Historically, Santa Cruz has a most interesting past. It has been French, Spanish, Dutch, English, Danish, and American in turn, and enjoys the distinction of having at one time been under the banner of the Knights of Malta, who sought to establish a little kingdom of their own here in the Caribbean.
Originally discovered by Columbus in 1493, the island of the Holy Cross—a name, by the way, the significance of which is puzzling—remained unknown until 1587, when Sir Walter Raleigh landed on its shores on his way to Virginia. At that time, however, the island was the abode of fierce cannibal Indians, who made forays to the neighboring islands, especially Porto Rico, where they not only [[177]]secured a supply of captives for their larder but also hewed the big trees into dugout canoes, a fact which would indicate that even at that period there were no extensive forests on Santa Cruz. Europeans did not see fit to attempt a settlement on the island until 1625, when Dutch, French, and English colonists occupied it jointly and apparently in peace. As no mention is made of trouble with the cannibals, we must assume that they had disappeared, though how they were so suddenly extirpated, or whether or not they betook themselves elsewhere, is a mystery. As usual, however, the settlers soon began to quarrel and the island was a scene of bloodshed and battles for possession for a quarter of a century, or until 1651, when it was sold by the French to the Knights of Malta. But after six years of occupancy, during which they were on the verge of starvation most of the time, the knights decided that establishing a West Indian kingdom was no sinecure, and, seizing a ship which had arrived from France, they compelled the mariners to take them with their goods and chattels to Brazil.
From that time until the Danes took possession in 1733–35, the island frequently changed hands, and for the next hundred years hurricanes and slave uprisings did almost as much to prevent any [[178]]settled prosperity as had the battles and wars before. Even now, under Uncle Sam’s régime, there is much room for improvement; for the isle is far from peaceful or prosperous. Perhaps, when we learn from bitter experience how to handle tropical colonies, Santa Cruz may come into its own; or, perchance through the cultivation of some commodity other than sugar, the island may attain prosperity; but at present matters are far from promising. As one of the greatest faults of Santa Cruz is its lack of good harbors, which were essential to pirates, and as there was nothing in particular to attract such visitors to the island, it is doubtful if the buccaneers ever did more than touch here occasionally. I did not come to the island because of its piratical associations, however, but merely for a visit with old friends, the owners of my little ship, as well as to break the long trip from St. Kitts to Santo Domingo. This having been accomplished, we once more hoisted sail and, leaving the isle of the Holy Cross behind, headed for Porto Rico, sixty miles away.
There was no need for Sam’s uncanny instinct now; the veriest tyro could have steered a course straight for that largest of Uncle Sam’s West Indian colonies, for scarcely had the green hills of Santa Cruz vanished in a filmy cloud behind [[179]]us when the lofty mountains of Porto Rico rose against the sky before our bows. By mid-afternoon we were close under the land, with its tiers of sky-piercing peaks rearing their vast bulwarks beneath masses of heavy clouds, while above all towered the phantasmal form of El Yunque (The Anvil) lifting its head nearly three thousand feet above the ragged coast-line.
The island appeared vast as a continent, with its coasts stretching eastward and westward to the horizon for one hundred miles, but in comparison with the lush greenness of Santa Cruz, the down-like surface and clear-cut forested mountains of St. Kitts, or the luxuriance of the smaller Caribbees, Porto Rico is dismal, monotonous, far from attractive, viewed from the sea.
There is no doubt that the island has beauties of its own, but it lacks the transcendent loveliness of the smaller islands, isles not one twentieth its size but whereon are mountains clothed, from cloud-shrouded summits to breaking surf, with vast forests,—mountains almost twice the height of Porto Rico’s loftiest peak,—and with a thousand times the scenic glories of Porto Rico compressed within an area of a few square miles, which the eye can take in as an entirety. Driving over Porto Rico’s splendid roads by motor-car, the visitor is impressed [[180]]more with the engineering feats that made these highways possible than with the scenery. The well-tilled tobacco-fields with acres of cheese-cloth stretched over them, giving the appearance of snow-covered hillsides, attract the eye more than the natural vegetation, which is scant and uninteresting. There is little of the intensely tropical vegetation, the luxuriance and riot of color one associates with the West Indies; and while the mountains are rugged, impressive, cut by stupendous cañon-like valleys, and in places wildly grand, the great forests of gigantic trees, the feeling of being in an untamed wilderness, and the charm of the primeval are lacking. One feels, no matter where he may be upon this island, that Man has conquered it, that there is nothing novel or unusual about it. While to some the ever-present indications of prosperity, of civilization, of Man’s conquest of mountains, plains, and valleys, appeals more strongly than nature’s greatest beauties, personally I prefer to be where the influence of human beings and the almighty dollar is less in evidence.
Nevertheless I have a warm spot in my heart for Porto Rico. Many delightful days—yes, even months—have I spent there; many are my friends upon the island, and thousands of miles have I [[181]]toured over its splendid roads. San Juan is a delightfully interesting and picturesque city, with its ancient forts, its grim old Morro, its massive walls and quaint lantern-like sentry-boxes; and there are other towns and cities on the island which call to mind the days when America was in the making. But Porto Rico had little to do with the buccaneers, unless we include Sir Francis Drake and his lifelong friend Hawkins among them. For these two the island held a dream of conquest, and at San Juan they battered long and loudly at its doors and performed some mighty deeds of daring, seamanship, and battle under the frowning walls and grim guns of the never-conquered old Morro. But their efforts came to little, and in their hopeless attempt to take the place Drake received the wound that brought him to his death off Porto Bello, and Hawkins lost his life and was buried off the eastern shores of the island he had sought so long and hard to take. Never in all their long lives of valiant fighting and reckless courage had the two suffered such heartbreaking defeat and disappointment, for in the treasure-vaults at San Juan were stored over four million dollars’ worth of plate, bullion, and coins—greater riches by far than Drake had ever taken in all his conquests, [[182]]not excepting those of the famed Armada, which his seamanship and fighting ability had scattered and destroyed a few years before.
Neither Drake or Hawkins may be classed among the buccaneers, however,—although to the Spaniards they were nothing more nor less than pirates,—and so they really have no place in our story.
Three years after Drake’s failure—in 1598, to be exact—a far more romantic figure decided to try his luck at capturing San Juan. This was no less a personage than George, Earl of Cumberland, a Cambridge graduate, a courtier, a gambler, and, to use a modern expression, an all-round “sport.” He was extraordinarily brave, a good soldier, an expert seaman, and renowned for his immense physical strength. He was also a Knight of the Garter, and, for some reason which history fails to relate, Queen Elizabeth had seen fit to present him with one of her gloves, which, set with diamonds, he invariably wore like a plume in his hat. During Drake’s encounter with the Armada this picturesque young peer had commanded a British ship, and, having once tasted the charms of sea-fighting, he then and there took to pirating, or privateering, whichever you will. At the age of forty he had won considerable fame [[183]]and ever was distinguished by the claret-colored glove of his sovereign which he wore through thick and thin, evidently considering it a talisman. Perhaps it was his faith in this unique decoration which led to his attack upon Porto Rico, when on March 6, 1598, he sailed forth from Plymouth, England, with a fleet of twenty ships, the flag-ship bearing the odd name of The Scourge of Malice.
After a pleasant voyage, and the taking of a few prizes to break the monotony of the long sea trip, the earl arrived at Dominica, gave his men shore leave for a day or two, filled his casks with fresh water, and then bore away for San Juan. Profiting by Drake’s dismal failure, My Lord of Cumberland made no attempt to attack the Morro or the shore batteries, but in true buccaneer fashion landed six hundred men at dead of night a mile or more to the east of San Juan, and then, dividing his forces into two detachments, rushed the city at dawn. The Dons, taken completely unaware, resisted stubbornly, but the guns of the Morro and the other forts were powerless to aid, and after two hours of savage hand-to-hand fighting Cumberland was in possession of the supposedly impregnable capital. The British lost no time in pillaging it as thoroughly as any of the later buccaneers could have done. Then, out of pure wantonness [[184]]apparently, they fired all the wooden houses and buildings, destroyed the paintings, furnishings, and other articles they could not or did not care to carry off, seized or destroyed twelve ships which were in the harbor, and made a determined but unsuccessful attempt to raze the fortifications.