Gregor MacGregor and Poyais

Hey, you’re never gonna believe this, but there’s this beautiful, wealthy, idyllic country in Central America called Poyais. Its capital is the lavish St. Joseph on the lazy Black River, where all the modern amenities can be found. There’s palm trees, breezes, and thousands of happy natives patiently waiting for you to live there. The little costal country is free of war and disease, and is, by the way, distributing government bonds right now! I would know, because – you’re in luck – I just so happen to be the Cazique of this splendid little country! That’s the word the funny natives use for their monarch!

Alright, enough of that. Marlo here from Myths & Mischief, and we’re here today to talk about a soldier-turned-con artist who convinced hundreds of people of the existence of an entirely fictional country. He was a liar, albeit an excellent one, who got most of those hundreds of people killed. So, enough introductions. Let’s examine the life of a creative criminal – let’s talk about a scheming, conniving, clever Scotsman named Gregor MacGregor. By the way: crime, deceit, death, and unrestrained racist attitudes can be expected in this article.

First of all, Gregor of Clan MacGregor was born on Christmas Eve in 1786, in central Scotland. He and his two sisters were primarily raised by his mother, with help from relatives. He joined the British Army at 16 years old, where his family bought him the position of officer. He married the wealthy Maria Bowater in 1805. He retired from the military in 1810. In 1811, his wife died, ridding him of his main source of income. Oh, and of a life partner. So, he needed a new adventure in life. And then, the revolutionary General Francisco de Miranda visited London from Venezuela, and Gregor got an idea.

Pretending to be a knight of the Portuguese Order of Christ, MacGregor aided Venezuelan revolutionaries in their struggle for independence between 1812 and 1816. He married one Josefa Antonia Andrea Aristeguieta y Lovera in June of 1812. Although he was initially fighting alongside revolutionaries for the glory and praise he’d receive back in London, he became committed and was eventually congratulated for his services.

In 1817, he left to take the Spanish colony of Amelia Island, Florida, as a springboard for revolutionary activity elsewhere in Latin America. He recruited hundreds of people in the United States. MacGregor assumed that the Floridians, who were mostly non-Spanish, would seek US annexation. Now, this is important: he raised $160,000 by selling them scrips: pieces of paper promising them fertile land in Florida, or their money back with interest. These investors would never see the land or any repayment. I think of that as a little bit of fore-shadowing.

The Spanish commander at Fort San Carlos surrendered. MacGregor raised the “Green Cross of Florida”. He did not get support, resistance, or obedience from the people of Amelia Island. The venture ultimately abandoned, and MacGregor disseminated misinformation about it. In November of 1817, Josefa gave birth to a boy named Gregorio.

MacGregor engaged in two more schemes to help the Latin American revolutionaries – one in Porto Bello, Panama and one in Rio de la Hacha in what is now Colombia. Both were blunders in which MacGregor skirted away from responsibility, proved to be untrustworthy, and squandered money that wasn’t his. He was wanted for piracy in Jamaica at this point, and had made an enemy of his former ally, Simón Bolívar.

Now we get to the juicy stuff.

The Miskito (sometimes misspelled “Mosquito” as a coincidence) Coast was, at this time, a region on the Caribbean coast of Central America. It was sparsely populated and far away from colonial cities, and the Spanish had no power there. The local peoples included the Sumu, Pech (AKA Paya), Garifuna, and Miskito. The Miskito, mixed descendants of indigenous groups and escaped African slaves, were particularly common along the coasts and rivers. The region was largely loyal to the British. Although it was sometimes called the “Miskito Kingdom”, the “king” was a largely ceremonial figurehead with little real power over the region. They were often local chiefs who were called “king” by the British as a matter of convenience – and to block the Spanish from claiming the ostensibly sovereign territory.

In 1820, MacGregor appeared at the court of “King” George Frederic Augustus II. After a meeting, Frederic Augustus signed a document claiming that MacGregor and his heirs had the right to about 12,500 square miles of Miskito territory – land that the “king” did not control. He dubbed this land “Poyais” after the Paya, or “Poyer”, people who lived there. Why? I’ll get to that in just a second.

In 1821, MacGregor showed up in London calling himself the “Cazique of Poyais” – cazique being a native Caribbean term for chief or monarch. Now, his many failings were not common knowledge in London – only the earlier, more successful parts of his career. And Latin America was in a time of revolution, where the leadership and names of countries shifted constantly. So, in truth, his claims were not that far-fetched. But they were lies, and he profited from them. He became the talk of the town, a man of keen public interest. He gave interviews and composed songs. His “exotic” Latina wife made his claims all the more viable, as did a new daughter, Josefa Anna Gregoria. Plus, in the British economy of the time, elites were looking to invest in foreign government bonds – something MacGregor was offering, as the Poyaisian head of state. People were practically eating out of his hands – and they were eating poison.

MacGregor convinced hundreds of people in London, Glasgow, and Edinburgh to emigrate to Poyais. Emigrants included doctors, civil servants, young men, and entire families. MacGregor probably did actually want to set up a city and society there. But his intentions didn’t really matter. He gave them Poyaisian (fake) money and sent them on their way in September of 1822, wishing them luck. Another ship set off in January of 1823.

The emigrants were confused and bewildered, many believing there to be some terrible misunderstanding. “King” George Frederic Augustus II had not been aware of their presence. There was no city, no splendid country, and no help. By the time 10 people had died, the survivors were evacuated to the British colony of Belize. By the time any warning had reached London, five more ships had been sent; the Royal Navy intercepted them. All in all, there were 180 British deaths.

But MacGregor wasn’t done. Claiming he was taking Josefa to Italy for the winter, he headed to Paris. He was fleeing London, because an uproar was rising against him. Lies and charges of libel were already flying around. In Paris, Josefa gave birth to a third child, Constantino. MacGregor convinced the Compagnie de la Nouvelle Neustrie, a firm with eyes on South America, to invest in Poyais. A friend of a friend, Gustavus Butler Hippisley, joined MacGegor’s side. He described it now as a republic, and wrote a constitution. But the fraud was nipped in the bud, and Hippisley and MacGregor’s secretary were arrested.

Things really started to go downhill for MacGregor.

He was arrested in December of 1825. He attempted to paint himself as a freedom-fighter being persecuted for his revolutionary activities. He was acquitted in July of 1826, and went to London. He quickly resumed his conning and scheming. But in 1830, “King” Robert Charles Frederic – the successor to “King” George Frederic Augustus II – started selling certificates to land in the region to British lumber companies. A competitor, and one with a much better claim to the land than MacGregor. Soon, there were “Poyaisian offices” all over London. The last Poyaisian land certificates were sold in 1837. Josefa died in May of 1838.

As a double-widower out of money, MacGregor returned to where he had been his best self. The place where he’d really fought hard, been honest and brave, been a true freedom-fighter. The place where he’d met his wife of 26 years. He went to Venezuela – specifically, Caracas. He begged for citizenship and, remembering his contributions to their war for independence, the Venezuelan officials granted it. He was instated as a divisional general in the army, with a pension of one-third of his salary. He was a respected member of the Caracas community. Gregor MacGregor died in his home in Caracas on December 4, 1845. He was 58 years old.

A person’s life story doesn’t have to have a consistent narrative, or a tidy lesson to be learned at the end. But then, some people are like Gregor MacGregor.

I believe that little Amelia Island venture is where it all started to go wrong. He didn’t pay those investors back – but it was a long shot, anyway, and he basically just got away with it. I mean, people have to take losses in the name of liberation, right? So they didn’t get their fertile land in Florida. But I’d posit this: that taught MacGregor a dangerous lesson – that under the right circumstances, you can get away with… anything?

So he pulled this Poyais scheme. I’m assuming there were big, green dollar bills flashing in his eyes like an old cartoon character. I’m assuming his reasons were as simple as: 1) I can do it, and 2) money. But we don’t know. We don’t know his justifications, why he thought he did it. All we do know is the devastating effects he had on hundreds of people, and the effects his actions had on himself.

We all lie. To protect ourselves or others, to get what we want, to enact vengeance on people who have wronged us. So why did MacGregor lie? This is entirely my own opinion: I think he wanted to see how far he could go. Wanted to reach the logical conclusion of fraud. I mean, he only stopped lying after Poyais was a hopeless memory and his wife died. After there wasn’t a point in lying any more, after he’d gone as far as he could. But it was too late. And I’m willing to bet that, as he spent his final years in Caracas, he wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t done all that lying. And I bet he thought a lot about Josefa Antonia Andrea Aristeguieta y Lovera MacGregor.

References:

Sinclair, David (2004) [2003]. The Land That Never Was: Sir Gregor MacGregor and the Most Audacious Fraud in History. Da Capo Press.

“The King of Con-Men”. The Economist (online edition). London. 22 December 2012

Bennett, Charles E (2001). General MacGregor: Hero Or Rogue?. Jacksonville, Florida: River City Press.

Olson, James Stuart (1991). The Indians of Central and South America: An Ethnohistorical Dictionary (first edition). Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press.

By Thomas Strangeways – https://jcb.lunaimaging.com, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link