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CHAPTER XXII
The Return from Panama

^{Return of the Explorers. – The Beautiful Captive. – Sympathy in her behalf. – Embarrassments of Morgan. – Inflexible Virtue of the Captive. – The Conspiracy. – Efficiency of Morgan. – His Obduracy. – The Search of the Pirates. – The Return March. – Morgan Cheats the Pirates. – Runs Away.}

The vessels which Morgan sent out to the islands, and to cruise along the shore, all returned within about eight days. They came laden with merchandise and with captives. The fate of the female captives was dreadful. In this treatment none of the men were worse than Morgan himself. In one of the shiploads of captives there was a Spanish lady of exquisite beauty. She was quite young, and the wife of a wealthy merchant, then absent in Peru. She is described by both Esquemeling and Oexemelin as a lady endowed with such loveliness as is rarely seen upon earth. Esquemeling writes:

“Her years were few, and her beauty so great as, peradventure, I may doubt whether, in all Christendom any could be found to surpass her perfections, either of comeliness or honesty.”

Oexemelin gives a more detailed account of her charms. He says that her hair was in glossy, silken ringlets of jet black. Though a brunette, her complexion was of dazzling purity. Her large, lustrous black eyes beamed with a peculiar expression of tenderness, which won the admiration of all who beheld her. The roughest pirates were subdued and softened by her presence. To them she presented almost the image of the Virgin Mary, and they regarded her charms as angelic.

The moment Morgan cast his eyes upon her he was overawed and captivated by her beauty, and was inspired with the most intense desire to win her love. Others had been his slaves, subject to his brutal will. But this lady, with her beauty, her grace, her accomplishments, her virtue, so far vanquished him, that he could not approach her but as a suppliant for her favor.

Love, the essence of the deity, is, under some circumstances, in its legitimate bearing, the most purifying of influences. Under other circumstances it is the most debasing and brutalizing of passions. It was observed that the demeanor of Morgan became quite changed. He became more social, more gentle, and was particularly attentive to his dress, clothing himself in his richest attire. He ordered his beautiful captive to be separated from the other prisoners, appointed a negress to wait upon her, sent her delicate viands from his own table, and treated her, in all respects, with the greatest consideration. The negress was instructed to do everything in her power to convince the captive lady that her captor was not a beast and a heretic, as she had been taught to believe, but a gentleman, and a Christian, a man of polished manners and cultivated mind. Esquemeling writes:

“This lady had formerly heard strange reports concerning the pirates, before their arrival at Panama, as if they were not men, but heretics, who did neither invoke the blessed Trinity, nor believe in Jesus Christ. But now she began to have better thoughts of them than ever before, having experienced the manifold civilities of Captain Morgan; especially as she heard him many times swear by the name of God and of Jesus Christ, in whom she had been persuaded that they did not believe.

“Neither did she now think them to be so bad, or to have the shapes of beasts, as she had often heard. For as to the names of robbers or thieves, which was commonly given them, she wondered not much at it, seeing, as she said, that among all nations there were to be found some wicked men who naturally coveted to possess the goods of others.”

Morgan visited the lady with smiles and bows and costly presents. He flooded her chamber with robes, jewels, and perfumes. She was not deceived. And when he ventured to propose that she should abandon her husband, and become virtually his wife, and accompany him to the home of splendor with which he would provide her, she repelled him with indignation and loathing. Replying to him with all the eloquence of impassioned innocence, she said:

“Sir, my life is in your hands. But sooner shall my soul be separated from my body than I will surrender myself to your demands.”

This repulse stirred up the rage of the infamous pirate. He stripped her of her rich attire, left her only the coarsest garments, and threw her into a dark and loathsome dungeon. She was supplied with only enough food to support life. By these brutalities he hoped to break her spirit, and to compel her to acquiesce in his wishes.

Even demons can appreciate true nobility of character. The beauty and virtues of this lady had won, in some degree, the sympathy of the vilest of these wretches. Morgan could not conceal his treatment from them. They began to murmur, to denounce him, to curse him as a brute.

“I myself,” says Esquemeling, “was an eye-witness of the lady’s sufferings, and could never have believed that such constancy and virtue could have been found in the world, had I not been assured thereof by my own eyes and ears.”

Morgan became alarmed by the threatening aspect assumed by his men. Various causes had been for some time undermining his authority. He knew full well that there was not one of these desperadoes who would hesitate, for one moment, to thrust a poniard into his heart, or to pierce his brain with a bullet. These pirates were all consummate villains. There was no sense of honor among them. There was no crime from which they would shrink did they deem it for their interest to commit it. Even their sympathy for the beautiful captive lady resolved itself mainly into jealousy of the captain. Had they seized her unprotected in the halls of a nunnery, she would have experienced no mercy whatever at their hands.

The pirates, flushed with their great victory, and the vast amount of wealth, of every kind, at their disposal, had formed a conspiracy, in which more than a hundred were implicated. Their plan was to get rid of Morgan, then to seize one of the islands in the neighborhood as their rendezvous, and to make it their stronghold. With the vessels they already had, and the ships they would soon capture, they would have an invincible fleet. Then they would sweep the Pacific Ocean, and ravage all the coasts of Chili and Peru. After they had acquired sufficient plunder to make them all millionnaires, they would return to Europe, by the way of the East Indies, picking up ships by the way, and would then disperse to seek new homes and riot in luxury for the remainder of their days.

In preparation for this movement they had secreted several of the large guns of the town and an ample store of ammunition. But Morgan was equal to this emergency. One of the conspirators betrayed the rest. The first intimation the conspirators had that their design was discovered was in seeing every vessel and boat in the harbor in flames. Every piece of artillery in the place was spiked. Thus they were entirely frustrated in their plan. Orders were then given to pack the mules with treasure, and to make immediate preparation to return to Chagres.

The plunder of Panama had not yet been divided. Though every pirate had taken the most solemn oath that all the booty should be thrown into common stock, and that he would not secrete anything, no one had any confidence in the oath of another. Morgan ordered every man to be searched, from the crown of his head to the soles of his shoes. Though Morgan himself submitted to be first searched, they were all exasperated by this. Every man was compelled to discharge his musket to prove that no jewels were hidden in its barrel.

The French portion of the pirates were especially enraged against Morgan. Many oaths were uttered that they would put him to death before they reached Jamaica. In a few days all the treasure was packed in convenient bales, and placed upon the backs of the mules. The church plate was beaten into shapeless lumps for more convenient stowage. The treasure which could not be removed they wantonly destroyed. One hundred and fifty men were sent to Chagres to bring the boats as far up the river as the stream was navigable. He informed the prisoners that he should take all, as slaves, to Jamaica, who did not, through their friends, obtain an ample ransom.

For the ransom of his beautiful captive, from whom he now rather desired to be relieved, he demanded thirty thousand dollars. Two of the ecclesiastics were permitted to go to her friends to obtain this money. It was immediately furnished them. They returned with it, and treacherously, instead of ransoming her, employed the money for the ransom of their own particular friends.

This treachery was known throughout the army. Even the pirates denounced it. The murmurs in the camp were so loud, that Morgan was compelled to heed them, and he gave the lady her liberty.

On the morning of the 24th of February, 1671, these robbers set out on their return to Chagres. Many of the captive women implored Captain Morgan, upon their knees, with loud lamentations, to permit them to remain with their husbands and their children. Unfeelingly he replied:

“I did not come here to listen to the cries of women, but to obtain money. Bring me money, and you shall be released. If you do not, you shall surely go to Jamaica.”

“When the march began,” writes Esquemeling, “those lamentable cries and shrieks were renewed, insomuch that it would have caused compassion in the hardest heart to hear them. But Captain Morgan, as a man little given to mercy, was not moved therewith in the least.”

The line of march was as before. First there were scouts a quarter of a mile in advance of the troops. Then followed the advance guard in great strength. The prisoners came next, with the heavily laden mules. The remainder of the pirates formed the rear guard. They goaded forward the fainting, tottering, despairing captives with push of javelin and prick of sabre.

When they reached the blackened ruins of the town of Cruz, which was at the head of boat navigation, the mules were unloaded, and their burdens were placed in the canoes. There was a necessary delay here of several days, and quite a number of the prisoners, who had written agonizing letters to their friends, received their money and paid their ransom. Morgan still had with him many woe-stricken Spaniards, and one hundred and fifty negro slaves. These last he deemed cash articles, for they would bring the money in any of the ports of the West Indies.

From Cruz the pirates advanced in two parties, one in the boats, and another on the land. Chagres was reached without any event occurring of special importance. Immediately after his arrival, Morgan, with his characteristic energy, sent some of his prisoners to the important town of Puerto Velo, frequently called Puerto Bello, with the announcement that if the citizens did not forthwith send him a large ransom, he would utterly demolish the castle and lay all the works there in ruins. As Chagres was the all-important port of entry for the whole province, he thought that this threat would bring the money. They, however, paid no heed to it.

The booty was now divided. The pirates were bitterly disappointed in finding that the whole estimated value amounted to but about two million dollars. Probably ten times that sum, which they could not remove, had been destroyed in their rapacity. Every man had expected at least ten thousand dollars. When they found that but one thousand was their share they were greatly enraged. This pittance was scarcely sufficient for the carouse of a single week.

Loud and threatening murmurs rose from nearly all lips. They accused Morgan of cheating them. The consummate knave with great adroitness had done so. Many of his men had conspired against him. With far greater ability he was now conspiring against them. He had taken a few into his confidence to share the spoil which they were to steal from the rest. The common sailors had no idea of the value of diamonds and other precious stones. His partisans bought them up at not one hundredth part of their real value. Massive bars of gold were easily concealed.

Morgan endeavored to engross the attention of his men in plundering, burning, and destroying Chagres. While apparently his whole force, in the delirium of intoxication, were engaged in this work, Morgan and his accomplices repaired on board the ships, quietly in the night weighed anchor, and taking advantage of a fair wind, before the morning were out of sight with all their treasure. Their dupes, consisting of nearly one-half of the piratic crew, were left on the shore amid the ruins, without food, without a boat, without shelter, in utter destitution. What ultimately became of them is not known. Probably some starved; some were shot by the Spaniards; some were caught and hung. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”

We have no more details respecting the final career of this very able, sagacious, and infamous man. We simply know that he reached Jamaica in possession of an immense fortune. There he was honored as one of the great men of his age. Charles II., King of England, whose accomplice he is said to have been in his piracies, rewarded him for his achievements, appointed him governor of the island, and conferred upon him the honors of a baronetcy. We know not when he died. But we do know that, however Sir Henry Morgan may have escaped the penalty of his sins in this world, he has long ago appeared before the tribunal of that God “who will render to every man according to his deeds.”

CHAPTER XXIII
Montbar the Fanatic

^{Partial Solution of a Mystery. – Montbar’s Birth. – His Education and Delusions. – Anecdote of the Dramatic Performance. – Montbar Runs Away from Home. – Enters the Navy. – His Ferocious Exploits. – Joins the Buccaneers. – Desperate Battles on the Land and on the Sea. – His Final Disappearance.}

In reading the narrative of the cruelties practised by the pirates upon the Spaniards, the mind is often oppressed with the thought that a God of infinite love and power should have allowed such scenes to have been enacted. There is nothing conceivable, in intense and protracted torture, which was not inflicted upon men, women, and children. There is no satisfactory explanation of this great mystery of earth. Still there are considerations which may perhaps point in the direction of a solution.

The pirates seem to have been permitted to revenge upon the Spaniards the awful sufferings which they had inflicted upon the Indians. The Spanish armies of Cortez and Pizarro ravaged the homes of the innocent native inhabitants of those countries with ferocity and cruelty which Satan and his legions could not possibly have surpassed. The Spaniards had thrown the Indian into the flames of the most awful misery. And then God allowed the pirate to throw the Spaniard into the same flames.

There was a celebrated pirate by the name of Montbar, who seemed to have been inspired with fanatical frenzy approaching maniacal fury against the whole Spanish nation. He was the child of one of the most opulent and respected families in Languedoc, in France. He had received all the advantages of education which wealth could afford. In the process of this education he had read the account of the atrocities practised by the Spaniards in their conquest of the islands and the continents of the New World.

The blood of this ardent young man seemed to boil in his veins, while pondering these fiend-like crimes. As a child he brooded over these tortures until he became almost insane. Soon he devoted himself to all martial exercises, that he might avenge the wrongs of the Indians. This generous but cruel determination grew rapidly into monomania. The animal forces of a mind of unusual energy were all concentrated in this direction. Revenge for the wrongs practised upon the Cubans, the Peruvians, the Mexicans occupied his thoughts by day and his dreams by night. This became the all-absorbing passion of his soul.

Even when a child, practising with his cross-bow, he said, “I wish to shoot well, only that I may know how to kill the Spaniards.” George W. Thornbury, in his sketch of this singular man, alluding to the Spanish enormities in the New World, writes:

“Fanaticism, avarice, and ambition had ruled like a trinity of devils, over the beautiful regions desolated and plague-smitten by the Spaniards. Whole nations had become extinct. The name of Christ was polluted into the mere cipher of an armed and aggressive commerce. These books had impressed the gloomy boy with a deep, absorbing, fanatical hatred of the conquerors, and a fierce pity for the conquered.

“He believed himself marked out by God, as the Gideon sent to their relief. Dreams of riches and gratified ambition spurred him unconsciously to the task. He thought and dreamed of nothing but the murdered Indians. He inquired eagerly from travellers for news from America, and testified prodigious and ungovernable joy when he heard that the Spaniards had been defeated by the Caribs and the Bravos.

“He indeed knew by heart every deed of atrocity that history recorded of his enemies, and would dilate upon each one, with a rude and impatient eloquence. The following story he was frequently accustomed to relate, and to gloat over with a look that indicated a mind capable of even greater cruelty, if once led away by a fanatic spirit of retaliation.

“‘A Spaniard’ the story ran, ‘was once upon a time appointed governor of an Indian province, which was inhabited by a fierce and warlike race of savages. He proved a cruel governor, unforgiving in his resentments, and insatiable in his avarice. The Indians, unable any longer to endure either his barbarities or his exactions, seized him, and showing him gold, told him that they had at last been able, by great good luck, to find enough to satisfy his demands. They then held him firm, and melting the ore, poured it down his throat, till he expired in torments under their hands.’”

The peculiarities of this young man were singularly exhibited on one occasion, which showed that his mental operations were so deranged that he could not calmly reflect upon anything connected with the Spanish nation. At one of the college exhibitions, a comedy was to be enacted by the students, in which Montbar was to take a part. During the performance there was a dialogue to take place between a Spaniard and a Frenchman. Montbar represented the Frenchman, and one of his companions the Spaniard.

The Spaniard appeared first upon the stage, and began to utter a tirade of extravagancies against France, denouncing and ridiculing the French in unmeasured terms. Montbar listened, with ever-increasing excitement, until he lost all self-control. The mimic scene in his mind became a reality. In a perfect fury he broke upon the stage; assailed the representative Spaniard like a maniac; called him a liar and a murderer; knocked him down, and would inevitably have killed him, had he not been dragged away by the terrified bystanders.

The boy developed a very active and powerful mind, and his wealthy father was very proud of him. His eccentricities did not alarm him, as he thought that contact with the world would soon remove them all. He wished his son to study some profession. But Montbar insisted upon entering the army. “I wish to learn to fight,” said he, “that I may kill the Spaniards.”

As his friends opposed his entering the army, he ran away from home, and found his way to Havre. Here he had an uncle who was in command of one of the king’s ships. France was then at war with Spain. The ship was just entering upon a cruise against the Spaniards. The uncle, pleased with the enthusiasm of the boy, and with the intensity of his desire to join the expedition, wrote to the father, and obtained his reluctant consent. In a few days the ship sailed.

The young fanatic kept a constant watch for the foe, evincing the most intense eagerness for an engagement. The moment any sail appeared, he armed himself, and seemed overjoyed with the thought that he might soon wreak vengeance on the Spaniards. At length, a Spanish ship appeared. Soon they met and exchanged broadsides. Montbar was quite intoxicated with joy. He was perfectly reckless. Not a thought of danger entered his mind. When the order was given to board, Montbar, sabre in hand, led the party, and was the first to leap on board the Spanish ship. He seemed to bear a charmed life, and to be endowed with herculean strength. He sought no assistance from his comrades, but plunged into the thickest of the enemy, hewing on his right hand and his left, with marvellous strength. Twice he rushed from end to end of the vessel, mowing down all who opposed him. He would give no quarter.

The Spaniards were overpowered. Their slaughter was awful. Montbar, dreaming that he was God’s appointed minister of vengeance, was in an ecstasy of exultation, as he cut down some, ran his sabre through the heart of others, and drove others into the sea. His spirit inspired the rest. Nearly every Spaniard was killed. His uncle succeeded in saving one or two.

The prize was found to be of immense value. The hold was crammed with riches. There was one casket of diamonds of almost priceless worth. While the captain and the crew were examining these treasures, and rejoicing over them, Montbar regarded them with entire indifference. He was counting the dead. Blood, not plunder, was what his soul craved.

As there was now war between France and Spain, the French buccaneers, even when acting without any formal commission, were regarded by the Government as engaged in legitimate warfare. The buccaneers of England, robbing Spanish commerce and Spanish colonies, were encouraged and aided by the French navy. The conflict we have described took place near the shores of St. Domingo. Montbar’s uncle learned, from his prisoners, that the ship he had captured had been separated by a storm from two others, and that they were bound to Port Margot on the island.

He immediately sailed to the vicinity of that port, where he kept watch. The vessel he had captured was used as a decoy. He placed French soldiers on board, unfurled the flag of Spain, and stood off and on, waiting the arrival of the two vessels. While thus on the watch, some buccaneers, from the shore, came on board in canoes, with provisions to sell. They had been wrecked upon the coast; and while a part of their number had been at a distance from the camp hunting, the Spaniards had fallen upon them, put them to flight, and plundered their stores.

“Why do you suffer this?” exclaimed Montbar, indignantly.

“We do not mean to suffer it,” they replied. “We know what the Spaniards are, and what our power is. We are collecting our forces, and will soon take signal vengeance upon them.”

“Let me go with you,” said Montbar. “I do not ask to be your leader, but I will go at your head. I will be the first to expose myself, and will show you how I can fight these accursed Spaniards.”

Gladly they accepted his offer. His ardor and energy inspired them with great confidence in him. His uncle very reluctantly allowed him to go, cursing him as a foolish, hair-brained madcap, ever eager to push his head into danger. Yet the uncle was very proud of him. As young Montbar descended the side of the ship into a canoe, the captain said exultingly to one at his side, “There goes as brave a lad as ever trod a plank.”

The buccaneers returned to their camp, and immediately, in a strong war-party, set out in search of the Spaniards. They threaded intricate paths through the woods, until they opened upon a small treeless prairie, which they called a savanna. Just before entering this field, which was surrounded by hills and woods, they saw, in the distance, a mounted party of Spaniards who were evidently on the march to attack them.

Montbar was transported with rage at the sight of the Spaniards. He was ready, single-handed, to rush upon them at once – he alone, against several hundred, regardless whether the others followed him or not. But an old, experienced buccaneer, who led the party, held him back.

“Stop,” said he; “there is plenty of time. If you do as I tell you, not one of those fellows shall escape.”

These words, “Not one of those fellows shall escape,” arrested the impetuous young man. The buccaneers halted, pretending not to have seen the Spaniards. They allowed one or two of their number to exhibit themselves, as if belonging to a hunting party. They then pitched their tent of linen, apparently entirely unconscious that they were near any foe. Drawing out their brandy-flasks, they feigned a great revel, singing songs, shouting, and passing the flasks from one to another, as if in the wildest of drunken bouts. This was done by a small portion of the company, while most of the buccaneers were hidden in ambush.

The Spaniards, having secreted themselves, watched all these movements. They supposed that the buccaneers, stupefied with drink, would ere long fall helplessly asleep. The Spaniards would then creep cautiously upon them, and kill them all. But the cunning old buccaneer had taken good care that the brandy-flasks should all be empty. Not a single drop of intoxicating drink had the feigned revellers taken.

As soon as darkness veiled the scene the buccaneers all assembled in ambuscade, anticipating a midnight attack. Every musket was in order, and their brains were cool and uninflamed with drink. The Spaniards delayed their attack until daylight. As the hours lingered away, Montbar was restless, and chafed like a caged lion, saying that they would never come, and imploring permission to march out and attack them.

At daybreak the buccaneers discerned a dark line moving noiselessly over the ridge, and descending into the plain. They knew full well what this meant. Every movement was watched by the ambushed buccaneers. Cautiously the Spaniards advanced. They crossed the prairie, and entered the forest, intending to encircle the tent, which they supposed held the sleeping buccaneers.

Suddenly the woods seemed to burst into volcanic flame. The report of the musketry was followed with shout and yell, and the storm of lead swept through the ranks of the Spaniards, striking down scores, either in death or grievously wounded. The buccaneers rushed instantaneously upon their bewildered, staggered, bleeding foe. Montbar seemed animated by demonaical frenzy. He rushed upon the Spaniards in utter recklessness, regardless of their numbers, or of the support he should receive from his comrades. His heavy sabre flashed in all directions, as if wielded by tireless sinews of steel.

Soon he was quite in advance of his companions, and was alone in the very thickest of the Spanish squadron. He would inevitably have been cut down, had not the other buccaneers, astonished at his audacity, rushed to his rescue. Montbar’s sword was dripping with blood. He was in a frenzy of joy. Every blow he struck cut down a Spaniard. He exulted in the carnage, and ever after declared that this was the happiest day of his life. One grounded Spaniard clung to his knee begging for mercy. Montbar brought down his sabre upon his head, splitting it from crown to chin, fiercely exclaiming, “I wish that you were the last of this accursed race.” An eye-witness of the battle describes the carnage as horrible. Nearly every Spaniard was destroyed. The victors, all absorbed in their bloody work, stumbled over the dying and the dead, deaf to every cry for mercy.

The buccaneers were astonished and delighted by the prowess which Montbar had displayed. They entreated him to remain and become their captain. But a signal gun, fired by his uncle, called him back to the ship. Montbar was placed as captain on board the large ship which his uncle had captured. Many of the pirates eagerly engaged to serve under him.

After a sail of eight days these two vessels encountered four Spanish war-ships, each one larger than either of those commanded by Montbar or his uncle. One of the most desperate of naval battles ensued. The elder Montbar was attacked by two of the ships. For three hours they struggled, grappled together, receiving and giving the most terrible broadsides. At last the three sank together in one watery grave. The uncle, it is said, rejoicing to drag the two other ships with him, went down laughing.

Montbar, with his crashing shot, succeeded at length in sinking one of the ships assailing him, and then he boarded the other. The terror-stricken crew threw themselves into the water. The floating bodies presented targets for the buccaneers. No quarter was shown. Montbar rushed up and down the decks killing all he could reach. His courage and accomplishments were so marvellous, that his comrades regarded him with superstitious reverence, as endowed with more than mortal powers. He himself ever averred that he was God’s appointed messenger, to avenge the wrongs the Spaniards had inflicted upon the Indians. It is not known that a single individual escaped from these four Spanish ships.

Montbar had now two vessels at his command. He engaged many other buccaneers in his service, and soon had an army of nearly eight hundred men ready to follow him to the death. He swept the seas, and, often landing, ravaged the coasts. We have no detailed account of his subsequent career. One of his biographers writes:

“And this completes all that history has preserved of one of the strangest combinations of fanatic and soldier that has ever appeared since the days of Loyola. In another age, and under other circumstances, he might have been a second Mohammed. Equally remorseless, his ambition, though narrower, seems to have been no less fervid. If he was cruel, we must allow him to have been sincere even in his fanaticism. Daring, untiring, of unequalled courage and unmatched resolution, the cruelty of the Spaniards he put down by greater cruelty. He passes from us into unknown seas, and we hear of him no more. He died probably unconscious of crime, unpitying and unpitied.