I was beginning to be amazed that the Spanish had not even left behind a stray cat. “Truly, what are they doing, bagging the cats and taking them with them?” I asked my matelot as we surreptitiously chewed a little boucan.
“There would be no need,” he said with a grin. “Cats are smarter than hungry stupid men, especially when they have thousands of acres of forest to hide in.”
On the sixth day, we went very slowly. Too many men were weak with hunger for us to maintain any sort of pace. We formed a straggling column, with half our number sitting at any given time. Many men had taken to eating grass or leaves. Some of them became extremely ill from this practice and ended up in the canoes. My matelot took to amusing me by pointing to this or that leaf and reciting its poisonous properties.
At midday, we came upon yet another seemingly empty plantation. This one surprised us with a barn full of maize. There was little order in what occurred with this treasure. Men fell upon it and stuffed it in their mouths, dry; swallowing before they even chewed. Within minutes, the first men complained of cramps and some of them heaved. This slowed the rest from overrunning the men Morgan had now placed to guard the trove. The rumor the grain was poisoned quickly spread through the ranks. Gaston examined the complaining men and the grain and declared the corn fine and their discomfort caused by eating such raw food on such empty stomachs. To my never-ending bemusement, some men still sniffed the grain cautiously when we handed them their ration. For the first time in six days, every man was able to fill his belly. And, if they were careful, they all had some for the morrow as well.
Morgan decided to keep moving as soon as we had eaten a little. Within another hour or so, we came upon an ambuscade manned by approximately a hundred Indians on the eastern side of the river. Our buccaneers went berserk at the sight of possible prey—truly, they still claimed to wish to eat them. Before Morgan could give orders and have them obeyed, many men rushed across the river and attacked. The Indians evaded them quite nimbly and killed several with arrows. Then the bastards cried, “To the plain, you dogs, to the plain,” in broken Spanish from the trees.
We stopped for the day. Our guides said we had likely seen the Indians here because this was where we needed to cross the river. We would now need to travel along the other side until we reached Cruz, a small town that was the last place the Spanish considered navigable for even canoes and small boats when the river was at its proper height. The guides claimed there would be storehouses there, as that was where goods being sent downriver were collected. They also said the plain the Indians spoke of rested between us and Panama, and was—judging from the natives’ taunts—the place where the Spanish were waiting for us.
That night, there was a great deal of discord heard around the fires. Some men wished to return, others swore they would never walk that river again even if promised the riches of Spain at the other end, and some complained of Morgan and his lack of planning. Their Admiral was not blind or deaf: he knew well morale was low, but he knew not what to do about it. He finally cajoled the guides into going amongst the men and speaking of how much easier the way would be now, and how very rich Panama was.
On the morning of the seventh day, since we had now seen some version of the enemy, Morgan commanded that everyone see to their weapons and clean and discharge them so that they might not be fouled and misfire. This was usually a daily ritual in the tropics, but we had been eschewing it for the first days of our march in order to conserve powder and lead. The thick and humid air was filled with fat, slow mosquitoes, the smell of cooking corn, and a cacophony of retorts as over four thousand weapons were discharged in an incoherent rhythm. I hoped somewhere across the river the Spanish heard this, and were afraid enough to run from us so that we did not need to truly battle them.
We crossed the river and marched along the eastern shore. By late morning, we began to see smoke ahead of us. Knowing we were approaching the town of Cruz, men ran ahead in the hopes that we were at last seeing signs of habitation, and that every column of smoke was a cook fire with delicious victuals upon it. The idea drove us all on, until we did reach the town and found our vanguard of men lying about dejected. The retreating Spaniards had set fire to the place. There was, of course, little remaining. Sadly, this time the Spanish had left some small animals about, including stupid cats and trusting dogs, and the men made short work of killing and butchering them.
Then in one of the King’s storehouses, which the villagers had not burned, our men came upon a treasure trove of wine from Peru. There was much rejoicing, and Morgan made no move to stop this unexpected booty’s consumption. Unfortunately, wine on starved stomachs was even worse than dry corn, and nearly every man who drank became ill. We did not go further that day. By nightfall, half our number lay about in misery, as they had drunk enough to make them sick, but not enough to make them drunk. Most thought they were poisoned and dying.
To make matters worse, though Morgan had ordered no one to venture from the village in a party of less than a hundred, one group of men did wander off in search of victuals. They were set upon by waiting Spaniards and Indians in the forest, and one of our men was captured before he could retreat to camp. We spent the night listening to that poor soul’s screams as he was tortured to terrorize and enrage us.
Gaston and I found our friends, and the four of us retreated beyond the light of the fires and put our backs to one of the town’s few remaining stone walls. We stuffed little bits of boucan in our ears and sipped wine until we were drunk.
We did not speak. There was nothing to be said. We were miserable and exhausted, and we were not the ones starving. Gaston and I had not spoken of anything of import in days. We had not wanted anyone to see that we were capable of that degree of intellectual exertion. In truth, we were barely capable of more than the most absurd jests concerning the weight of the medicine chest. I had been telling him for two days that he had loaded every vial with lead, and he had been accusing me of stashing food and kittens in the damn wooden chest. We were not at our best, but we were far from the worst we had ever been.
On the eighth day, we abandoned the canoes. Morgan ordered that one vessel be hidden so that it could be used to send messages downstream when necessary. The rest he sent downriver to the place where we had left the larger boats several days to the north.
Then he called for the assembly of a vanguard of two hundred men to be commanded by Captain Prince. He asked that those feeling most healthy step forward.
I looked to Gaston and whispered. “I do not wish to fight anyone, but some of us must defend those who can now not defend themselves.”
He smiled. “It is probably foolish. We will be ambushed by the Spanish or worse.”
“Yet?”
“We should.”
We stepped forward and offered our services. Morgan was pleased: I could at least communicate well with the guide. Captain Prince spoke no Castilian.
Our vanguard of two hundred marched east into the mountains, making relatively good time. The remaining eleven hundred men followed at a slower pace.
We were attacked by Indians several times in the mountain pass. Time and again they would shower us with arrows from fortifications and defensive positions that would have allowed a well-trained cadre of men to hold an army at bay; yet, each time we approached, the Indians fell back. They only defended one of their ambuscades long enough for us to actually fight them. In that encounter, we killed dozens of them and they killed eight of ours and wounded ten more.
Our guide and Captain Prince commented on the stupidity of the Indians—that they did not know to hold the high ground—or the cunning of the Spanish—that they were having the Indians lure us to them. I thought the ease of our egress through the mountains was actually due to the cunning of the Indians and the stupidity of the Spanish. What nation was so stupid as to send their slaves to defend their land? I doubted the Indians believed they had a reason to wage war on us. They were just pretending to fight us in order to appease t
heir masters.
In the late afternoon, we were through much of the mountainous region, and we stopped in a large field and waited for the rest of our army. In the distance we could see a group of Indians watching us from a hill. Captain Prince sent fifty of our men to try to capture some of them. It was a fool’s errand, and the men returned dejected and even more exhausted.
Morgan and our army arrived near dusk, and it began to rain. It was cold and added to our misery. Men who could barely walk endeavored to run as our force hurried across the field to a collection of huts we had seen in the distance. The buildings did not contain food or Spaniards, but they were sufficiently dry inside that we could stack our weapons and powder within them and thus not be defenseless when the rain stopped. With our muskets safe and somewhat dry, we all huddled in great clusters for warmth, like misplaced coveys of sodden quail spread across the landscape.
“I am glad you no longer ail,” I whispered to my matelot in French as we clung to one another at the edge of the shivering gaggle of the recently wounded.
“Oui, I would be dead if we had not spent so long on Île de la Vache.”
“The Gods do watch over us, I suppose.”
“In Their way.”
Morgan roused everyone—if indeed any of us had slept—early on the morning of the ninth damn day, January Eighteenth. It was overcast, but it was not raining. We were pleased with the cloud cover, as we had one more mountain to climb before we finally achieved the plain of Panama. Throughout the morning’s march, we saw Spaniards watching us from the surrounding mountainsides, but every time we sent men to pursue them, the Spanish disappeared into caves and tunnels that apparently honeycombed some of the mountain.
Around midday, we achieved the highest point in our journey, and looking out across the vista ahead of us, we saw the endless expanse of the Southern Sea. There was much rejoicing. Though we were not yet able to walk in its surf, merely seeing this fabled ocean seemed a great accomplishment. We had crossed the Isthmus of Panama.
Then the Gods smiled upon us some more. As we came down the mountain, we entered a vale full of cattle. At first I did not believe them real, but then I heard the lowing and my heart leapt with joy. Starving, howling buccaneers flowed onto that field, and a barbaric but necessary slaughter began. Soon we were eating nearly raw gobbets of meat that had only been singed by a fire in the name of cooking them. It was delicious. If the Spanish had been able to hear the Heaven-sent delight of the men gorging themselves around those fires, they might have thought we had come for the cattle alone, and were now quite satisfied with this treasure and could return home.
Morgan, of course, was not satisfied, and he did not allow his army to lie about with stuffed bellies for the remainder of the day. He wished to see Panama herself. So we were roused to march. Many men did so with great hunks of still-smoldering beef thrown over their shoulders.
Toward evening, we spied a large troop of Spaniards watching us from one of the hills ahead. They waved weapons and shouted things at us, but they withdrew before we reached them. When we crested the hill the Spanish had occupied, we saw the steeple of a great cathedral and knew we were at last in sight of our goal. The buccaneers cheered, blew trumpets, pounded our few drums, and danced with abandon. Morgan stood there grinning like a fool. Once again I thought an observer would have thought we had already won the war.
We went a little further, until we could see the roofs of the buildings, and there we camped. As soon as we began to spread out and light fires, our lookouts spied a company of fifty Spanish horse riding down on us. There was some alarm, but the riders stopped well beyond our musket range and proceeded to walk back and forth as their leader gauged our number. Then they withdrew, leaving only a handful of men to watch us. Then we saw the large company of some two hundred Spaniards we had seen earlier. They took up a position behind us on the road—once again, well beyond our musket range. Morgan ordered our men to stand down and keep an eye on them, but no one was to attempt to engage the enemy or waste munitions taking useless shots at them.
Within the hour, we heard the boom of cannon in the night from the city, but nothing struck our camp. Our forward men said they heard the balls landing well ahead of us. By this time, our men did not care. Everyone was anxious for the morning and relieved we no longer had to march. The evening air was redolent with the smell of roasting meat and the sounds of good cheer.
Gaston, Cudro, Ash, and I gathered at a fire and listened to the distant boom of the Spanish guns.
“Why are they wasting their munitions in the dark?” Ash asked. “They surely know they cannot reach us. Or are they planning to come closer and attack us in the night?”
“Nay,” Cudro said, “They are attempting to disrupt our sleep so that we will fight poorly in the morning.”
I laughed. “Nay, they have spent over a week waiting on our arrival, and they are now bored beyond tears. They are firing the cannon in celebration that they will at last be able to finish this war and go on with their lives.”
That night, for the first time since the march began, Gaston and I fired a few cannon of our own.
The morning air roiled with the thunder of our men clearing their weapons. Then Morgan decided we would behave like an army instead of an unruly pack of dogs. He had his captains organize us into regiments and established a marching order for the same. Then we headed off down the road with drums beating and trumpets playing. It was both impressive and ludicrous.
As we were attached to the command and not a ship, Gaston and I were spared the necessity of trying to march with our fellows. We slung the medicine chest between us and walked along at a reasonable pace behind Morgan.
Shortly, the guide from our small vanguard hurried back to speak with Morgan. I went forward and translated. The man felt that marching down the road was unwise. He could see many places ahead where the Spanish were occupying fortified positions. He said there was a great field off to the side, though; and if we went through the forest, we could reach it and come at the Spanish positions from there. He sketched the matter on the ground. Morgan heartily agreed, as did his captains.
We veered off the road and quickly became a great pack of wild things once again as we forced our way through the woods. It was irksome and time consuming, but eventually we made it through the dense forest and emerged on the field. It had been a brilliant maneuver. We found the Spanish had abandoned their defensive works, and were now coming to meet us on the plain. We were also not in range of their cannon.
Our army formed up into ranks again, and Morgan organized the four companies thus formed into a diamond pattern. We began to march across the plain toward the city. We crested a little hill and saw the army of Panama spread before us atop the next hill. My heart sank. It seemed they had fielded a great many men in our honor. It was surely double our number, and included cavalry. Doubt rippled through our ranks. This was not the type of fight to which many of our men were accustomed. I recalled my own fears of such a seemingly unwise form of military engagement—to wit, standing about in a straight line and firing at other men doing the same—when we fought on the field outside Puerte Principe. Morgan stood confidently before us, though, and jested with his captains while discussing the terrain. This sight, and the knowledge we could not very well run home now, soon had our men encouraging one another.
Morgan reorganized our forces a little, and established a troop of musketeers to be the vanguard, with the intent that they could surely outshoot the Spanish at a greater distance, and thus make a hole in the enemy ranks for our infantry. Essentially, they would be our cannon.
We then marched on the Spanish: not with great speed, but with confidence. Morgan had us go a little left, to flank the seemingly stalwart position of the Spanish foot and gain the advantage of a hill more in range of the Spanish position. Seeing what we were about, the Spanish commander sent in his horse. They appeared to be four or five hundred in number. They wheeled out and came at us through the low terrain be
tween the hills, and quickly became mired: the lowland was apparently a bog, or at least incredibly sloppy ground. Some horses foundered, and some even fell, and on a whole, the cavalry was slowed considerably. Our musketeers advanced toward them quickly and began to volley fire. They seldom missed.
Meanwhile, the Spanish infantry slowly began to advance on us. Now that they were closer, it could be seen that they were not all Spaniards: there was many a dark face amongst the white. They were also not all armed with muskets. Still, they made a brave attempt to charge us. Morgan ordered our main force of six hundred to march toward this militia and fire at will.
All became the chaos of the battlefield. I stood with my musket in my hands and watched. I did not fire, and beside me, Gaston did not even set his medicine chest down to take up a weapon.
Finally, a man ran back to us carrying his wounded matelot. Gaston pulled back to the crest of the hill and began tending him. As the battle wore on, more men were brought to us.
I thought I should turn and help Gaston, but I seemed unable to move. I stood there, transfixed.
The Spanish held for a time; and the cavalry continued to fight for a time, despite the lowland being bathed in blood. Then there was a shout from our rearguard. I turned to see a huge herd of cattle being driven toward us. If it had been a stampede of the great horned beasts, we would have been in dire straits; as it was, many of the herd were frightened by the gunfire and refused to advance toward it, and others were simply not intent on going where the frantic Indians herding them wished. And then, of course, men in our rearguard shot the lead animals and put a halt to the ironic charade. I wondered if the damn fool Spanish had seen us butcher a herd of their cattle the morning before.
And then I could think of nothing else except our starving men falling upon those hapless cattle and hacking them to pieces. And all I could hear was the screaming of wounded horses in the lowland below.
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