No one can say how many millions in gold and silver and jewels have been carried over this forest road from Panama to Porto Bello. For years it was the only route from the Pacific to the Atlantic, or vice versa, and over it flowed all the [[302]]treasures that the ruthless Dons wrested from the New World; over it passed thousands of hardy Spaniards who sought to win fortune and fame from the new-found lands, and who left their bones in morass, jungle, and sea, from California to Patagonia.
Rich indeed were the pickings to be had in those days, and the loot of Inca and Aztec, of Toltec and Maya, the output of countless mines, and fortunes in pearls from the outlying isles were carried over the Gold Road and stored in the vaults of Porto Bello to await the plate-fleet with its convoys which was to bear the stupendous treasure across the sea to Spain.
A tempting spot to rob was Porto Bello, a vast coffer fairly bursting with riches, and many an avaricious buccaneer sighed regretfully as he cast covetous eyes toward the town and thought of the incalculable wealth that reposed in safety behind the grim walls and bristling guns of San Jerome Castle, on the heights above the quiet harbor.
But San Jerome had been built with all the art and skill of the best Spanish engineers; it had been devised to guard the treasures of New Spain, and to guard them well. No ship could enter the port without passing under its guns; no man could approach by land without exposing himself to the [[303]]ever-watchful sentries and a withering fire of musketry and cannon. It was not only a castle and a group of forts but a citadel as well—a vast pile of massive walls, of moats and battlements, of out jutting sentry-boxes—and ever garrisoned with a thousand men or more.
It was thought impregnable, beyond the possibility of capture; the Dons believed the riches within were as safe as though in the treasury of Madrid itself. But the very year that the fortifications were completed William Parker with two hundred rough-and-tumble pirates took the place by storm, burned a part of the town, and got safely away with a tremendous amount of booty.
Alarmed and chagrined to think that the hated British had cracked the vault they had thought so safe, the Spanish had the castle strengthened and enlarged; more heavy guns were mounted and the garrison increased, and the Dons again breathed freely. For sixty years and six the treasure lay safe; the mighty walls resisted all assaults; the cannon roared defiance, and above the battlements Spain’s banner of blood and gold defied the world.
And then, like a bolt from a clear sky, came Morgan. With a fleet of nine ships and a scant five hundred men he landed on a wild, uninhabited stretch of coast and marched on the town at dead [[304]]of night. Guided by an Englishman who had been a captive in Porto Bello, his forces approached the castle and a few men were sent forward, to steal silently upon the outermost sentry. Leaping on the unsuspecting Spaniard, they bore him to earth ere he could utter a sound, and, binding and gagging him, took him to Morgan. At threat of death by torture the poor fellow gave what information he could of the citadel and its garrison, and promised as well to follow out the orders of the pirates. Creeping like shadows under the walls of an outlying fort, the buccaneers posted themselves with weapons ready and ordered their prisoner to call out to his fellow soldiers, advising them to surrender, as an overwhelming force was about to attack.
PANAMA
Ruins of the fort at Porto Bello