ked into knapsacks for the march, and
the pirates rowed ashore to open the campaign. The ruffians from Santa
Katalina took their stations at the head of the leading company, with
trusty pirates just behind them ready to pistol them if they played
false. In good spirits they set forth from the beach, marching in the
cool of the morning before the sun had risen. The way led through
mangrove swamps, where the men sank to their knees in rotting grasses or
plunged to their waists in slime. Those who have seen a tropical swamp
will know how fierce the toil was. They were marching in a dank world
belonging to an earlier age than ours. They were in the age of the coal
strata, among wet, green things, in a silence only broken by the sound
of dropping or by the bellow of an alligator. They were there in the
filth, in the heat haze, in a mist of miasma and mosquitoes. In all
probability they were swearing at themselves for coming thither.

At two o'clock in the afternoon the buccaneers pushed through a thicket
of liane and green cane, and debouched quite suddenly upon the barren
hilltop facing San Lorenzo Castle. As they formed up, they were met with
a thundering volley, which threw them into some confusion. They
retreated to the cover of the jungle to debate a plan of battle, greatly
fearing that a fort so strongly placed would be impregnable without
great guns to batter it. However, they were a reckless company, careless
of their lives, and hot with the tramping through the swamp. Give it up
they could not, for fear of the mockery of their mates. The desperate
course was the one course open to them. They lit the fireballs, or
grenades, they had carried through the marsh; they drew their swords,
and "Come on!" they cried. "Have at all!" And forward they stormed,
cursing as they ran. A company in reserve remained behind in cover,
firing over the storming party with their muskets.

As the pirates threw themselves into the gully, the walls of San Lorenzo
burst into a flame of gun fire. The Spaniards fought their cannon
furiously--as fast as they could fire and reload--while the musketeers
picked off the leaders from the loopholes. "Come on, ye English dogs!"
they cried. "Come on, ye heretics! ye cuckolds! Let your skulking mates
behind there come on too! You'll not get to Panama this bout." "Come on"
the pirates did, with great gallantry. They flung themselves down into
the ditch, and stormed up the opposite slope to the wooden pali