“Sir Henry Morgan was, as you know, my grandfather. He rose to be Admiral of Buccaneers and Governor of Jamaica, from very low beginnings. He shipped from Bristol in his youth, and as soon as he came to the Indies he was sold as a slave—a thing,” says Morgan, “which might happen to any gentleman. But he served his time, and when it was out he joined the Brotherhood of the Sea. Jevon Murch was ship’s boy in Mr Morgan’s ship, and he followed Mr Morgan all through. He was at the capture of El Puerto del Principe, and the taking of Porto-Bello. I have often heard him tell of the Spanish governor’s stout resistance, and how he refused quarter—which was great foolishness—and fought to the last, his wife and child clinging about his knees.
“Murch was with Captain Morgan when he took Saint Catherine’s Isle by stratagem, and so acquitted himself in the storming of the Castle of Chagre that Morgan gave him a billet which kept him about his person. So they went to the sack of Maracaibo, where they fought and quite destroyed the Spanish fleet, and Murch was Morgan’s lieutenant at the taking of Panama. I have heard the story of the burning of Panama from Mr Murch, for my grandfather never spoke of his life. Some drunken fool, it seems, set light to a house, and not the whole army of the pirates could extinguish the conflagration. The houses were chiefly of cedar-wood, and the fire burned for a month, with a stifling smell and a great smoke rolling out to sea.
“Meanwhile, Morgan neglected nothing that might gain him sixpence. That was his energetic way. The pirates raked and dug in the ruins and searched the wells and cisterns for booty; search-parties ranged the woods to fetch thence those who had fled, and brought them to be tortured until they gave up their riches; and boats were despatched to the near islands of Tavoga and Tavogilla to bring back others who had fled thither on the first alarm.
“Now, I must tell you that Captain Morgan’s custom was—as Mr Murch hath often described to me—his custom was, when the women were brought in, to have them passed in review before him. He sat in his chair in his lodging, which was the finest house he could find, as grand as the Great Mogul. Now, upon a day, there came in one of the boats, among the other women, a certain Spanish lady, wife to a wealthy merchant of Panama. The merchant had gone to Peru, whereby, no doubt, he saved his head, whatever else he lost. Well, this lady came before Captain Morgan with her old tire-woman, a silly person. ‘Why, Jesus bless me!’ says the duenna, looking at Admiral Morgan, ‘these thieves are like us Spaniards. They told us they had beasts’ faces, and oh, good little Jesus,’ she cries out, shaking, ‘what have I said!’ But my grandfather never marked her. He was looking at the Incomparable Lady—so they called her, not only, Murch says, because of her beauty but, because none other ever held Morgan at siege so long as she. The poor lady began to beseech him with tears to let her go, offering him ransom. ‘Ransom?’ says Morgan. ‘’Tis for me to offer ransom, I think.’ And he gave orders to lodge the lady with her woman in all sumptuousness, and to set a guard upon them. ‘And as for the rest,’ says he, ‘you can take it away. What have I to do with a gallimaufrey of kitchen grease?’ Well, Mr Murch was in charge of the guard that kept the Incomparable Lady. ‘And I saw,’ says Murch to me, ‘I saw Morgan the Welsh werewolf trapped and tamed.’
“I’ll make no pretence of delicacy in talking of my grandfather the admiral. A wolf he was in his youth, bloody and treacherous. Murch says he would never have believed his subjugation possible, but that ’twas the same with all the men. They feared their admiral more than the devil, yet had he offered the least indignity to the Incomparable Lady, there were plenty would have tried to run him through. Morgan visited the Incomparable Lady every day, suing with great gifts of pearl and plate and jewels—suing in vain. Then came the time when Panama was squeezed dry, and the pirates marched away across the Isthmus with a huge booty, driving the prisoners, men, women, and children, like a herd of cattle. The Incomparable Lady was carried in a litter by herself, guarded by Mr Murch and his men. Captain Morgan would walk for miles with his hand on the side of the litter, hoping she would speak kindly to him, if but a single word.
“Now, it was, as we must believe, that Morgan the buccaneer made up his mind there was one thing in the world for him, and that was the love of the Incomparable Lady. Herself he might easily possess; it was her love he wanted. He would never stick at the price. Never in his life had he counted the cost of what he desired; never yet had he failed to get it, soon or late. Her husband was alive? Then would Morgan kill him, or wait until God took the worthy merchant. She would not deign to look on a pirate? Then he would leave off that way of life. But to do that he must have money. You cannot live ashore on nothing; none was less likely to try than Morgan. Very well, money he would get. Did you never hear how Captain Morgan was accused of embezzlement at the dividend of booty, which was held beside the river of Chagre? The charge was true. He took his own proper share; he took much more, and brought it away; and he took more than that, and hid it by the river of Chagre.”
Mistress Morgan paused. A dim notion of what was coming was beginning to dawn upon me.
“You’ll see, Harry Winter, that I trust you,” Morgan went on. “Now listen. There are three persons alive who know where that treasure is hid. The first,” said she, speaking very deliberately, “is Mr Murch, because Sir Henry Morgan told him; the second is the old negro, our servant, whom you know. You may have observed that he’s lost his tongue. The third—now, who’s the third, Mr Winter?”
“Dawkins!” I said. “Dawkins, for a ducat!”
“Right,” said she. “How quick you are, to be sure! Dawkins was young then, younger than Murch, rated ship’s boy at the time. He and the negro, Morgan’s servant, helped Morgan to carry away the treasure secretly from the camp by night. The guards were removed by drink, or some other pretext, and Morgan took what he wanted. Afterwards, he would have killed Dawkins for safety’s sake, but the child was wary, and escaped. Morgan never saw him again. As for the negro, he cut his tongue out. I have never quite understood,” says Morgan, “why my grandfather kept him alive. But the man was a good servant, and it may be that the Incomparable Lady had softened Mr Morgan. Dawkins, Murch says, was a mutinous little thief, and deserved hanging twice over.