Morgan absconds.
The British government lamented these cruel aggressions upon people whose only offence was that of having been born Spaniards, and in 1670 a treaty was made between Spain and Great Britain for the express purpose of putting an end to buccaneering. This interesting treaty, which was conceived in an unusually liberal and enlightened spirit, was called the treaty of America. As soon as the buccaneers heard of it, they resolved to make a defiant and startling exhibition of their power. Thirty-seven ships, carrying more than 2,000 men of various nationalities, were collected off the friendly meat-curing coast of Hispaniola. Morgan was put in the chief command, and it was decided to capture Panama. On arriving at the isthmus they stormed the castle at the mouth of the river Chagres and put the garrison to the sword. Thus they gained an excellent base of operations. Leaving part of his force to guard castle and fleet, Morgan at the head of 1,200 men made the difficult journey across the isthmus in nine days. Panama was not fortified, but a force of 2,000 infantry and 400 horse confronted the buccaneers. In an obstinate battle, without quarter asked or given, the Spaniards lost 600 men and gave way. The city was then at the mercy of the victors. It contained about 7,000 houses and some handsome churches, but Morgan set fire to it in several places, and after a couple of days nearly all these buildings were in ashes. By the light of those flames most hideous atrocities were to be seen,—such a carnival of cruelty and lust as would have disgraced the Middle Ages. After three bestial weeks the buccaneers departed with a long train of mules laden with booty, and several hundred prisoners, most of whom were held for ransom. Among these were many gentlewomen and children, whom Morgan treated savagely. He kept them half dead with hunger and thirst, and swore that if they failed to secure a ransom he would sell them for slaves in Jamaica. Exquemeling draws a pathetic picture of the poor ladies kneeling and imploring at Morgan’s feet while their starving children moaned and cried; the only effect upon the ruffian was to make him ask them how much ransom they might hope to secure if these things were made known to their friends. When the party arrived at Chagres, there was a division of spoil, and the rascals were amazed to find how little there seemed to be to distribute. Morgan was accused of loading far more than his rightful share upon his own vessels, whereupon, not wishing to argue the matter, he made up his mind to withdraw from the scene, “which he did,” says our chronicler, “without calling any council or bidding any one adieu, but went secretly on board his own ship and put out to sea without giving notice, being followed only by three or four vessels of the whole fleet, who it is believed went shares with him in the greatest part of the spoil.” All that can be said for him is that most of his comrades would gladly have done the same by him.
Scotching the snake.
With Morgan’s departure the pirate fleet was scattered, and plenty of strong language was used in reference to their tricksome commodore.[308] The arrival of a new English governor at Jamaica, with instructions to enforce the treaty of America, led to the hanging of quite a number of buccaneers; and a crew of 300 French pirates, shipwrecked on the coast of Porto Rico, were slaughtered by order of the Spanish governor. But such casualties produced little effect upon the swarming multitude of rovers, and within half a dozen years we find the governor of Jamaica conniving at them and sharing in their plunder. One pirate crew brought in a Spanish ship so richly freighted that there was £400 for every man after a round sum in hush-money had been handed to the governor. Then the pirates burned the ship and embarked in respectable company for England, “where,” says Exquemeling, “some of them live in good reputation to this day.”
Morgan’s metamorphosis.
But what shall we say when we find the devil turning monk, when we see the arch-pirate Morgan administering the king’s justice upon his quondam comrades and sending them by scores to the gallows! It reads like a scene in comic opera, how this dirty fellow, after absconding with a lion’s share of the Panama spoil and bringing it to Jamaica, suddenly put on airs of righteousness, wooed and won the fair daughter of one of the most eminent personages on the island, and was appointed a judge of the admiralty court. The finishing touch was put upon the farce when Charles II. decorated him with knighthood. It is not clear how he won the king’s favour, but we know that Charles was not above taking tips. After this our capacity for amazement is so far exhausted that we read with benumbed acquiescence how in 1682 Sir Henry Morgan was appointed deputy-governor of Jamaica.[309] But when we find him handing over to the tender mercies of the Spaniards a whole crew of English buccaneers who had fallen into his clutches, we seem to recognize the old familiar touch, and cannot repress the suspicion that he sold them for hard cash! He remained in office three years, until James II. ascended the throne, when the Spanish government accused him of secret complicity with the pirates. On this charge he was removed from office and sent to England, where he was for some years imprisoned but never met the fate which he deserved.
Decline of buccaneering.
Exquemeling expresses the opinion that, after the trick which Morgan played upon his comrades at Chagres, he must have thought it more prudent to be on the side of government than to stay with the buccaneers. He may also have foreseen that sooner or later the treaty of America was likely to interfere with the business of piracy. It is curious that, after all his caution, his downfall on a charge brought by Spain before the British government was due to the treaty of America. Although imperfectly enforced, that treaty seems to have marked the turning point in the history of buccaneering. The sack of Panama was the apogee of the golden age of pirates; the events that followed are incidents in a gradual but not slow decline. In 1684 the number of French buccaneers in the West Indies and on adjacent coasts was estimated at 3,000, and of other nationalities there were perhaps as many more; but their operations were on a smaller and tamer scale than those of Olonnois and Morgan.
Buccaneers of the South Sea.
About this time the South Sea began to be the favourite field of work for some of the most famous buccaneers. In 1680 the first party crossed the isthmus and set sail on the Bay of Panama in a swarm of canoes, with which on the same day they captured a Spanish vessel of 30 tons. With this ship they captured another the next day, and so on till at the end of the week they were in possession of quite a fleet, comprising some ships of 400 tons. They cruised as far as the island of Juan Fernandez and beyond, capturing many ships and much treasure, but not doing much harm ashore. One of the officers, Basil Ringrose, an educated man, left a journal of this cruise, the original manuscript of which is in the British Museum. Other voyages followed until the buccaneers had visited such remote places as the Ladrone Islands, Easter Island, the coasts of Australia, and Tierra del Fuego. Among their commanders were men of far better type than those that have hitherto been mentioned; such were Ambrose Cowley, Edward Davis, the surgeon Lionel Wafer, and the celebrated William Dampier, whom we are more wont to remember as a great navigator and explorer than as a pirate. Cowley, Wafer, and Dampier have left charming narratives of their adventures, in which a mixture of scientific inquisitiveness with the love of barbaric independence is more conspicuous than mere greed. As Henry Morgan was a pirate of the worst type, so Edward Davis, discoverer of Easter Island, was of the best. He never would permit acts of cruelty or wanton bloodshed, and his loyalty and kindness to his comrades won their affection, so that his mellowing influence over rough natures was remarkable. In 1688 he took advantage of a royal proclamation of amnesty to quit buccaneering and go to England, where he was afterward counted as “respectable.”