wickedest spot on earth, for it was the headquarters of the
Buccaneers; here they divided their ill-gotten gains, and here they
strutted about bedizened in their tawdry finery, drinking and
gambling. I should be inclined to distrust the local legend that in
the many taverns the wine was all served in jewelled golden cups, for,
given the character of the customers, one would imagine that the gold
cups would be apt to leave the taverns with the customers. Then came
the earthquake of 1692, and half of Port Royal was swallowed by the
sea. A pillar has been erected at Green Bay, opposite to a Huguenot
refugee, one Lewis Galdy, who had a wonderful escape. According to the
inscription on it, "Mr. Lewis Galdy was swallowed by the earthquake,
and, by the providence of God, thrown by another shock into the sea,
and lived many years afterwards in great reputation."

Port Royal cannot be called a fortunate spot, for in 1703 it was again
entirely destroyed by fire, and in 1722 it was swept away by a
hurricane.

It is, in spite of its historic past, a mean, squalid, decaying little
place. Being built almost entirely of wood, the town had sustained but
little injury, but the massive concrete fort at the end of the
peninsula had slid bodily into the sea, six-inch guns and all. Some
twenty cocoa-nut palms it had taken with it were standing in the
water, their brown withered tops just peering above the surface,
giving a curious effect of desolation. A tramway used for conveying
ammunition bore witness to the violence of the earth-waves, for it
stood in places some ten feet up in the air, resting on nothing at
all; looking for all the world like a switchback railway at Earl's
Court. So many charges are levelled at the Royal Engineers that it is
pleasant to be able to testify that every building erected by this