The Sack of Old Panama by Dana Burnet

The Sack of Old Panama

by Dana Burnet

They sat in a tavern in wicked Port Royal,

Grim Morgan and Brodley and one or two others,

A flagon of rum on the table between them

And villainy binding them closer than brothers.

And Morgan dropped hint of Old Panama’s riches;

Said little, but said it with evil suggestion,

Till Brodley swayed up, with his glass in his fingers,

And swore that a Don was an aid to digestion!

But Morgan said, idly, “’ would be a long journey” —

Cried Brodley: “What odds, when the end of it’s yellow?

I mind me the pockets of dead men I lightened

That year of our Lord when we sacked Porto Bello!”

Then Morgan stood straight, with his face of dark smiling:

“I'll rake them once more — then I’ll stop all such capers;

Come home and be Governor! Aye, but I will, though,

And hang every master that can’t show his papers.

“I'll have me a house that will front the blue water,

And devil a pirate shall sit at my table;

But now, and once more, I’ve a will to go courting,

To dance with a Don while I’m hearty and able.”

He laughed and drew breath; and they tipped up the flagon,

And fashioned his words in a stormy sea ditty.

Then swiftly fell silent, with dream-darkened faces,

And thought of their hands at the throat of a city....

* * *

The sea was as blue as the breast of the morning

When Morgan went down to his last buccaneering;

His sails were like low-fallen clouds in the distance,

Blown onward, and fading, and slow disappearing.

And so he put out — and was part of the distance,

A blur of slow wings on the blue ring of heaven,

With two thousand devils adream below hatches,

And steel, and dry powder, and ships thirty-seven.

And all down the decks there was talk of the venture —

How Morgan had wind of unthinkable treasure;

How Panama’s streets were the sweetness of silver,

Where men in gold gutters threw pearls for their pleasure!

And Brodley went forward and took San Lorenzo,

With patience and passion, as men take a woman,

And Morgan came up, with his face of dark smiling,

And saw the sword’s kiss on the heart of the foeman.

* * *

The dawn saw them marching — twelve hundred brown devils,

With steel and dry powder and gay crimson sashes;

And so they put on... and were dead in the jungle

Of great shaking fevers and little barbs’ gashes.

* * *

The tenth day was sleeping in tents of red splendor

When Morgan crept up to the walls of the city —

Behind him his madmen came shouting and sobbing,

And mouthing the words of an old pirate ditty.

Their souls were in tatters! And still they came singing,

Till all the hushed foreland was waked from its dreaming,

And high in their towers the sweet bells of vesper

Were drowned and made dim by the mad, measured screaming.

A gun roared, and deep in the heart of the city

Wild pulses began.... A young mother ran crying,

“The English are on us!” Swords silvered the twilight,

And priests turned their books to the prayers for the dying.

Then out from his gates came the desperate Spaniard;

The swords were like flame, and the towers were ringing!

But Morgan’s men waited; lay down with choked muzzles,

And dealt out their death to the pulse of their singing.

Their volleys belched forth like a chorus of thunder,

A great whining Song that went on without pity,

Till night drew her veil ... then they rose from their bellies,

And spat at the dead — and went into the city.

* * *

The Governor sat in his window at evening,

His window that looked on the star-furrowed water;

A ship had come into the clasp of the harbor,

Clear-lined from the darkness the bright moon had wrought her.

* * *

He clapped his fat hands; and a black lad stood bowing.

“Bring candles — and rum,” said the Governor, grinning.

And then he sat down with his boots on the table,

And dozed until Morgan should come from his sinning....

He came, with an oath, in his great greasy sea-boots,

A sash at his waist, and a pistol stuck in it,

His beard to his throat, and his little eyes leering —

“Your voice,” said Sir Thomas, “is sweet as a linnet!”

“My pockets are sweeter,” said Morgan; and, winking,

He drew from his sash a creased bag of black leather,

Unloosed it and spilled on the bare wooden table

Red jewels that kindled like swords struck together!

* * *

The jewels lay warm in the dusk of the candles,

Like soulless red eyes that no tears might set blinking...

And Thomas Sir Modyford crooked his hot fingers,

And chose the King’s profit, whilst Morgan sat drinking.

“Sweet baubles! Sweet pretties! They’ve blinded my candles.

They’re flame, Pirate, flame! See my hand, how they’ve burned it.”

He laughed, and drew forth from his pocket a parchment —

“It’s yours, by our bargain; and damme, you’ve earned it.”

They spread out the parchment between them. Said Morgan:

“God’s name! I’m respectable!” “Aye,” said Sir Thomas,

“ Ye’re Leftenant-Governor, lately appointed

By will of the Crown — in accord with our promise!”

* * *

Day broke... and the throat of the harbor was clouded

With sail. ”Twas the fleet of the pirates returning —

But down their grim ports no black muzzles peered frowning,

Nor naked steel leaped for the dawn to set burning.

They came as calm merchantmen, shriven with morning

(For in the King’s harbors the law is hard-fisted!)

And so they stole in, like whipped hounds to a kennel,

Their loosed anchors lolling like tongues when they listed.

The candles were dead in the Governor’s chamber;

And in at the window the young light came creeping —

Asprawl at the table sat Morgan the Pirate,

And under his boot-heels Sir Thomas lay sleeping.

The anchors splashed down in the ruffled blue water,

The great wings were furled with a rattle of gearing;

But Morgan sat clutching a folded gray parchment,

A glass at his lips, and his little eyes leering.