PETER THE GREAT, THE FIRST BUCCANEER.
Plunder of Segovia--Pierre-le-Grand--Pierre Francois--Barthelemy
Portugues--His Escapes--Roche, the Brazilian--Fanatical hatred of
Spaniards--Wrecks and Adventures.
The date of the first organized Buccaneer expedition is uncertain. We
only know that about the year 1654, a large party of Buccaneers, French
and English, joined in an expedition to the continent. They ascended, in
canoes, a river on the Mosquito Shore, a small distance on the south
side of Cape Gracias a Dios, and after labouring for a month against a
strong stream, full of torrents, left their boats and marched to the
town of Nueva Segovia, which they plundered, and then returned down the
river.
It is difficult to trace the exact beginning of the Flibustiers, or, as
they were soon called, the Buccaneers. According to most writers, the
first successful adventurer known at Tortuga was Pierre-le-Grand (Peter
the Great). He was a native of Dieppe, and his greatest enterprise was
the capture of the vice-admiral of the Spanish _flota_, while lying off
Cape Tiburon, on the west side of Hispaniola. This he accomplished in a
canoe with only twenty-eight companions. Setting out by the Carycos he
surprised his unwieldy antagonist in the channel of Bahama, which the
Spaniards had hitherto passed in perfect security. He had been now a
long time at sea without obtaining any prize worth taking, his
provisions were all but exhausted, and his men, in danger of starving,
were almost reduced to despair. While hanging over the gunwale, listless
and discontented, the Buccaneers suddenly spied a large vessel of the
Spanish fleet, separated from the rest and fast approaching them. They
instantly sailed towards her to ascertain her strength, and though they
found it to be vastly superior to theirs, partly from despair and partly
from cupidity they resolved at once to take it or die in the attempt. It
was but to die a little quicker if they failed, and the blood in their
veins might as well be shed in a moment as slowly stagnate with famine.
If they did not conquer they would die, but if they did not attack, and
escaped notice, they would also perish, and by the most painful and
lingering of deaths. Being now come so near that flight was impossible,
they took a solemn oath to their captain to stand by him to the last,
and neither to flinch nor skulk, partly hoping that the enemy was
insufficiently armed, and that they might still master her. It was in
the dusk of the evening, and the coming darkness facilitated their
boarding, and concealed the disadvantage of numbers. While they got
their arms ready they ordered their chirurgeon to bore a hole in the
sides of the boat, in order that the utter hopelessness of their
situation might impel them to more daring self-devotion, that they
might be forced to attack more vigorously and board more quickly. But
their courage needed no such incitement. With no other arms than a sword
in one hand and a pistol in the other, they immediately climbed up the
sides of the Spaniard and made their way pell-mell to the state cabin.
There they found the captain and his officers playing at cards. Setting
a pistol to their breasts, they commanded them to deliver up the ship.
The Spaniards, surprised to hear the Buccaneers below, not having seen
them board, and seeing no boat by which they could have arrived (for the
surgeon had now sunk it, and rejoined his friends through a porthole),
cried out, in an agony of superstitious fear, "Jesu, bless us, these are
devils!" thinking the men had fallen from the clouds, or had been shaken
from some shooting star. In the mean time Peter's kinsfolk fought their
way into the gunroom, seized the arms, killed a few sailors who snatched
up swords, and drove the rest under hatches.
That very morning some of the Spanish sailors had told their captain
that a pirate boat was gaining upon them, but when he came up to see,
and beheld so small a craft, he laughed at their fears of a mere cockle
shell, and went down again, despising any vessel, though it were as big
and strong as their own. Upon a second alarm, late in the day, when his
lieutenant asked him if he should not get a cannon or two ready, he grew
angry, and replied, "No, no, rig the crane out, and hoist the boat
aboard." Peter, having taken this rich prize, detained as many of the
Spanish seamen as he needed, and put the rest on shore in Hispaniola,
which was close at hand. The vessel was full of provisions and great
riches, and Pierre steered at once for France, never returning to resume
a career so well begun.
The news of this capture set Tortuga in an uproar. The planters and
hunters of Hispaniola burned to follow up a profession so glorious and
so profitable. It had been discovered now that a man's fortune could be
made by one single scheme of daring and enterprise. Not being able to
purchase or hire boats at Tortuga, they set forth in their canoes to
seek them elsewhere. Some began cruising about Cape de Alvarez, carrying
off small Spanish vessels that carried hides and tobacco to the
Havannah. Returning with their prizes to Tortuga, they started again for
Campeachy or New Spain, where they captured richer vessels of greater
burden. In less than a month they had brought into harbour two plate
vessels, bound from Campeachy to the Caraccas, and two other ships of
great size. In two years no less than twenty Buccaneer vessels were
equipped at Tortuga, and the Spaniards, finding their losses increase
and transport becoming precarious, despatched two large men-of-war to
defend the coast.
The next scourge of the Spaniard in these seas was Pierre Francois, a
native of Dunkirk, whose combinative, far-seeing genius and dauntless
heart soon raised him above the level of the mere footpads of the ocean.
His little brigantine, with a picked crew of twenty-six men--hunters by
sea and land--cruised generally about the Cape de la Vela, waiting for
merchant ships on their way from Maracaibo to Campeachy. Pierre had now
been a long time afloat and taken no prize, the usual prelude to great
enterprises amongst these men, who defied all dangers and all enemies.
The provisions were running short, the boat was leaky, the captain moody
and silent, and the crew half mutinous. To return empty-handed to
Tortuga was to be a butt for every sneerer, a victim to unrelenting
creditors; to the men beggary, to Pierre a loss of fame and all future
promotion. But, there being a perfect equality in these boats, the crews
seldom rose in open rebellion; and as every one had a voice in the
proposal of a scheme, there was no one to rail at if the scheme failed.
At last, amid this suspense, more tedious than a tropic calm, one more
daring or more far-seeing than the rest stood up and suggested a visit
to the pearl-fishings at the Riviere de la Hache. History, always drowsy
at critical periods, does not say if Francois was the proposer of this
scheme or not. We may be sure he was a sturdy seconder, and that the
plan was carried amid wild cheering and waving of hats and guns and
swords enough to scare the sharks floating hungrily round the boat, and
frighten the glittering flying-fish back into the sea. These Rancheria
fishings were at a rich bank of pearl to which the people of Carthagena
sent annually twelve vessels, with a man-of-war convoy, generally a
Spanish armadilla with a crew of 200 men, and carrying twenty-four
pieces of cannon. Every vessel had two or three Negro slaves on board,
who dived for the pearls. These men seldom lived long, and were
frequently ruptured by the exertion of holding breath a quarter of an
hour below the waves. The time for diving was from October till May,
when the north winds were lulled and the sea calm.
The large vessel was called the _Capitana_, and to this the proceeds of
the day were brought every night, to prevent any risk of fraud or theft.
Rather than return unsuccessful, Pierre resolved to swoop down upon this
guarded covey, and carry off the ship of war in the sight of all the
fleet; a feat as dangerous as the abduction of an Irish heiress on the
brink of marriage. He found the fishing boats riding at anchor at the
mouth of the River de la Hache, and the man-of-war scarcely half a
league distant. In the morning he approached them, and they, seeing him
hovering at a distance like a kite above a farmyard, ran under shelter
of their guardian's guns, like chickens under the hen's wing. Keeping
still at a distance, they supposed he was afraid to approach, and soon
allowed their fears to subside. The captain of the armadilla, however,
took the precaution of sending three armed men on board each boat,
believing the pearls the object of the Buccaneer, and left his own
vessel almost defenceless. The hour had come. Furling his sails, Pierre
rowed along the coast, feigning himself a Spanish vessel from Maracaibo,
and when near the pearl bank, suddenly attacked the vice-admiral with
eight guns and sixty men, and commanded him to surrender. The Spaniards,
although surprised, made a good defence, but at last surrendered after
half an-hour's hand-to-hand fight, before the almost unmanned armadilla
could approach to render assistance. Pierre now sank his own boat, which
had only been kept afloat by incessant working at the pumps. Many men
would have rested satisfied with such a prize, but Pierre knew no Capua,
and "thought naught done while aught remained to do." He at once
resolved, by a stratagem, to capture the armadilla, and then the whole
fleet would be his own. The night being very dark, and the wind high and
favourable, he weighed anchor, forcing the prisoners to help his own
crew. The man-of-war, seeing one of its fleet sailing, followed, fearing
that the sailors were absconding with the pearls. As soon as it
approached, Pierre made all the Spaniards, on pain of instant death,
shout out "_Victoria, victoria!_ we have taken the ladrones," upon which
the man-of-war drew off, promising to send for the prisoners in the
morning. Laughing in his sleeve, Pierre gave orders for hoisting all
sail, and stood away for the open sea, putting forth all his strength to
get out of sight by daybreak. But the blood of the murdered Spaniards,
yet hot upon the deck, was crying to heaven against him, and he was
pursued. He had not got a league before the wind fell, and his ship lay
like a log on the water, just within sight of his pursuers, who kept a
long way off, burning with impatience and shame, and fretting like
hounds in leash when the boar breaks out. About evening the wind rose,
after much invocatory whistling, many prayers, many curses. Pierre,
ignorant of the power of his prize, and what canvas she could bear,
hoisted at random every stitch of sail and ran for his life, pursued by
the armadilla, wrathful, white-winged, and swift. Like many a fleet
runner, Pierre stumbled in his very eagerness for speed. He overloaded
his vessel with sail. The wind grew higher, and howled like an avenging
spirit, and his mainmast fell with the crash of a thunder-split oak. But
Pierre held firm; he threw his prisoners into the hold, nailed down the
hatches, and, trusting to night to escape, stood boldly at bay. He
despaired of meeting force by force, having only twenty-two sound men,
the rest being, before long, either killed or wounded. All in vain; the
great bird of prey bore down upon him like a hawk upon a throstle,
gaining, gaining every moment. Pierre defended himself courageously, and
at last surrendered on condition. The Spanish captain agreed that the
Buccaneers should not be employed in carrying, building-stones for three
or four years like mere negroes, but should be set safe on dry land. As
yet, the deep animosity of the two races had not sprung up. The prize
they so nearly bore off contained above 100,000 pieces of eight in
pearls, besides provisions and goods. At first the captain would have
put them all to the sword, but his crew persuaded him to keep his word.
The Frenchmen were then thrust down with curses into the same dark hold
from whence the imprisoned Spaniards were now released; so "the
whirligig of time brings about its revenge." When the crestfallen
Buccaneers were brought before the governor of Carthagena, an outcry
arose among the populace that the robbers should all be hung, to atone
for an alfarez whom they had killed, and who, they said, was worth the
whole French nation put together. The governor, however, though he did
not put them to death, ungenerously broke the terms of his agreement,
and compelled his prisoners to work at the fortifications of St.
Francisco, in his own island. After about three years of this painful
slavery, amid the jeers and contumely of the very negroes, they were
sent to Spain, and from thence escaping one by one to France, made their
way back to the Spanish main, more eager than ever to revenge their
wrongs at the hands of a nation whose riches furnished a ready means of
expiation, and whose cowardice rendered them incapable of frequent
retaliation.
The third hero on our stage, equally bold and no less memorable, was
Barthelemy Portugues, a native of Portugal, as his name implied.
Roused by the rumours of adventures which insured gold and glory,
Barthelemy (no saint, and certainly more ready to flay others than to
submit to flaying) sought out a small vessel at Jamaica, and fitted it
up at his own expense. As only his most remarkable enterprises are
recorded it is probable, from his having money, that he was already
known as a successful Flibustier. This boat he armed with four
three-pounders, and embarked with a crew of thirty men. Leaving Kingston
with a good wind at his back, he set sail to cruise off Cape de
Corriente, which he knew was the high road where he should meet vessels
coming from the Caraccas or Carthagena, on their way to Campeachy, New
Spain, or the Havannah. He had not been long beating about the Cape--a
point rounded with as much care by a Spanish merchantman, afraid of
Buccaneers, as Cape St. Vincent was by the European captain, dreading
the Salee rovers--before a great vessel, bound from Maracaibo and
Carthagena to the Havannah, hove in sight. It had a crew of seventy men,
and carried twenty guns, and many passengers and marines. The
Flibustiers, thinking a Spaniard so well armed and manned to be more
than their match, held one of their republican councils round the mast,
and refused to attack unless the captain wished. He decided that no
opportunity should be lost, for that nothing in any part of the world
could be won without risk. They instantly gave chase to the vessel that
quietly awaited their approach, as astonished at the attack as a swallow
would be if it were pursued by a gnat. Receiving one flaming broadside,
noisy but harmless, the half-stripped rovers instantly threw themselves
on board, but were repulsed by the Spaniards, who were numerous,
hopeful, and brave. Returning to their vessel and throwing down their
cutlass for the musket, they kept up a close fire of small arms for five
hours without ceasing. Every gunner and every reefer was picked off, the
decks were red, the return fire grew slack as the defence grew weaker,
and the foe's proud courage cooled; the Buccaneers again threw
themselves on board, and made themselves masters of the ship, with the
loss of only ten men and four wounded. They had now only fifteen men
left to navigate a vessel containing nearly forty prisoners. This number
was all that were left alive, and of these many were maimed with shot
wounds or gashed with sword cuts. The conquerors' first act was to throw
the dead overboard, officer and sailor, just as they fell, stripping off
the jewels and ransacking pockets for the dead men's doubloons. The
living Spaniards, wounded and dying, they drove into one small boat, and
gave them their liberty, afraid to keep them as prisoners and unwilling
to shed their blood. They then set to work to splice the rigging and
piece the sails, and lastly, to rummage for the plunder. They found the
value of their prize to be 75,000 crowns, besides 120,000 pounds of
cocoa, worth about 5000 additional. Having refitted the shattered
vessel, they would have sailed round the island of Jamaica, but a
contrary wind and current obliged them to steer to Cape St. Anthony, the
west extremity of Cuba, where they landed and took in water, of which
they were in great want.
They had scarcely hoisted sail to resume their course, probably
intending to return to port to sell their spoil before starting afresh,
when they unexpectedly fell upon three large vessels coming from New
Spain to the Havannah, who gave chase, as certain of victory as three
greyhounds bounding after a single hare. The Flibustiers, heavy laden
with plunder, and unable to make way, were almost instantly retaken,
falling as easy a prey as a gorged wolf does to the hunter. In a few
hours the Buccaneers were under hatches, stripped of even their very
clothes, and counting the moments before execution--the Puritan doling
out his hymns, the Catholic muttering his Miserere, and the rude
Cow-killer vowing vengeance if he could but escape. Two evenings after a
storm arose and separated the leash of armed merchantmen.
The vessel containing the luckless Portugues arrived first at St.
Francisco, Campeachy. Barthelemy, who spoke Spanish, had been well
treated by the captain, who did not know what a prize he had taken. The
news of the capture soon ran through the town, the captain became a
public man, the bells rang, the people flocked to see the caged lions,
and the principal merchants of the place crowded to congratulate him on
his success. Among the curious and timid visitors was one who
recognised Barthelemy, in spite of all his oaths and denials, and
demanded his surrender. No hate can match the hate of injured avarice
and frustrated cupidity. "This is Barthelemy the Portuguese," he told
every one, "the most wicked rascal in the world, and who has done more
harm to Spanish commerce than all the other pirates put together." He
ran everywhere and declared they had at last got hold of the man so
famous for the many insolences, robberies, and murders he had committed
on their coast, and by whose cruel hands many of their kinsmen had
perished. The captain, rather distrustful--somewhat favourable to
Barthelemy, perhaps, considering him as a brother seaman, worth any ten
land-lubbers, and annoyed at the arrogance of the merchant's
demand--refused to surrender the Portuguese, or to send him on shore.
The enraged merchant upon this proceeded to the governor, who, listening
to his complaint, sent to demand the Buccaneers in the king's name. He
was instantly arrested, spite of the captain's entreaties, and placed
on board another vessel, heavily ironed, for fear he should escape, as
he had done on a former occasion. A gibbet was erected, and the next day
it was resolved to lead him at once from his cabin to the place of
execution, without the hypocritical and useless ceremony of even a
prejudged trial. For some time Portugues remained uncertain of his fate,
till a Spanish sailor (for he seems to have had the power of winning
friends) told him that the gibbet was already putting together, and the
rope was ready noosed. In that delay was his safety; that very night he
resolved to escape, or perish by a quicker or less disgraceful death. No
doubt, with that strange mixture of religion remaining in the minds of
most Buccaneers, he prayed to God or the saints to aid him.
He soon freed himself from his irons. Discovering in his cabin two of
those large earthen jars in which wine was brought from Spain to the
Indies, he closed over the orifices, and hung them to his side with
cords, being probably unable to swim, and the distance too far to the
shore. Finding that he could not elude the vigilance of the sleepless
sentinel that paced at his door, he stabbed him with a knife he had
secretly purchased, and let himself noiselessly down, from the
mainchains into the water, floating to land without the splash that a
swimmer would have made in still water. Once on land he concealed
himself in a wood, prepared to bear any danger, and glad at heart to
endure starvation rather than suffer a public and shameful death. He was
too cunning to set off at once on a route that would be explored, but
hid himself among trees half covered with water, in order to prevent the
possibility of his being tracked by the maroon bloodhounds--a common
stratagem with the moss-troopers, who found the sound of running water
drown the noise of their movements and the murmur of their breathing,
and destroy all traces of their track. Bruce and Wallace had long before
escaped by the artifice that now saved a robber and a murderer. His must
have been anxious nights, varied by the shouts of negroes, the deep bay
of the dogs, the oaths of the Spaniards, the discharge of fire-arms, the
toll of the alarm bell, the glare of beacons; and the flash of torches.
For these three days he lived on yams and other roots growing around
him. From a tree in which he sometimes harboured he had the satisfaction
of seeing his pursuers search the wood in vain, and finally relinquish
the pursuit.
Believing that the danger had now in some degree decreased, the
lion-hearted sailor determined to push for the Golpho Triste, forty
leagues distant, where he hoped to find a Buccaneer ship careening. He
arrived there after fourteen days of incredible endurance. He started in
the evening from the seashore, within sight of the lit-up town where a
black gibbet was still standing bodingly against the sky. His forced
marches were full of terrible dangers and perils. He had no provisions
with him, and nothing but a small calabash of water hung at his side.
Hunger and thirst strode beside him, the wild beast glared in his path,
the Spanish voices seemed to pursue him. His subsistence was the raw
shell-fish that he found washed among the rocks upon the shore, fresh or
putrid he had no time to consider. He had streams to ford, dark with
caymans, and he had to traverse woods where the jaguars howled. Whenever
he came to a stream unusually dark, deep, and dangerous, and where no
ford was visible (for he could not swim), he threw in large stones as he
waded to scare away the crocodiles that lurked round the shallows. In
one spot he travelled five or six leagues swinging like a sloth from
bough to bough of a pathless wood of mangroves, never once setting foot
upon the ground. His day's progress was often scarcely perceptible. At
one river more than usually deep he found an old plank, which had
drifted ashore when the seaman was washed off, and from this he obtained
some large rusty nails. Extracting these nails, he sharpened them on a
stone with great labour, and used them to cut down some branches of
trees, which he joined together with osiers and pliable twigs, and
slowly constructed a raft. Hunger, thirst, heat, and fear beset him
round; and the voice of the sea, always on his right hand, came to him
like the hungry howl of death. In these fourteen nights he must have
literally tasted death, and anticipated the horrors of hell.
"Fortune favors the brave." He found a Buccaneer vessel in the gulf, and
he was saved. The crew were old companions of his, newly arrived from
Jamaica and from England. He related to them his adversities and his
misfortunes. All listened eagerly to adventures that might to-morrow be
their own. He thought alone of revenge, and told them that if they chose
he would give them a ship worth a whole fleet of their canoes. He
desired their help. He only asked for one boat and thirty men. With
these he promised to return to Campeachy and capture the vessel that had
taken him but fourteen days before. They soon granted his request, the
boat was at once equipped, and he sailed along the coast, passing for a
smuggler bringing contraband goods. In eight days he arrived at
Campeachy, undauntedly and without noise boarding the vessel at
midnight. They were challenged by the sentinel. Barthelemy, who spoke
good Spanish, replied, in a low voice, "We are part of the crew
returning with goods from land, on which no duty has been paid." The
sentinel, hoping for a share, or at least some hush-money, did not
repeat the question. Allowing him no time to detect the trick, they
stabbed him, and, rushing forward, overpowered the watch. Cutting the
cable, they surprised the sleepers in their cabins, and, weighing
anchor, soon compelled the Spaniards, by a resolute attack, to
surrender; and, setting sail from the port, rejoined their exulting
comrades, unpursued by any vessel. Great was the joy of the adventurers
in becoming possessors of so brave a ship. Portugues was now again rich
and powerful, though but lately a condemned prisoner in the very vessel
upon whose deck he now stood the lord of all. With this cargo of rich
merchandise Barthelemy intended to achieve enterprises, for though the
Spaniards' plate had been all disembarked at Campeachy, the booty was
still large. But let no hunter halloo till he is out of the wood, and
no sailor laugh till he gets into port. While he was making his voyage
to Jamaica, and already counting his profits as certain, a terrible
storm arose off the isle of Pinos, on the south of Cuba, which drove his
prize against the Jardine rocks, where she went to pieces. Portugues and
his companions escaped in a canoe to Jamaica, and before long started on
new adventures. What eventually became of him we know not, but we are
told that "he was never fortunate after." Whether he swung on the
Campeachy gibbet after all, became a prey to the Darien man-eater, was
pierced by the Greek bullet, or was devoured by the sea, long expecting
its victim, we shall never know. He sails away from Kingston with
colours flying, and wanders away into unknown deeps.
Of this wild man's end nothing was ever known. He was living at Jamaica
when Esquemeling left for England. His bones, perhaps, still whiten on
some Indian bay, with the sea moaning around that nameless dust for
ever--doomed to destroy man, but lamenting the very desolation it
occasions.
This Roche Braziliano (or Roc, the Brazilian, as the English adventurers
called him,) was born at Groninghen, in East Friezeland; and his own
name being forgotten, he was called the Brazilian, because his parents
had been Dutch settlers in the Brazils. Roche was taught the Indian and
Portuguese languages at an early age, and, when the latter nation retook
the Brazils, removed with his parents to the French Antilles, where he
learned French. Disliking the nation, he passed into Jamaica. Here he
learned to speak English, and, settling among our more congenial race,
became attached to the country of his adoption. But he had lingered too
long in the desert to have much taste for even Goshen. He had already
acquired the Arab's love for wandering, and poverty combined to lead him
into an adventurer's ship. Into this mode of life all restless talent
and love of enterprise was now driven.
After only three voyages, Roche became commander of a brig whose crew
had mutinied from their captain and offered him the command. In a few
days, this almost untried man had the good fortune to capture a large
vessel coming from New Spain with a great quantity of plate on board. On
his arrival in Jamaica, Roc became at once the acknowledged leader of
all the Vikinger of the Spanish main--their first sailor, their hero,
and their model. He soon grew so terrible that the Spanish mothers used
his name as a hushword to their children.
Roc is described as having a stalwart and vigorous body. He was of
ordinary height, but stout and muscular. His face was wide and short,
his cheek-bones prominent, and his eyebrows bushy and of unusual size.
He was skilful in the use of all Indian and Catholic (Spanish) arms, a
good hunter, a good fisherman, and a good shot--as skilful a pilot as he
was a brave soldier. He generally carried a naked sabre resting on his
arm, and made no scruple of cutting down any of his crew who were idle,
mutinous, or cowardly. He was much dreaded even in Jamaica, and
particularly when drunk, says his candid biographer. At those times he
would frequently run a-muck through the streets, beating and wounding
any one he met, especially if they dared to oppose or resist him. In his
sober moments he was esteemed and feared, but he too often abandoned
himself to every sort of debauchery.
In Roc we see the first indication of a new phase of Buccaneering
life--_a fanatical hatred of the Spaniard_. The sailor, at first a mere
privateersman at sea, and a hunter on shore, was now a legal robber,
with a spice of the crusader: a chivalrous Vendetta feeling had become
superadded to the mere love of booty. A thirst for gold had proved
irresistible: what would it be now when it became heightened by a thirst
for blood?
To the Spaniards Roc was always very barbarous and cruel, out of an
inveterate hatred to that nation. He seldom gave them quarter, and
treated them with untiring ferocity. He taxed his invention for new
modes of torture, revenging upon them by a rather indirect mode of
retaliation the wrongs inflicted upon his parents by the Portuguese. He
is said to have even roasted alive some of his prisoners on wooden
spits, like boucaned boars, because they refused to disclose the
hog-yards where he might victual his ships. By the Spaniards he was
reported to be really an apostate outlaw of their own nation, this being
the only way in which they could account for his needless and useless
cruelties.
On one occasion, as he was cruising on the coast of Campeachy, a dismal
tempest, says the chronicler, "surprised him so violently" that his ship
was wrecked, himself and his crew only escaping with their muskets, a
little powder, and a few bullets, much more useful, however, than gold
on such a coast. They reached shore not far from Golpho Triste, the
scene of Barthelemy's escape. Roc was not the man to be cast down by an
accident no more regarded by true adventurers than the upsetting of a
coach by an ordinary traveller. Getting ashore in a canoe, he determined
to march quickly along the coast, and repair to the gulf, a well-known
haunt of the members of their craft. Roc bade his men be of good heart,
and he would bring them safe out of every danger, and, giving them hope,
the promise was already half accomplished. Getting on the main road,
they proceeded on their march through a hostile country, with the air of
men who had conquered the whole Indies. They had already reached a
desert track, and were grown fatigued, hungry, and thirsty, when some
Indians gave the alarm, and the Spaniards were soon down upon them, to
the number of one hundred well-armed and well-mounted horsemen, while
the Buccaneers were but thirty men.
As soon as Roc saw the enemy, the Brazilian cried out, "Courage, _mes
freres_, we are hungry now, but, Caramba, you shall soon have a dinner
if you follow me," and then, perceiving the imminent danger, he
encouraged his men, telling them they were better soldiers than the
Spaniards, and that they ought rather to die fighting under their arms
as became men of courage, than to surrender, and have their lives
pressed out by the extremest torments. Seeing their commander's
courage, the wrecked men resolved to attack, instead of waiting tamely
for the enemy's approach, and, facing the Spaniards, they at once
discharged their guns so dexterously, that they killed a horseman with
almost every shot. After an hour's hot fighting, the Spaniards fled. The
adventurers lost only two men, two more being lamed. Stripping the dead,
they took from them every valuable, and despatched the wounded with the
butt-end of their muskets. They then feasted on the wine and brandy they
found in their knapsacks, or at their saddle bows, and declared
themselves ready to attack as many again; and having finished their
meal, they mounted on the stray horses, and proceeded on their march.
The victors had not gone more than two days' journey before they caught
sight of a well-manned Spanish vessel, lying off the shore beneath. It
had come to protect the boats which landed the men who cut the Campeachy
dyewood. Roc saw that the poultry-yard knew nothing of the kite that was
hovering near. He instantly concealed his band, and went with six
comerades into a thicket near the beach to watch. Here they passed the
night. At daybreak the Spaniards, pulling to shore in their canoe, were
received in a courteous but unexpected manner by the Buccaneers. Roc
instantly summoned his men, boarded and took the vessel. The little
man-of-war contained little plate, but, what was of equal use, two
hundred weight of salt, with which he salted down a few of the horses
which he killed. The remaining horses he gave to his Spanish prisoners,
telling them laughingly, that the beasts were worth more than the
vessel, and that once on their backs on dry land no rascal need fear
drowning.
A Buccaneer's first thought on obtaining one prize was to gain another
as soon as possible. Roc had still twenty-six man by him, and a good
vessel to move in. He soon took a ship, bound to Maracaibo from New
Spain, laden with merchandise and money designed to buy a cargo of
cocoa-nuts. With this they repaired to Jamaica, letting the vessel
scorch in harbour till their money was all gone. Having spent all,
Braziliano put out to sea again, impatient of poverty and resolved to
trust to fortune, for he was her favourite child. He sailed for the
rendezvous at Campeachy, and after fifteen days started in a canoe to
hover round the port, beating about like a hawk in search of prey.
He was soon after captured and taken with his men before a Spanish
governor, who cast them into a dungeon, intending to hang them every
one. But fortune only hid her smiles for a moment, and had not deserted
him. Roc, as subtle as he was intrepid, had not yet exhausted his wiles.
He was at bay and the dogs were gathered round, but they had not yet got
him by the throat. He made friends with the slave who brought him food,
and promised to give him money to buy his freedom if he would aid his
scheme. He did not wish to compromise the slave: he only wished him to
be the bearer of a letter to the governor. The slave told the governor
that he had been put on shore in the bay by some Buccaneers and had been
ordered to deliver the letter. The letter was an angry threat, supposed
to be indited by the captain of a French vessel lying in the offing. It
advised the governor "to have a care how he used those persons he had in
his custody, for in case he should do them any harm, they did swear unto
him, they would never give quarter unto any person of the Spanish nation
that should fall into their hands." The governor, lifting up his eyes
and twisting his moustachios at the threat, was intimidated, and became
anxious to get rid as soon as possible of such dangerous prisoners, for
Campeachy had already been taken once by the adventurers, and he feared
what mischief the companions who visited Spanish towns might do. He
began now to treat his prisoners with greater kindness, and on the first
opportunity sent for them, and, exacting a simple oath that they would
abandon piracy, shipped them on board the galleon fleet bound for Spain.
Roc, with his usual versatility, soon made himself so much beloved that
the Spanish captain offered to take him as a sailor, and he accepted the
offer. During this single voyage to Spain he made a sum of no less than
500 crowns by selling the officers fish that he struck in the Indian
manner with arrows and harpoons from the main-chains. His comerades,
whom he never forgot, were treated with consideration on his account.
On his arrival in Spain, Roc, in spite of his oath, which had been
exacted by fear of death, and therefore absolvable by any priest, lost
no time in getting back to Jamaica, where he arrived without a vessel to
call his own, but in other respects in better circumstances than when he
left. He joined himself at once to two French adventurers.
The chief of these, named Tributor, was an old Buccaneer of great
experience. They determined to land upon the peninsula of Yucatan, in
hopes of taking the town of Merida. Roc, who had been there before as a
prisoner, and had doubtless proposed the scheme, served as guide, but
some Indians got upon their trail and alarmed the Spaniards, who
fortified the place and prepared for an attack. On the Buccaneers'
arrival they found the town well garrisoned and defended, and while
they were still debating whether to advance or retreat, the question was
abruptly decided for them by a body of the enemy's horsemen who fell
upon their rear, cut half of them to pieces, and made the rest
prisoners. The wily Roc, never taken much by surprise, contrived to
escape, but old Tributor and his men were all captured. Oexmelin
expresses his wonder at Roc's escape, because he had always held it vile
cowardliness to allow another man to strike before himself. "Hitherto he
had been the last to yield, even when he was overborne by enemies, and
had been heard to say that he preferred death to dishonour." _Nemo
mortalium_, &c.