CHAPTER VIII.

PAUL JONES AND DE SOTO.

Paul Jones, the Privateer—A Story of his Boyhood—He joins the American Revolutionists—Attempt to Burn the Town and Shipping of Whitehaven—Foiled—His Appearance at St. Mary’s—Capture of Lady Selkirk’s Family Plate—A Letter from Jones—Return of the Plate several years after—A Press-gang Impressed—Engagement with the _Ranger_—A Privateer Squadron—The Fight off Scarborough—Brave Captains Pearson and Piercy—Victory for the Privateers—Jones dies in abject Poverty—A Nineteenth Century Freebooter—Benito de Soto—Mutiny on a Slave Ship—The Commander left ashore and the Mate Murdered—Encounters the _Morning Star_—A Ship without a Gun—Terror of the Passengers—Order to spare no Lives—A terrified Steward—De Soto’s commands only partially observed, and the Ship saved—At Cadiz—Failure of the Pirate’s Plans—Captured, Tried, and Hanged at Gibraltar.

A celebrated character now appears on the scene; and the writer must avow that Paul Jones has hardly been treated fairly in many works of fiction(8) and so-called history. He was not a pirate in the true sense of the word, although very generally regarded as such, but was a privateer, employed by colonies rebelling against the mother country.

John Paul—for such was his real name—was born on the estate of Lord Selkirk, near Kirkcudbright, Scotland, in 1728, his father being head gardener. Young Paul worked with his father for some length of time, and there is a story recorded of the elder Paul which showed him to possess a good sense of humour. In the gardens were two summer-houses, exactly alike in build and size. One day Lord Selkirk, while strolling about the walks, observed a young man locked up in one of the summer-houses and looking out of the window. In the other house young Paul appeared, looking out of the corresponding window. His lordship inquired why the lads were confined, to which the gardener replied, “My lord, I caught the rascal stealing your lordship’s fruit.” “But,” said the nobleman, “there are two of them. What has your son done? is he also guilty?” “Oh no, please your lordship,” old Paul coolly replied, “I just put him in for the sake of symmetry!” But it appears that afterwards young Paul got himself in serious trouble, and deserved to have been locked up in some stronger place than a summer-house, and on other grounds than symmetry, and after some specially knavish trick he was dismissed from his employment, and almost immediately took to a seafaring life. He speedily rose to be mate, and soon after master.

In 1777, when the rupture broke out between America and Great Britain, he was in New England, and he immediately enlisted among the revolutionists, who appointed him commander of the _Ranger_ privateer, mounting eighteen guns and several swivels, and manned with a picked crew of 150 hardy men.

In the course of the following winter he put to sea, and made two captures, which were sold in a French port, and in 1778 made an attempt to burn and destroy the town and shipping of Whitehaven. Having got near the land, he kept cautiously in the offing, but at midnight, having proceeded nearer, he despatched his boats with thirty daring sailors. A little battery at the entrance of the harbour was easily taken, and the small garrison made prisoners before they could raise an alarm, and the guns spiked. The vessels inside were laying close together at low water, and as no enemy was expected there were no watches kept. The privateers deposited combustibles, trains of powder, and matches, ready primed, on the decks and about the rigging, and all was ready for the signal to be given, when a commotion and loud knocking was heard in the main street, and crowds came running to the piers, attracted by the lights which were being hastily thrown on the ships by the enemy. The attacking party could only just manage to get away and back to the ship, when, on the muster being called, one man was missing. He it was who, either from hopes of great reward, or, let us hope, from some purer motive of humanity, had started the alarm, and saved both town and shipping, for only one vessel was seriously scorched.

Paul Jones therefore left Whitehaven: the expedition had been a most complete failure. He next made for the harbour of Kirkcudbright, at the entrance of the river Dee—on which that “jolly miller” once lived of whom we sing. A little distance from the sea the Dee expands into an estuary, in which is the island of St. Mary, the very place on which Lord Selkirk’s castle and estate stood. Early in the morning the privateer, with her guns and generally warlike appearance, had been observed, but her character was not known. Few vessels of size ever entered the river, and in this case she was supposed to be an English man-of-war, possibly bent on “impressing” men for the navy, and as the male population there, as elsewhere, objected strongly to being torn away from their families and employments, a number of them hid themselves, as did, indeed, Lady Selkirk’s men-servants, who obtained temporary leave of absence. A boat from the privateer landed a number of men immediately, who strolled about leisurely, without having apparently any special object in view, and later returned to the ship. The alarm of those who watched their movements from a distance had hardly subsided when the boat, with a strong body of armed men, again put in for shore.

“They did not now stroll about as before, but forming in regular order, marched directly to the castle; and then, for the first time, a suspicion of the real character of such unexpected and unwelcome guests was excited. Lady Selkirk and her children were then the only members of the family resident in the castle. Her ladyship had just finished breakfast when she received a summons, but under considerable apprehensions of danger, which were not abated upon a nearer approach to inspection of the party, whose ferocious appearance and ragged dress too plainly betokened their hostile purpose; and, as it now appeared plunder was their chief object, the worst might be expected should any resistance be offered. The diversity of arms with which the party were equipped further confirmed the bad opinion entertained of the marauders. These consisted of muskets, pistols, swords, &c., and one fellow bore an American tomahawk over his shoulder. There were two officers in command of the party: the one rude in language and rough in his manner; the other, on the contrary, was not only courteous and respectful, but even apologised to her ladyship, regretting the unpleasant duty in which it was unfortunately his lot to appear as the principal.

“The first inquiry was for the appearance of Lord Selkirk; and on being assured that he was not in that part of the country they expressed considerable disappointment. After a short pause, the officer who had treated her ladyship with the most respect said he must request the production of all the plate which was in her possession. She answered that the plate which was in the castle was small in quantity, but, such as it was, they should have it.

“Accordingly the whole was laid before them—even the silver teapot which was used at breakfast, and which had not been since washed out. The officer on receiving it ordered his men to pack it all, again respectfully apologising for his conduct on this occasion, which he called a dirty business, and then taking his leave of her ladyship, he retired with his party, and returned to his ship, leaving the family not a little pleased at their escape from a worse fate, which they apprehended. Still, however, as the ship did not immediately get under weigh, her ladyship, entertaining fears of a second visit, lost no time in sending off her children, and removing to a place of security whatever property was likely to induce them to pay her another visit.” In a few hours she was gratified by seeing the privateer getting under weigh, and proceeding to sea without offering any further violence. Lady Selkirk received, a few days after, a letter from Jones, written in a romantic and almost poetical style, in which he entreated her ladyship’s pardon for the late affront, assuring her that, so far from having been suggested or sanctioned by him, he had exerted his influence in order to prevent its taking place; but his officers and crew had insisted on the enterprise, in the hope of getting possession of the person of Lord Selkirk, for whose ransom they anticipated a considerable sum might be realised. This, Jones declared, was the object of their first visit, in which having failed, they began to murmur on their return on board, and insisted on their landing again and plundering the castle; he was therefore reluctantly obliged to give his assent. He added that he would endeavour to buy the plunder they had so disgracefully brought away, and transmit the whole, or such as he could obtain, to her ladyship.

“Several years elapsed without hearing anything from Jones, and all hope of realisation of his promises had vanished; but in the spring of the year 1783, to the great and agreeable surprise of her ladyship, the whole of the plate was returned, carriage paid, precisely in the same condition in which it had been taken away, and to every appearance without having ever been unpacked, the tea-leaves remaining in the silver teapot, as they were left after breakfast on the morning of the plunderers’ visit to the castle.” It is hardly to be doubted that Jones was sincere in this matter, and that the real state of the case was that he had spoken before the others of Lord Selkirk’s estate and his early experiences, until they had become inflamed with a desire to plunder the castle, and, if possible, secure the person of that nobleman, with the hope of obtaining a large ransom. This, at first sight the most piratical act of Paul’s life, really shows him to advantage, and that he had some humanity left for his early associates. Lord Selkirk himself received the news in London, with a few additions, to the effect that his castle had been burned to the ground and his family taken prisoners. Those were not the days of special correspondents and telegraphy. About half-way on his journey he, however, obtained a more correct version of the affair.

Jones now made for the Irish coast, where in the Belfast Loch he burned or captured several fishing-boats. A sloop-of-war, the _Drake_, under the command of Captain Burden, was lying there. The commander thought that the _Ranger_ was a merchantman, and sent off a boat’s crew to impress some of her men for the navy. Jones allowed them to come on board, and then impressed _them_! He did not, however, wish to risk an engagement just then, and therefore put about and crowded on all sail. Captain Burden, finding that his boat did not return, at last suspected something wrong, gave chase, and, coming up with the privateer, opened a sharp fire. The night was so dark that the firing could not be continued with any prospect of success. Next morning the engagement was renewed, and at the end of over an hour’s gallant fighting on both sides—by which time Captain Burden, his first lieutenant, and some of the crew, being killed, and more disabled, and the ship much damaged—the _Drake_ surrendered to the _Ranger_. Jones took his prize into Brest—and communicated his success to Dr. Franklin,(9) then the American diplomatic agent in Paris.

In the following winter we find Jones in command of a frigate, the _Bonne Homme Richard_, of forty guns, with a complement of 370 men, having under him another frigate, the _Alliance_, of nearly equal size, a brig, and a cutter, all acting in the service of the American Congress. A French frigate, the _Pallas_, also formed one of the squadron. Some of his first essays were failures. Landing a boat’s crew on the coast of Kerry to take some sheep, the farmers and people defended their property bravely, and the aggressors were sent to Tralee gaol. So, when he conceived the bold idea of burning the shipping in Leith harbour, a gale blew his ship to sea. It is said that laying off Kirkaldy, Jones sent a summons to the townspeople to make up a ransom, or he would fire the town. A number of the inhabitants had collected on the beach, among whom was a venerable minister, who offered up a prayer to the Almighty, and exhorted the people to courage and trustfulness. Soon after the wind increased to the gale above-mentioned, and the privateer had to be let go before the wind. Not long previous to this, however, Jones had captured several prizes, all of which were sent to French ports.

But off Scarborough Jones and his squadron fell in with a British convoy of merchantmen from the Baltic, under escort of H.M.S. _Serapis_ (forty-four guns), in the command of Captain Pearson, and the _Countess of Scarborough_ (twenty guns), Captain Piercy. The result was a brilliant engagement, in which the British captains behaved most gallantly, although the privateer force was in excess of their own. Captain Pearson, while a prisoner on the _Pallas_, communicated a full account to the Lords of the Admiralty, of which the following narrative contains some verbatim extracts:—

On the 23rd September, 1799, the privateer squadron and the two English ships were in sight of each other. Captain Pearson’s first anxiety was to get between the merchant-ships he was convoying and the privateers, which he successfully accomplished. Shortly after the action commenced the muzzles of the guns of the _Serapis_ and _Alliance_ actually touched each other. “In this position,” wrote Captain Pearson, “we engaged from half-past eight till half-past ten, during which time, from the great quantity and variety of combustible matter which they threw upon our decks, cabins, and, in short, into every part of the ship, we were on fire no less than ten or twelve times in different parts of the ship, and it was with the greatest difficulty and exertion imaginable, at times, that we were able to get it extinguished. At the same time the largest of the two frigates kept sailing round us during the whole action, and raking us fore and aft, by which means she killed or wounded almost every man on the quarter and main decks. At half-past nine, either from a hand-grenade being thrown in at one of our lower deck ports or from some other accident, a cartridge of powder was set on fire, the flames of which, running from cartridge to cartridge all the way aft, blew up the whole of the officers and crew that were quartered abaft the mainmast; from which unfortunate circumstance all those guns were rendered useless for the remainder of the action.

“At ten o’clock they called for quarter from the ship alongside, and said they had struck. Hearing this, I called upon the captain to say if they had struck, or if he asked for quarter, but receiving no answer after repeating my words two or three times, I called for the boarders, and ordered them to board, which they did; but the moment they were on board her they discovered a superior number lying under cover, with pikes in their hands, ready to receive them, on which our people retreated instantly into our own ship, and returned to their guns again until half-past ten, when the frigate coming across our stern, and pouring her broadside into us again without our being able to bring a gun to bear on her, I found it in vain, and in short impracticable, from the situation we were in, to stand out any longer with any prospect of success. I therefore struck; our mainmast at the same time went by the board.

“The first lieutenant and myself were immediately escorted into the ship alongside, when we found her to be an American ship-of-war, called the _Bonne Homme Richard_, of forty guns and 375 men, commanded by Captain Paul Jones; the other frigate which engaged us to be the _Alliance_, of forty guns and 300 men; and the third frigate, which engaged and took the _Countess of Scarborough_ after two hours’ action, to be the _Pallas_, a French frigate, of thirty guns and 274 men; the _Vengeance_, an armed brig of twelve guns and seventy men: all in Congress service, under the command of Paul Jones. They fitted and sailed from Port l’Orient the latter end of July, and then came north. They have on board 300 English prisoners, which they have taken in different vessels in their way round since they left France, and have ransomed some others. On my going on board the _Bonne Homme Richard_ I found her in the greatest distress, her quarters and counter on the lower deck being entirely drove in, and the whole of her lower deck guns dismounted; she was also on fire in two places, and six or seven feet of water in her hold, which kept increasing upon them all night and next day, till they were obliged to quit her. She had 300 men killed and wounded in the action. Our loss in the _Serapis_ was also very great.” Captain Pearson concludes with a proper tribute to the bravery of Captain Piercy, who with his small frigate had engaged the _Pallas_, a much larger vessel, and to the men in general. The honour of knighthood was afterwards conferred on Captain Pearson, while Piercy and the officers were suitably promoted. The Royal Exchange Insurance Company presented both captains with services of plate. It need not be said that Paul Jones was for the nonce a much-appreciated man in America.

His subsequent career does not possess much interest for the general reader. He was, in 1786, employed in diplomatic service, and he crossed the Atlantic with despatches for London in the then remarkable time of twenty-two days, and, having performed his duty, he remained a few hours only, and then immediately started on the return voyage. American go-a-headedness was fast developing at that early period. When peace was concluded he entered into the service of Russia for a short period, after which he was in Paris at the period of the Revolution. Here he sought, but failed in obtaining, employment in the French navy; and he soon became a man as dejected and downcast as he had once been buoyant and resolute. He died in abject poverty; and he would hardly have been decently interred but for the sympathy of a friend, who succeeded in raising a small subscription for the purpose.

The full history of piracy would occupy a small library of volumes, and would possess many elements of sameness in its full narration. In the present volume only leading examples can be given, for space would fail us to record the crimes committed by Algerian, Spanish, Indian, Chinese, and other pirates, many of them in times not long gone by. But the example of unbridled brutality and villany about to be presented could not be omitted in any fair account of the subject. Sad to say, it occurred in this present century of general enlightenment. The career of the infamous Benito de Soto is the subject of the following pages.(10)

Benito de Soto was a Portuguese sailor, and up to the year 1827 appears to have followed the ordinary avocations of his profession. In the above year a slaver was being fitted out for a voyage to the coast of Africa. In the horrible traffic in which the vessel was engaged a strong crew was required, and, among a considerable number of sailors, De Soto was engaged. It was the intention of the captain to run to a part of the African coast not usually visited, where he hoped to obtain them cheaper than elsewhere, or perhaps get them by force. His crew consisted principally of French, Spanish, and Portuguese renegades, who made no objection to sail with him on his evil voyage.

The captain of the slave-ship arrived at his destination, and obtained a considerable number of natives, who were closely battened down in the hold. One day he went ashore to make arrangements for completing his cargo, when the mate, who was a bold, reckless, and thoroughly unprincipled man, and who had perceived in Benito de Soto a kindred spirit, proposed to the latter a design he had long contemplated for running away with the vessel and becoming a pirate. De Soto at once agreed to join in the mutiny, and declared that he had himself been contemplating a similar enterprise. The pair of rogues shook hands, and lost no time in maturing the plot. A large part of the crew joined in the conspiracy, but a number held out faithfully to the captain, and the mate was despairing of success, when De Soto took the matter in hand, thoroughly armed the conspirators, declared the mate captain, and told the others, “There is the African coast: this is our ship; one or other must be chosen by every man on board within five minutes.” The well-disposed would not, however, join the mutinous, and they were immediately hustled into a boat, and left to the mercy of the waves with one pair of oars. Had the weather continued calm the boat would have made the shore by dusk; but unhappily a strong gale of wind set in shortly after her departure, and she was seen by De Soto and his gang struggling with the billows and approaching night at a considerable distance from the land. All on board agreed in opinion that the boat could not live, as they flew away from her at the rate of ten knots an hour, under close-reefed topsails, leaving their unhappy messmates to their inevitable fate. Those of the pirates who were afterwards executed at Cadiz declared that every soul in the boat perished. A drunken revel reigned on board that night. The mate soon proved a tyrant; and De Soto, who had only waited for the opportunity, shot him while in a drunken sleep, and constituted himself commander. The slaves were taken to the West Indies, and a good price obtained for them; one, a boy, De Soto reserved for himself. That boy lived to be a witness against him, and before he left Cadiz saw the full penalty of the law executed on his brutal master.

The pirates now commenced their villanous designs in good earnest, and plundered a number of vessels. Amongst others they took an American brig, and having secured all the valuables on board, hatched down all hands in the hold except one poor black man—probably the cook—who was allowed to remain on deck for the special purpose of affording by his tortures the horrible amusement De Soto and his fellow fiends desired. The heart sickens at the remainder of the story. They set fire to the brig, and then lay to at a short distance to observe the progress of the flames, knowing that a number of their fellow-creatures were being roasted to death in the hold. The poor African ran from rope to rope, now clinging to the shrouds, even climbing up to the mast-head, till he fell exhausted in the flames, and the tragedy was over.

Exploit after exploit, marked by heartless butchery, followed, and culminated in the event which led to their overthrow. It was an evil day when they met, off the Island of Ascension, the _Morning Star_, a vessel then on her voyage from Ceylon to England, having on board a valuable cargo and a number of passengers, civilian and military, the latter principally invalided soldiers. There were also several ladies on board. De Soto at first took her for a French ship, but when he was assured that she was English he said with glee, “So much the better, we shall find the more booty,” and ordered the sails squared for the chase.

His vessel, the _Defensor de Pedro_, was a fast sailer, but for some time could not gain much on the _Morning Star_, and De Soto broke out in almost ungovernable fits of rage. When his poor little cabin-boy came to ask him whether he would have his morning cup of chocolate, he received a violent blow from a telescope as his reward. While the crew were clearing the decks for action he walked up and down with gloomy brow and folded arms, maturing his plan of attack; and woe to the man who interrupted his meditations! But when he found that he was gaining on his intended victim he became calm enough to eat his breakfast, and then sat down to smoke a cigar.

And now they had gained sufficiently on the other ship to enable De Soto to fire a charge of blank cartridge for the purpose of bringing her to. This, however, had no effect, although he hoisted British colours; and he then shouted out, “Shoot the long gun, and give it her point-blank!” The shot was fired, but fell short of its aim, and the gunner was cursed as a bungler. He then ordered them to load with canister-shot, and, waiting till he was abreast of the vessel, discharged the gun himself with fatal accuracy, while one of his men ran down the falsely-displayed British colours, and De Soto then himself hauled up the Columbian colours, and cried out through the speaking-trumpet for the captain to come on board.

One can imagine the alarm on the _Morning Star_ among the helpless passengers, when they found that their captain had neither guns nor small arms. Although there were twenty-five soldiers on board and a commanding officer, they were all cripples or feeble invalids. The captain was, as will afterwards appear, a brave and true officer, but by a general council, hurriedly held, he was advised to allow one of the passengers to volunteer for the service of going on board the pirate ship. It may be imagined how he was received. When they found that he was not the captain, they beat him, as well as the sailors with him, in a brutal manner, and then sent him back with the message that if the captain did not instantly come on board they would blow the ship out of the water. This, of course, decided the captain, and he immediately put off in a boat, with his second mate, three sailors, and a boy, and was rowed to the pirate ship. On going on board, De Soto, who stood near the mainmast, cutlass in hand, desired the captain to approach, while the mate was ordered to go forward. Both of these unfortunate individuals obeyed, and were instantly massacred.

A number of the pirates—picked men—were ordered to descend into the boat, Barbazan, De Soto’s right hand in villainy, accompanying them. To him the leader gave his orders to spare no lives, and sink the ship. The pirates were all armed alike, each carrying a brace of pistols, a cutlass, and a long knife. Their dress consisted of coarse chequered cotton, and red woollen caps. They were all athletic men, and evidently suited for their sanguinary work. A man stood by the long gun with a lighted match, ready to support the boarding, if necessary, with a shot that would sweep the deck. The terror of the poor females and most of the rest on the _Morning Star_ may well be imagined; nor could the fears of the former be allayed by the vain hopes which some expressed that the pirates would simply plunder the vessel and then leave them. Vain hopes indeed, for the pirates commenced cutting right and left immediately they boarded. The villains were soon masters of the decks. “Beaten, bleeding, terrified, the men lay huddled together in the hold, while the pirates proceeded in their work of pillage and brutality. Every trunk was hauled forth; every portable article of value heaped for the plunder: money, plate, charts, nautical instruments, and seven parcels of valuable jewels, which formed part of the cargo; these were carried from below on the backs of those men whom the pirates selected to assist them, and for two hours they were thus employed, during which time De Soto stood on his own deck watching the operations, for the vessels were within a hundred yards of each other.” The scene in the cabin was one of unbridled license; the passengers were stripped of their clothes, while the females were locked up together in the round-house on deck.

The steward was detained, to serve the pirates with wine and eatables, and their labours being now concluded, they held high revel, preparatory to carrying out the diabolical orders of their leader. A more terrible group of ruffians, the poor steward afterwards declared, could not well be imagined. In one instance his life was in great jeopardy, when one of the pirates demanded to know where the captain had kept his money. He might as well have asked him to perform a miracle; but pleading the truth was of no use, and a pistol was snapped at his breast, which, fortunately, missed fire. He re-cocked, and presented it, when the weapon was struck aside by Barbazan, who possibly thought that the services of the steward might yet be required. The females were afterwards ordered into the cabin, and treated with great brutality.

Whether Barbazan had any spark of humanity left in his bosom, or whether it was a forgetfulness of the orders given to him by De Soto, caused by the wine he had taken, is not known, but after a series of outrages, he contented himself by ordering his men to fasten the women in the cabin, heap lumber on the hatches of the hold, and bore holes in the ship below the water-line. This may seem strange mercy, but it left some chance, if by any possibility any of those on board could get free and stop the leaks. His orders, it will be remembered, had been to put all to death, as well as sink the ship.

Whatever Barbazan’s motives may have been, his course of action saved the ship, for the women contrived to force their way out of the cabin, and release the men in the hold. When they came on deck they anxiously peered out into the darkness, and had the satisfaction of seeing the pirate-ship, with all sails set, bearing away in the far distance. Their delight was, however, somewhat checked when they found that the vessel had six feet of water in her; but at length work at the pumps told, and the vessel was kept afloat. Yet they were still in a helpless condition, for the pirates had sawn away the masts and cut the rigging. Fortunately, however, they fell in with a vessel next day: their troubles were over, and they were brought in safety to England.

To return to De Soto. It was only next morning that he learned that the crew and passengers had been left alive. This excited his utmost rage, and he declared that now there could be no security for their lives. He determined to put back, but providentially he could find no trace of the vessel, and at last he consoled himself with the belief that she had gone to the bottom. He then set sail for Europe, and on his voyage met a brig, boarded, plundered, and sank her, having first murdered the crew, with the exception of one individual, whom he took with him as a pilot, as he professed to know the course to Corunna. As soon as he had come within sight of that port, De Soto came up to the unfortunate sailor, and said, “You have done your duty well, and I am obliged to you for your services.” He then immediately shot him dead, and flung his body overboard! Polite and humane De Soto!

At Corunna he obtained papers under a false name, sold most of his ill-gotten spoils, and set sail for Cadiz, where he expected to easily dispose of the remainder. The winds were favourable and the voyage good till he was actually in sight of the famed old Spanish port, off which he arrived in the evening. He therefore determined to lay to, intending to reach his anchorage in the morning, when the wind shifted, culminating in a gale, which blew right on land. He exerted all his seamanship to weather a point that stretched outwards, but his lee-way carried him towards the land, and the vessel became an utter wreck. Soto soon arranged a plan. They were to pass themselves off as honest men to the authorities of Cadiz; Soto was to take upon himself the office of mate to an imaginary captain, and thus obtain their sanction in disposing of the vessel. In their assumed character the whole proceeded to Cadiz, and presented themselves before the proper officers of the marine. Their story was listened to with sympathy, and for a few days everything went on to their satisfaction. Soto had succeeded so well as to conclude the sale of the wreck with a broker for the sum of one thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. The contract was signed, but, fortunately, the money was not yet paid, when suspicion arose, from some inconsistencies in the pirates’ account of themselves, and six of them were arrested by the authorities. De Soto and one of the crew instantly disappeared from Cadiz, and succeeded in arriving at the neutral ground before Gibraltar, and six more made their escape to Caracas.

De Soto’s companion wisely kept to the neutral ground at Gibraltar, while he foolishly ventured into the city, his object being to obtain money for a letter of credit he had obtained at Cadiz. The former man was the only one of the whole gang who escaped punishment.

De Soto secured his admission into Gibraltar by a false pass, and took up his residence at a low tavern in one of the narrow lanes in which the place abounds. “The appearance of this house,” says the writer of the interesting letter from which this account is derived, “was in grim harmony with the worthy Benito’s life. I have occasion to pass the door frequently at night, for our barrack, the casement, is but a few yards from it. I never look out at the place without feeling an involuntary sensation of horror....

“In this den the villain remained for a few weeks, and during this time he seemed to enjoy himself as if he had never committed a murder. The story he told Bosso of the circumstances was that he came to Gibraltar on his way from Cadiz to Malaga, and was merely awaiting the arrival of a friend.

“He dressed expensively, generally wore a white hat of the best English quality, silk stockings, white trousers, and blue frock coat. His whiskers were large and bushy, and his hair was black, profuse, long, and curled. He was deeply browned with the sun, and had an air and gait expressive of his bold, enterprising, and desperate mind. Indeed, when I saw him in his cell and at his trial, although his frame was attenuated almost to a skeleton, the colour of his face a pale yellow, his eyes sunken, and his hair closely shorn, he still exhibited strong traces of what he had been, still retained his erect and fearless carriage, his quick, fiery, and malevolent eye, his hurried and concise speech, and his close and pertinent style of remark.” After he had been confronted in court with a dirk that had belonged to one of his victims, a trunk and clothes taken from another, and the pocket-book containing the handwriting of the _Morning Star’s_ ill-fated captain, and which were proved to have been found in his room; and when the maid-servant had proved that she found the dirk under his pillow, and again when he was confronted by his own black slave boy between two wax lights, the countenance of the villain appeared in its true nature, not depressed or sorrowful, but diabolically ferocious; and when Sir George Don passed the just sentence of the law upon him his face was a study of concentrated venom.

The wretched man persisted up to the day of his execution in asserting his innocence; but the certainty of his doom seemed to make some impression on him, and he at last made an unreserved confession of his crimes, giving up to the keeper a razor-blade which he had secreted in his shoes for the avowed purpose of committing suicide. The narrator of his life seems to have believed that he was really penitent.

On the day of his execution he walked firmly at the tail of the fatal cart, gazing alternately at the crucifix he held in his hand and at his coffin, and repeated the prayers spoken in his ears by the attendant clergyman with apparent devotion. The gallows was erected fronting the neutral ground, and he mounted the cart as firmly as he had walked, holding up his face to heaven in the beating rain, apparently calm and resigned. Finding the halter too high for his neck, he boldly stepped upon his coffin and placed his head in the noose, bidding adieu to all around him. Thus died Benito de Soto, the pirate of the nineteenth century, whose crimes had hardly been exceeded by the freebooters of any previous period.