hore. Our
house appears in the left corner, and at a distance down the coast is
seen an ancient mound. Cut off, to a great extent, from communication
with the interior, or, at least, connected with it only by a long and
toilsome road, its low huts buried among the cocoanut trees, but few
people moving about it, canoas in the offing, and a cannon half buried
on the shore, it seemed, what it was notorious for having been, the
haunt of pirates in days gone by.

In our journey to the coast we had entered a region of novel and
exciting interest. On the road we had heard of quondam pirates, having
small sugar ranchos, and enjoying reputations but little the worse for
wear, in fact, much respected, and looked upon with a sort of
compassion, as men who had been unfortunate and broken up in business.
We had now reached the focus of their operations.

It is not many years since the coast of Cuba and the adjacent continent
were infested by bands of desperadoes, the common enemies of mankind,
and doomed to be hung and shot without trial, wherever caught. Tales of
piracies and murders which make the blood run cold are fresh in the
remembrance of many. The sailor still repeats or listens to them with
shuddering interest, and in those times of rapine and blood, this port
was notorious as a rendezvous for these robbers of the sea.

It commanded a view of many leagues, and of all vessels passing between
Cuba and the Spanish Main. A long, low flat extended many miles out; if
the vessel was armed, and of superior force, the pirates pulled back
into shoal water, and if pursued by boats, scattered and saved
themselves in the interior. The plunder brought ashore was spent in
gaming and revelry. Doubloons, as one of the inhabitants told us, were
then as plentiful as medios are now. The prodigality of the pirates
brought many people to the place, who, profiting by their ill-gotten
gains, became identified with them, and pirate law prevailed.

Immediately on our arrival we had visiters, some of whom were silent
and uncommunicative upon the historical associations of the place; and
when they went away their good-natured neighbours spoke of them as los
pobres, who had good reason to be silent. All spoke with kindness and
good feeling of the leaders, and particularly of one Don Juan, the
captain, a dashing, generous fellow, whose death was a great public
loss. Individuals were named, then living in the place, and the
principal men, who had bee