questions put to the guide as to the number of remaining leagues, it seemed to be eternal. The weather also was hot, for we had not yet got into the high lands; and a continued seat of five hours on a mule, under a burning sun, is not refreshing to a man who is not accustomed to such exercise; and especially is not so when he is unaccustomed to the half-trotting, half-pacing steps of the beast. The Spaniard sits in the saddle without moving, and generally has his saddle well stuffed and padded, and then covered with a pillion. An Englishman disdains so soft a seat, and endeavours to rise in his stirrup at every step of the mule, as he would on a trotting horse at home. In these Hispano-American countries this always provokes the ridicule of the guide, who does not hesitate to tell the poor wretch who is suffering in his pillory that he does not know how to ride. With some of us the pillory was very bad, and I feared for a time that we should hardly have been able to mount again after breakfast. The place at which we were is called Atenas, and I must say in praise of this modern Athens, and of the three modern Athenian girls who waited on us, that their coffee, eggs, and grilled fowl were very good. The houses of these people are exceedingly dirty, their modes of living comfortless and slovenly in the extreme. But there seems to be no lack of food, and the food is by no means of a bad description. Along this road from Punta-arenas to San Jose we found it always supplied in large quantities and fairly cooked. The prices demanded for it were generally high. But then all prices are high; and it seems that, even among the poorer classes, small sums of money are not valued as with us. There is no copper coin. Half a rial, equal to about threepence, is the smallest piece in use. A handful of rials hardly seems to go further, or to be thought more of, than a handful of pence with us; and a dollar, eight rials, ranks hardly higher in estimation than a shilling does in England. At last, by the gradual use of the coffee and eggs, and by the application, external and internal, of a limited amount of brandy, the outward and the inward men were recruited; and we once more found ourselves on the backs of our mules, prepared for another stage of equal duration. These evils always lessen as we become more accustomed to them, so that when we reached a place called Assumption, at which we were to rest for the night, we all gallantly informed the muleteer that we were prepared to do another stage. "Not so the mules," said the muleteer; and as his words were law, we prepared to spend the night at Assumption. Our road hitherto had been rising nearly the whole way, and had been generally through a picturesque country. We ascended one long severe hill, severe that is as a road, though to a professed climber of mountains it would be as nothing. From the summit of this hill we had a magnificent view down to the Pacific, Again, at a sort of fortress through which we passed, and which must have been first placed there by the old Spaniards to guard the hill-passes, we found a very lovely landscape looking down into the valley. Here some show of a demand was made for passports; but we had none to exhibit, and no opposition was made to our progress. Except at these two places, the scenery, which was always more or less, pretty, was never remarkable. And even at the two points named there was nothing to equal the mountain scenery of many countries in Europe. What struck me most was the constant traffic on the road or track over which we passed. I believe I may call it a road, for the produce of the country is brought down over it in bullock carts; and I think that in South Wales I have taken a gig over one very much of the same description. But it is extremely rude; and only fit for solid wooden wheels--circles, in fact, of timber--such as are used, and for the patient, slow step of the bullocks. But during the morning and evening hours the strings of these bullock carts were incessant. They travel from four till ten, then rest till three or four, and again proceed for four or five hours in the cool of the evening. They are all laden with coffee, and the idea they give is, that the growth of that article in Costa Rica must be much more than sufficient to supply the whole world. For miles and miles we met them, almost without any interval. Coffee, coffee, coffee; coffee, coffee, coffee! It is grown in large quantities, I believe, only in the high lands of San José; and all that is exported is sent down to Punta-arenas, though by travelling this route it must either pass across the isthmus railway at a vast cost, or else be carried round the Horn. At present half goes one way and half the other. But not a grain is carried, as it should all be carried, direct to the Atlantic. When I come to speak of the road from San José to Greytown, the reason for this will be understood. The bivouacs made on the roadside by the bullock drivers for their night and noon accommodation are very picturesque when seen filled by the animals. A piece of flat ground is selected by the roadside, about half an acre in size, and close to a river or some running water. Into this one or two hundred bullocks are taken, and then released from their carts. But they are kept yoked together to prevent their straying. Here they are fed exclusively on sugar-canes, which the men carry with them, and buy along the road. The drovers patiently cut the canes up with their knives, and the beasts patiently munch them. Neither the men nor the animals roar, as they would with us, or squabble for the use of the water-course, or curse their own ill luck or the good luck of their neighbours. Drivers and driven are alike orderly, patient, and slow, spending their lives in taking coffee down to Punta-arenas, and in cutting and munching thousands of sugar-canes. We passed some of those establishments by moonlight, and they looked like large crowded fairs full of low small booths. The men, however, do not put up tents, but sleep out in their carts. They told me that the soil in Costa Rica was very favourable to the sugar-cane, and I looked out to see some sugar among the coffee. But not a hogshead came that way. We saw patches of the cane growing by the roadside; but no more was produced than what sufficed for the use of the proprietor himself, and for such sale as the traffic on the road afforded. Indeed, I found that they do not make sugar, so called, in Costa Rica, but import what they use. The article fabricated is called by them "dulce." It comes from their hands in ugly round brown lumps, of the consistency of brick, looking, in truth, much more like a large brickbat than any possible saccharine arrangement. Nevertheless, the canes are fairly good, and the juice as sweet as that produced in first-rate sugar-growing soils. It seemed that the only use made of this "dulce," excepting that of sweetening the coffee of the peasants, is for distillation. A spirit is made from it at San José, called by the generic name of aguardiente; and this doubtless would give considerable impulse to the growth of sugar-canes but for a little law made on the subject by the present President of the republic. The President himself is a cane-grower, and by this law it is enacted that the only person in Costa Rica entitled to supply the distillery with dulce shall be Don Juan Mora. Now, Don Juan Mora is the President. Before I left the country I came across an American who was desirous of settling there with the view of producing cocoa. "Well," said I, "and what do you think of it?" "Why, I like the diggings," said he; "and guess I could make things fix well enough. But suppose the President should choose to grow all the cocoa as well as all the gin! Where would my cacao-plants be then?" At a discount, undoubtedly. These are the effects on a country of despotism in a small way. On my way into San José I got off my mule to look at an old peasant making dulce, or in other words grinding his sugar-canes by the roadside. It was done in the most primitive manner. One bullock turned the mill, which consisted of three vertical wooden rollers. The juice trickled into a little cistern; and as soon as the old man found that he had enough, he baled it out and boiled it down. And yet I imagine that as good sugar may be made in Costa Rica as in British Guiana. But who will put his capital into a country in which the President can pass any law he pleases on his own behalf? In the neighbourhood of San José we began to come across the coffee plantations. They certainly give the best existing proof of the fertility and progress of the country. I had seen coffee plantations in Jamaica, but there they are beautifully picturesque, placed like hanging gardens on the steep mountain-sides. Some of these seem to be almost inaccessible, and the plant always has the appearance of being a hardy mountain shrub. But here in Costa Rica it is grown on the plain. The secret, I presume, is that a certain temperature is necessary, and that this is afforded by a certain altitude from the sea. In Jamaica this altitude is only to be found among the mountains, but it is attained in Costa Rica on the high plains of the interior. And then we jogged slowly into San José on the third day after our departure from Punta-arenas. Slowly, sorely, and with minds much preoccupied, we jogged into San José. On leaving the saw-mill at the end of the tramway my two friends had galloped gallantly away into the forest, as though a brave heart and a sharp pair of spurs would have sufficed to carry them right through to their journey's end. But the muleteer with his pony and the baggage-mule then lingered far behind. His heart was not so brave, nor were his spurs apparently so sharp. The luggage, too, was slipping every ten minutes, for I unfortunately had a portmanteau, of which no muleteer could ever make anything. It has been condemned in Holy Land, in Jamaica, in Costa Rica, wherever it has had to be fixed upon any animal's back. On this occasion it nearly broke both the heart of the muleteer and the back of the mule. But things were changed as we crept into San José. The muleteer was all life, and led the way, driving before him the pack-mule, now at length reconciled to his load. And then, at straggling intervals, our jibes all silenced, our showy canters all done, rising wearily in our stirrups at every step, shifting from side to side to ease the galls "That patient merit of the unworthy takes"--for our merit had been very patient, and our saddles very unworthy--we jogged into San José. CHAPTER XVIII. CENTRAL AMERICA. COSTA RICA--SAN JOSÉ. All travellers when entering unknown towns for the first time have felt that intense interest on the subject of hotel accommodation which pervaded our hearts as we followed our guide through the streets. We had been told that there were two inns in the town, and that we were to go to the Hotel San José. And accordingly we went to it. It was quite evident that the landlord at first had some little doubt as to the propriety of admitting us; and but for our guide, whom he knew, we should have had to explain at some length who we were. But under his auspices we were taken in without much question. The Spaniards themselves are not in their own country at all famous for their inns. No European nation has probably advanced so slowly towards civilization in this respect as Spain has done. And therefore, as these Costa Ricans are Spanish by descent and language, and as the country itself is so far removed from European civilization, we did not expect much. Had we fallen into the hands of Spaniards we should probably have received less even than we expected. But as it was we found ourselves in a comfortable second-class little German inn. It was German in everything; its light-haired landlord, frequently to be seen with a beer tankard in hand; its tidy landlady, tidy at any rate in the evening, if not always so in the morning; its early hours, its cookery, its drink, and I think I may fairly add, its prices. On entering the first town I had visited in Central America, I had of course looked about me for strange sights. That men should be found with their heads under their shoulders, or even living in holes burrowed in the ground, I had not ventured to hope. But when a man has travelled all the way to Costa Rica, he does expect something strange. He does not look to find everything as tame and flat and uninteresting as though he were riding into a sleepy little borough town in Wiltshire. We cannot cross from Dover to Ostend without finding at once that we are among a set of people foreign to ourselves. The first glance of the eye shows this in the architecture of the houses, and the costume of the people. We find the same cause for excitement in France, Switzerland, and Italy; and when we get as far as the Tyrol, we come upon a genus of mankind so essentially differing from our own as to make us feel that we have travelled indeed. But there is little more interest to be found in entering San José than in driving through the little Wiltshire town above alluded to. The houses are comfortable enough. They are built with very ordinary doors and windows, of one or two stories according to the wealth of the owners, and are decently clean outside, though apparently rather dirty within. The streets are broad and straight, being all at right angles to each other, and though not very well paved, are not rough enough to elicit admiration. There is a square, the pláza, in which stands the cathedral, the barracks, and a few of the best houses in the town. There is a large and tolerably well-arranged market-place. There is a really handsome set of public buildings, and there are two moderately good hotels. What more can a man rationally want if he travel for business? And if he travel for pleasure how can he possibly find less? It so happened that at the time of my visit to Costa Rica Sir William Ouseley was staying at San José with his family. He had been sent, as all the world that knows anything doubtless knows very well, as minister extraordinary from our Court to the governments of Central America, with the view of settling some of those tough diplomatic questions as to the rights of transit and occupation of territory, respecting which such world-famous Clayton-Bulwer treaties and Cass-Yrrisari treaties have been made and talked of. He had been in Nicaragua, making no doubt an equally famous Ouseley-something treaty, and was now engaged on similar business in the capital of Costa Rica. Of the nature of this August work,--for such work must be very august,--I know nothing. I only hope that he may have at least as much success as those who went before him. But to me it was a great stroke of luck to find so pleasant and hospitable a family in so outlandish a place as San José. And indeed, though I have given praise to the hotel, I have given it with very little personal warrant as regards my knowledge either of the kitchen or cellar. My kitchen and cellar were beneath the British flag at the corner of the pláza, and I had reason to be satisfied with them in every respect. And I had abundant reason to be greatly gratified. For not only was there at San José a minister extraordinary, but also, attached to the mission, there was an extra-ordinary secretary of legation, a very prince of good fellows. At home he would be a denizen of the Foreign Office, and denizens of the Foreign Office are swells at home. But at San José, where he rode on a mule, and wore a straw hat, and slept in a linendraper's shop, he was as pleasant a companion as a man would wish to meet on the western, or indeed on any other side of the Atlantic. I shall never forget the hours I spent in that linendraper's shop. The rooms over the shop, over that shop and over two or three others, were occupied by Sir W. Ouseley and his family. There was a chemist's establishment there, and another in the possession, I think, of a hatter. They had been left to pursue their business in peace; but my friend the secretary, finding no rooms sufficiently secluded for himself in the upper mansion, had managed to expel the haberdasher, and had located himself not altogether uncomfortably, among the counters. Those who have spent two or three weeks in some foreign town in which they have no ordinary pursuits, know what it is to have--or perhaps, more unlucky, know what it is to be without--some pleasant accustomed haunt, in which they can pretend to read, while in truth the hours are passed in talking, with some few short intervals devoted to contemplation and tobacco. Such to me was the shop of the expelled linendraper at San José. In it, judiciously suspended among the counters, hung a Panamá grass hammock, in which it was the custom of my diplomatic friend to lie at length and meditate his despatches. Such at least had been his custom before my arrival. What became of his despatches during the period of my stay, it pains me to think; for in that hammock I had soon located myself, and I fear that my presence was not found to be a salutary incentive to composition. The scenery round San José is certainly striking, but not sufficiently so to enable one to rave about it. I cannot justly go into an ecstasy and sing of Pelion or Ossa; nor can I talk of deep ravines to which the Via Mala is as nothing. There is a range of hills, respectably broken into prettinesses, running nearly round the town, though much closer to it on the southern than on the other sides. Two little rivers run by it, which here and there fall into romantic pools, or pools which would be romantic if they were not so very distant from home; if having travelled so far, one did not expect so very much. There are nice walks too, and pretty rides; only the mules do not like fast trotting when the weight upon them is heavy. About a mile and a half from the town, there is a Savanah, so-called, or large square park, the Hyde Park of San José; and it would be difficult to imagine a more pleasant place for a gallop. It is quite large enough for a race-course, and is open to everybody. Some part of the mountain range as seen from here is really beautiful. The valley of San José, as it is called, is four thousand five hundred feet above the sea; and consequently, though within the tropics, and only ten degrees north of the line, the climate is good, and the heat, I believe, never excessive. I was there in April, and at that time, except for a few hours in the middle of the day, and that only on some days, there was nothing like tropical heat. Within ten days of my leaving San José I heard natives at Panamá complaining of the heat as being altogether unendurable. But up there, on that high plateau, the sun had no strength that was inconvenient even to an Englishman. Indeed, no climate can, I imagine, be more favourable to fertility and to man's comfort at the same time than that of the interior of Costa Rica. The sugar-cane comes to maturity much quicker than in Demerara or Cuba. There it should be cut in about thirteen or fourteen months from the time it is planted; in Nicaragua and Costa Rica it comes to perfection in nine or ten. The ground without manure will afford two crops of corn in a year. Coffee grows in great perfection, and gives a very heavy crop. The soil is all volcanic, or, I should perhaps more properly say, has been the produce of volcanoes, and is indescribably fertile. And all this has been given without that intensity of heat which in those southern regions generally accompanies tropical fertility, and which makes hard work fatal to a white man; while it creates lethargy and idleness, and neutralizes gifts which would otherwise be regarded as the fairest which God has bestowed on his creatures. In speaking thus, I refer to the central parts of Costa Rica only, to those which lie some thousand feet above the level of the sea. Along the sea-shores, both of the Atlantic and Pacific, the heat is as great, and the climate as unwholesome as in New Granada or the West Indies. It would be difficult to find a place worse circumstanced in this respect than Punta-arenas. But though the valley or plateau of San José, and the interior of the country generally is thus favourably situated, I cannot say that the nation is prosperous. It seems to be God's will that highly-fertile countries should not really prosper. Man's energy is brought to its highest point by the presence of obstacles to be overcome, by the existence of difficulties which are all but insuperable. And therefore a Scotch farm will give a greater value in produce than an equal amount of land in Costa Rica. When nature does so much, man will do next to nothing! Those who seem to do best in this country, both in trade and agriculture, are Germans. Most of those who are carrying on business on a large scale are foreigners,--that is, not Spanish by descent. There are English here, and Americans, and French, but I think the Germans are the most wedded to the country. The finest coffee properties are in the hands of foreigners, as also are the plantations of canes, and saw-mills for the preparation of timber. But they have a very uphill task. Labour is extremely scarce, and very dear. The people are not idle as the negroes are, and they love to earn and put by money; but they are very few in number; they have land of their own, and are materially well off. In the neighbourhood of San José, a man's labour is worth a dollar a day, and even at that price it is not always to be had. It seems to be the fact that in all countries in which slavery has existed and has been abolished, this subject of labour offers the great difficulty in the way of improvement. Labour becomes unpopular, and is regarded as being in some sort degrading. Men will not reconcile it with their idea of freedom. They wish to work on their own land, if they work at all; and to be their own masters; to grow their own crops, be they ever so small; and to sit beneath their own vine, be the shade ever so limited. There are those who will delight to think that such has been the effect of emancipation; who will argue,--and they have strong arguments on their side,--that God's will with reference to his creatures is best carried out by such an order of things. I can only say that the material result has not hitherto been good. As far as we at present see, the struggle has produced idleness and sensuality, rather than prosperity and civilization. It is hardly fair to preach this doctrine, especially with regard to Costa Rica, for the people are not idle. That, at least, is not specially their character. They are a humdrum, contented, quiet, orderly race of men; fond of money, but by no means fond of risking it; living well as regards sufficiency of food and raiment, but still living very close; anxious to effect small savings, and politically contented if the security of those savings can be insured to them. They seem to be little desirous, even among the upper classes, or what we would call the tradespeople, of education, either religious or profane; they have no enthusiasm, no ardent desires, no aspirations. If only they could be allowed to sell their dulce to the maker of aguardiente,--if they might be permitted to get their little profit out of the manufacture of gin! That, at present, is the one grievance that affects them, but even that they bear easily. It will perhaps be considered my duty to express an opinion whether or no they are an honest people. In one respect, certainly. They steal nothing; at any rate, make no great thefts. No one is attacked on the roads; no life is in danger from violence; houses are not broken open. Nay, a traveller's purse left upon a table is, I believe, safe; nor will his open portmanteau be rifled. But when you come to deal with them, the matter is different. Then their conscience becomes elastic; and as the trial is a fair one between man and man, they will do their best to cheat you. If they lie to you, cannot you lie to them? And is it not reasonable to suppose that you do do so? If they, by the aid of law, can get to the windy side of you, is not that merely their success in opposition to your attempt--for of course you do attempt--to get to the windy side of them? And then bribes are in great vogue. Justice is generally to be bought; and when that is in the market, trade in other respects is not generally conducted in the most honest manner. Thus, on the whole, I cannot take upon myself to say that they are altogether an honest people. But they have that kind of honesty which is most essential to the man who travels in a wild country. They do not knock out the traveller's brains, or cut his throat for the sake of what he has in his pocket. Generally speaking, the inhabitants of Costa Rica are of course Spanish by descent, but here, as in all these countries, the blood is very much mixed: pure Spanish blood is now, I take it, quite an exception. This is seen more in the physiognomy than in the colour, and is specially to be noticed in the hair. There is a mixture of three races, the Spanish, the native Indian, and the Negro; but the traces of the latter are comparatively light and few. Negroes, men and women, absolutely black, and of African birth or descent, are very rare; and though traces of the thick lip and the woolly hair are to be seen--to be seen in the streets and market-places--they do not by any means form a staple of the existing race. The mixture is of Spanish and of Indian blood, in which the Spanish no doubt much preponderates. The general colour is that of a white man, but of one who is very swarthy. Occasionally this becomes so marked that the observer at once pronounces the man or woman to be coloured. But it is the colouring of the Indian, and not of the negro; the hue is rich, and to a certain extent bright, and the lines of the face are not flattened and blunted. The hair also is altogether human, and in no wise sheepish. I do not think that the inhabitants of Costa Rica have much to boast of in the way of personal beauty. Indeed, the descendant of the Spaniard, out of his own country, seems to lose both the manly dignity and the female grace for which old Spain is still so noted. Some pretty girls I did see, but they could boast only the ordinary prettiness which is common to all young girls, and which our friends in France describe as being the special gift of the devil. I saw no fine, flaming, flashing eyes; no brilliant figures, such as one sees in Seville around the altar-rails in the churches: no profiles opening upon me struck me with mute astonishment. The women were humdrum in their appearance, as the men are in their pursuits. They are addicted to crinoline, as is the nature of women in these ages; but so long as their petticoats stuck out, that seemed to be everything. In the churches they squat down on the ground, in lieu of kneeling, with their dresses and petticoats arranged around them, looking like huge turnips with cropped heads--like turnips that, by their persevering growth, had got half their roots above the ground. Now women looking like turnips are not specially attractive. I was at San José during Passion Week, and had therefore an opportunity of seeing the processions which are customary in Roman Catholic countries at that period. I certainly should not say that the Costa Ricans are especially a religious people. They are humdrum in this as in other respects, and have no enthusiasm either for or against the priesthood. Free-thinking is not the national sin; nor is fanaticism. They are all Roman Catholics, most probably without an exception. Their fathers and mothers were so before them, and it is a thing of course. There used to be a bishop of Costa Rica; indeed, they never were without one till the other day. But not long since the father of their church in some manner displeased the President: he had, I believe, taken it into his sacred head that he, as bishop, might make a second party in the state, and organize an opposition to the existing government; whereupon the President banished him, as the President can do to any one by his mere word, and since that time there has been no bishop. "And will they not get another?" I asked. "No; probably not; they don't want one. It will be so much money saved." Looking at the matter in this light, there is often much to be said for the expediency of reducing one's establishment. "And who manages the church?" "It does not require much management. It goes on in the old way. When they want priests they get them from Guatemala." If we could save all our bishoping, and get our priests as we want them from Guatemala, or any other factory, how excellent would be the economy! The cathedral of San José is a long, low building, with side aisles formed by very rickety-looking wooden pillars--in substance they are hardly more than poles--running from the ground to the roof. The building itself is mean enough, but the internal decorations are not badly arranged, and the general appearance is neat, orderly, and cool. We all know the usual manner in which wooden and waxen virgins are dressed and ornamented in such churches. There is as much of this here as elsewhere; but I have seen it done in worse taste both in France and Italy. The façade of the church, fronting the pláza is hardly to be called a portion of the church; but is an adjunct to it, or rather the church has been fixed on to the façade, which is not without some architectural pretension. In New Granada--Columbia that was--the cathedrals are arranged as they are in old Spain. The choir is not situated round the altar, or immediately in front of it, as is the custom in Christian churches in, I believe, all other countries, but is erected far down the centre aisle, near the western entrance. This, however, was not the case in any church that I saw in Costa Rica. During the whole of Passion Week there was a considerable amount of religious activity, in the way of preaching and processions, which reached its acme on Good Friday. On that day the whole town was processioning from morning--which means four o'clock--till evening--which means two hours after sunset. They had three figures, or rather three characters,--for two of them appeared in more than one guise and form,--each larger than life; those, namely, of our Saviour, the Virgin, and St. John. These figures are made of wax, and the faces of some of them were excellently moulded. These are manufactured in Guatemala--as the priests are; and the people there pride themselves on their manufacture, not without reason. The figures of our Saviour and the Virgin were in different dresses and attitudes, according to the period of the day which it was intended to represent; but the St. John was always represented in the dress of a bishop of the present age. The figures were supported on men's shoulders, and were carried backwards and forwards through every portion of the town, till at last, having been brought forth in the morning from the cathedral, they were allowed at night to rest in a rival, and certainly better built, though smaller church. I must notice one particularity in the church-going population of this country. The women occupy the nave and centre aisle, squatting on the ground, and looking, as I have said, like turnips; whereas the men never advance beyond the side aisles. The women of the higher classes--all those, indeed, who make any pretence to dress and finery--bring with them little bits of carpet, on which they squat; but there are none of those chairs with which churches on the Continent are so commonly filled. It seemed that there is nothing that can be called society among the people of San José. They do not go out to each other's homes, nor meet in public; they have neither tea-parties, nor dinner-parties, nor dancing-parties, nor card-parties. I was even assured--though I cannot say that the assurance reached my belief--that they never flirt! Occasionally, on Sundays, for instance, and on holidays, they put on their best clothes and call on each other. But even then there is no conversation among them; they sit stiffly on each other's sofas, and make remarks at intervals, like minute guns, about the weather. "But what _do_ they do?" I asked. "The men scrape money together, and when they have enough they build a house, big or little according to the amount that they have scraped: that satisfies the ambition of a Costa Rican. When he wishes to amuse himself, he goes to a cock-fight." "And the women?" "They get married early if their fathers can give them a few ounces"--the ounce is the old doubloon, worth here about three pounds eight shillings sterling--"and then they cook, and have children." "And if the ounces be wanting, and they don't get married?" "Then they cook all the same, but do not have the children,--as a general rule." And so people vegetate in Costa Rica. And now I must say a word or two about the form of government in this country. It is a republic, of course, arranged on the model plan. A president is elected for a term of years,--in this case six. He has ministers who assist him in his government, and whom he appoints; and there is a House of Congress, elected of course by the people, who make the laws. The President merely carries them out, and so Utopia is realized. Utopia might perhaps be realized in such republics, or at any rate the realization might not be so very distant as it is at present, were it not that in all of them the practice, by some accident, runs so far away from the theory. In Costa Rica, Don Juan Rafael Mora, familiarly called Juanito, is now the president, having been not long since re-elected (?) for the third time. "We read in the 'Gazette' on Tuesday morning that the election had been carried on Saturday, and that was all we knew about it." It is thus they elect a president in Costa Rica; no one knows anything about it, or troubles his head with the matter. If any one suggested a rival president, he would be banished. But such a thing is not thought of; no note is taken as to five years or six years. At some period that pleases him, the President says that he has been re-elected, and he is re-elected. Who cares? Why not Juanito as well as any one else? Only it is a pity he will not let us sell our dulce to the distillers! The President's salary is three thousand dollars a year; an income which for so high a position is moderate enough. But then a further sum of six thousand dollars is added to this for official entertainment. The official entertainments, however, are not numerous. I was informed that he usually gives one party every year. He himself still lives in his private house, and still keeps a shop, as he did before he was president. It must be remembered that there is no aristocracy in this country above the aristocracy of the shopkeepers. As far as I could learn, the Congress is altogether a farce. There is a congress or collection of men sent up from different parts of the country, some ten or dozen of whom sit occasionally round a table in the great hall; but they neither debate, vote, nor offer opinions. Some one man, duly instructed by the President, lets them know what law is to be made or altered, and the law is made or altered. Should any member of Congress make himself disagreeable, he would, as a matter of course, be banished; taken, that is, to Punta-arenas, and there told to shift for himself. Now this enforced journey to Punta-arenas does not seem to be more popular among the Costa Ricans than a journey to Siberia is among the Russians. Such is the model republic of Central America,--admitted, I am told, to be the best administered of the cluster of republics there established. This, at any rate, may certainly be said for it--that life and property are safe. They are safe for the present, and will probably remain so, unless the filibusters make their way into the neighbouring state of Nicaragua in greater numbers and with better leaders than they have hitherto had. And it must be told to the credit of the Costa Ricans, that it was by them and their efforts that the invasion of Walker and the filibusters into Central America was stopped and repelled. These enterprising gentlemen, the filibusters, landed on the coast of Nicaragua, having come down from California. Here they succeeded in getting possession of a large portion of the country, that portion being the most thickly populated and the richest; many of the towns they utterly destroyed, and among them Granada, the capital. It seems that at this time the whole state of Nicaragua was paralyzed, and unable to strike any blow in its own defence. Having laid waste the upper or more northern country, Walker came down south as far as Rivas, a town still in Nicaragua, but not far removed from the borders of Costa Rica. His intention, doubtless, was to take possession of Costa Rica, so that he might command the whole transit across the isthmus. But at Rivas he was attacked by the soldiery of Costa Rica, under the command of a brother of Don Juan Mora. This was in 1856, and it seems that some three thousand Costa Ricans were taken as far as Rivas. But few of them returned. They were attacked by cholera, and what with that, and want, and the intense heat, to which of course must be added what injuries the filibusters could do them, they were destroyed, and a remnant only returned. But in 1857 the different states of Central America joined themselves in a league, with the object of expelling these filibusters. I do not know that either of the three northern states sent any men to Rivas, and the weight of the struggle again fell upon Costa Rica. The Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans together invested Rivas, in which five hundred filibusters under Walker for some time maintained themselves. These men were reduced to great straits, and might no doubt have been taken bodily. But the Central Americans also had their difficulties to contend with. They did not agree very well together, and they had but slender means of supporting themselves. It ended in a capitulation, under which Walker and his associates were to walk out with their arms and all the honours of war; and by which, moreover, it was stipulated that the five hundred were to be sent back to America at the expense of the Central American States. The States, thinking no doubt that it was good economy to build a golden bridge for a flying enemy, did so send them back; and in this manner for a while Central America was freed from the locusts. Such was the capitulation of Rivas; a subject on which all Costa Ricans now take much pride to themselves. And indeed, honour is due to them in this matter, for they evinced a spirit in the business when their neighbours of Nicaragua failed to do so. They soon determined that the filibusters would do them no good;--could indeed by no possibility do them anything but harm; consequently, they resolved to have the first blow, and they struck it manfully, though not so successfully as might have been wished. The total population of Central America is, I believe, about two millions, while that of Costa Rica does not exceed two hundred thousand. Of the five states, Guatemala has by far the largest number of inhabitants; and indeed the town of Guatemala may still be regarded as the capital of all the isthmus territories. They fabricate there not only priests and wax images, but doctors and lawyers, and all those expensive luxuries for the production of which the air of a capital is generally considered necessary. The President of Guatemala is, they say, an Indian, nearly of pure descent; his name is Carrera. I have spoken of the army of Costa Rica. In point of accoutrement and outward show, they are on ordinary days somewhat like the troops that were not fit to march through Coventry. They wear no regimentals, and are only to be known when on duty by a very rusty-looking gun. On Sundays, however, and holidays they do wear a sort of uniform, consisting of a neat cap, and a little braiding upon their best clothes. This dress, such as it is, they are obliged to find for themselves. The clothing department, therefore, is not troublesome. These men are enrolled after the manner of our militia. The full number should be nine thousand, and is generally somewhat above six thousand. Of this number five hundred are kept in barracks, the men taking it by turns, month by month. When in barracks they receive about one shilling and sixpence a day; at other times they have no pay. I cannot close my notice of San José without speaking somewhat more specially of the range of public buildings. I am told that it was built by a German, or rather by two Germans; the basement and the upper story being the work of different persons. Be this as it may, it is a handsome building, and would not disgrace any European capital. There is in it a throne-room--in England, at least, we should call it a throne; on this the President sits when he receives ambassadors from foreign countries. The velvet and gilding were quite unexceptionable, and the whole is very imposing. The sitting of Congress is held in the same chamber; but that, as I have explained, is not imposing. The chief produce of Costa Rica is coffee. Those who love statistics may perhaps care to know that the average yearly export is something under a hundred thousand quintals; now a quintal weighs a hundred pounds, or rather, I believe, ninety-nine pounds exact. CHAPTER XIX. CENTRAL AMERICA. COSTA RICA--MOUNT IRAZU. In the neighbourhood of San José there is a volcanic mountain, the name of which is Irazu. I was informed that it still smoked, though it had discontinued for the present the ejection of flames and lava. Indeed, the whole country is full of such mountains. There is one, the Monte Blanco, the summit of which has never yet been reached--so rumour says in Costa Rica--far distant, enveloped among other mountains, and to be reached only through dense aboriginal forests, which still emits, and is always emitting fire and burning floods of molten stones. Different excursions have been made with the object of ascending the Monte Blanco, but hitherto in vain. Not long since it was attempted by a French baron, but he and his guide were for twenty days in the woods, and then returned, their provisions failing them. "You should ascend the Monte Blanco," said Sir William Ouseley to me. "You are a man at large, with nothing to do. It is just the work for you." This was Sir William's satire on the lightness of my ordinary occupations. Light as they might be, however, I had neither time nor courage for an undertaking such as that; so I determined to satisfy myself with the Irazu. It happened, rather unfortunately for me, that at the moment of my arrival at San José, a large party, consisting of Sir William's family and others, were in the very act of visiting the mountain. Those, therefore, who were anxious to see the sight, and willing to undergo the labour, thus had their opportunity; and it became impossible for me to make up a second party. One hope I had. The Secretary of Legation had not gone. Official occupation, joined to a dislike of mud and rough stones, had kept him at home. Perhaps I might prevail. The intensity of that work might give way before a week's unremitting labour, and that Sybarite propensity might be overcome. But all my eloquence was of no avail. An absence of a day and a half only was required; and three were spent in proving that this could not be effected. The stones and mud too were becoming worse and worse, for the rainy season had commenced. In fact, the Secretary of Legation would not budge. "Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle," said the Secretary of Legation; whereupon he lighted another cigar, and took a turn in the grass hammock. Now in my mind it must be a very bad game indeed that is not worth the candle; and almost any game is better than no game at all. I was thus in deep trouble, making up my mind to go alone, or rather alone with my guide;--for the due appreciation of which state of loneliness it must be borne in mind that, as I do not speak a word of Spanish, I should have no possible means of communication with the guide,--when a low and mild voice fell upon my ear, offering me its proprietor as my companion. "I went up with Sir William last week," said the mild voice; "and if you will permit me, I shall be happy to go with you. I should like to see it twice; and I live at Cartago on the way." It was quite clear that the owner of the voice was sacrificing himself, and offering to repeat this troublesome journey merely out of good nature; but the service which he proposed to render me was too essential, and I could not afford to reject the offer. He lived in the country and spoke Spanish, and was, moreover, a mild, kind-hearted little gentleman, very suitable as a companion, and not given too pertinaciously to a will of his own. Now the Secretary of Legation would have driven me mad half a score of times during the journey. He would have deafened me with politics, and with such politics too! So that on the whole I knew myself to be well off with the mild voice. "You must go through Cartago," said the mild voice, "and I live there. We will dine there at the inn to-morrow, and then do a portion of our work the same evening." It was so arranged. I was to be with him the next day at three, with a guide and two mules. On the next morning it rained provokingly. I ought to have started at twelve; but at that time it was pouring, and neither the guide nor the mules showed themselves. "You will never get there," said the Secretary of Legation, looking up to the murky clouds with a gleam of delight. "The game is never worth such a candle as that." "I shall get there most assuredly," said I, rather sulkily, "let the candle cost what it may." But still the mules did not come. Men have no idea of time in any country that is or has been connected with Spain. "Yes, señor; you said twelve, and it is now only two! Well, three. The day is long, señor; there is plenty of time. Vaminos? Since you are in such a hurry, shall we make a start of it?" At half-past two o'clock so spoke--not my guide, for, as will be seen by-and-by, he never spoke at all--but my guide's owner, who came accompanying the mules. In huge hurry, with sundry mute exclamations, uttered by my countenance since my tongue was unintelligible, and with appeals to my watch which should have broken the man's heart as I thrust it into his face, I clomb into my saddle. And then a poor-looking, shoeless creature, with a small straw hat tied on to his head by a handkerchief, with difficulty poised himself on the other beast "Vamos," I exclaimed, and trotted down the street; for I knew that in that direction lay the road to Cartago. "God be with you," said the Secretary of Legation. "The rainy season has set in permanently, I know; but perhaps you may have half an hour of sunshine now and again. I hope you will enjoy yourself." It was not raining when I started, and in fact did not rain again the whole afternoon. I trotted valiantly down the street, knowing my way so far; but at the bottom of the town the roads divided, and I waited for my guide. "Go on first," said I, pointing along the road. But he did not understand me, and stood still. "Go on," said I, getting behind his mule as though to drive him. But he merely stared, and shuffled himself to the other side of the road. "Cartago," I shouted, meaning that he was to show me the way there. "Si, señor," he replied; and backed himself into the ditch out of my way. He was certainly the stupidest man I ever met in my life, and I believe the Secretary of Legation had selected him on purpose. I was obliged to choose my own road out of two, and luckily chose the right one. Had I gone wrong, I doubt whether the man would have had wit enough to put me right. I again trotted on; but in a quarter of an hour was obliged to wait, for my attendant was behind me, out of sight, and I felt myself bound to look after my traps, which were fastened to his mule. "Come on," I shouted in good broad English as soon as I saw him. "Why the mischief don't you come on?" And my voice was so pitched, that on this occasion I think he did understand something of what I meant. "Co-o-ome along," I repeated, as he gently drew up to me. And I hit his mule sharply on the crupper with my stick. "Spur him," I said; and I explained what I meant by sticking my own rowels into my own beast. Whereupon the guide showed me that he had no spurs. Now if there be one rule of life more strictly kept in Costa Rica than another, it is this, that no man ever mounts horse or mule without spurs. A man in England would as soon think of hunting without breeches. No muleteer was ever seen without them. And when a mule is hired, if the hirer have no saddle, he may chance to have to ride without one; but if he have no spurs, he will always be supplied. I took off one of my own, which, by-the-by, I had borrowed out of the Secretary of Legation's establishment, and offered it to the man, remembering the well-known doctrine of Hudibras. He then showed me that one of his hands was tied up, and that he could not put the spur on. Consequently I was driven to dismount myself, and to act equerry to this knight. Thrice on the road I had to do so, for twice the spur slipped from off his naked foot. Even with this I could not bring him on. It is four leagues, or about sixteen miles, from San José to Cartago, and with all my hastening we were three hours on the road. The way lay through a rich and finely-cultivated country. The whole of this is now called the valley of San José, and consists, in truth, of a broad plateau, diversified by moderate hills and valleys, but all being at a considerable height; that is, from three to four thousand feet above the sea. The road also is fairly good; so good that a species of omnibus runs on it daily, there being some considerable traffic between the places; for Cartago is the second town in the republic. Cartago is now the second town, but not long since it was the capital. It was, however, destroyed by an earthquake; and though it has been rebuilt, it has never again taken its former position. Its present population is said to be ten thousand; but this includes not only the suburbs, but the adjacent villages. The town covers a large tract of ground, which is divided into long, broad, parallel streets, with a large pláza in the middle; as though it had been expected that a fine Utopian city would have sprung up. Alas! there is nothing fine about it, and very little that is Utopian. Lingering near the hotel door, almost now in a state of despair, I met him of the mild voice. "Yes; he had been waiting for three hours, certainly," he mildly said, as I spurred my beast up to the door. "Now that I was come it was all right; and on the whole he rather liked waiting--that is, when it did not result in waiting for nothing." And then we sat down to dinner at the Cartago hotel. This also was kept by a German, who after a little hesitation confessed that he had come to the country as a filibuster. "You have fallen on your legs pretty well," said I; for he had a comfortable house, and gave us a decent dinner. "Yes," said he, rather dubiously; "but when I came to Costa Rica I intended to do better than this." He might, however, remember that not one in five hundred of them had done so well. And then another guide had to be found, for it was clear that the one I had brought with me was useless. And I had a visit to make; for my friend lived with a widow lady, who would be grieved, he said, if I passed through without seeing her. So I did call on her. I saw her again on my return through Cartago, as I shall specify. With all these delays it was dark when we started. Our plan was to ride up to an upland pasture farm at which visitors to the mountain generally stop, to sleep there for a few hours, and then to start between three and four so as to reach the top of the mountain by sunrise. Now I perfectly well remember what I said with reference to sunrises from mountain-tops on the occasion of that disastrous visit to the Blue Mountain Peak in Jamaica; how I then swore that I would never do another mountain sunrise, having always failed lamentably in such attempts. I remember, and did remember this; and as far as the sunrise was concerned would certainly have had nothing to do with the Irazu at five o'clock, a.m. But the volcano and the crater made the matter very different. They were my attractions; and as the mild voice suggested an early hour, it would not have become me to have hesitated. "Start at four?" "Certainly," I said. "The beds at the potrero"--such was the name they gave the place at which we stopped--"will not be soft enough to keep us sleeping." "No," said the mild voice, "they are not soft." And so we proceeded. Our road was very rough, and very steep; and the night was very dark. It was rough at first, and then it became slippery, which was worse. I had no idea that earth could be so slippery. My mule, which was a very fine one, fell under me repeatedly, being altogether unable to keep her footing. On these occasions she usually scrambled up, with me still on her back. Once, however, near the beginning of my difficulties, I thought to relieve her; and to do so I got off her. I soon found my mistake. I immediately slipped down on my hands and knees, and found it impossible to stand on my feet. I did not sink into the mud, but slipped off it--down, down, down, as if I were going back to Cartago, all alone in the dark. It was with difficulty that I again mounted my beast; but when there, there I remained let her fall as she would. At eleven o'clock we reached the potrero. The house here was little more than a rancho or hut; one of those log farm buildings which settlers make when they first clear the timber from a part of their selected lots, intending to replace them in a year or two by such tidy little houses; but so rarely fulfilling their intentions. All through Costa Rica such ranchos are common. On the coffee plantations and in the more highly-cultivated part of the country, round the towns for instance, and along the road to Punta-arenas, the farmers have a better class of residence. They inhabit long, low-built houses, with tiled roofs and a ground floor only, not at all unlike farmers' houses in Ireland, only that there they are thatched or slated. Away from such patches of cultivation, one seldom finds any house better than a log-built rancho. But the rancho had a door, and that door was fastened; so we knocked and hallooed--"Dito," cried the guide; such being, I presume, the familiar sobriquet of his friend within. "Dito," sang out my mild friend with all his small energy of voice. "Dito," shouted I; and I think that my voice was the one which wakened the sleepers within. We were soon admitted into the hut, and found that we were by no means the first comers. As soon as a candle was lighted we saw that there were four bedsteads in the room, and that two of them were occupied. There were, however, two left for my friend and myself. And it appeared also that the occupiers were friends of my friend. They were German savants, one by profession an architect and the other a doctor, who had come up into the woods looking for birds, beasts, and botanical treasures, and had already been there some three or four days. They were amply supplied with provisions, and immediately offered us supper. The architect sat up in bed to welcome us, and the doctor got up to clear the two spare beds of his trappings. There is a luck in these things. I remember once clambering to the top of Scafell-Pike, in Cumberland--if it chance to be in Westmoreland I beg the county's pardon. I expected nothing more than men generally look for on the tops of mountains; but to my great surprise I found a tent. I ventured to look in, and there I saw two officers of the Engineers, friends of my own, sharpening their knives preparatory to the dissection of a roast goose. And beside the goose stood a bottle of brandy. Now I always looked on that as a direct dispensation of Providence. Walking down the mountain that same evening to Whitehaven, I stopped at a small public-house on the side of Enerdale, and called for some whisky and water. The article produced was not good, and so I said, appealing to an elderly gentleman in black, who sat by the hobside, very contemplative. "Ah," said he; "you can't get good drink in these parts, sir; I know that so well that I generally bring a bottle of my own." I immediately opened a warm conversation with that gentleman. He was a clergyman of a neighbouring parish; and in a few minutes a magnum of port had made its appearance out of a neighbouring cupboard. That I thought was another dispensation of Providence. It was odd that they should have come together; but the facts are as I state them. I did venture on a glass of brandy and water and a slight morsel of bread and meat, and then I prepared to throw myself on the bed immediately opposite to the doctor's. As I did so I saw something move inside the doctor's bed. "My wife is there," said the doctor, seeing the direction of my eyes. "Oh!" said I; and I at once became very moderate in the slight change which I made in my toilet. We were to start at four, and at four precisely I woke. As my friend had said, there was little to tempt me to sleep. The great drawback to the comfort of these ranchos is the quantity of dirt which continually falls out of the roof into one's eyes. Then the boards are hard of course, and of course, also, they are infested with vermin. They tell you indeed of scorpions and centipedes, of preternatural wasps, and musquitos as big as young ostriches; but I found none of these large-looming beasts of prey. Of beasts of a smaller size I did find more than plenty. At four I was up, but my friend was very unwilling to stir. It was long before I could induce the mild voice to make itself heard in any way. At that time it was fine, but it was long before I could get the muleteer. When I had done so, and he had thrown their grass to the beasts, it began to rain--of course. "It rains like the d----" said I, very crossly. "Does it?" said the mild voice from the bed. "I am so sorry;" and in half a second he was again in the land of dreams. The doctor snored; but from the furthest remote comer I could see the eye of the doctor's wife looking out at me. It was between six and seven when we started. At that time it was not raining, but the clouds looked as like rain as the Secretary of Legation could have desired. And the two Germans were anything but consolatory in their prophecies. "You'll not see a stick or a stone," said the architect; "you'd better stop and breakfast with us." "It is very dangerous to be wet in the mountains, very dangerous," said the doctor. "It is a bad morning, certainly," pleaded the mild voice piteously. The doctor's wife said nothing, but I could see her eyes looking out at the weather. How on earth was she to get herself dressed, it occurred to me then, if we should postpone our journey and remain there? It ended in our starting just two hours after the prescribed time. The road up from the potrero is very steep almost the whole way to the summit, but it was not so muddy as that we had passed over on the preceding evening. For some little way there were patches of cultivation, the ground bearing sweet potatoes and Indian corn. Then we came into a tract of beautiful forest scenery. The land, though steep, was broken, and only partially covered with trees. The grass in patches was as good as in an English park, and the views through the open bits of the forest were very lovely. In four or five different places we found the ground sufficiently open for all the requirements of a picturesque country house, and no prettier site for such a house could well be found. This was by far the finest scenery that I had hitherto seen in Costa Rica; but even here there was a want of water. In ascending the mountain we saw some magnificent forest trees, generally of the kind called cotton-trees in Jamaica. There were oaks also--so called there--very nearly approaching our holm-oak in colour and foliage, but much larger than that tree is with us. They were all more or less covered with parasite plants, and those parasites certainly add greatly to the beauty of the supporting trunk. By degrees we got into thick forest--forest I mean so thick that it affords no views. You see and feel the trees that are close to you, but see nothing else. And here the path became so steep that we were obliged to dismount and let the beasts clamber up by themselves; and the mist became very thick, so much so that we could hardly trace our path; and then the guide said that he thought he had lost his way. "People often do come out and go back again without ever reaching the crater at all, don't they?" said the mild voice. "Very often," said the guide. "But we won't be such people," said I. "Oh no!" said the mild voice. "Not if we can help it." "And we will help it. Allons; andiamos; vamos." The first word which an Englishman learns in any language is that which signifies a determination to proceed. And we did proceed, turning now hither and now thither, groping about in the mist, till at last the wood was all left behind us, and we were out among long grass on a mountain-side. "And now," said the guide, "unless the mist clears I can't say which way we ought to go." The words were hardly out of his mouth when the mist did clear itself away altogether from one side of us. Looking down to the left, we could see far away into the valleys beneath, over large forests, and across a lower range of hills, till the eye could reach the cultivated plateau below. But on the other side, looking up to a mountain higher still than that on which we stood, all was not only misty, but perfectly dark and inscrutable. The guide however now knew the spot. We were near the summit of Irazu, and a further ride of a quarter of an hour took us there; and indeed here there was no difficulty in riding. The side of the hill was covered with grass, and not over steep. "There," said the mild voice, pointing to a broad, bushy, stumpy tree, "there is the place where Lady Ouseley breakfasted." And he looked at our modest havresack. "And we will breakfast there too," I answered. "But we will go down the crater first." "Oh, yes; certainly," said the mild voice. "But perhaps--I don't know--I am not sure I can go exactly down into the crater." The crater of the volcano is not at the top of the mountain, or rather it is not at what is now the top of the mountain; so that at first one has to look down upon it. I doubt even whether the volcano has ever effected the absolute summit. I may as well state here that the height of the mountain on which we were now standing is supposed to be 11,500 feet above the sea-level. Luckily for us, though the mist reached to us where we stood, everything to the left of us was clear, and we could look down, down into the crater as into a basin. Everything was clear, so that we could count the different orifices, eight in number, of which two, however, had almost run themselves into one; and see, as far as it was possible to see, how the present formation of the volcano had been brought about. It was as though a very large excavation had been made on the side of a hill, commencing, indeed, not quite from the summit, but very near it, and leaving a vast hole--not deep in proportion to its surface--sloping down the mountain-side. This huge excavation, which I take to be the extent of the crater, for it has evidently been all formed by the irruption of volcanic matter, is divided into two parts, a broken fragment of a mountain now lying between them; and the smaller of these two has lost all volcanic appearance. It is a good deal covered with bush and scrubby forest trees, and seems to have no remaining connection with sulphur and brimstone. The other part, in which the crater now absolutely in use is situated, is a large hollow in the mountain-side, which might perhaps contain a farm of six hundred acres. Not having been able to measure it, I know no other way of describing what appeared to me to be its size. But a great portion of this again has lost all its volcanic appendages; except, indeed, that lumps of lava are scattered over the whole of it, as they are, though more sparingly, over the mountain beyond. There is a ledge of rock running round the interior of this division of the excavation, half-way down it, like a row of seats in a Roman amphitheatre, or an excrescence, if one can fancy such, half-way down a teacup. The ground above this ledge is of course more extensive than that below, as the hollow narrows towards the bottom. The present working mouth of the volcanic, and all those that have been working for many a long year--the eight in number of which I have spoken--lie at the bottom of this lowest hollow. This I should say might contain a farm of about two hundred acres. Such was the form of the land on which we looked down. The descent from the top to the ledge was easy enough, and was made by myself and my friend with considerable rapidity. I started at a pace which convinced him that I should break my neck, and he followed, gallantly resolving to die with me. "You'll surely kill yourself, Mr. Trollope; you surely will," said the mild voice. And yet he never deserted me. "Sir William got as far as this," said he, when we were on the ledge, but he got no further. "We will do better than Sir William," said I. "We will go down into that hole where we see the sulphur." "Into the very hole?" "Yes. If we get to windward, I think we can get into the very hole. Look at the huge column of white smoke; how it comes all in this direction! On the other side of the crater we should not feel it." The descent below the ledge into my smaller farm was not made so easily. It must be understood that our guide was left above with the mules. We should have brought two men, whereas we had only brought one; and had therefore to perform our climbing unassisted. I at first attempted it in a direct line, down from where we stood; but I soon found this to be impracticable, and was forced to reascend. The earth was so friable that it broke away from me at every motion that I made; and after having gone down a few feet I was glad enough to find myself again on the ledge. We then walked round considerably to the right, probably for more than a quarter of a mile, and there a little spur in the hillside--a buttress as it were to the ledge of which I have spoken--made the descent much easier, and I again tried. "Do not you mind following me," I said to my companion, for I saw that he looked much aghast. "None of Sir William's party went down there," he answered. "Are you sure of that?" I asked. "Quite sure," said the mild voice. "Then what a triumph we will have over Sir William!" and so saying I proceeded. "I think I'll come too," said the mild voice. "If I do break my neck nobody'll be much the worse;" and he did follow me. There was nothing very difficult in the clambering, but, unfortunately, just as we got to the bottom the mist came pouring down upon us, and I could not but bethink me that I should find it very difficult to make my way up again without seeing any of the landmarks. I could still see all below me, but I could see nothing that was above. It seemed as though the mist kept at our own level, and that we dragged it with us. We were soon in one of the eight small craters or mouths of which I have spoken. Looking at them from above, they seemed to be nearly on a level, but it now appeared that one or two were considerably higher than the others. We were now in the one that was the highest on that side of the excavation. It was a shallow basin, or rather saucer, perhaps sixty yards in diameter, the bottom of which was composed of smooth light-coloured sandy clay. In dry weather it would partake almost of the nature of sand. Many many years had certainly rolled by since this mouth had been eloquent with brimstone. The place at this time was very cold. My friend had brought a large shawl with him, with which over and over again he attempted to cover my shoulders. I, having meditated much on the matter, had left my cloak above. At the present moment I regretted it sorely; but, as matters turned out, it would have half smothered me before our walk was over. We had now nothing for it but to wait till the mist should go off. There was but one open mouth to this mountain--one veritable crater from which a column of smoke and sulphur did then actually issue, and this, though the smell of the brimstone was already oppressive, was at some little distance. Gradually the mist did go off, or rather it shifted itself continually, now ascending far above us, and soon returning to our feet. We then advanced between two other mouths, and came to that which was nearest to the existing crater. Here the aperture was of a very different kind. Though no smoke issued from it, and though there was a small tree growing at the bottom of it,--showing, as I presume, that there had been no eruption from thence since the seed of that tree had fallen to the ground,--yet the sides of the crater were as sharp and steep as the walls of a house. Into those which we had hitherto visited we could walk easily; into this no one could descend even a single foot, unless, indeed, he descended somewhat more than a foot so as to dash himself to pieces at the bottom. They were, when compared together, as the interior of a plate compared to that of a tea-caddy. Now a traveller travelling in such realms would easily extricate himself from the plate, but the depths of the tea-caddy would offer him no hope. Having walked round this mute volcano, we ascended to the side of the one which was now smoking, for the aperture to this was considerably higher than that of the last one mentioned. As we were then situated, the smoke was bearing towards us, and every moment it became more oppressive; but I saw, or thought I saw, that we could skirt round to the back of the crater, so as not to get its full volume upon us; and so I proceeded, he of the mild voice mildly expostulating, but always following me. But when we had ascended to the level of the hole the wind suddenly shifted, and the column of smoke dispersing enveloped us altogether. Had it come upon us in all its thickest mass I doubt whether it would not have first stupefied and then choked us. As it was, we ran for it, and succeeded in running out of it. It affected me, I think, more powerfully than it did my companion, for he was the first to regain his speech. "Sir William, at any rate, saw nothing like that," said he, coughing triumphantly. I hope that I may never feel or smell anything like it again. This smoke is emitted from the earth at the bottom of a deep hole very similar to that above described. The sides of it all round are so steep that it is impossible to make even an attempt to descend it. By holding each other's hands we could look over into it one at a time, and see the very jaws in the rock from which the stream of sulphur ascends. It comes out quite yellow, almost a dark yellow, but gradually blanches as it expands in its course. These jaws in the rock are not in the centre of the bottom of the pit, but in a sharp angle, as it were, so that the smoke comes up against one side or wall, and that side is perfectly encrusted with the sulphur. It was at the end of the orifice, exactly opposite to this, that we knelt down and looked over. The smoke when it struck upon us, immediately above this wall, was hot and thick and full of brimstone. The stench for a moment was very bad; but the effect went off at once, as soon as we were out of it. The mild voice grasped my hand very tightly as he crept to the edge and looked over. "Ah!" he said, rejoicing greatly, "Sir William never saw that, nor any of his party; I am so glad I came again with you. I wonder whether anybody ever was here before." Hundreds doubtless have been, and thousands will be. Nine out of every ten men in London, between the ages of fifteen and fifty, would think little of the trouble and less of the danger of getting there; but I could not interfere with the triumph of my friend, so I merely remarked that it certainly was a very singular place. And then we had to reascend. It was now past eleven o'clock, and as yet we had had no breakfast, for I cannot call that cup of coffee which we took at starting a breakfast, even though the German architect handed to each of us from out of his bed a hunch of beef and a crust of bread. Luckily the air was clear for a while, so that we could see what we were about, and we began to climb up on the side opposite to that by which we had descended. And here I happened to mention that Miss Ouseley had commissioned me to get two bits of lava, one smooth and the other rough--unfortunately, for at once the mild voice declared that he had found two morsels which would exactly suit the lady's taste. I looked round, and, lo! there was my small friend with two huge stones, each weighing about twenty pounds, which, on the side of the mountain, he was endeavouring to pack under his arms. Now, the mountain here was very steep and very friable; the burnt shingle slipped from under our feet at every step; and, to make matters worse, we were climbing in a slanting direction. "My dear fellow, it would kill you to carry those lumps to the top," I said; "do not think of it." But he persevered. "There were no lumps of lava such as those," he said, "to be found at the top. They were just what Miss Ouseley wanted. He thought he would be able to manage with them. They were not so very heavy, if only the ground did not slip so much." I said what I could, but it was of no avail, and he followed me slowly with his sore burden. I never knew the weather change with such rapidity. At this moment the sun was bright and very hot, and I could hardly bear my coat on my shoulders as I crept up that hill. How my little friend followed with his shawl and the lava rocks I cannot conceive. But, to own the truth, going down hill suits me better than going up. Years and obesity tell upon the wind sooner than they do on the legs--so, at least, it is with me. Now my mild friend hardly weighed fifteen ounces, while I--! And then, when we were again on the ridge, it began to rain most gloriously. Hitherto we had had mist, but this was a regular down-pour of rain--such moisture as the Secretary of Legation had been praying for ever since we started. Again and again the mild voice offered me the shawl, which, when I refused it, he wrapped round the lumps of lava, scorning to be drier than his companion. From the summit to the ledge we had come down fast enough, but the ascent was very different. I, at any rate, was very tired, and my friend was by no means as fresh as he had been. We were both in want of food, and our clothes were heavy with wet. He also still carried his lumps of lava. At last, all raining as it was, I sat down. How far we might still be from the top I could not see; but be it far or be it near, nature required rest. I threw myself on the ground, and the mild voice not unwillingly crouched down close to me. "Now we can both have the shawl," said he, and he put it over our joint shoulders; that is, he put the shawl on mine while the fringe hung over his own. In half a minute we were both asleep, almost in each other's arms. Men when they sleep thus on a mountain-side in the rain do not usually sleep long. Forty winks is generally acknowledged. Our nap may have amounted to eighty each, but I doubt whether it was more. We started together, rubbed our eyes, jumped to our feet, and prepared ourselves for work. But, alas! where was the lava? My impression is that in my sleep I must have kicked the stones and sent them rolling. At any rate, they were gone. Dark and wet as it was, we both went down a yard or two, but it was in vain; nothing could be seen of them. The mild voice handed me the shawl, preparing to descend in their search; but this was too much. "You will only lose yourself," said I, laying hold of him, "and I shall have to look for your bones. Besides, I want my breakfast! We will get other specimens above." "And perhaps they will be just as good," said he, cheerfully, when he found that he would not be allowed to have his way. "Every bit," said I. And so we trudged on, and at last reached our mules. From this point men see, or think that they see, the two oceans--the Atlantic and the Pacific--and this sight to many is one of the main objects of the ascent. We saw neither the one ocean nor the other. We got back to the potrero about three, and found our German friends just sitting down to dinner. The architect was seated on his bed on one side of the table arranging the viands, while the doctor on the other scooped out the brains of a strange bird with a penknife. The latter operation he performed with a view of stuffing, not himself, but the animal. They pressed us to dine with them before we started, and we did so, though I must confess that the doctor's occupation rather set me against my food. "If it be not done at once," said he, apologizing, "it can't he done well;" and he scraped, and scraped, and wiped his knife against the edge of the little table on which the dishes were placed. What had become of the doctor's wife I do not know, but she was not at the potrero when we dined there. It was evening when we got into Cartago, and very tired we were. My mind, however, was made up to go on to San José that night, and ultimately I did so; but before starting, I was bound to repeat my visit to the English lady with whom my mild friend lived. Mrs. X---- was, and I suppose is, the only Englishwoman living in Cartago, and with that sudden intimacy which springs up with more than tropical celerity in such places, she told me the singular history of her married life. The reader would not care that I should repeat it at length, for it would make this chapter too long. Her husband had been engaged in mining operations, and she had come out to Guatemala with him in search of gold. From thence, after a period of partial success, he was enticed away into Costa Rica. Some speculation there, in which he or his partners were concerned, promised better than that other one in Guatemala, and he went, leaving his young wife and children behind him. Of course he was to return very soon, and of course he did not return at all. Mrs. X---- was left with her children searching for gold herself. "Every evening," she said, "I saw the earth washed myself, and took up with me to the house the gold that was found." What an occupation for a young Englishwoman, the mother of three children! At this time she spoke no Spanish, and had no one with her who spoke English. And then tidings came from her husband that he could not come to her, and she made up her mind to go to him. She had no money, the gold-washing having failed; her children were without shoes to their feet; she had no female companion; she had no attendant but one native man; and yet, starting from the middle of Guatemala, she made her way to the coast, and thence by ship to Costa Rica. After that her husband became engaged in what, in those countries, is called "transit." Now "transit" means the privilege of making money by transporting Americans of the United States over the isthmus to and from California, and in most hands has led to fraud, filibustering, ruin, and destruction. Mr. X----, like many others, was taken in, and according to his widow's account, the matter ended in a deputation being sent, from New York I think, to murder him. He was struck with a life-preserver in the streets of San José, never fully recovered from the blow, and then died. He had become possessed of a small estate in the neighbourhood of Cartago, on the proceeds of which the widow was now living. "And will you not return home?" I said. "Yes; when I have got my rights. Look here--" and she brought down a ledger, showing me that she had all manner of claims to all manner of shares in all manner of mines. "Aurum irrepertum et sic melius situm!" As regards her, it certainly would have been so. For a coined sovereign, or five-dollar piece, I have the most profound respect. It is about the most faithful servant that a man can have in his employment, and should be held as by no means subject to those scurrilous attacks which a pharisaically moral world so often levels at its head. But of all objects of a man's ambition, uncoined gold, gold to be collected in sand, or picked up in nuggets, or washed out of earth, is, to my thinking, the most delusive and most dangerous! Who knows, or has known, or ever seen, any man that has returned happy from the diggings, and now sits contented under his own fig-tree? My friend Mrs. X---- was still hankering after the flesh-pots of Egypt, the hidden gold of the Central American mountains. She slapped her hands loudly together, for she was a woman of much energy, and declared that she would have her rights. When she had gotten her rights she would go home. Alas! alas! poor lady! "And you," said I, to the mild voice, "will not you return?" "I suppose so," said he, "when Mrs. X---- goes;" and he looked up to the widow as though confessing that he was bound to her service, and would not leave her; not that I think they had the slightest idea of joining their lots together as men and women do. He was too mild for that. I did ride back to San José that night, and a most frightful journey I had of it. I resumed, of course, my speechless, useless, dolt of a guide--the man whom the Secretary of Legation had selected for me before I started. Again I put my spur on his foot, and endeavoured to spirit him up to ride before me, so that I might know my way in the dark; but it was in vain; nothing would move him out of a walk, and I was obliged to leave him. And then it became frightfully dark--pitch dark as men say--dark so that I could not see my mule's ears. I had nothing for it but to trust to her; and soon found, by being taken down into the deep bed of a river and through deep water, that we had left the road by which I had before travelled. The beast did not live in San José I knew, and I looked to be carried to some country rancho at which she would be at home. But in a time sufficiently short, I found myself in San José. The creature had known a shorter cut than that usually taken. CHAPTER XX. CENTRAL AMERICA--SAN JOSÉ TO GREYTOWN. My purpose was to go right through Central America, from ocean to ocean, and to accomplish this it was necessary that I should now make my way down to the mouth of the San Juan river--to San Juan del Norte as it was formerly called, or Greytown, as it is now named by the English. This road, I was informed by all of whom I inquired, was very bad,--so bad as to be all but impracticable to English travellers. And then, just at that moment, an event occurred which added greatly to the ill name of this route. A few days before I reached San José, a gentleman resident there had started for England with his wife, and they had decided upon going by the San Juan. It seems that the lady had reached San José, as all people do reach it, by Panamá and Punta-arenas, and had suffered on the route. At any rate, she had taken a dislike to it, and had resolved on returning by the San Juan and the Serapiqui rivers, a route which is called the Serapiqui road. To do this it is necessary for the traveller to ride on mules for four, five, or six days, according to his or her capability. The Serapiqui river is then reached, and from that point the further journey is made in canoes down the Serapiqui river till it falls into the San Juan, and then down that river to Greytown. This gentleman with his wife reached the Serapiqui in safety; though it seems that she suffered greatly on the road. But when once there, as she herself said, all her troubles were over. That weary work of supporting herself on her mule, through mud and thorns and thick bushes, of scrambling over precipices and through rivers, was done. She had been very despondent, even from before the time of her starting; but now, she said, she believed that she should live to see her mother again. She was seated in the narrow canoe, among cloaks and cushions, with her husband close to her, and the boat was pushed into the stream. Almost in a moment, within two minutes of starting, not a hundred yards from the place where she had last trod, the canoe struck against a snag or upturned fragment of a tree and was overset. The lady was borne by the stream among the entangled branches of timber which clogged the river, and when her body was found life had been long extinct. This had happened on the very day that I reached San José, and the news arrived two or three days afterwards. The wretched husband, too, made his way back to the town, finding himself unable to go on upon his journey alone, with such a burden on his back. What could he have said to his young wife's mother when she came to meet him at Southampton, expecting to throw her arms round her daughter? I was again lucky in having a companion for my journey. A young lieutenant of the navy, Fitzm---- by name, whose vessel was lying at Greytown, had made his way up to San José on a visit to the Ouseleys, and was to return at the same time that I went down. He had indeed travelled up with the bereaved man who had lost his wife, having read the funeral service over the poor woman's grave on the lonely shores of the Serapiqui. The road, he acknowledged, was bad, too bad, he thought, for any female; but not more than sufficiently so to make proper excitement for a man. He, at any rate, had come over it safely; but then he was twenty-four, and I forty-four; and so we started together from San José, a crowd of friends accompanying us for the first mile or two. There was that Secretary of Legation prophesying that we should be smothered in the mud; there was the Consul and the Consul's brother; nor was female beauty wanting to wish us well on our road, and maybe to fling an old shoe after us for luck as we went upon our journey. We took four mules, that was one each for ourselves, and two for our baggage; we had two guides or muleteers, according to bargain, both of whom travelled on foot. The understanding was, that one mule lightly laden with provisions and a pair of slippers and tooth-brush should accompany us, one man also going with us; but that the heavy-laden mule should come along after us at its own pace. Things, however, did not so turn out: on the first day both the men and both the mules lagged behind, and on one occasion we were obliged to wait above an hour for them; but after that we all kept in a string together, having picked up a third muleteer somewhere on the road. We had also with us a distressed British subject, who was intrusted to my tender mercies by the Consul at San José. He was not a good sample of a Britisher; he had been a gold-finder in California, then a filibuster, after that a teacher of the piano in the country part of Costa Rica, and lastly an omnibus driver. He was to act as interpreter for us, which, however, he did not do with much honesty or zeal. Our road at first lay through the towns of Aredia and Barba, the former of which is a pleasant-looking little village, where, however, we found great difficulty in getting anything to drink. Up to this, and for a few leagues further, the road was very fair, and the land on each side of us was cultivated. We had started at eight a.m., and at about three in the afternoon there seemed to be great doubt as to where we should stop. The leading muleteer wished to take us to a house of a friend of his own, whereas the lieutenant and I resolved that the day's work had not been long enough. I take it that on the whole we were right, and the man gave in with sufficient good humour; but it ended in our passing the night in a miserable rancho. That at the potrero, on the road to the volcanic mountain, had been a palace to it. And here we got into the forest; we had hitherto been ascending the whole way from San José, and had by degrees lost all appearance of tillage. Still, however, there had been open spaces here and there cleared for cattle, and we had not as yet found ourselves absolutely enveloped by woods. This rancho was called Buena-vista; and certainly the view from it was very pretty. It was pretty and extensive, as I have seen views in Baden and parts of Bavaria; but again there was nothing about which I could rave. I shall not readily forget the night in that rancho. We were, I presume, between seven and eight thousand feet above the sea-level; and at night, or rather early in the morning, the cold was very severe. Fitzm---- and I shared the same bed; that is, we lay on the same boards, and did what we could to cover ourselves with the same blankets. In that country men commonly ride upon blankets, having them strapped over the saddles as pillions, and we had come so provided; but before the morning was over I heartily wished for a double allowance. We had brought with us a wallet of provisions, certainly not too well arranged by Sir William Ouseley's most reprehensible butler. Travellers should never trust to butlers. Our piece de résistance was a ham, and lo! it turned out to be a bad one. When the truth of this fact first dawned upon us it was in both our minds to go back and slay that butler: but there was still a piece of beef and some chickens, and there had been a few dozen of hard-boiled eggs. But Fitzm---- would amuse himself with eating these all along the road: I always found when the ordinary feeding time came that they had not had the slightest effect upon his appetite. On the next morning we again ascended for about a couple of leagues, and as long as we did so the road was still good; the surface was hard, and the track was broad, and a horseman could wish nothing better. And then we reached the summit of the ridge over which we were passing; this we did at a place called Desenganos, and from thence we looked down into vast valleys all running towards the Atlantic. Hitherto the fall of water had been into the Pacific. At this place we found a vast shed, with numberless bins and troughs lying under it in great confusion. The facts, as far as I could learn, were thus: Up to this point the government, that is Don Juan Mora, or perhaps his predecessor, had succeeded in making a road fit for the transit of mule carts. This shed had also been built to afford shelter for the postmen and accommodation for the muleteers. But here Don Juan's efforts had been stopped; money probably had failed; and the great remainder of the undertaking will, I fear, be left undone for many a long year. And yet this, or some other road from the valley of San José to the Atlantic, would be the natural outlet of the country. At present the coffee grown in the central high lands is carried down to Punta-arenas on the Pacific, although it must cross the Atlantic to reach its market; consequently, it is either taken round the Horn, and its sale thus delayed for months, or it is transported across the isthmus by railway, at an enormous cost. They say there is a point at which the Atlantic may be reached more easily than by the present route of the Serapiqui river; nothing, however, has as yet been done in the matter. To make a road fit even for mule carts, by the course of the present track, would certainly be a work of enormous difficulty. And now our vexations commenced. We found that the path very soon narrowed, so much so that it was with difficulty we could keep our hats on our heads; and then the surface of the path became softer and softer, till our beasts were up to their knees in mud. All motion quicker than that of a walk became impossible; and even at this pace the struggles in the mud were both frequent and uncomfortable. Hitherto we had talked fluently enough, but now we became very silent; we went on following, each at the other's tail, floundering in the mud, silent, filthy, and down in the mouth. "I tell you what it is," said Fitzm---- at last, stopping on the road, for he had led the van, "I can't go any further without breakfast." We referred the matter to the guide, and found that Careblanco, the place appointed for our next stage, was still two hours distant. "Two hours! Why, half an hour since you said it was only a league!" But what is the use of expostulating with a man who can't speak a word of English? So we got off our mules, and draped out our wallet among the bushes. Our hard-boiled eggs were all gone, and it seemed as though the travelling did not add fresh delights to the cold beef; so we devoured another fowl, and washed it down with brandy and water. As we were so engaged three men passed us with heavy burdens on their backs. They were tall, thin, muscular fellows, with bare legs, and linen clothes,--one of them apparently of nearly pure Indian blood. It was clear that the loads they carried were very weighty. They were borne high up on the back, and suspended by a band from the forehead, so that a great portion of the weight must have fallen on the muscles of the neck. This was the post; and as they had left San José some eight hours after us, and had come by a longer route, so as to take in another town, they must have travelled at a very fast pace. It was our object to go down the Serapiqui river in the same boat with the post. We had some doubt whether we should be able to get any other, seeing that the owner of one such canoe had been drowned, I believe in an endeavour to save the unfortunate lady of whom I have spoken; and any boat taken separately would be much more expensive. So, as quick as might be, we tied up our fragments and proceeded. It was after this that I really learned how all-powerful is the force of mud. We came at last to a track that was divided crossways by ridges, somewhat like the ridges of ploughed ground. Each ridge was perhaps a foot and a half broad, and the mules invariably stepped between them, not on them. Stepping on them they could not have held their feet. Stepping between them they came at each step with their belly to the ground, so that the rider's feet and legs were trailing in the mud. The struggles of the poor brutes were dreadful. It seemed to me frequently impossible that my beast should extricate himself, laden as he was. But still he went on patiently, slowly, and continuously; splash, splash; slosh, slosh! Every muscle of his body was working; and every muscle of my body was working also. For it is not very easy to sit upon a mule under such circumstances. The bushes were so close upon me that one hand was required to guard my face from the thorns; my knees were constantly in contact with the stumps of trees, and when my knees were free from such difficulties, my shins were sure to be in the wars. Then the poor animal rolled so from side to side in his incredible struggles with the mud that it was frequently necessary to hold myself on by the pommel of the saddle. Added to this, it was essentially necessary to keep some sort of guide upon the creature's steps, or one's legs would be absolutely broken. For the mule cares for himself only, and not for his rider. It is nothing to him if a man's knees be put out of joint against the stump of a tree. Splash, splash, slosh, slosh! on we went in this way for hours, almost without speaking. On such occasions one is apt to become mentally cross, to feel that the world is too hard for one, that one's own especial troubles are much worse than those of one's neighbours, and that those neighbours are unfairly favoured. I could not help thinking it very unjust that I should be fifteen stone, while Fitzm---- was only eight. And as for that distressed Britisher, he weighed nothing at all. Splash, splash, slosh, slosh! we were at it all day. At Careblanco--the place of the _white-faced pigs_ I understood it to mean;--they say that there is a race of wild hogs with white faces which inhabit the woods hereabouts--we overtook the post, and kept close to them afterwards. This was a pasture farm in the very middle of the forest, a bit of cleared land on which some adventurer had settled himself and dared to live. The adventurer himself was not there, but he had a very pretty wife, with whom my friend the lieutenant seemed to have contracted an intimate acquaintance on his previous journey up to San José. But at Careblanco we only stopped two minutes, during which, however, it became necessary that the lieutenant should go into the rancho on the matter of some article of clothes which had been left behind on his previous journey; and then, again, on we went, slosh, slosh, splash, splash! My shins by this time were black and blue, and I held myself on to my mule chiefly by my spurs. Our way was still through dense forest, and was always either up or down hill. And here we came across the grandest scenery that I met with in the western world; scenery which would admit of raving, if it were given to me to rave on such a subject. We were travelling for the most part along the side of a volcanic mountain, and every now and then the declivity would become so steep as to give us a full view down into the ravine below, with the prospect of the grand, steep, wooded hill on the other side, one huge forest stretching up the mountain for miles. At the bottom of the ravine one's eye would just catch a river, looking like a moving thread of silver wire. And yet, though the descent was so great, there would be no interruption to it. Looking down over the thick forest trees which grew almost from the side of a precipice, the eye would reach the river some thousand feet below, and then ascend on the other side over a like unbroken expanse of foliage. Of course we both declared that we had never seen anything to equal it. In moments of ecstasy one always does so declare. But there was a monotony about it, and a want of grouping which forbids me to place it on an equality with scenery really of the highest kind, with the mountains, for instance, round Colico, with the head of the Lake of the Four Cantons, or even with the views of the upper waters of Killarney. And then, to speak the truth, we were too much engulfed in mud, too thoughtful as to the troubles of the road, to enjoy it thoroughly. "Wonderful that; isn't it?" "Yes, very wonderful; fine break; for heaven's sake do get on." That is the tone which men are apt to adopt under such circumstances. Five or six pounds of thick mud clinging round one's boots and inside one's trousers do not add to one's enjoyment of scenery. Mud, mud; mud, mud! At about five o'clock we splashed into another pasture farm in the middle of the forest, a place called San Miguel, and there we rested for that night. Here we found that our beef also must be thrown away, and that our bread was all gone. We had picked up some more hard-boiled eggs at ranchos on the road, but hard-boiled eggs to my companion were no more than grains of gravel to a barn-door fowl; they merely enabled him to enjoy his regular diet. At this place, however, we were able to purchase fowls--skinny old hens which were shot for us at a moment's warning. The price being, here and elsewhere along the road, a dollar a head. Tea and candles a ministering angel had given to me at the moment of my departure from San José. But for them we should have indeed been comfortless, thirsty, and in utter darkness. Towards evening a man gets tired of brandy and water, when he has been drinking it since six in the morning. Our washing was done under great difficulties, as in these districts neither nature nor art seems to have provided for such emergencies. In this place I got my head into a tin pot, and could hardly extricate it. But even inside the houses and ranchos everything seemed to turn into mud. The floor beneath one's feet became mud with the splashing of the water. The boards were begrimed with mud. We were offered coffee that was mud to the taste and touch. I felt that the blood in my veins was becoming muddy. And then we had another day exactly like the former, except that the ground was less steep, and the vistas of scenery less grand. The weather also was warmer, seeing that we were now on lower ground. Monkeys chattered on the trees around us, and the little congo ape roared like a lion. Macaws flew about, generally in pairs; and we saw white turkeys on the trees. Up on the higher forests we had seen none of these animals. There are wild hogs also in these woods, and ounces. The ounce here is, I believe, properly styled the puma, though the people always call them lions. They grow to about the size of a Newfoundland dog. The wild cat also is common here, the people styling them tigers. The xagua is, I take it, their proper name. None of these animals will, I believe, attack a man unless provoked or pressed in pursuit; and not even then if a way of escape be open to him. We again breakfasted at a forest clearing, paying a dollar each for tough old hens, and in the evening we came to a cacao plantation in the middle of the forest which had been laid out and settled by an American of the United States residing in Central America. This place is not far from the Serapiqui river, and is called Padregal. It was here that the young lieutenant had read the funeral service over the body of that unfortunate lady. I went with him to visit the grave. It was a spot in the middle of a grass enclosure, fenced off rudely so as to guard it from beasts of prey. The funeral had taken place after dusk. It had been attended by some twelve or fourteen Costa Rican soldiers who are kept in a fort a little below, on the banks of the Serapiqui. Each of these men had held a torch. The husband was there, and another Englishman who was travelling with him; as was also, I believe, the proprietor of the place. So attended, the body of the Englishwoman was committed to its strange grave in a strange country. Here we picked up another man, an American, who also had been looking for gold, and perhaps doing a turn as a filibuster. Him too the world had used badly, and he was about to return with all his golden dreams unaccomplished. We had one more stage down to the spot at which we were to embark in the canoe--the spot at which the lady had been drowned--and this one we accomplished early in the morning. This place is called the Muelle, and here there is a fort with a commandant and a small company of soldiers. The business of the commandant is to let no one up or down the river without a passport; and as a passport cannot be procured anywhere nearer than San José, here may arise a great difficulty to travellers. We were duly provided, but our recently-picked-up American friend was not; and he was simply told that he would not be allowed to get into a boat on the river. "I never seed such a d----d country in my life," said the American. "They would not let me leave San José till I paid every shilling I owed; and now that I have paid, I ain't no better off. I wish I hadn't paid a d----d cent." I advised him to try what some further operation in the way of payment would do, and with this view he retired with the commandant. In a minute or two they both returned, and the commandant said he would look at his instructions again. He did so, and declared that he now found it was compatible with his public duty to allow the American to pass. "But I shall not have a cent left to take me home," said the American to me. He was not a smart man, though he talked smart. For when the moment of departure came all the places in the boat were taken, and we left him standing on the shore. "Well, I'm darned!" he said; and we neither heard nor saw more of him. That passage down the Serapiqui was not without interest, though it was somewhat monotonous. Here, for the first time in my life, I found my bulk and size to be of advantage to me. In the after part of the canoe sat the master boatman, the captain of the expedition, steering with a paddle. Then came the mails and our luggage, and next to them I sat, having a seat to myself, being too weighty to share a bench with a neighbour. I therefore could lean back among the luggage; and with a cigar in my mouth, with a little wooden bicher of weak brandy and water beside me, I found that the position had its charms. On the next thwart sat, cheek by jowl, the lieutenant and the distressed Britisher. Unfortunately they had nothing on which to lean, and I sincerely pitied my friend, who, I fear, did not enjoy his position. But what could I do? Any change in our arrangements would have upset the canoe. And then close in the bow of the boat sat the two natives paddling; and they did paddle without cessation all that day, and all the next till we reached Greytown. The Serapiqui is a fine river; very rapid, but not so much so as to make it dangerous, if care be taken to avoid the snags. There is not a house or hut on either side of it; but the forest comes down to the very brink. Up in the huge trees the monkeys hung jabbering, shaking their ugly heads at the boat as it went down, or screaming in anger at this invasion of their territories. The macaws flew high over head, making their own music, and then there was the constant little splash of the paddle in the water. The boatmen spoke no word, but worked on always, pausing now and again for a moment to drink out of the hollow of their hands. And the sun became hotter and hotter as we neared the sea; and the musquitoes began to bite; and cigars were lit with greater frequency. 'Tis thus that one goes down the waters of the Serapiqui. About three we got into the San Juan. This is the river by which the great lake of Nicaragua empties itself into the sea; which has been the channel used by the transit companies who have passed from ocean to ocean through Nicaragua; which has been so violently interfered with by filibusters, till all such transit has been banished from its waters; and which has now been selected by M. Belly as the course for his impossible canal. It has seen dreadful scenes of cruelty, wrong, and bloodshed. Now it runs along peaceably enough, in its broad, shallow, swift course, bearing on its margin here and there the rancho and provision-ground of some wild settler who has sought to overcome "The whips and scorns of time-- The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely," by looking for bread and shelter on those sad, sunburnt, and solitary banks. We landed at one such place to dine, and at another to sleep, selecting in each place some better class of habitation. At neither place did we find the owner there, but persons left in charge of the place. At the first the man was a German; a singularly handsome and dirty individual, who never shaved or washed himself, and lived there, ever alone, on bananas and musk-melons. He gave us fruit to take into the boat with us, and when we parted we shook hands with him. Out here every one always does shake hands with every one. But as I did so I tendered him a dollar. He had waited upon us, bringing water and plates; he had gathered fruit for us; and he was, after all, no more than the servant of the river squatter. But he let the dollar fall to the ground, and that with some anger in his face. The sum was made up of the small silver change of the country, and I felt rather little as I stooped under the hot sun to pick it up from out the mud of the garden. Better that than seem to leave it there in anger. It is often hard for a traveller to know when he is wished to pay, and when he is wished not to pay. A poorer-looking individual in raiment and position than that German I have seldom seen; but he despised my dollar as though it had been dirt. We slept at the house of a Greytown merchant, who had maintained an establishment up the river, originally with the view of supplying the wants of the American travellers passing in transit across the isthmus. The flat-bottom steamers which did some five or six years since ply upon the river used to take in wood here and stop for the night. And the passengers were wont to come on shore, and call for rum and brandy; and in this way much money was made. Till after a time filibusters came instead of passengers; men who took all the wood that they could find there--hundreds of dollars' worth of sawn wood, and brandy also--took it away with them, saying that they would give compensation when they were established in the country, but made no present payment. And then it became tolerably clear that the time for making money in that locality had passed away. They came in great numbers on one such occasion, and stripped away everything they could find. Sawn wood for their steam-boilers was especially desirable, and they took all that had been prepared for the usual wants of the river. Having helped themselves to this, and such other chattels as were at the moment needed and at hand, they went on their way, grimly rejoicing. On the following day most of them returned; some without arms, some without legs, some even without heads; a wretched, wounded, mutilated, sore-struck body of filibusters. The boiler of their large steamer had burst, scattering destruction far and near. It was current among the filibusters that the logs of wood had been laden with gunpowder in order to effect this damage. It is more probable, that being filibusters, rough and ready as the phrase goes, they had not duly looked to their engineering properties. At any rate, they all returned. On the whole, these filibusters have suffered dire punishment for their sins. At any rate, the merchant under whose roof we slept received no payment for his wood. Here we found two men living, not in such squalid misery as that independent German, but nevertheless sufficiently isolated from the world. One was an old Swedish sailor, who seemed to speak every language under the sun, and to have been in every portion of the globe, whether under the sun or otherwise. At any rate, we could not induce him to own to not having been in any place. Timbuctoo; yes, indeed, he had unfortunately been a captive there for three years. At Mecca he had passed as an Arab among the Arabs, having made the great pilgrimage in company with many children of Mahomet, wearing the green turban as a veritable child of Mahomet himself. Portsmouth he knew well, having had many a row about the Head. We could not catch him tripping, though we put him through his facings to the best of our joint geographical knowledge. At present he was a poor gardener on the San Juan river, having begun life as a lieutenant in the Swedish navy. _He_ had seen too much of the world to refuse the dollar which was offered to him. On the next morning we reached Greytown, following the San Juan river down to that pleasant place. There is another passage out to the sea by the Colorado, a branch river which, striking out from the San Juan, runs into the ocean by a shorter channel. This also has been thought of as a course for the projected canal, preferable to that of the San Juan. I believe them to be equally impracticable. The San Juan river itself is so shallow that we were frequently on the ground even in our light canoe. And what shall I say of Greytown? We have a Consul-General there, or at least had one when these pages were written; a Consul-General whose duty it is, or was, to have under his special care the King of Mosquitia--as some people are pleased to call this coast--of the Mosquito coast as it is generally styled. Bluefields, further along the coast, is the chosen residence of this sable tyrant; but Greytown is the capital of his dominions. Now it is believed that, in deference to the feelings of the United States, and to the American reading of the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, and in deference, I may add, to a very sensible consideration that the matter is of no possible moment to ourselves, the protectorate of the Mosquito coast is to be abandoned. What the king will do I cannot imagine; but it will be a happy day I should think for our Consul when he is removed from Greytown. Of all the places in which I have ever put my foot, I think that is the most wretched. It is a small town, perhaps of two thousand inhabitants, though this on my part is a mere guess, at the mouth of the San Juan, and surrounded on every side either by water or impassable forests. A walk of a mile in any direction would be impossible, unless along the beach of the sea; but this is of less importance, as the continual heat would prevent any one from thinking of such exercise. Sundry Americans live here, worshipping the almighty dollar as Americans do, keeping liquor shops and warehouses; and with the Americans, sundry Englishmen and sundry Germans. Of the female population I saw nothing except some negro women, and one white, or rather red-faced owner of a rum shop. The native population are the Mosquito Indians; but it seems that they are hardly allowed to live in Greytown. They are to be seen paddling about in their canoes, selling a few eggs and chickens, catching turtle, and not rarely getting drunk. They would seem from their colour and physiognomy to be a cross between the negro and the Indian; and such I imagine to be the case. They have a language of their own, but those on the coast almost always speak English also. My gallant young friend, Fitzm----, was in command of a small schooner inside the harbour of Greytown. As the accommodation of the city itself was not inviting, I gladly took up my quarters under his flag until the English packet, which was then hourly expected, should be ready to carry me to Colon and St. Thomas. I can only say that if I was commander of that schooner I would lie outside the harbour, so as to be beyond the ill-usage of those frightful musquitoes. The country has been well named Mosquitia. There was an American man-of-war and also an English man-of-war--sloops-of-war both I believe technically--lying off Greytown; and we dined on board them both, on two consecutive days. Of the American I will say, speaking in their praise, that I never ate such bacon and peas. It may be that the old hens up the Serapiqui river had rendered me peculiarly susceptible to such delights; but nevertheless, I shall always think that there was something peculiar about the bacon and peas on board the American sloop-of-war 'St. Louis.' And on the second day the steamer came in; the 'Trent,' Captain Moir; we then dined on board of her, and on the same night she sailed for Colon. And when shall I see that gallant young lieutenant again? Putting aside his unjust, and I must say miraculous consumption of hard-boiled eggs, I could hardly wish for a better travelling companion. CHAPTER XXI. CENTRAL AMERICA--RAILWAYS, CANALS, AND TRANSIT. How best to get about this world which God has given us is certainly one of the most interesting subjects which men have to consider, and one of the most interesting works on which men can employ themselves. The child when born is first suckled, then fed with a spoon; in his next stage, his food is cut up for him, and he begins to help himself; for some years after that it is still carved under parental authority; and then at last he sits down to the full enjoyment of his own leg of mutton, under his own auspices. Our development in travelling has been much of the same sort, and we are now perhaps beginning to use our own knife and fork, though we hardly yet understand the science of carving; or at any rate, can hardly bring our hands to the duly dexterous use of the necessary tools. We have at least got so far as this, that we perceive that the leg of mutton is to be cooked and carved. We are not to eat hunks of raw sheep cut off here and there. The meat to suit our palates should be put on a plate in the guise of a cleanly slice, cut to a certain thickness, and not exceeding a certain size. And we have also got so far as this, that we know that the world must be traversed by certain routes, prepared for us originally not by ourselves, but by the hand of God. We were great heroes when we first got round the Cape of Good Hope, when we first crossed the Atlantic, when we first doubled Cape Horn. We were then learning to pick up our crumbs with our earliest knives and forks, and there was considerable peril in the attempt. We have got beyond that now, and have perceived that we may traverse the world without going round it. The road from Europe to Asia is by Egypt and the Isthmus of Suez, not by the Cape of Good Hope. So also is the road from Europe to the West of America, and from the east of America to Asia by the isthmus of Central America, and not by Cape Horn. We have found out this, and have, I presume, found out also that this was all laid out for us by the hands of the Creator,--prepared exactly as the sheep have been prepared. It has been only necessary that we should learn to use the good things given us. That there are reasons why the way should not have been made absolutely open we may well suppose, though we cannot perhaps at present well understand. How currents of the sea might have run so as to have impeded rather than have assisted navigation, had the two Americas been disjoined; how pernicious winds might have blown, and injurious waters have flowed, had the Red Sea opened into the Mediterranean, we may imagine, though we cannot know. That the world's surface, as formed by God, is best for God's purposes, and therefore certainly best for man's purposes, that most of us must believe. But it is for us to carve the good things which are put before us, and to find out the best way in which they may be carved. We may, perhaps, fairly think that we have done much towards acquiring this knowledge, but we certainly know that there is more yet to be done. We have lines of railways from London to Manchester; from Calais across France and all the Germanies to Eastern Europe; from the coast of Maine, through the Canadas, to the central territories of the United States; but there are no lines yet from New York to California, nor from the coast of the Levant to Bombay and Calcutta. But perhaps the two greatest points which are at this moment being mooted, with reference to the carriage about the world of mankind and man's goods, concern the mode in which we may most advantageously pass across the isthmuses of Suez and Panama. These are the two land obstacles in the way of navigation, of direct water carriage round the earth's belt--obstacles as they appear to us, though in truth so probably locks formed by the Almighty for the assistance of our navigation. For many years, it is impossible to say how many, but for some few centuries as regards Panama, and for many centuries as regards Suez, this necessity has been felt, and the minds of men in those elder days inclined naturally to canals. In the days of the old kings of Egypt, antecedent to Cleopatra, attempts were made to cut through the sands and shallow lakes from the eastern margin of the Nile's delta to the Red Sea; and the idea of piercing Central America in some point occurred to the Spaniards immediately on their discovering the relative position of the two oceans. But in those days men were infants, not as yet trusted with the carving-knife. The work which unsuccessfully filled the brains of so many thoughtful men for so many years has now been done--at any rate to a degree. Railways have been completed from Alexandria on the Mediterranean to Suez on the Red Sea, and from Panama on the Pacific, to Aspinwall or Colon on the Caribbean Sea. These railways are now at work, and passengers are carried across with sufficient rapidity. The Isthmus of Suez, over which the line of railway runs for something over two hundred miles, creates a total delay to our Indian mails and passengers of twenty-four hours only, and the lesser distance of the American isthmus is traversed in three hours. Were rapidity here as necessary as it is in the other case--and it will doubtless become so--the conveyance from one sea to the other need not create a delay of above twelve hours. But not the less are many men--good and scientific men too--keenly impressed with the idea that the two isthmuses should be pierced with canals, although these railways are at work. All mankind has heard much of M. Lesseps and his Suez canal. On that matter I do not mean to say much here. I have a very strong opinion that such canal will not and cannot be made; that all the strength of the arguments adduced in the matter are hostile to it; and that steam navigation by land will and ought to be the means of transit through Egypt. But that matter is a long way distant from our present subject. It is with reference to the transit over the other isthmus that I propose to say a few words. It is singular, or perhaps if rightly considered not singular, that both the railways have been constructed mainly by Anglo-Saxon science and energy, and under the pressure of Anglo-Saxon influence; while both the canal schemes most prevalent at the present day owe their repute to French eloquence and French enthusiasm. M. Lesseps is the patron of the Suez canal, and M. Belly of that which is, or is not to be, constructed from San Juan del Norte, or Greytown, to the shores of the Pacific. There are three proposed methods of crossing the isthmus, that by railway, that by canal, and a third by the ordinary use of such ordinary means of conveyance as the land and the waters of the country afford. As regards railway passage, one line being now open and at work, has those nine points in its favour which possession gives. It does convey men and goods across with great rapidity, and is a reality, doing that which it pretends to do. Its charges, however, are very high; and it would doubtless be well if competition, or fear of competition, could be made to lower them. Five pound is charged for conveying a passenger less than fifty miles; no class of passengers can cross at a cheaper fare; and the rates charged for goods are as high in comparison. On the other side, it may be said that the project was one of great risk, that the line was from its circumstances very costly, having been made at an expense of about thirty-two thousand pounds a mile--I believe, however, that a considerable portion of the London and Birmingham line was equally expensive--and that trains by which money can be made cannot run often, perhaps only six or seven times a month each way. It is, however, very desirous that the fares should be lowered, and the great profits accruing to the railway prove that this may be done. Eventually they doubtless will be lowered. The only other line of railway which now seems to be spoken of as practicable for the passage of the isthmus is one the construction of which has been proposed across the republic of Honduras, from a spot called Port Cortez, in the Bay of Honduras, on the northern or Atlantic side, to some harbour to be chosen in the Bay of Fonseca, on the southern or Pacific side. Mr. Squier, who was Chargé d'Affaires from the United States to Central America, and whose work on the republics of Central America is well known, strongly advocates this line, showing in the first place that from its position it would suit the traffic of the United States much better than that of Panama; as undoubtedly it would, seeing that the transit from New York to California, viâ Panama, must go down south as far as latitude 7° north; whereas, by the proposed route through Honduras it need not descend below lat. 13° north, thus saving double that distance in the total run each way.* Mr. Squier then goes on to prove that the country of Honduras is in every way suited for the purposes of a railway; but here I am not sure that he carries me with him. The road would have to ascend nearly three thousand feet above the sea-level; and though it may be true that the grades themselves would not be more severe than many that are now to be found on railways in full work in other countries, nevertheless it must be felt that the overcoming such an altitude in such a country, and the working over it when overcome, would necessarily add greatly to the original cost of the line, and the subsequent cost of running. The Panama line goes through a country comparatively level. Then the distance across Honduras is one hundred and fifty miles, and it is computed that the line would be two hundred miles: the length of the Panama line is forty-seven or forty-eight miles. [*Not that we may take all that Mr. Squier says on this subject as proved. His proposed route for the traffic of the United States is from the western coast of Florida to the chosen port, Port Cortez, in Honduras; and he attempts to show that this is pretty nearly the only possible passage in those seas free from hurricanes and danger. But this passage is right across the Gulf of Mexico, and vessels would have to stem the full force of the gulf-stream on their passage down from Florida. In all such matters where a man becomes warm on a scheme he feels himself compelled to prove that the gods themselves have pointed out the plan as the only one fit for adoption, as the only one free from all evil and blessed with every advantage. We are always over-proving our points.] The enormous cost of the Panama line arose from the difficulty of obtaining the necessary sort of labour. The natives would not work as they were wanted, and Europeans died there; so that, at last, labour was imported from the coast of New Granada. At the high level named as the summit of the Honduras route, the climate would no doubt be comparatively mild, and labour easy to be borne; but near the coast of the Bays, both of Honduras and Fonseca, the heat would be as great as at Aspinwall and Panama, and the effects probably the same. As regards our British traffic, the route by the Isthmus of Panama is the better situated of the two. Looking at a map of the world--and it is necessary to take in the whole world, in order that the courses of British trade may be seen--it does not seem to be of much consequence, as regards distance, whether a bale of goods from London to Sydney should pass the isthmus by Honduras or Panama; but in fact, even for this route, the former would labour under great disadvantages. A ship in making its way from Honduras up to Jamaica has to fight against the trade winds. On this account our mail steamer from Belize to Jamaica is timed only at four miles an hour, though the mail to Honduras is timed at eight miles an hour. This would be the direct route from the terminus of the Honduras line to Europe, and matters would be made only worse if any other line were taken. But the track from Panama to Jamaica is subject to what sailors call a soldier's wind; even working to St. Thomas, and thereby getting a stronger slant of the trade winds against them, our mail steamers can make eight or nine miles an hour. As regards our trade to Chili and Peru, it is clear that Honduras is altogether out of our way; and as regards our coming trade to Frazer River and Vancouver's Island, though the absolute distance, via Honduras, would be something shorter, that benefit would be neutralized by the disadvantageous position of the Bay of Honduras as above explained. But the great advantage which the Panama line enjoys is the fact of its being already made. _It has the nine points which possession gives it._ Its forty-eight miles cost one million six hundred thousand pounds. It cannot be presumed that two hundred miles through Honduras could be made for double that sum; and seeing that the Honduras line would be in opposition to the other, and only be used if running at fares lower than those of its rival, I cannot see how it would pay, or where the money is to be procured. I am not aware that the absolute cost of the proposed line through Honduras has been accurately computed. As regards the public interest, two lines would no doubt be better than one. Competition is always beneficial to the consumer; but in this case, I do not expect to see the second line made in our days. That there will in future days be a dozen ways of commodiously crossing the isthmus--when we have thoroughly learned how best to carve our leg of mutton--I do not at all doubt. It may be as well to state here that England is bound by a treaty with Honduras, made in 1836, to assist in furthering the execution of this work by our countenance, aid, and protection, on condition that when made, we Britishers are to have the full use of it; as much so, at least, as any other people or nation. And that, as I take it, is the sole and only meaning of all those treaties made on our behalf with Central America, or in respect to Central America--Clayton-Bulwer treaty, new Ouseley treaty, and others; namely, that we, who are desirous of excluding no person from the benefits of this public world-road, are not ourselves to be excluded on any consideration whatever. And may we not boast that this is the only object looked for in all our treaties and diplomatic doings? Is it not for that reason that we hold Gibraltar, are jealous about Egypt, and resolved to have Perim in our power? Is it not true that we would fain make all ways open to all men? that we would have them open to ourselves, certainly; but not closed against any human being? If that, and such like, be not what our diplomatists are doing, then I, for one, misunderstand their trade. So much for the two railways, and now as to the proposed canals. Here no happy undertaking can boast of the joys of possession. No canal is as yet open carrying men and goods with, shall we say, twenty-five per cent. profit on the outlay. Ah, that is an elysium which does not readily repeat itself. Oh, thou thrice happy Colonel Totten, who hast constructed a railway resulting in such celestial beatitude! The name of canals projected across the isthmus has been legion, and the merits of them all have in their time been hotly pressed by their special advocates. That most to the north, which was the passage selected by Cortes, and pressed by him on the Spanish government, would pass through Mexico. The line would be from the Gulf of Campechay, up the river Coatzacoalcoz, to Tehuantepec, on the Pacific. This was advocated as lately as 1845, but has now, I believe, been abandoned as impracticable. Going south down the map, the next proposition of which I can find mention is for a canal from the head of the Lake of Dulce through the state of Guatemala; the Lake or Gulf of Dulce being at the head of the Gulf of Honduras. This also seems to have been abandoned. Then we come to the proposed Honduras railway, of which mention has been made. Next below this we reach a cluster of canals, all going through the great inland lake of Nicaragua. This scheme, or one of these schemes, has also been in existence since the times of the early Spaniards; and has been adhered to with more or less pertinacity ever since. This Lake of Nicaragua was to be reached either direct by the river San Juan, or by entering the river San Juan from the ocean by the river Colorado, which is in effect a branch of the San Juan; the projected canal would thus ascend to the lake. From thence to the Pacific various passages for egress have been suggested; at first it was intended, naturally, to get out at the nearest practicable point, that being probably at San Juan del Sur. They have San Juans and San Josés quite at pleasure about these countries. Then came the grand plan of the present French emperor, bearing at least his name, and first published, I think, in 1846; this was a very grand plan, of course. The route of "transit" was to be right up the Lake of Nicaragua to its northern point; there the canal was to enter the River Tipitapa, and come out again in the northern Lake of Managua; from thence it was to be taken out to the Pacific at the port of Realejo. This project included the building of an enormous city, which was to contain the wealth of the new world, and to be, as it were, a new Constantinople between the two lakes; but the scheme has been abandoned as being too costly, too imperial. And now we have M. Belly's scheme; his scheme and pamphlet of which I will say a few words just now, and therefore I pass on to the others. The line of the River Chargres, and from thence to the town of Panama--being very nearly the line of the present railway--was long contemplated with favour, but has now been abandoned as impracticable; as has also the line over the Isthmus of Darien, which was for a while thought to be the most feasible, as being the shortest. The lie of the land, however, and the nature of the obstacles to be overcome, have put this scheme altogether out of the question. Next and last is the course of the River Atrato, which runs into the Gulf of Darien, but which is, in fact, the first of the great rivers of South America; first, that is, counting them as commencing from the isthmus. It runs down from the Andes parallel to the coast of the Pacific, and is navigable for many miles. The necessary surveys, however, for connecting this river with the Pacific have never yet been made; and even if this plan were practicable, the extremely low latitude at which the Pacific ocean would be reached would make such a line bad for our trade, and quite out of the question for the chief portion of the American "transit." It appears, therefore, that there are insuperable objections to all these canal routes, unless it be to some route passing through the Lake of Nicaragua. By reference to a map of Central America it will be seen that the waters of this lake, joined to those of the San Juan river, comprise the breadth of nearly the whole isthmus, leaving a distance not exceeding twenty miles to be conquered by a canal. At first sight this appears to be very enticing, and M. Belly has been enticed. He has been enticed, or at any rate writes as though this were the case; anything worded more eloquently, energetically, and grandiloquently, than his pamphlet in favour of this route I have not met, even among French pamphlets. M. Felix Belly describes himself as a "publiciste," and chevalier of the order of Saint Maurice and Lazarus, and of the order of Medjidie. As such he has made a convention with Don Thomas Martinez, President of the republic of Nicaragua, and with Don Juan Rafael Mora, President of the republic of Costa Rica, in accordance with which he, Chevalier Belly, is to cut a canal or water-route for ships through the territories of those potentates, obtaining thereby certain vast privileges, including the possession of no small portion of those territories, and the right of levying all manner of tolls on the world's commerce which is to pass through his canal. And the potentates above named are in return to receive from M. Belly very considerable subsidies out of these tolls. They bind themselves, moreover, to permit no other traffic or transit through their country, securing to M. Belly for ninety-nine years the monopoly of the job; and granting to him the great diplomatic privilege of constituting his canal, let it be here or there, the boundary of the realms of these two potentates. What strikes me with the greatest wonder on reading--not the pamphlet, for that is perhaps more wonderful in other respects--but the articles of the convention, is, that these three persons, the potentates aforesaid and the chevalier, should have among them the power of doing all this; or that they should even have had the power of agreeing to do all this; for really up to this period one seems hardly to have heard in England much about any one of them. That there should be presidents of these two republics is supposed, as there are also, doubtless, of San Salvador and Venezuela, and all the other western republics; but it is to be presumed that as presidents of republics they can have themselves no more power to give away a ninety-nine years' possession of their lands and waters than can any other citizen. Mr. Buchanan could hardly sell to any Englishman, however enterprising, the right of making a railway from New York to San Francisco. The convention does certainly bear two other signatures, which purport to be those of the ministers of foreign affairs attached to those two republics; but even this hardly seems to give us a sufficient guarantee of power. What if we should put our money into the canal, and future presidents should refuse to be bound by the agreement? But M. Belly's name stands on his side alone. No foreign minister or aide-de-camp is necessary to back his signature. The two potentates having agreed to give the country, he will agree to make the canal--he, M. Belly, Publiciste and Chevalier. It is to cost altogether, according to his account, 120,000,000 francs--say, four million eight hundred thousand pounds sterling. Of a company, chairman, and directors we hear nothing. We cannot find that the shares are in the market. Probably they may be too valuable. On our own Stock Exchange the matter does not seem to be much known, nor do we perceive that it is quoted among French prices. Nevertheless, M. Belly has the four million eight hundred thousand pounds already in his breeches-pockets, and he will make the canal. I wonder whether he would drain London for us if we were to ask him. But wonderful as is the fact that these three gentlemen should be about to accomplish this magnificent undertaking for the world, the eloquence of the language in which the undertaking is described is perhaps more wonderful still. "On the first of May, 1858, at Rivas, in Nicaragua, in the midst of a concourse of circumstances full of grandeur, a convention was signed which opens to civilization a new view and unlimited horizons. The hour has come for commencing with resolution this enterprise of cutting the Isthmus of Panama. ... The solution of the problem must be no longer retarded. It belongs to an epoch which has given to itself the mission of pulling down barriers and suppressing distances. It must be regarded, not as a private speculation, but as a creation of public interest--not as the work of this people or that party, but as springing from civilization itself." Then M. Belly goes on to say that this project, emanating from a man sympathetic with the cause and a witness of the heroism of Central America, namely himself, possesses advantages--which of course could not attach to any scheme devised by a less godlike being. It may be seen that I have no great belief in the scheme of M. Belly; neither have I in many other schemes of the present day emanating from Englishmen, Americans, and others. But it is not that disbelief, but my admiration for French eloquence which urges me to make the above translation. Alas! I feel that I have lost so much of the Gallic fragrance! The Parisian aroma has escaped from the poor English words! Is not this peculiar eloquence used in propagating all French projects for increased civilization? From the invention of a new constitution to that of a new shirt is it even wanting? We, with our stupid, unimaginative platitudes, know no better than to write up "Eureka" when we think we have discovered anything; but a Frenchman tells his countrymen that they need no longer be mortals; a new era has come; let them wear his slippers and they will walk as gods walk. How many new eras have there not been? Who is not sick of the grandiloquence of French progress? "Now--now we have taken the one great step. The dove at length may nestle with the kite, the lamb drink with the wolf. Men may share their goods, certain that others will share with them. Labour and wages, work and its reward, shall be systematized. Now we have done it, and the world shall be happy." Well; perhaps the French world is happy. It may be that the liberty which they have propagated, the equality which they enjoy, and the fraternity which they practise, is fit for them! But when has truly mighty work been heralded by magniloquence? Did we have any grand words from old George Stephenson, with his "vera awkward for the cou"? Was there aught of the eloquent sententiousness of a French marshal about the lines of Torres Vedras? Was Luther apt to speak with great phraseology? If words ever convey to my ears a positive contradiction of the assertion which they affect to make, it is when they are grandly antithetical and magnificently verbose. If, in addition to this, they promise to mankind "new epochs, new views, and unlimited horizons," surely no further proof can be needed that they are vain, empty, and untrue. But the language in which this proposal for a canal is couched is hardly worth so much consideration--would be worth no consideration at all, did it not come before us now as an emblem of that which at this present time is the most pernicious point in the French character; a false boasting of truth and honesty, with little or no relish for true truth and true honesty. The present question is whether M. Belly's canal scheme be feasible; and, if feasible, whether he has or can attain the means of carrying it out. In the first place, it has already come to pass that the convention signed with such unlimited horizons has proved to be powerless. It is an undoubted fact that it was agreed to by the two presidents; and as far as one of them is concerned, it is, I fear, a fact also that for the present he has sufficient power in his own territory to bind his countrymen, at any rate for a time, by his unsupported signature. Don Juan Rafael Mora, in Costa Rica, need care for no congress. If he were called dictator instead of president, the change would only be in the word. But this is not exactly so in Nicaragua. There, it seems, the congress has refused to ratify the treaty as originally made. But they have, I believe, ratified another, in which M. Belly's undertaking to make the canal is the same as before, but from which the enormous grant of land, and the stipulations as to the boundary line of the territories are excluded. In M. Belly's pamphlet he publishes a letter which he has received from Lord Malmesbury, as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs--or rather a French translation of such a letter. It is this letter which appears to have given in Central America the strongest guarantee that something is truly intended by M. Belly's project. Both in the pamphlet, and in the convention itself, repeated reference is made to the French government; but no document is given, nor even is any positive assertion made, that the government of the emperor in any way recognizes the scheme. But if this letter be true, and truly translated, Lord Malmesbury has done so to a certain extent. "And I am happy," says the letter, "to be able to assure you that the stipulations of the treaty made between Great Britain and the United States, commonly called the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, are in my opinion applicable to your project, if you put it in execution."* And then this letter, written to a private gentleman holding no official position, is signed by the Secretary of State himself. M. Belly holds no official position, but he is addressed in his translation of Lord Malmesbury's letter as "Concessionnaire du Canal de Nicaragua." [*See note to page 29, 12th edition. I have not happened to meet with any earlier edition of the work.] Such a letter from such a quarter has certainly been very useful to M. Belly. In the minds of the presidents of the republics of Central America it must have gone far to prove that England at any rate regards M. Belly as no adventurer. There are many of the clauses of the convention to which I should have imagined that the English Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs would not have given an assent, although he might not be called on to express dissent. In the 26th Article it is stipulated that during the making of the canal--which if it were to be made at all would be protracted over many years--two French ships of war should lie in the Lake of Nicaragua; it having been stipulated by Art. 24 that no other ships of war should be admitted; thus giving to France a military occupation of the country. And by Art. 28 it is agreed that any political squabble relative to this convention should be referred to a tribunal of seven; two to be named by the company, and one each by France, England, the United States, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. It is, I imagine, hardly probable that the English government would send one member to such a tribunal, in which France would have three voices to her one, two of which voices would be wholly irresponsible. Of course the letter does not bind Lord Malmesbury or any secretary for foreign affairs to the different articles of the convention; but if it be a genuine letter, I cannot but think it to have been imprudent.* [*M. Belly speaks of his convention as having been adopted by France, England, and the United States. "Adopted, as it already is, by the United States, by England, and by France, and as it soon will be by the contracting Powers of the Treaty of Paris, it will become"--the saviour of the world, &c. &c. What basis there is for this statement, as regards France and the United States, I do not know. As regards England, I presume Lord Malmesbury's letter affords that basis.] The assistance of Lord Malmesbury has been obtained by the easy progress of addressing a letter to him. But to seduce the presidents of Central America a greater effort has been made. They are told that they are the wisest of the earth's potentates. "Carrera, of Guatemala, though an Indian and uneducated, is a man of natural genius, and has governed for fifteen years with a wisdom which has attracted to him the unanimous adherence of his colleagues." "Don Juan Mora, of Costa Rica, the hero of Rivas, has not had to spill a drop of blood in maintaining in his cities an order much more perfect than any to be found in Europe. He is a man, 'hors de ligne,' altogether out of the common; and although he counts scarcely forty years, but few political examples of old Europe can be compared to him." And as for General Martinez, President of Nicaragua, "since he has arrived at the direction of affairs there, he would have healed all the wounds of the country--had not the fatal influence of North American spirit paralyzed all his efforts." What wonder that Presidents so spoken of should sign away their lands and waters? But presuming all political obstacles to be removed, and that as regards the possession of the land, and the right of making a canal through it, everything had been conceded, there remain two considerable difficulties. In the first place, the nature of the waters and land, which seems to prohibit the cutting of a canal, except at an expense much more enormous than any that has been ever named; and secondly, the amount of money to be collected, even if M. Belly's figures be correct. He states that he can complete the work for four million eight hundred thousand pounds. From whence is that sum to be procured? As regards the first difficulty, I, from my own knowledge, can say nothing, not being an engineer, and having seen only a small portion of the projected route. I must therefore refer to M. Belly's engineer, and those who hold views differing from M. Belly. M. Belly's engineer-in-chief is M. Thomé de Gamond, who, in the pamphlet above alluded to, puts forward his calculations, and sends in his demand for the work at four million eight hundred thousand pounds. The route is by the river San Juan, a portion of which is so shallow that canoes in their course are frequently grounded when the waters are low, and other parts of which consist of rapids. It then goes through the lake, a channel through which must be dredged or cleared with gunpowder before it can carry deep-sea ships, and then out to the Pacific by a canal which must be cut through the mountains. There is nothing in the mere sound of all this to make a man, who is ignorant on the subject as I and most men are, feel that the work could not be done for the sum named. But before investing cash in the plan, one would like to be sure of the engineer, and to know that he has made his surveys very accurately. Now it appears that M. Thomé de Gamond has never set foot in Central America; or, if he has done so now--and I do not know whether he has or has not--he never had done so when he drew out his project. Nor, as it would appear, has he even done his work, trusting to the eyes and hands of others. As far as one can learn, no surveys whatsoever have been taken for this gigantic scheme. The engineer tells us that he has used marine charts and hydrographical drawings made by officers of various nations, which enable him to regard his own knowledge as sufficiently exact as far as shores and levels of the rivers, &c., are concerned; and that with reference to the track of his canal, he has taken into his service--"utilisé"--the works of various surveying engineers, among them Colonel Child, the American. They, to be sure, do leave him at a loss as to the interior plateau of the Mosquito country, and some regions to the east and south of the lake--the canal must enter the lake by the south-east;--but this is a matter of no moment, seeing that all these countries are covered by virgin forests, and can therefore easily be arranged! Gentlemen capitalists, will you on this showing take shares in the concern? The best real survey executed with reference to any kindred project was that made by Colonel Child, an officer of engineers belonging to the United States. I believe I may say this without hesitation; and it is to Colonel Child's survey that M. Belly most frequently refers. But the facts, as stated by Colonel Child, prove the absolute absurdity of M. Belly's plan. He was employed in 1851 by an American company, which, as it went to the considerable expense of having such work absolutely done, was no doubt in earnest in its intentions with reference to a canal. Colonel Child did not actually report against the canal. He explained what could be done for a certain sum of money, leaving it to others to decide whether, in effecting so much, that sum of money would be well laid out. He showed that a canal seventeen feet deep might be made--taking the course of the San Juan and that of the lake, as suggested by M. Belly--for a sum of thirty-one millions of dollars, or six million two hundred thousand pounds. But when the matter came to be considered by men versed in such concerns, it was seen that a canal with a depth of only seventeen feet of water would not admit of such vessels as those by which alone such a canal could be beneficially used. Passengers, treasure, and light goods can easily be transhipped and carried across by railway. The canal, if made at all, must be made for the passage of large vessels built for heavy goods. For such vessels a canal must hold not less than twenty-five feet of water. It was calculated that a cutting of such depth would cost much more than double the sum needed for that intended to contain seventeen feet--more, that is, than twelve million four hundred thousand pounds. The matter was then abandoned, on the conviction that no ship canal made at such a cost could by any probability become remunerative. In point of time it could never compete with the railway. Colonel Child had calculated that a delay of two days would take place in the locks; and even as regards heavy goods, no extreme freight could be levied, as saving of expense with them would be of much greater object than saving of time. That this decision was reached on good grounds, and that the project, then, at any rate, was made bonâ fide there can, I believe, be no doubt. In opposition to such a decision, made on such grounds, and with no encouragement but that given by the calculations of an engineer who has himself made no surveys, I cannot think it likely that this new plan will ever be carried out The eloquence even of M. Belly, backed by such arguments, will hardly collect four million eight hundred thousand pounds; and even if it did, the prudence of M, Belly would hardly throw such an amount of treasure into the San Juan river. As I have before said, there appears to have been no company formed. M. Belly is the director, and he has a bureau of direction in the Rue de Provence. But though deficient as regards chairmen, directors, and shareholders, he is magnificently provided with high-sounding officials. Then again there comes a blank. Though the corps of officers was complete when I was in Costa Rica, at any rate as regards their names, the workmen had not arrived; not even the skilled labourers who were to come in detachments of forty-five by each mail packet. The mail packets came, but not the skilled labourers. Shortly before my arrival at San José, there appeared in the journal published in that town a list of officers to be employed by M. Felix Belly, the Director-General "De la Compañie Del Canal Atlantico-Pacifico." The first of these is Don Andres Le Vasseur, Minister Plenipotentiary, Veteran Officer of the Guard Imperial, Commander of the Legion of Honour, and Knight of the Order of St. Gregory. He is Secretary-General of the Direction. Then there are other secretaries. In the first place, Prince Polignac, Veteran Officer of the Cavalry of the Cazadores in Africa, &c. He at any rate is a fact! for did I not meet him and the O'Gorman Mahon--Nicodemus and Polyphemus--not "standing naked in the open air," but drinking brandy and water at the little inn at Esparza? "Arcades ambo!" The next secretary is Don Henrique Le Vasseur. He is Dibujador fotografo, which I take to mean photographical artist; and then Don Andres L'Heritier; he is the private secretary. We next come to the engineers. With reference to geology and mineralogy, M. Belly has employed Don José Durocher, whose titles, taken from the faculty of science at Rennes, the Legion of Honour, &c., are too long to quote. Don Eugénio Ponsard, who also is not without his titles, is the working engineer on these subjects. And then joined to them as adjutant-engineer is Don Henrique Peudifer, whose name is also honoured with various adjuncts. The engineers who are to be intrusted with the surveys and works of the canals are named next. There are four such, to whom are joined five conductors of the works and eight special masters of the men. All these composed an expedition which left Southampton on the 17th of February, 1859,--or which should so have left it, had they acted up to M. Belly's promises. Then by the packet of the 2nd of March, 1859, there came--or at least there should have come, for we are told that they sailed--another expedition. I cannot afford to give all the names, but they are full-sounding and very honourable. Among them there was a maker of bricks, who in his own country had been a chief of the works in the imperial manufactory of porcelain at Sèvres. Having enticed him from so high a position, it is to be hoped that M. Belly will treat him well in Central America. There are, or were, hydrographical engineers and agricultural engineers, master carpenters, and masters of various other specialties. I fear all these gentlemen came to grief on the road, for I think I may say that no such learned troops came through with the mail packets which left Southampton on the days indicated. Then by the following steamers there would, it is stated, be despatched in succession an inspector of telegraphs, an engineer for making gas, an engineer to be charged with the fabrication of the iron way, an agriculturist-in-chief, a scientific commission for geology, mineralogy, meteorology, and natural history in general. And attached to all the engineers will come--or now long since should have come--the conductors of works and special masters of men, who are joined with them in their operations. These are to consist principally of veteran soldiers of the Engineers and the Artillery. These gentlemen also must, I fear, have been cast away between Southampton and St. Thomas, if they left the former port by either of the two mail steamers following those two specially indicated. I think I may say positively that no such parties were forwarded from St. Thomas. The general inspection of the works will be intrusted ultimately to a French and to an English engineer. The Frenchman will of course be M. Thomé de Gamond. The Englishman is to be "Mr. Locke, Member of Parliament." If, indeed, this latter assertion were true! But I think I may take upon myself to say that it is untrue. All the above certainly sounds very grand, especially when given at full length in the Spanish language. Out there, in Central America, the list is effective. Here, in England, we should like to see the list of the directors as well, and to have some idea how much money has been subscribed. Mankind perhaps can trust M. Belly for much, but not for everything. In the month of May Don Juan Rafael Mora, the President of Costa Rica, left his dominions and proceeded to Rivas, in Nicaragua, to assist at the inauguration of the opening of the works of the canal. When I and my companion met him at Esparza, accompanied by Nicodemus and Polyphemus, he was making this journey. M. Belly has already described in eloquent language how on a previous occasion this potentate condescended to leave his own kingdom and visit that of a neighbour; thus sacrificing individual rank for the benefit of humanity and civilization. He was willing to do this even once again. Having borrowed a French man-of-war to carry him from Punta-arenas, in his own territories, to St. Juan del Sur, in the territory of Nicaragua, he started with his suite, of whom the Prince and the O'Gorman were such distinguished members. But, lo! when he arrived at Rivas, a few miles up from San Juan del Sur--at Rivas, where with gala holiday triumph the canal was to be inaugurated--the canal from whence were to come new views and unlimited horizons--lo! when he there arrived, no brother-president was there to meet him, no M. Belly, attended by engineers-in-chief and brickmakers from Sèvres, to do him honour. There was not even one French pupil from the Polytechnic School to turn a sod with a silver spade. In lieu of this, some custom-house officer of Nicaragua called upon poor Don Juan to pay the usual duty on bringing his portmanteau into Rivas. Other new views, and other unlimited horizons had, it seems, been dawning on M. Belly. One of the first words of which a man has to learn the meaning on reaching these countries is "transit." Central America can only be great in the world--as Egypt can be only great--by being a passage between other parts of the world which are in themselves great. We Englishmen all know Crewe; Crewe has become a town of considerable importance, as being a great railway junction. Men must reach Crewe and leave Crewe continually, and the concourse there has rendered labour necessary; labourers of all sorts must live in houses, and require bakers and grocers to supply them. So Crewe has grown up and grown important; and so will Central America become important. Aspinwall--Colon, as we call it--has become a town in this way within the last ten years. "Transit" in these parts means the trade of carrying people across Central America; and a deal of "transit" has been done and money made by carrying people across Nicaragua by way of the great lake. This has hitherto been effected by shallow-bottomed boats. I will say one word or so on the subject when I have done, as I very soon shall have done, with M. Belly. Now it is very generally thought that M. Belly when he speaks of this canal means "transit." There can be no question but that a great carrying trade might be opened, much to the advantage of Nicaragua, and to the advantage of Costa Rica also though not to the same extent. If all this canal grandiloquence would pave the way to "transit," might it not be well? What if another agreement could be made, giving to M. Belly and his company the sole right of "transit" through Nicaragua, till the grand canal should be completed--a very long lease; might not something be done in this way? But Don Juan Mora there, Don Juan of Costa Rica, that man altogether "hors de ligne," grand as he is, need know nothing about this. Let him, left quite in darkness as to this new view, these altered unlimited horizons, go to Rivas if he will, and pay his custom dues. It may be that I have written at too great length, and with an energy disproportionate to the subject, on this matter of the Nicaraguan canal scheme. I do not know that the English public generally, or at any rate that portion of it which may perhaps read my book, is very deeply interested in the subject. We hear now and then something of the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, and a word or two is said about the Panama route to Australia, but the subject is not generally interesting to us, as is that of the passage through Egypt. We can reach Australia by another and a shorter route; and as for Vancouver's Island and Frazer River, they as yet are very young. But the matter will become of importance. And to a man in Central America, let his visit to that country be ever so short, it becomes at once important. To me it was grievous to find a work so necessary to the world as this of opening a way over the isthmus, tampered with, and to a degree hindered by a scheme which I cannot but regard as unreal. But unreal as it may be, this project has reached dimensions which make it in some way worthy of notice. A French ship of war was sent to take the President Mora and his suite on their unfortunate journey to Rivas; and an English ship of war was sent to bring them back. The extension of such privileges to the president of a republic in Central America may be very well; but men, seeing on what business this president was travelling, not unnaturally regarded the courtesy as an acknowledgment of the importance of M. Belly's work. I do not wish to use hard names, but I cannot think that the project of which I have been speaking covers any true intention of making a canal. And such schemes, if not real, if not true in the outward bearings which they show to the world, go far to deter others which might be real. And now I will say nothing further about M. Belly. As I have before stated, there was some few years since a considerable passenger traffic through Central America by the route of the Lake of Nicaragua. This of course was in the hands of the Americans, and the passengers were chiefly those going and coming between the Eastern States and California. They came down to Greytown, at the mouth of the San Juan river, in steamers from New York, and I believe from various American ports, went up the San Juan river in other steamers with flat bottoms prepared for those waters, across the lake in the same way, and then by a good road over the intervening neck of land between the lake and the Pacific. Of course the Panama railway has done much to interfere with this. In the first place, a rival route has thus been opened; though I doubt whether it would be a quicker route from New York to California if the way by the Lake were well organized. And then the company possessing the line of steamers running to Aspinwall from New York has been able to buy off the line which would otherwise run to Greytown. But this rivalship has not been the main cause of the total stoppage of the Nicaraguan route. The filibusters came into that land and destroyed everything. They dropped down from California on Realejo, Leon, Manaqua, Granada, and all the western coast of Nicaragua. Then others came from the South-Eastern States, from Mobile and New Orleans, and swarmed up the San Juan river, devouring everything before them. There can be no doubt that Walker's idea, in his attempt to possess himself of this country, was that he could thus become master of the passage across the isthmus. He saw, as so many others have seen, the importance of the locality in this point of view; and he probably felt that if he could make himself lord of the soil by his own exertions, and on his own bottom, his mother country, the United States, would not be slow to recognize him. "I," he would have said, "have procured for you the ownership of the road which is so desirable for you. Pay me, by making me your lieutenant here, and protecting me in that position." The idea was not badly planned, but it was of course radically unjust. It was a contemplated filching of the road. And Walker found, as all men do find, that he could not easily get good tools to do bad work. He tried the job with a very rough lot of tools; and now, though he has done much harm to others, he has done very little good to himself. I do not think that we shall hear much more of him. And among the worst of the injuries which he has done is this disturbance of the Lake traffic. This route has been altogether abandoned. There, in the San Juan river, is to be seen one old steamer with its bottom upwards, a relic of the filibusters and their destruction. All along the banks tales are told of their injustice and sufferings. How recklessly they robbed on their journey up the country, and how they returned back to Greytown--those who did return, whose bones are not whitening the Lake shores--wounded, maimed, and miserable. Along the route traders were beginning to establish themselves, men prepared to provide the travellers with food and drink, and the boats with fuel for their steam. An end for the present has been put to all this. The weak governments of the country have been able to afford no protection to these men, and placed as they were, beyond the protection of England or the United States, they have been completely open to attack. The filibusters for a while have destroyed the transit through Nicaragua; and it is hardly matter of surprise that the presidents of that and the neighbouring republics should catch at any scheme which proposes to give them back this advantage, especially when promise is made of the additional advantage of effectual protection. It is much to be desired, on all accounts, that this route should be again opened. Here, I think, is to be found the best chance of establishing an immediate competition with the Panama railway. For although such a route will not offer the comfort of the Panama line, or, till it be well organized, the same rapidity, it would nevertheless draw to it a great portion of the traffic, and men and women going in numbers would be carried at cheaper rates; and these cheaper rates in Nicaragua would probably at once lessen the fares now charged by the Panama railway. Competition would certainly be advantageous, and for the present I see no other opening for a competitive route. A railway along the banks of the San Juan would, I fear, be too expensive. The distance is above one hundred and fifty miles, and the line would be very costly. But a line of rails from the Lake to the Pacific might be made comparatively at a small outlay, and would greatly add to the comfort and rapidity of the passage. To us Englishmen it is a matter of indifference in whose hands the transit may be, so long as it is free, and open to all the world; so long as a difference of nationality creates no difference in the fares charged or in the facilities afforded. For our own purposes, I have no doubt the Panama line is the best, and will be the route we shall use. But we should be delighted to see a second line opened. If Mr. Squier can accomplish his line through Honduras, we will give him great honour, and acknowledge that he has done the world a service. In the mean time, we shall be very happy to see the Lake transit re-established. CHAPTER XXII. THE BERMUDAS. In May I returned from Greytown and the waters of the San Juan to St. Thomas, spending a few days at Aspinwall and Panama on my journey, as I have before explained; and on this occasion, that of my fourth visit to St. Thomas, I was happy enough to escape without any long stay there. My course now lay to the Bermudas, to which islands a steamer runs once a month from that disagreeable little depôt of steam navigation. But as this boat is fitted to certain arrivals and despatches, not at St. Thomas, but at Halifax, and as we reached St. Thomas late on the night of the day on which she should have sailed, and as my missing that vessel would have entailed on me another month's sojourn, and that a summer month, among those islands, it may be imagined that I was rather lively on entering the harbour;--keenly lively to ascertain whether the 'Delta,' such is the name of the Bermuda boat, was or was not gone on her mission. "I see her red funnel right across the harbour," said the chief officer, looking through infinite darkness. I disbelieved him, and accused him of hoaxing me. "Look yourself," said he, handing me his glass. But all the glasses in the world won't turn darkness into light. I know not by what educational process the eyes of sailors become like those of cats. In this instance the chief officer had seen aright, and then, after a visit to the 'Delta,' made at 2 a.m., I went to bed a happy man. We started the next day at 2 p.m., or rather I should say the same day, and I did no more than breakfast on shore. I then left that favoured island, I trust for the last time, an island which I believe may be called the white man's grave with quite as much truth as any place on the coast of Africa. We steamed out, and I stood on the stern taking a last look at the three hills of the panorama. It is certainly a very pretty place seen from a moderate and safe distance, and seen as a picture. But it should be seen in that way, and in no other. We started, and I, at any rate, with joy. But my joy was not of long duration, for the 'Delta' rolled hideously. Screw boats--propellers as the Americans call them with their wonted genteel propriety--always do roll, and have been invented with the view of making sea passages more disagreeable than they were. Did any one of my readers ever have a berth allotted to him just over the screw? If so, he knows exactly the feeling of being brayed in a mortar. In four days we reached Bermuda, and made our way into St. George's harbour. Looking back at my fortnight's sojourn there it seems to me that there can be no place in the world as to which there can be less to be said than there is about this island,--sayings at least of the sort in which it is my nature to express itself. Its geological formation is, I have no doubt, mysterious. It seems to be made of soft white stone, composed mostly of little shells; so soft, indeed, that you might cut Bermuda up with a handsaw. And people are cutting Bermuda up with handsaws. One little island, that on which the convicts are established, has been altogether so cut up already. When I visited it, two fat convicts were working away slowly at the last fragment. But I am no geologist, and can give no opinion favourable or otherwise as to that doctrine that these islands are the crater of an extinct volcano; only, if so, the seas in those days must have held a distance much more respectful than at present. Every one of course knows that there are three hundred and sixty-five of these islands, all lying within twenty miles in length and three in breadth. They are surrounded too by reefs, or rocks hidden by water, which stretch out into the sea in some places for eight or ten miles, making the navigation very difficult; and, as it seemed to me, very perilous. Nor am I prepared to say whether or no the Bermudas was the scene of Ariel's tricksy doings. They were first discovered in 1522, by Bermudez, a Spaniard; and Shakespere may have heard of them some indistinct surmises, sufficient to enable him to speak of the "still vexed Bermoothes." If these be the veritable scenes of Prospero's incantations, I will at any rate say this--that there are now to be found stronger traces of the breed of Caliban than of that of Ariel. Strong, however, of neither; for though Caliban did not relish working for his master more keenly than a Bermudian of the present day, there was nevertheless about him a sort of energy which is altogether wanting in the existing islanders. A gentleman has lately written a book--I am told a very good book--called "Bermuda as a Colony, a Fortress, and a Prison." This book I am sure gives accurately all the information which research could collect as to these islands under the headings named. I made no research, and pretend only to state the results of cursory observation. As a fortress, no doubt it is very strong. I have no doubt on the matter, seeing that I am a patriotic Englishman, and as such believe all English fortifications to be strong. It is, however, a matter on which the opinion of no civilian can be of weight, unless he have deeply studied the subject, in which case he so far ceases to be a civilian. Everything looked very clean and apple-pie; a great many flags were flying on Sundays and the Queen's birthday; and all seemed to be ship-shape. Of the importance to us of the position there can be no question. If it should ever come to pass that we should be driven to use an armed fleet in the Western waters, Bermuda will be as serviceable to us there, as Malta is in the Mediterranean. So much for the fortress. As to the prison I will say a word or two just now, seeing that it is in that light that the place was chiefly interesting to me. But first for the colony. Snow is not prevalent in Bermuda, at least not in the months of May and June; but the first look of the houses in each of its two small towns, and indeed all over the island, gives one the idea of a snow storm. Every house is white, up from the ground to the very point of the roof. Nothing is in so great demand as whitewash. They whitewash their houses incessantly, and always include the roofs. This becomes a nuisance, from the glare it occasions; and is at last painful to the eyes. They say there that it is cleanly and cheap, and no one can deny that cleanliness and economy are important domestic virtues. There are two towns, situated on different islands, called St. George and Hamilton. The former is the head-quarters of the military; the latter of the governor. In speaking of the place as a fortress I should have said that it is the summer head-quarters of the admiral in command of the Halifax station. The dock-yard, which is connected with the convict establishment, is at an island called Ireland; but the residence of the admiral is not far from Hamilton, on that which the Bermudians call the "Continent." I spent a week in each of these towns, and I can hardly say which I found the most triste. The island, or islands, as one must always say--using the plural number--have many gifts of nature to recommend them. They are extremely fertile. The land, with a very moderate amount of cultivation, will give two crops of ordinary potatoes, and one crop of sweet potatoes in the year. Most fruits will grow here, both those of the tropics and of the more northern latitudes. Oranges and lemons, peaches and strawberries, bananas and mulberries thrive, or _would_ thrive equally well, if they were even slightly encouraged to do so. No climate in the world probably is better adapted for beetroot, potatoes, onions, and tomatoes. The place is so circumstanced geographically that it should be the early market-garden for New York--as to a certain small extent it is. New York cannot get her early potatoes--potatoes in May and June--from her own soil; but Bermuda can give them to her in any quantity. Arrowroot also grows here to perfection. The Bermudians claim to say that their arrowroot is the best in the world; and I believe that none bears a higher price. Then the land produces barley, oats, and Indian corn; and not only produces them, but produces two, sometimes three crops a year. Let the English farmer with his fallow field think of that. But with all their advantages Bermuda is very poor. Perhaps, I should add, that on the whole, she is contented with her poverty. And if so, why disturb such contentment? But, nevertheless, one cannot teach oneself not to be desirous of progress. One cannot but feel it sad to see people neglecting the good things which are under their feet. Lemons and oranges there are now none in Bermuda. The trees suffered a blight some year or two since, and no effort has been made to restore them. I saw no fruit of any description, though I am told I was there in the proper season, and heard much of the fruit that there used to be in former days. I saw no vegetables but potatoes and onions, and was told that as a rule the people are satisfied with them. I did not once encounter a piece of meat fit to be eaten, excepting when I dined on rations supplied by the Convict establishment. The poultry was somewhat better than the meat, but yet of a very poor description. Both bread and butter are bad; the latter quite uneatable. English people whom I met declared that they were unable to get anything to eat. The people, both white and black, seemed to be only half awake. The land is only half cultivated; and hardly half is tilled of that which might be tilled. The reason of this neglect, for I maintain that it is neglect, should however be explained. Nearly all the islands are covered with small stunted bushy cedar trees. Not cedars such as those of Lebanon, not the cedar trees of Central America, nor those to which we are accustomed in our gardens at home. In Bermuda they are, as I have said, low bushy trees, much resembling stunted firs. But the wood, when it can be found large enough, is, they say, good for shipbuilding; and as shipbuilding has for years been a trade in these islands, the old owners of the property do not like to clear their land. This was all very well as long as the land had no special virtue--as long as a market, such as that afforded by New York, was wanting. But now that the market has been opened there can be no doubt--indeed, nobody does doubt--that if the land were cleared its money value would be greatly more than it now is. Every one to whom I spoke admitted this, and complained of the backwardness of the island in improvements. But no one tries to remedy this now. They had a Governor there some years ago who did much to cure this state of things, who did show them that money was to be made by producing potatoes and sending them out of the island. This was Sir W. Reid, the man of storms. He seems to have had some tolerably efficient idea of what a Governor's duty should be in such a place as Bermuda. To be helped first at every table, and to be called "Your Excellency," and then to receive some thousands a year for undergoing these duties is all very well; is very nice for a military gentleman in the decline of years. It is very well that England can so provide for a few of her old military gentlemen. But when the military gentlemen selected can do something else besides, it does make such a difference! Sir W. Reid did do much else; and if there could be found another Sir W. Reid or two to take their turns in Bermuda for six years each, the scrubby bushes would give way, and the earth would bring forth her increase. The sleepiness of the people appeared to me the most prevailing characteristic of the place. There seemed to be no energy among the natives, no idea of going a-head, none of that principle of constant motion which is found so strongly developed among their great neighbours in the United States. To say that they live for eating and drinking would be to wrong them. They want the energy for the gratification of such vicious tastes. To live and die would seem to be enough for them. To live and die as their fathers and mothers did before them, in the same houses, using the same furniture, nurtured on the same food, and enjoying the same immunity from the dangers of excitement. I must confess that during the short period of my sojourn there, I myself was completely overtaken by the same sort of lassitude. I could not walk a mile without fatigue. I was always anxious to be supine, lying down whenever I could find a sofa; ever anxious for a rocking-chair, and solicitous for a quick arrival of the hour of bed, which used to be about half-past nine o'clock. Indeed this feeling became so strong with me that I feared I was ill, and began to speculate as to the effects and pleasures of a low fever and a Bermuda doctor. I was comforted, however, by an assurance that everybody was suffering in the same way. "When the south wind blows it is always so." "The south wind must be very prevalent then," I suggested. I was told that it was very prevalent. During the period of my visit it was all south wind. The weather was not hot--not hot at least to me who had just come up from Panama, and the fiery furnace of Aspinwall. But the air was damp and muggy and disagreeable. To me it was the most trying climate that I had encountered. They have had yellow fever there twice within the last eight years, and on both occasions it was very fatal. Singularly enough on its latter coming the natives suffered much more than strangers. This is altogether opposed to the usual habits of the yellow fever, which is imagined to be ever cautious in sparing those who are indigenous to the land it visits. The working population here are almost all negroes. I should say that this is quite as much a rule here as in any of the West Indies. Of course there are coloured people--men and women of mixed breed; but they are not numerous as in Jamaica; or, if so, they are so nearly akin to the negro as not to be observed. There are, I think, none of those all but white ladies and gentlemen whose position in life is so distressing. The negroes are well off; as a rule they can earn 2_s._ 6_d._ a day, from that to 3_s_. For exceptional jobs, men cannot be had under a dollar, or 4_s._ 2_d_. On these wages they can live well by working three days a week, and such appears to be their habit. It seems to me that no enfranchised negro entertains an idea of daily work. Work to them is an exceptional circumstance, as to us may be a spell of fifteen or sixteen hours in the same day. We do such a thing occasionally for certain objects, and for certain objects they are willing to work occasionally. The population is about eleven thousand. That of the negroes and coloured people does not much exceed that of the whites. That of the females greatly exceeds that of the males, both among the white and coloured people. Among the negroes I noticed this, that if not more active than their brethren in the West Indies, they are at least more civil and less sullen in their manner. But then again, they are without the singular mixture of fun and vanity which makes the Jamaica negro so amusing for a while. These islands are certainly very pretty; or I should perhaps say that the sea, which forms itself into bays and creeks by running in among them, is very pretty. The water is quite clear and transparent, there being little or no sand on those sides on which the ocean makes its entrance; and clear water is in itself so beautiful. Then the singular way in which the land is broken up into narrow necks, islands, and promontories, running here and there in a capricious, half-mysterious manner, creating a desire for amphibiosity, necessarily creates beauty. But it is mostly the beauty of the sea, and not of the land. The islands are flat, or at any rate there is no considerable elevation in them. They are covered throughout with those scrubby little trees; and, although the trees are green, and therefore when seen from the sea give a freshness to the landscape, they are uninteresting and monotonous on shore. I must not forget the oleanders, which at the time of my visit were in full flower; which, for aught I know, may be in full flower during the whole year. They are so general through all the islands, and the trees themselves are so covered with the large straggling, but bright blossoms, as to give quite a character to the scenery. The Bermudas might almost be called the oleander isles. The government consists of a Governor, Council, and House of Assembly; King, Lords, and Commons again. Twenty years ago I should thoroughly have approved of this; but now I am hardly sure whether a population of ten or twelve thousand individuals, of whom much more than half are women, and more than half the remainder are negroes, require so composite a constitution. Would not a strict Governor, with due reference to Downing Street, do almost as well? But then to make the change; that would be difficulty. "We have them pretty well in hand," a gentleman whispered to me who was in some shape connected with the governing powers. He was alluding, I imagine, to the House of Assembly. Well, that is a comfort. A good majority in the Lower House is a comfort to all men--except the minority. There are nine parishes, each returning four members to this House of Assembly. But though every parish requires four members, I observe that half a clergyman is enough for most of them. But then the clergymen must be paid. The council here consists chiefly of gentlemen holding government offices, or who are in some way connected with the government; so that the Crown can probably contrive to manage its little affairs. If I remember rightly Gibraltar and Malta have no Lords or Commons. They are fortresses, and as such under military rule; and so is Bermuda a fortress. Independently of her purely military importance, her size and population is by no means equal to that of Malta. The population of Malta is chiefly native, and foreign to us;--and the population of Bermuda is chiefly black. But then Malta is a conquered colony, whereas Bermuda was "settled" by Britons, as the word goes. That makes all the difference. That such a little spot as Bermuda would in real fact be better without a constitution of its own, if the change could only be managed, that I imagine will be the opinion of most men who have thought about the matter. And now for the convict establishment. I received great kindness and hospitality from the controller of it; but this, luckily, does not prevent my speaking freely on the matter. He had only just then newly arrived from England, had but now assumed his new duties, and was therefore neither responsible for anything that was amiss, or entitled to credit for what had been permanently established there on a good footing. My own impression is that of the latter there was very little. In these days our penal establishments, and gaol arrangements generally, are, certainly, matters of very vital importance to us. In olden times, and I include the last century and some part of this among olden times, we certainly did not manage these matters well. Our main object then was to get rid of our ruffians; to punish them also, certainly; but, as a chief matter, to get rid of them. The idea of making use of them, present or future use, had hardly occurred to us; nor had we begun to reflect whether the roguery of coming years might not be somewhat lessened by curing the rogues--by making them not rogues. Now-a-days, we are reflecting a good deal on this question. Our position now has been all altered. Circumstances have done much to alter it; we can no longer get rid of the worst class of criminals by sending them to Botany Bay. Botany Bay has assumed a will of its own, and won't have them at any price. But philanthropy has done more even than circumstances, very much more. We have the will, the determination as well as the wish, to do well by our rogues, even if we have not as yet found the way; and this is much. In this, as in everything else, the way will follow the will, sooner or later. But in the mean time we have been trying various experiments, with more or less success; forgiving men half their terms of punishment on good behaviour; giving them tickets of leave; crank-turning; solitary confinement; pietising--what may be called a system of gaol sanctity, perhaps the worst of all schemes, as being a direct advertisement for hypocrisy; work without result, the most distressing punishment going, one may say, next to that of no work at all; enforced idleness, which is horrible for human nature to contemplate; work with result, work which shall pay; good living, pound of beef, pound of bread, pound of potatoes, ounce of tea, glass of grog, pipe of tobacco, resulting in much fat, excellent if our prisoners were stalled oxen to be eaten; poor living, bread and water, which has its recommendations also, though it be so much opposed to the material humanity of the age; going to school, so that life if possible may be made to recommence; very good also, if life would recommence; corporal punishment, flogging of the body, horrible to think of, impossible to be looked at; spirit punishment, flogging of the soul, best of all if one could get at the soul so as to do it effectually. All these schemes are being tried; and as I believe that they are tried with an honest intent to arrive at that which is best, so also do I believe that we shall in time achieve that which is, if not heavenly best, at any rate terrestrially good;--shall at least get rid certainly of all that is hellishly bad. At present, however, we are still groping somewhat uncertainly. Let us try for a moment to see what the Bermuda groping has done. I do not in the least doubt that the intention here also has been good; the intention, that is, of those who have been responsible for the management of the establishment. But I do not think that the results have been happy. At Bermuda there are in round numbers fifteen hundred convicts. As this establishment is one of penal servitude, of course it is to be presumed that those sent there are either hardened thieves, whose lives have been used to crime, or those who have committed heavy offences under the impulse of strong temptation. In dealing with such men I think we have three things to do. Firstly, to rid ourselves of them from amongst us, as we do of other nuisances. This we should do by hanging them; this we did do when we sent them to Botany Bay; this we certainly do when we send them to Bermuda. But this, I would say, is the lightest of the three duties. The second is with reference to the men themselves; to divest them, if by any means it may be possible, of their roguery; to divest them even of a little of their roguery, if so much as that can be done; to teach them that trite lesson, of honesty being the best policy,--so hard for men to learn when honesty has been, as it were, for many years past out of their sight, and even beyond their understanding. This is very important, but even this is not the most important. The third and most important object is the punishment of these men; their punishment, sharp, hard to bear, heavy to body and mind, disagreeable in all ways, to be avoided on account of its odiousness by all prudent men; their condign punishment, so that the world at large may know and see, and clearly acknowledge,--even the uneducated world,--that honesty is the best policy. That the first object is achieved, I have said. It is achieved as regards those fifteen hundred, and, as far as I know, at a moderate cost. Useful work for such men is to be found at Bermuda. We have dockyards there, and fortifications which cannot be made too strong and weather-tight. At such a place works may be done by convict labour which could not be done otherwise. Whether the labour be economically used is another question; but at any rate the fifteen hundred rogues are disposed of, well out of the way of our pockets and shop windows. As to the second object, that of divesting these rogues of their roguery, the best way of doing that is the question as to which there is at the present moment so much doubt. As to what may be the best way I do not presume to give an opinion; but I do presume to doubt whether the best way has as yet been found at Bermuda. The proofs at any rate were not there. Shortly before my arrival a prisoner had been killed in a row. After that an attempt had been made to murder a warder. And during my stay there one prisoner was deliberately murdered by two others after a faction fight between a lot of Irish and English, in which the warders were for some minutes quite unable to interfere. Twenty-four men were carried to the hospital dangerously wounded, as to the life of some of whom the doctor almost despaired. This occurred on a day intervening between two visits which I made to the establishment. Within a month of the same time three men had escaped, of whom two only were retaken; one had got clear away, probably to America. This tells little for the discipline, and very little for the moral training of the men. There is no wall round the prison. I must explain that the convicts are kept on two islands, those called Boaz and Ireland. At Boaz is the parent establishment, at which live the controller, chaplains, doctors, and head officers. But here is the lesser number of prisoners, about six hundred. They live in ordinary prisons. The other nine hundred are kept in two hulks, old men-of-war moored by the breakwaters, at the dockyard establishment in Ireland. It was in one of these that the murder was committed. The labour of these nine hundred men is devoted to the dockyard works. There is a bridge between the two islands over which runs a public road, and from this road there are ways equally public, as far as the eye goes, to all parts of the prison. A man has only to say that he is going to the chaplain's house, and he may pass all through the prison,--with spirits in his pocket if it so please him. That the prisoners should not be about without warders is no doubt a prison rule; but where everything is done by the prisoners, from the building of stores to the picking of weeds and lighting of lamps, how can any moderate number of warders see everything, even if they were inclined? There is nothing to prevent spirits being smuggled in after dark through the prison windows. And the men do get rum, and drunkenness is a common offence. Prisoners may work outside prison walls; but I remember no other prison that is not within walls--that looks from open windows on to open roads, as is here the case. "And who shaves them?" I happened to ask one of the officers. "Oh, every man has his own razor; and they have knives too, though it is not allowed." So these gentlemen who are always ready for faction fights, whose minds are as constantly engaged on the family question of Irish _versus_ English, which means Protestant against Catholic, as were those of Father Tom Maguire and Mr. Pope, are as well armed for their encounters as were those reverend gentlemen. The two murderers will I presume be tried, and if found guilty probably hanged; but the usual punishment for outbreaks of this kind seems to be, or to have been, flogging. A man would get some seventy lashes; the Governor of the island would go down and see it done; and then the lacerated wretch would be locked up in idleness till his back would again admit of his bearing a shirt. "But they'll venture their skin," said the officer; "they don't mind that till it comes." "But do they mind being locked up alone?" I asked. He admitted this, but said that they had only six--I think six--cells, of which two or three were occupied by madmen; they had no other place for lunatics. Solitary confinement is what these men do mind, what they do fear; but here there is not the power of inflicting that punishment. What a piece of work for a man to step down upon;--the amendment of the discipline of such a prison as this! Think what the feeling among them will be when knives and razors are again taken from them, when their grog is first stopped, their liberty first controlled. They sleep together, a hundred or more within talking distance, in hammocks slung at arm's length from each other, so that one may excite ten, and ten fifty. Is it fair to put warders among such men, so well able to act, so ill able to control their actions? "It is a sore task," said the controller who had fallen down new upon this bit of work; "it is dreadful to have to add misery to those who are already miserable." It is a very sore task; but at the moment I hardly sympathized with his humanity. So much for the Bermuda practice of divesting these rogues of their roguery. And now a word as to the third question; the one question most important, as I regard it, of their punishment. Are these men so punished as to deter others by the fear of similar treatment? I presume it may be taken for granted that the treatment, such as it is, does become known and the nature of it understood among those at home who are, or might be, on the path towards it. Among the lower classes, from which these convicts do doubtless mostly come, the goods of life are chiefly reckoned as being food, clothing, warm shelter, and hours of idleness. It may seem harsh to say so thus plainly; but will any philanthropical lover of these lower classes deny the fact? I regard myself as a philanthropical lover of those classes, and as such I assert the fact; nay, I might go further and say that it is almost the same of some other classes. That many have knowledge of other good things, wife-love and children-love--heart-goods, if I may so call them; knowledge of mind-goods, and soul-goods also, I do not deny. That such knowledge is greatly on the increase I verily believe; but with most among us back and belly, or rather belly and back, are still supreme. On belly and back must punishment fall, when sinners such as these are to be punished. But with us--very often I fear elsewhere, but certainly at that establishment of which we are now speaking--there is no such punishment at all. In scale of dietary among subjects of our Queen, I should say that honest Irish labourers stand the lowest; they eat meat twice a year, potatoes and milk for six months, potatoes without milk for six, and fish occasionally if near the shore. Then come honest English labourers; they generally have cheese, sometimes bacon. Next above them we may probably rank the inhabitants of our workhouses; they have fresh meat perhaps three times a week. Whom shall we name next? Without being anxious to include every shade of English mankind, we may say soldiers, and above them sailors; then, perhaps, ordinary mechanics. There must be many another ascending step before we come to the Bermuda convict, but it would be long to name them; but now let us see what the Bermuda convict eats and drinks every day. He has a pound of meat; he has good meat too, lucky dog, while those wretched Bermudians are tugging out their teeth against tough carcasses! He has a pound and three ounces of bread; the amount may be of questionable advantage, as he cannot eat it all; but he probably sells it for drink. He has a pound of fresh vegetables; he has tea and sugar; he has a glass of grog--exactly the same amount that a sailor has; and he has an allowance of tobacco-money, with permission to smoke at midday and evening, as he sits at his table or takes his noontide pleasant saunter. So much for belly. Then as to back, under which I include a man's sinews. The convict begins the day by going to chapel at a quarter-past seven: his prayers do not take him long, for the chaplain on the occasion of my visit read small bits out of the Prayer-book here and there, without any reference to church rule or convict-establishment reason. At half-past seven he goes to his work, if it does not happen to rain, in which case he sits till it ceases. He then works till five, with an hour and a half interval for his dinner, grog, and tobacco. He then has the evening for his supper and amusements. He thus works for eight hours, barring the rain, whereas in England a day labourer's average is about ten. As to the comparative hardness of their labour there will of course be no doubt. The man who must work for his wages will not get any wages unless he works hard. The convict will at any rate get his wages, and of course spares his sinews. As to clothes, they have, and should have exactly what is best suited to health. Shoes when worn out are replaced. The straw hat is always decent, and just what one would wish to wear oneself in that climate. The jacket and trousers have the word "Boaz" printed over them in rather ugly type; but one would get used to that. The flannel shirts, &c., are all that could be desired. Their beds are hammocks like those of sailors, only not subject to be swung about by the winds, and not hung quite so closely as those of some sailors. Did any of my readers ever see the beds of an Irish cotters establishment in county Cork? Ah! or of some English cotter's establishments in Dorsetshire, Wiltshire, and Somersetshire? The hospital arrangements and attendance are excellent as regards the men's comfort; though the ill-arrangement of the buildings is conspicuous, and must be conspicuous to all who see them. And then these men, when they take their departure, have the wages of their labour given to them,--so much as they have not spent either licitly in tobacco, or illicitly in extra grog. They will take home with them sixteen pounds, eighteen pounds, or twenty pounds. Such is convict life in Bermuda,--unless a man chance to get murdered in a faction fight. As to many of the comforts above enumerated, it will of course be seen that they are right. The clothes, the hospital arrangements, and sanitary provision are, and should be, better in a prison than they can, unfortunately, be at present among the poor who are not prisoners. But still they must be reckoned among the advantages which convicted crime enjoy. It seems to be a cruel task, that of lessening the comforts of men who are, at any rate, in truth not to be envied--are to be pitied rather, with such deep, deep pity! But the thing to look to, the one great object, is to diminish the number of those who must be sent to such places. Will such back and belly arrangements as those I have described deter men from sin by the fear of its consequences? Why should not those felons--for such they all are, I presume, till the term of their punishment be over--why should they sleep after five? why should their diet be more than strong health requires? why should their hours of work be light? Why that drinking of spirits and smoking of tobacco among men whose term of life in that prison should be a term of suffering? Why those long twelve hours of bed and rest, spent in each other's company, with noise, and singing, and jollity? Let them eat together, work together, walk together if you will; but surely at night they should be separated! Faction fights cannot take place unless the fighters have time and opportunity to arrange them. I cannot but think that there should be great changes in this establishment, and that gradually the punishment, which undoubtedly is intended, should be made to fall on the prisoners. "Look at the prisoners' rations!" the soldiers say in Bermuda when they complain of their own; and who can answer them? I cannot understand why the island governor should have authority in the prison. He from his profession can know little or nothing about prisons, and even for his own work,--or no work, is generally selected either from personal favour or from military motives, whereas the prison governor is selected, probably with much care, for his specialities in that line. And it must be as easy and as quick for the prison governor to correspond with the Home Office as for the island governor to correspond with the Colonial Office. There has undoubtedly been mischief done by the antagonism of different authorities. It would seem reasonable that all such establishments should be exclusively under the Home Office. CHAPTER XXIII. CONCLUSION. From Bermuda I took a sailing vessel to New York, in company with a rather large assortment of potatoes and onions. I had declared during my unlucky voyage from Kingston to Cuba that no consideration should again tempt me to try a sailing vessel, but such declarations always go for nothing. A man in his misery thinks much of his misery; but as soon as he is out of it it is forgotten, or becomes matter for mirth. Of even a voyage in a sailing vessel one may say that at some future time it will perhaps be pleasant to remember that also. And so I embarked myself along with the potatoes and onions on board the good ship 'Henrietta.' Indeed, there is no other way of getting from Bermuda to New York; or of going anywhere from Bermuda--except to Halifax and St. Thomas, to which places a steamer runs once a month. In going to Cuba I had been becalmed, starved, shipwrecked, and very nearly quaranteened. In going to New York I encountered only the last misery. The doctor who boarded us stated that a vessel had come from Bermuda with a sick man, and that we must remain where we were till he had learnt what was the sick man's ailment. Our skipper, who knew the vessel in question, said that one of their crew had been drunk in Bermuda for two or three days, and had not yet worked it off. But the doctor called again in the course of the day, and informed us that it was intermittent fever. So we were allowed to pass. It does seem strange that sailing vessels should be subjected to such annoyances. I hardly think that one of the mail steamers going into New York would be delayed because there was a case of intermittent fever on board another vessel from Liverpool. It is not my purpose to give an Englishman's ideas of the United States, or even of New York, at the fag end of a volume treating about the West Indies. On the United States I should like to write a volume, seeing that the government and social life of the people there--of that people who are our children--afford the most interesting phenomena which we find as to the new world;--the best means of prophesying, if I may say so, what the world will next be, and what men will next do. There, at any rate, a new republic has become politically great and commercially active; whereas all other new republics have failed in those points, as in all others. But this cannot be attempted now. From New York I went by the Hudson river to Albany, and on by the New York Central Railway to Niagara; and though I do not mean to make any endeavour to describe that latter place as such descriptions should be--and doubtless are and have been--written, I will say one or two words which may be of use to any one going thither. The route which I took from New York would be, I should think, the most probable route for Englishmen. And as travellers will naturally go up the Hudson river by day, and then on from Albany by night train,* seeing that there is nothing to be seen at Albany, and that these trains have excellent sleeping accommodation--a lady, or indeed a gentleman, should always take a double sleeping-berth, a single one costs half a dollar, and a double one a dollar. This outlay has nothing to do with the travelling ticket;--it will follow that he, she, or they will reach Niagara at about 4 a.m. [*It would be well, however, to visit Trenton Falls by the way, which I did not do. They are but a short distance from Utica, a town on this line of railway.] In that case let them not go on to what is called the Niagara Falls station, but pass over at a station called the Suspension Bridge--very well known on the road--to the other or Canada side of the water, and thence go to the Clifton Hotel. There can be no doubt as to this being the site at which tourists should stop. It is one of those cases in which to see is to be sure. But if the traveller be carried on to Niagara Falls station, he has a long and expensive journey to make back; and the United States side of the water will be antagonistic to him in doing so. The ticket from Albany to Niagara cost me six dollars; the carriage from Niagara to the Clifton Hotel cost me five. It was better to pay the five than to remain where I was; but it would have been better still to have saved them. I mention this as passengers to the Falls have no sort of intimation that they should get out at the Suspension Bridge; though they are all duly shaken out of their berths, and inquired of whether or not they be going west. Nothing ever disappointed me less than the Falls of Niagara--but my raptures did not truly commence for the first half-day. Their charms grow upon one like the conversation of a brilliant man. Their depth and breadth and altitude, their music, colour, and brilliancy are not fully acknowledged at the first moment. It may be that my eye is slow; but I can never take in to its full enjoyment any view or any picture at the first glance. I found this to be especially the case at Niagara. It was only by long gazing and long listening that I was able to appreciate the magnitude of that waste of waters. My book is now complete, and I am not going to "do the Falls," but I must bid such of my readers as may go there to place themselves between the rocks and the waters of the Horse-shoe Fall after sunset--well after sunset; and there remain--say for half an hour. And let every man do this alone; or if fortune have kindly given him such a companion, with one who may leave him as good as alone. But such companions are rare. The spot to which I allude will easily make itself known to him, nor will he have any need of a guide. He will find it, of course, before the sun shall set. And, indeed, as to guides, let him eschew them, giving a twenty-five cent piece here and there, so that these men be not ruined for want of custom. Into this spot I made my way, and stood there for an hour, dry enough. The spray did reach my coat, and the drops settled on my hair; but nevertheless, as a man not over delicate, I was dry enough. Then I went up, and when there was enticed to put myself into a filthy oil-skin dress, hat, coat, and trousers, in order that I might be conducted under the Falls. Under the Falls! Well I had been under the Falls; but still, wishing to see everything, I allowed myself to be caparisoned. A sable conductor took me exactly to the spot where I had been before. But he took me also ten yards further, during which little extra journey I became soaking wet through, in spite of the dirty oil-cloth. The ducking cost me sixty cents, or half a crown. But I must be allowed one word as to that visit after sunset; one word as to that which an obedient tourist will then see. In the spot to which I allude the visitor stands on a broad safe path, made of shingles, between the rock over which the water rushes and the rushing water. He will go in so far that the spray rising back from the bed of the torrent does not incommode him. With this exception, the further he can go the better; but here also circumstances will clearly show him the spot. Unless the water be driven in by a very strong wind, five yards make the difference between a comparatively dry coat and an absolutely wet one. And then let him stand with his back to the entrance, thus hiding the last glimmer of the expiring day. So standing he will look up among the falling waters, or down into the deep misty pit, from which they reascend in almost as palpable a bulk. The rock will be at his right hand, high and hard, and dark and straight, like the wall of some huge cavern, such as children enter in their dreams. For the first five minutes he will be looking but at the waters of a cataract,--at the waters, indeed, of such a cataract as we know no other, and at their interior curves, which elsewhere we cannot see. But by-and-by all this will change. He will no longer be on a shingly path beneath a waterfall; but that feeling of a cavern wall will grow upon him, of a cavern deep, deep below roaring seas, in which the waves are there, though they do not enter in upon him; or rather not the waves, but the very bowels of the deep ocean. He will feel as though the floods surrounded him, coming and going with their wild sounds, and he will hardly recognize that though among them he is not in them. And they, as they fall with a continual roar, not hurting the ear, but musical withal, will seem to move as the vast ocean waters may perhaps move in their internal currents. He will lose the sense of one continued descent, and think that they are passing round him in their appointed courses. The broken spray that rises from the depth below, rises so strongly, so palpably, so rapidly, that the motion in every direction will seem equal. And then, as he looks on, strange colours will show themselves through the mist; the shades of gray will become green and blue, with ever and anon a flash of white; and then, when some gust of wind blows in with greater violence, the sea-girt cavern will become all dark and black. Oh, my friend, let there be no one there to speak to thee then; no, not even a heart's brother. As you stand there speak only to the waters. So much for Niagara. From thence, I went along Lake Ontario, and by the St. Lawrence to Montreal, being desirous of seeing the new tubular railway bridge which is being erected there over the St. Lawrence close to that town. Lake Ontario is uninteresting, being altogether too large for scenery, and too foggy for sight-seeing if there were anything to see. The travelling accommodation, however, is excellent. The points of interest in the St. Lawrence are the thousand islands, among which the steamer glides as soon as it enters the river; and the rapids, of which the most singularly rapid is the one the vessel descends as it nears Montreal. Both of these are very well, but they do not require to be raved about. The Canadian towns at which one touches are interesting as being clean and large, and apparently prosperous;--also as being English, for we hardly reach the French part of Canada till we get down to Montreal. This tubular bridge over the St. Lawrence, which will complete the whole trunk line of railway from Portland on the coast of Maine, through the two Canadas, to the States of Michigan and Wisconsin, will certainly be one of the most wonderful works of scientific art in the world. It is to consist of different tubes, resting on piers placed in the river bed at intervals sufficient to provide for the free navigation of the water. Some of these, including the centre and largest one, are already erected. This bridge will be over a mile and a half in length, and will cost the enormous sum of one million four hundred thousand pounds, being but two hundred thousand pounds short of the whole cost of the Panama railway. I only wish that the shareholders may have as good a dividend. From Montreal I went down Lake Champlain to Saratoga Springs, the great resort of New Yorkers when the weather in the city becomes too hot for endurance. I was there late in June, but was very glad at that time to sit with my toes over a fire. The country about Saratoga is by no means pretty. The waters, I do not doubt, are very healthy, and the hotels very good. It must, I should think, be a very dull place for persons who are not invalids. From Saratoga I returned to New York, and from New York sailed for Liverpool in the exceedingly good ship 'Africa,' Captain Shannon. I have sailed in many vessels, but never in one that was more comfortable or better found. And on board this most comfortable of vessels I have now finished my book, as I began it on board that one, of all the most uncomfortable, which carried me from Kingston in Jamaica to Cien Fuegos in the island of Cuba.