SOME EARLY BUCCANEERS
The Beginning of Buccaneering
THE buccaneers were educated in a hard school. From being peaceful hunters in the woods of Hispaniola they developed into hunters on the seas, seeking more valuable game than oxen. They took up this new profession from a sense of being ill-treated, and primarily with the object of obtaining vengeance.
In the early part of the seventeenth century there were on the island of Hispaniola a number of Frenchmen who lived by buccaneering—a word derived from the Indian word boucan, meaning, first, the hut in which the flesh of oxen was smoked, and, secondly, the wooden frame on which the meat was dried. Eventually the hunters themselves received the name of buccaneers, from which it will be seen that there was nothing sinister in the name or profession at the outset. In course of time larger numbers of Frenchmen gathered at Hispaniola to follow the wild industry, and the Spanish rulers of the island came to the conclusion that they would rid Hispaniola of them.
The buccaneers at the best were not an inviting-looking crowd, nor were they the most gentle of men. Their mode of life made them rough and wild, and their attire gave them an appearance of ruffianism. Long blouses or shirts, covered with grease and blood-stains, and held in at the waist by strips of green hide; short drawers that reached only half-way down the thigh, sandals of hog’s skin or bull’s hide; short guns, called “buccaneering-pieces,” slung from their shoulders, short sabres from their waists, calabash powder-horns and skin bullet pouches hanging at either side, with mosquito nets rolled up at the waist—imagine men thus rigged out, with unkempt hair and not too clean a skin, and you have buccaneers in all their glory. Certainly they were not calculated to inspire confidence when one met a little band of about a dozen out hunting, with dogs following the quarry. But, at any rate, they were comparatively peaceful—except when, after a successful hunt, and a still more successful piece of trading by which they got rid of their spoils, they were out on a carousal.
Now, as we have suggested, the Spaniards grew jealous of the growing prosperity of the buccaneers; had the latter been Spanish, all would have been well, but the Dons, ever since the New World had been discovered for King Ferdinand, had sought to keep it and its wealth for themselves; so that, when the Frenchmen on Hispaniola grew in numbers and wealth, it seemed to the Spaniards a case for repressive measures. They therefore instituted mounted patrols of lancers, armed with lances. There were some four hundred of these, and their work was to harry the buccaneers as much and as often as possible.
This warfare between the lancers and the buccaneers went on for many years; but the Spaniards found that the hunters refused to be intimidated; and if the truth were known, they probably enjoyed the occasional bout with the Spaniards. In any case, they would not give up their hunting for all the lancers in Hispaniola. The Spaniards therefore resorted to other means. If the buccaneers would not go, then their livelihood should be taken from them, and the powers that were in Spain sent orders for the destruction of all the wild cattle in Hispaniola.
The orders were carried out to the letter, and the buccaneers, finding themselves without the means of living and trade, shook the dust of Hispaniola from their feet, and in 1637 made their way to the island of Tortuga, about six miles to the north of Hispaniola. There their already large numbers were increased by the coming of a cosmopolitan crowd of ruffians, till, feeling themselves strong enough, they determined to take vengeance on Spain for having cast them adrift.
They fell upon Hispaniola, not once nor twice, but time after time, until the Dons came to the conclusion that Tortuga must be under the yoke of Spain and the buccaneers be swept away. So, timing their descent well, they went over to Tortuga when the French were away on the mainland, hunting, and the English were far off on a cruise. Landing soldiers, they took the island within an hour, seizing a large number of hunters before they had time to defend themselves. Some they killed out of hand, others they made captive, but a good many succeeded in escaping to certain hiding-places, whence, with the coming of night, they slipped down to the shore and hurried off to the mainland in canoes.
The Spaniards, feeling that this vigorous action would be sufficient to keep Tortuga within bounds, sailed back to Hispaniola. But, instead of having quashed the buccaneers, they found that they had but added fuel to the fire, for when the rovers came back from cruising and hunting, and discovered the condition of their island, they were filled with anger. They went mad! Off to the French island of St. Christopher they sailed, and Governor De Poncy, falling in with their plans, sent an expedition to Tortuga, which was recaptured, and put in such a state of defence that the disillusioned Dons had a shock next time they went over to carry out a second attempt at terrorism. Two hundred Spaniards bit the dust that day, and the buccaneer—the real buccaneer—was born.
For the Spaniard was successful in his efforts to kill the hunters’ trade; he stamped out the trading-hunter and gave life to a particularly romantic kind of pirate-freebooter. The men of Tortuga fell to preying upon the shipping of Spain. They were determined to have their revenge.
It would appear from all accounts that the first successful buccaneer who took to sea-roving was one Pierre le Grand, a native of Dieppe, who had found his way to the New World in quest of fortune. Baffled in his attempts to make the smiling lands yield up their wealth, he gathered a congenial company about him, and went to sea in a small boat holding himself and a crew of twenty men. The exploit that made him famous was that by which he captured the vice-admiral of a Spanish fleet near Cape of Tiburon, to the west of Hispaniola.
They had, it seems, been at sea a good while on the look-out for a prize worth having, and, finding none, were getting disheartened—and hungry, incidentally, seeing that they had used up most of their rations. Then, like a gift from the gods, there came into view a Spanish fleet, with a large ship standing some distance off from the rest. Pierre decided that it would be impious to let such an opportunity slip. He knew that it was a case of long odds, because the Spaniard was a fine vessel, and no doubt well manned; but, nothing venture, nothing have! So, waiting until the dusk of evening, Pierre, who had received solemn oaths from his companions that they would stand by him to the last, sailed towards his prey, hoping in his heart that the Dons might be unprepared for battle.
He did not know it then, but later he found out that the captain of the ship had had the little cockle-boat pointed out to him, with the suggestion that it might be a pirate craft; whereupon the gallant sailor had exclaimed:
“What, then, must I be afraid of such a pitiful thing as that is? No! though she were a ship as big and as strong as mine is!”
Determined to hazard all upon a gambler’s throw, when Peter drew near the great Spaniard, under cover of the twilight, he made his surgeon bore holes in the sides of his boat, so that, with their own vessel sinking quickly beneath them, his men might be impelled to put all their energy into the attempt to board the Spanish ship.
So, with “all or nothing” as the unspoken battle-cry, the buccaneers swarmed up the sides of the ship, hurled themselves aboard without being seen, and rushed pell-mell to the captain’s cabin, where they found him playing cards.
Pierre le Grand held the trump card—in the shape of a loaded pistol, which he promptly presented at the captain’s head, calling upon him to surrender.
“Jesus bless us!” cried the Spaniard. “Are these devils, or what are they?”
The uninvited guests showed what they were; while Peter the Great kept the captain quiet, others rushed to the gun-room, seized all the arms, and then dispersed about the ship, taking prisoner whoever preferred that to being killed out of hand. There was no gainsaying them, and the captain gave in, with the result that Pierre found himself master of a fine ship filled with treasure, and a crew that he hardly knew what to do with. He solved the problem by setting ashore all he didn’t want, and the rest he kept on to sail the ship to France. For the gay buccaneer discovered that he was rich enough to retire, and never again showed his face in the New World.
But if he did no more pirating himself, he set fire to the buccaneers of Tortuga, who told themselves that what Pierre le Grand had done they could do. If they had but ships! They were going to set up in “business” that required good craft, and there they were with only canoes. Well, canoes would do to get them where they could find suitable ships, and, pushing off day after day, the buccaneers cruised about Hispaniola and the neighbourhood, seizing small Spanish vessels carrying tobacco and hides. These they took back to Tortuga, disposed of the cargoes profitably, fitted out the vessels, and set out to sea again, now to seek larger ships; with the result that, in a couple of years, a score of buccaneer ships were sailing the seas proudly, taking toll of the Spaniards for having stopped their peaceful livelihood.
Of these earlier buccaneers we must mention another Peter—Pierre François. Like Peter the Great, his forerunner, he had been cruising about a long time without a satisfactory prize turning up; and as away at Tortuga were a number of men—whom we, in these modern days, call “duns”—waiting for him to settle up various little accounts, he thought it behoved him, for his creditors’ sake, to garner a harvest that was worth while.
So, standing out from the neighbourhood of Hispaniola, Pierre François ventured farther afield. Away down at Ranceiras, near the River Plate, there was a fine rich bank of pearl, to which year after year the Spaniards sent about a dozen large ships a-pearling, each squadron having a man-o’-war to protect it.
“Promptly boarded the Vice-Admiral. ‘Surrender!’ yelled the buccaneers”
Pierre François felt he would like to have some of the pearls which other men had obtained. When he came up with the fleet, he found the warship, the Capitana, of twenty-four guns and a couple of hundred men, lying half a league away from the rest of the vessels; and, well versed in the ways of the wily Spaniard, he knew that the man-o’-war would be certain to hold the greater part of the harvest of the sea. Wherefore, of course, Pierre decided that nothing less than the Capitana would pay him for the trip down the coast.
But first he must put himself in the way of being strong enough to take the war vessel, and to this end he resolved to capture one of the other ships to begin with. Pretending that his ship was a Spanish craft, he pulled down his sails, rowed close to the shore till he reached the pearl-bank, and then promptly boarded the Vice-Admiral, of eight guns and threescore men.
“Surrender!” yelled the buccaneers.
“Never!” cried the Spaniards, and fell to fighting stubbornly; and then did what they said they wouldn’t do—they surrendered.
So far so good. Pierre was elated. But he did want that man-o’-war!
First he sank his own vessel, which was in a pretty bad way. Then he hoisted the Spanish flag on his prize and sailed away. The captain of the Capitana, fearing that one of his convoy was running off with treasure—those Spaniards never trusted each other!—set sail after the runaway. Pierre let him come, and then, when within hailing distance, made his prisoners yell: “Victoria! Victoria! We have taken the thieves!”
Whereupon the Capitana, believing that everything was all right, hove to, drew off, and disappeared in the darkness, promising to send to fetch the prisoners away in the morning.
During the night François decided to slip away. Perhaps he didn’t like the look of the Capitana after all; perhaps he was satisfied with his haul. He should have been, for it contained pearls of the value of 100,000 gold pieces of eight, and a large store of provisions. But he had come to the end of his lucky lode, for the Capitana, having, apparently, grown suspicious, suddenly hoisted sail and followed in pursuit. Pierre hoped to be able to show a clean pair of heels before daylight came. But Dame Fate played him a nasty trick; the wind fell, and left him becalmed. And when dawn broke he saw that the Capitana, becalmed also, lay within sight, waiting for the wind to freshen.
Evening came, and with it a breeze; and instantly Pierre hoisted all sail and stood away, with the Capitana in hot pursuit. Then Pierre found he had made a mistake; the ship was unable to bear the burden of so much sail as he had hoisted, and the fickle wind, bursting upon him, brought his mainsail down with a rush.
That did it! The Capitana sped through the water towards the Vice-Admiral, and, coming within range, sent a few shots hurtling at her, expecting to see her haul down the flag. Instead of which Pierre, resolved to fight in the hope of coming out best, opened out with his eight guns, and pounded away for all he was worth. He took the precaution first of clapping his prisoners in the hold and nailing down the hatches. And then, with but twenty-two men fit to fight—the rest were either killed or wounded—he prepared to give battle. For hours they fought, bravely and well; but all in vain. The man-o’-war was too much for them, and at last Pierre signified his willingness to surrender—on conditions. These were that they shouldn’t be made slaves, nor be made to work on the plantations. The Spaniards agreed; and within a short time François and his men were on board the Spanish vessel—prisoners.
They were taken to Carthagena, where the Spaniards broke their word, and made the prisoners slaves for three years, after which they were sent to Spain.
Bartholomew Portugues, another of the early buccaneers, sailing off Cuba in a small vessel of three guns and thirty men, fell to chasing a big Spaniard of twenty big guns and seventy men. The Spaniards showed fight, and beat Bartholomew off with losses he could ill afford. But, determined to succeed or die, the buccaneer brought his vessel back again, and, getting alongside, led his crew aboard the Spanish ship. All fighting like demons, in the end they captured it, and found themselves in possession of a vessel worth having, with a treasure on board of 120,000 lbs. of cocoa and 75,000 crowns.
Joyful over their good fortune, the buccaneers bethought themselves of returning to Jamaica, whence they had set out; but, as they were now but twenty all told, they did not know how to keep their prisoners. They solved that problem by bundling them into a small boat and turning them adrift, after which they hoisted sail and set off to Cuba to repair, as the wind was not favourable for Jamaica.
All would have gone well had they not fallen in with three large ships bound for Havannah, which, becoming suspicious, gave chase, and, as they were much faster vessels than the new-found prize of the buccaneers, they quickly overhauled it, battered at it with their guns, and before long had made the captors captives, with whom they set sail for Campechy.
Portugues had a reputation that was not warranted to make him loved in Campechy, and when he arrived there men lifted up their voices and cried:
“Behold, this is Bartholomew Portugues, the biggest scoundrel in the world, who has done more harm to Spanish trade than all the other pirates put together.” And in due course the governor, in the name of the King of Spain, sent soldiers, who took the buccaneer to another ship, where he was clapped into irons to await the morning—and the gallows, which were promptly erected. Bartholomew, made aware of the preparations being made in his honour, considered it necessary to do something on his own account for his safety. So in the night he freed himself from his shackles, and, being ingenious and a non-swimmer, fashioned strange water-wings, in the shape of a couple of leathern jars he found in his cabin. Then, having waited till silence on the ship told him that everyone was asleep—excepting, he surmised, the sentry at his door—he resolved to make a bid for freedom. The sentry he stabbed with a knife he had concealed, and then slipped over the ship’s side, clambered down the mainchains into the sea, and, supported by his jars, made his way to shore.
Into the woods he darted, and for three days hid there, on a diet of wild herbs, listening to the sounds of baying bloodhounds and angry citizens seeking him high and low. Fortunately for the buccaneer, his place of concealment was in a hollow tree partly covered by water, which put the bloodhounds off the scent.
In due course the searchers became convinced that the pirate had eluded them, and gave up the search, and Bartholomew decided it was safe to venture forth. He wanted to get to Gulfo Triste, 160 miles away, and thither he bent his steps. It was a long way and a weary way, and a hungry and thirsty way, too, for he had no provisions and little water. He came to rivers that he must cross, and he had no boats. He found a board with a few old nails in it, and out of these he fashioned crude knives, with which he laboriously cut down branches of trees, and made a raft by which to cross the rivers. Sometimes the rivers were fordable, but were filled with alligators. At these he flung stones to scare them away, and then sallied forth across the stream. Once a mangrove swamp lay between him and the place where he would fain go. There was no road; only the swamp, that would swallow him up if he put foot upon it. He solved the problem of progress by swinging from bough to bough of the mangrove, travelling for miles in that way. Truly, Bartholomew was a hardy traveller!
Thus for a whole fortnight the buccaneer kept on his lonely way, and at last reached Gulfo Triste, where he found what he had hoped would be there—a buccaneer ship, careening.
The pirates were friends of his, and he poured into their attentive ears the story of his adventures and misadventures. They listened even more attentively when he told them that, if they would help him, he would put in their way a ship that would enable them to brave any vessel that the Spanish Dons might send out against them; besides which it contained goodly treasures.
“Give me a boat and thirty men,” he said, “and I will go back to Campechy and bring back the ship that took me prisoner.”
His friends gave the boat and the men, and Bartholomew set out, hugging the coast, and eight days later came to Campechy. Then, under the cover of darkness, he put his boat alongside the great vessel, scrambled up her side, and prepared to rush. The sentry challenged him. Bartholomew, in Spanish, murmured soothingly that they were part of the crew returning, after an evening ashore, with smuggled goods, and the sentry kept quiet. He was quieter still soon, for a knife-thrust laid him low.
Then, with a rush, the buccaneers fell upon the watch, overpowered them, cut the cable and set the vessel adrift; after which they ran below. The sleeping crew awoke in a great fright, and, with pistols at their heads, were compelled to surrender.
The ship was won!
Bartholomew, however, seemed dogged by hard luck, for while he was making his way past the Isle of Pines, bound for Jamaica, a great storm burst upon him, and drove his prize upon the rocks, where she held fast until she was broken to pieces.
The ship was lost!
The buccaneers, however, succeeded in escaping to Jamaica in a canoe, from where, according to Esquemeling, the chronicler of the dark deeds of the bold pirates, “it was not long before Bartholomew Portugues went on new adventures, but was never fortunate afterwards.”