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A SPANISH CITY IN THE NEW WORLD.

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By Mary E. Haines.

NLY a miserable fishing village-a cluster of palm-thatched huts under a tropical sky, a broad white beach washed by the blue. Pacific. The Spaniards ground their teeth, some even tore their beards in the first fury of their disappointment. For this was Panama!

Since Antonio Tello de Guzman and his little band, sent to establish a line of military posts between the North and South seas, had reached the Pacific slope, they had heard the town of Panama frequently mentioned by their Indian escort. Eagerly the Spaniards pressed forward, certain of finding gold or pearls, perhaps, Quien sabe? a city of gorgeous palaces, with roofs and pillars of solid gold, such as were well known to abound in the Indies for had not Marco Polo seen them? And now the city of their desires was gained, and the Spaniards felt that life was indeed a blank as they gazed upon the sad reality and learned that Panama in the Indian tongue signified "Place where many fish are taken."

But their countenances lightened as the natives crowded curiously about them. Around the arms and necks of their dusky hosts hung strings of fine pearls, which were willingly exchanged for jingling hawk's bells and gaudy trinkets. Heaps of pearl oysters were brought to the white men, and the Indians set about opening them by fire in the aboriginal fashion, when the Spaniards who would have put a native over the coals with less compunction than a pearl oyster-interposed and taught them how to break the shells, evincing so much concern. in the operation that the haughty cacique who accompanied them was amazed and disgusted.

That was in 1517; yet in less than sixty years the Indian fishing village had become the most important city of America. A never-ceasing stream of treasure from the mines of Peru, from Mexico, Guatemala and Honduras, from the spice islands and the pearl fisheries, poured into her store-houses, there to wait the sailing of the royal treasure-ships for Spain. It was one of the sights of the city to watch the departure of the treasure train, consisting of from a thousand to fifteen hundred mules, laden with gold and silver bricks, pearls, and the hardly less valuable woods, gums, fruits and spices of the American tropics. Under a strong Spanish and Indian guard the precious freight was convoyed to the little town of Cruces, on the river Chagre, and there shipped in barges to the royal galleons waiting off Nombre de Dios in the North Sea.

The streets of Panama were lined with beautiful buildings, and her convents and churches vied with those of Spain in the magnificence of their sacred paintings and ornaments. Without the town lay the villas of the great merchants and the officers of the crown; these were built of cedar, and stood in beautiful gardens overlooking the peaceful South Sea. Here the lives of those who dwelt within them passed in a happy dream. So, at least, thought the unfortunates whose lot it was to live and labor on the deadly eastern coast of the Isthmus.

There was not a nation of Europe that did not cast covetous eyes on this whilom village. Small wonder was it then if the captains and crews of the light craft from Great Britain, Holland and France, which swarmed off the cayos, sought by day and found in

* A number of small Islands surrounding Cuba, the common refuge of pirates.

their dreams at night the strait which must exist between the North and South seas. To find this strait; to steal through it; to swoop down upon the white and yellow ingots and great milky pearls which lay in gleaming heaps in the storehouses of Panama; to load their vessels and sail away with wealth enough to last a lifetime, was the universal aspiration of the "Brethren of the Coast." One among them realized it-in part. He did not find the strait, but he did fill his vessel with the coveted wealth of Panama and sail merrily away to England, where Charles II. rewarded his wicked success with the order of knighthood. This daring pirate was Henry Morgan. The son of a rich Welsh yeoman, he had no desire to follow in the footsteps of his worthy father, but longed to see the world. To that end Harry Morgan left home while yet a mere lad and, making his way to the nearest seaport, shipped for the Barbadoes with a sailing-master who told him many fair tales until the runaway was on board and the ship under way. Then the captain treated him most cruelly, and when the port was reached sold his unfortunate passenger as a slave.

In the hard years of his servitude the generous nature of the Welsh lad became distorted; rage and bitterness filled his heart, and so hardened it that pity withered and never took root again. Compelled to labor when racked by pain and half delirious with fever, exposed with naked skin to the burning sun and pouring rain, half starved, beaten without mercy, the marvel was that he lived to complete his term of bondage. The wretched years crawled by, however, and at last. Henry Morgan found himself freebut penniless and destitute of friends. It was impossible to secure a passage home, nor could he see any way to gain "food for his Stomach or Clothes. for his Back, except by uniting with the wicked Order of Pirats or Robbers of the Sea." Accordingly, he made his way to Jamaica and was

taken on board a craft bound on a piratical cruise. He learned his new trade so rapidly that after the third or fourth voyage he became captain of a vessel, and in a few years commander of the pirate fleet.

Emboldened by the unbroken success of the daring forays which had rendered his name the terror of the Spanish coast, the British buccaneer determined to descend upon the strong city of Panama and put it to sack and ransom. Twelve hundred men, English, French and Dutch, agreed to follow him, and, since the long-sought strait still eluded the navigators, he led them across the Isthmus, following the line of posts established by Guzman one hundred and fourteen years before.

The fame of the pirates' coming had preceded them, and Spaniards and Indians fled in terror, hiding in caves and swamps. The "Brethren of the Coast" had not provided themselves with food for a long march, expecting to find plenty on the route; but what the inhabitants could not carry with them they had destroyed, and the marauders were reduced to such extremities that, coming across a number of sacks made of bullocks' hide and used for transporting merchandise, they fell upon them and devoured them with avidity. "Some Persons, who were never out of their Mother's Kitchins," says a literary pirate who accompanied the expedition and subsequently chronicled it, "may ask, How these Pirats could eat, swallow, and dijest, those pieces of Leather so hard and dry? Unto whom I only answer, That could they once experiment what Hunger, or rather Famine is they would certainly find the manner by their own necessity, as the pirats did. For these, first took the Leather and slic'd it in pieces: Then they did beat it between two Stones; and rub it, often dipping it in the Water of the River, to render it by these means supple and tender. Lastly, they scraped off the Hair, and roasted or broyl'd it upon the Fire.

And being thus cooked, they cut it into small morsels, and eat it; helping it down with frequent Gulps of Water, which by good Fortune they had nigh at hand."

On the sixth day of their weary march the freebooters found a barn stored with maize, and on the ninth a drove of cattle, which they fell upon, slaughtered and ate with great rejoicings. On this same day, from the lofty height still known as El Cerro de los Buccaneros, they descried the shining steeples of Panama and the wide expanse of the Pacific. Then the gaunt crew danced, shouted, embraced one another, and finally lay down to sleep, that they might be refreshed for the morning's conflict.

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But there was little sleep in Panama. Vessels were plying up and down the coast or between the adjacent islands, crowded with frightened fugitives, while men, women and children, wild with terror, stood at the water's edge and begged to be taken on board. Guided by devoted Indian servants, many were hastening to caves coverts of the forest, where the Indians' forefathers had, in their day, hidden from cruel Spaniards. Others there were who thought less of life than of the wealth amassed by toil and privation, which they sought to save by sinking in wells and burying in secret places. The churches were filled with women and children, who, huddled close to the altars and sacred images, wept and prayed; while through the livelong night the tramp of feet, the rattle and clang of arms and armor, resounded mingled with the neighing of horses and the bellowing of the wild oxen which were to be used against the enemy on the

morrow.

All too soon the day dawned upon the devoted city. The pirates rose refreshed and, forming themselves into companies, advanced upon the town, sworn neither to give or receive quarter. The Spanish forces, consisting of four hundred horse, twenty-four hundred foot, and two thousand wild

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oxen, advanced to meet them. oxen proved unruly and did more injury to their allies than to the enemy; the plain upon which they manœuvred was soft and full of holes, which crippled the movements of the cavalry; in short, the battle lasted but two hours, when the Spaniards fled and Morgan led his men through the gates of Panama. Then indeed it was woe to the vanquished! Men and women were remorselessly tortured to force them to reveal the whereabouts of their and their neighbors' treasure. Even tender children were not spared. Late in the afternoon of that dreadful day a fire broke out, and despite every effort to stay it the city was consumed. The pirates forced their wretched prisoners into the smouldering ruins to rescue the precious metals they might contain, driving them back if they came forth empty-handed, and greeting with ribald jeers and laughter the anguished cries of the scorched and maimed wretches.

For four weeks the buccaneers remained encamped around what had been Panama. At last, on February 24, 1671, Morgan and his men departed, carrying with them. one hundred and seventy-five pack animals laden with spoils, and six hundred prisoners devoted to slavery or death in default of ransom. The Spaniards had looked forward to the departure of the pirates as some alleviation of their misery, thinking they might at least die unmolested upon the ruins of their home. When they learned that even that poor consolation was denied them, a wail of agony arose, so piercing, so heartbroken, that even the pirates were moved to a semblance of pity. All but their leader. "Many of the women," says the old chronicler, "begg'd of Captain Morgan upon their knees, with infinite Sighs and Tears, that he would permit them to return unto Panama, there to live in company of their dear Husbands and Children, in little Huts of Straw, which they would erect, seeing that they had no houses until the rebuilding of the City.

But his answer was, He came not thither to hear Lamentations and Cryes, but rather to seek Moneys. Therefore they ought to seek out for that in the first place, wherever it were to be had, and bring it to him, otherwise he would assuredly transport them all unto such places as they cared not to go." So the pirates marched away, dragging the wretched Spaniards with them. At Cruces a number of the captives were ransomed; the remainder were taken to Portobello, where all ransom was refused. Yet many of the unfortunates probably escaped; for dissensions broke out among their captors, and Morgan with his English supporters stole away with the greater part of the booty and set sail in the dead of night, leaving his Dutch and French companions to console one another.

Great was the wrath of Spain at the tragedy of Panama. It was ordered that the city be rebuilt immediately, and so strongly fortified as to be impregnable. The site chosen was a lit

tle peninsula at the base of the hill of Ancon, about two leagues from the old city. Its walls were of massive granite, from twenty to forty feet high, and over ten feet thick. Upon them strongly fortified watch-towers were placed at intervals of two or three hundrd feet. The city was divided from the mainland by a deep moat, and entrance was gained through three massive gates. So great was the cost of these magnificent fortifications, that the Spanish council, when called upon to audit the accounts, grimly inquired whether the new city of Panama was girt by walls of silver or gold.

So through the shifting fortunes of two centuries the new city of Panama has lived and thrived. Its wealth and prosperity are founded on a steadfast basis; but a more romantic interest hangs over the crumbling tower, the fragment of vine-covered wall, and the pier of a shattered bridge-all that now remain to mark the place where stood in 1671 the "most noble and most loyal city of Panama."

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THE BUNDLE HANDKERCHIEF.

By Elisabeth Merritt Gosse.

N the Salem of today are many innovations. Charter Street Buryingground stands on the same spot, as it is likely to continue to do to the end of time; and Mr. Pepper still makes lemon and peppermint Gibraltars. But the East India Marine Museum is quite another place, with its modern accessions of Japanese art and scientific specimens, and the dignified East Indian gentlemen in silk gowns and snowy turbans, who were once so dominant in their sheltering glass case at the head of the stairs, and to whom well bred Salem children instinctively bowed upon entering, now

wear a slightly injured and self-conscious air and appear hardly to approve of recent arrangements made by Professor Morse and Mr. John Robinson, concerning which they were not even consulted. The Custom House still looks down on Derby Wharf and across blue, sunny waters to Marblehead; but the Essex Institute so long ago went visiting next door as to be quite at home in the old Daland house; the stately Peabody mansion. now echoes the martial tread of the Salem Cadets; and Captain Bertram's house shelters a public library. Long gone are the quaint shops of Robert Peele and Francis Choate and good Mr. Perley, who fitted youthful feet to shoes with an allowance of half a size

for growth, and presented favored customers with bouquets from his back garden. The old Judge White mansion with its grassy lawn, whereon the town crier lolled when he and his bell were not in active service; and Mr. Upham's residence next door have given way to business blocks; and the electric car has taken the place of the accommodating Danvers coach and Mr. Jelly's cab. The Common has become Washington Square, swept and garnished; and a fine new house with neither fireplaces nor cupboards covers the lilac and rose-grown corner where once the Misses Knight dis pensed needles and thread, dippers of yeast and pints of milk, marbles and molasses candy, over the high counter of their little shop. Buffum's Corner and Salem Turnpike have turned into a modern avenue; and were it not for sleepy old Federal and Chestnut streets, I sometimes think I should hardly know my Salem.

These are days when those who were born and bred in the old colonial town, and who have since wandered far, go back and walk about her streets. They lean over the old garden walls, and remember how in years so many that the count is almost lost they smelled the fragrance of the great lilies in Miss Nichol's garden, and peeped at the wonderful tulips over the Cabot fence. But the faces in the street are strange faces. There are fleeting resemblances, haunting recollections; but one may go back and wander about for a whole day as if a stranger in a strange land, though it is safe to say that at nightfall some shop-keeper or bank cashier will tell at his tea-tablefor they still keep early hours in Salem -that he saw Dan Hood on the street to-day. He was a Hacker school-boy.

I know nothing that mystifies callow young people of this day and generation more than when, in speaking of old Salem institutions, I mention as prominent among them the bundle handkerchief. Yet the bundle handkerchief is as vivid a bit of color in Salem's history as is Alice Flint's silk

hood, the frigate Essex, the North Bridge or even the House of the Seven Gables; and to speak of it calls up a long line of Salem's sires and dames who took pride and pleasure and comfort in its use.

The bundle handkerchief, considered collectively and in its prime, was as varied as were bundles. It was made of silk, of finest cotton, of Madras, of stoutest gingham. Originally, like the old blue china and the preserved ginger, the carved ivory, the guava jelly, the amber beads, the sweet smelling sandal-wood fans and the pina gowns, it came home in the East India ships, and was introduced to Salem ways and fashions by the men whom we were proud to call the dons of Salem. But Salem thrift and sconce soon found that to the bundle must belong the bundle handkerchief; so it came about that Ma'am Batchelder and Ann Bray sold many a remnant of gingham and calico over their counters, for the express purpose of being cut into bundle handkerchiefs, and hemmed by childish fingers, as the little women did their stint of sewing in the long days in Miss Pierce's dame school. By no means a good housekeeper was she who did not have good store of bundle handkerchiefs, carefully washed and ironed, neatly folded, and laid in smooth piles in a drawer in one of the great, square, welllighted china closets in which old Salem houses rejoiced-closets larger than many a bedroom in a modern apartment.

When my grandmamma or any of her friends went out to tea, while waiting the arrival of Mr. Jelly's cab which conveyed the visitors from one house to another with impartial unpunctuality, the best afternoon cap, destined later to crown becomingly the white curls, was deposited in a frail round. straw "cap basket," the whole being then tied up in bundle handkerchief of finest white India silk, warranted to keep out every speck of dust on even the windiest day. When the Salem belle packed her trunk to pay a visit

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