The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 165: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SAILING WITH MORGAN, fresh supply of boucain and shipped a quantity of powder; but we found no men, therein save only the small guard that we had left there to look after the place. We got our anchors again and kept on down the coast, bearing up to the southwest, past Barbuda and Antigua, heading straight for the Golpho de Triste, and then westward along the mighty northern wall, more like Alpine peaks than any other mountains that I have ever seen. Here and there the upland valleys opening through the wall of rock drew the eye up through the long vistas of mile on mile of cane-field and culti- vated ground, with here and there along the coast patches of glaring white edged with bright green, show- ing the location of the thriving little Spanish towns. { thanked Heaven that they were too small to be garrisoned, for the Span- iard only garrisoned his wealthy or important places, and had the places been rich they would have been help- less before us. I had no mind to see a repetition of Porto Bello. “Up yonder, three thousand feet above the sea, is where Santiago de Leon was built.” The thick, greasy voice made me shudder. It was the man who was now our guide, Pedro Corsona, the Spaniard. Oakes joined us by the rail. “Yes, and I can tell you what Pedro probably does not know, that seventy-— five years ago it was the scene of a most bloody battle, when it was taken by the English captain, Amyas Pres- ton, with his crews. Lord, Lord! But it was rich, they say. It used to be the richest town east of Bogota.” ‘Maracaibo is good, too,” said Pe- dro, licking his sinful lips at the thought. Finally we raised the land. It was at evening when the word was passed, and in a moment the crews were grouped forward, glowing masses of color against the sheet of foam-flecked blue, and away off against the setting S67 sun the shadow of a tall palm-tree rose out of the sea-rim and stood there in outline as hard as iron in the golden dusk. From this time on discipline was most rigidly enforced. Gun-crews were told off, standing and running rigging overhauled, and what with sharpening of cutlases, tallowing of pikes, and setting new flints in the muskets, the time passed quickly enough till we had dropped Punto Gal- linas astern and were drawing near the narrow pass that forms the open- ing to the wonderful landlocked bay of Maracaibo. Here we found quiet water. Behind us was the roaring trade-wind and the open sea, and before us lay three thri- ving Spanish towns, helpless to our hands and absolutely unsuspicious of the fate that was in store for them. The great headland that jutted sea- ward like the thumb from a «man’s hand was crowned by a large stone fort, the guns of which grinned menacingly at us to the seaward. It would never do to leave such a place occupied by an enemy in the rear. The great golden flag of Spain flung out in a sheet of yellow flame from the headland. Even then I remember that I thought we were too close under the walls to find safety from the heavy guns, when suddenly I saw Morgan’s own ship lay her foretopsail to the mast. The example was hastily followed by the other ships of the squadron, and in the twinkle of an eye twenty boats were in the water and the eager crews, not waiting for the boats to land, sprang over into the boiling surf that piled in smoky masses on the sea beach. There were many trails, apparently mere cattle paths, that led from the sea beach to the rock-ribbed summit, ’ where the bronze guns peered from their ports, and we took them at a run, never halting to form, but stum- bling up the steep incline, man after man hauling himself up the hill by the CONMcooo S (E@)