ded review of
lawless maritime depredations in its various phases, but it may be
within our province to refer for a moment to the buccaneers and
filibusters of our own continent. The late war in Cuba brought the
filibusters once more into prominence. The term applies to one who,
warring upon another country, does so, not for private gain, but for
public benefit, and refers generally to those who had attempted to
conquer certain Spanish-American possessions upon the plea that the
objective country was suffering from anarchy and oppression. The theory
was that salvation could only be found in annexation to the United
States; and if this be so, there are many spiritual filibusters within
our borders to-day. The term has now become generally applicable to
adventurers from the United States, but was unknown under that name
until the expedition of Lopez to Cuba in 1850. Aaron Burr was a
filibuster, although we may justly doubt the virtue of his motives.
William Walker, perhaps the foremost of them all, invaded Lower
California in 1854, attempted to found a republic, was defeated, and
later conquered Nicaragua and became its president, only to shift about
in his meteoric career of destiny and sail against Honduras, where he
was captured, court-martialled, and shot in 1860.

It is to the buccaneers, however, that the history of piracy is indebted
for the "glory" which may fill its pages; it is to the men of the stamp
of Morgan, Dampier, Peter of Dieppe, and Van Horn, who by their
courage, dash, and spasmodic chivalry lent sufficient romance to their
misdeeds as to obscure the crime, that we owe the stirring tales of the
conquests in the West Indies and South America. And no less a pirate was
Francis Drake, who, despite his knighthood and the official countenance
the Elizabethan government lent to his attacks upon Spanish galleons and
cities, stands forth as one of the greatest free lances of the world.
His history is unique, brilliant, and commanding; his service for his
country and the attack upon the Spanish Armada atoning, as it were, for
his piratical crimes. What irony of fate, that this wonderful man, a
knight of England, a member of Parliament, a warrior and sailor, a
robber and conqueror, should now lie in a lead coffin at the bottom of
the sea off Porto Rico, conquered by death while on his way to the
islands so often the object of his pillage!

The constant warring of Spain against the powers of the world, not at
ho