I am Daniel Monbars, known far and wide as "The Exterminator." My tale begins in the noble halls of Languedoc, where I was born into a family of distinction. From a young age, my spirit burned with an intense ardour and generosity. It was at college that my destiny began to take shape. I devoured the accounts of the Spanish conquest of the Americas, and the writings of Las Casas filled my soul with a righteous fury against the brutal oppressors of the innocent.
One fateful day, during a festive play, I was cast as a French gentleman, opposite a Spanish character who boasted insolently of his nation's might. My anger, long-simmering, boiled over. In a fit of uncontrollable rage, I nearly strangled my fellow actor. This incident only foreshadowed the path I was destined to tread.
When war was declared between France and Spain, I could no longer be contained. I fled my home and sought out my uncle, a captain in the king’s navy, in Havre. His approval of my determination sent me into ecstasies. I embarked on his ship, thirsting for retribution against the Spanish. The first sight of a Spanish vessel set my blood aflame. My uncle, fearing my impetuous nature, confined me to my cabin. But once the ships engaged, I broke free, leaping aboard the enemy ship and carving a path of destruction, earning my dread moniker.
Victory often begins with the terror of my gaze and is sealed by the strength of my arm.
Extermination of the Spanish became my sole purpose. The tales of their cruelty towards the Indians fueled my relentless quest for vengeance. As we neared Saint-Domingue, news came of additional Spanish ships. While anchored, buccaneers approached us, trading smoked boar meat for brandy and recounting their woes at the hands of Spanish patrols. Angered, I volunteered to lead them against our common enemy.
The buccaneers, sensing my resolve, accepted me as their leader. On land, we set a cunning trap for the Spanish horsemen, feigning drunken revelry. At dawn, we ambushed them. I, mounted on a commandeered horse, cut down fleeing Spaniards, while Indians, who had been coerced into serving the Spanish, turned on their former masters, rallying to my side. That day, surrounded by my Indian allies, avenging their suffering, remains the finest of my life.
Recalled by the sound of a cannon, I returned to our ship, receiving my uncle's praises. The buccaneers and Indians, now fiercely loyal, followed me unwaveringly. My uncle granted me command of a captured vessel and thus began my ceaseless war at sea. We soon encountered four Spanish warships. Despite the disparity in numbers, we engaged them. My uncle perished in a catastrophic clash, but I triumphed, seizing one Spanish ship and sinking another.
Unlike other buccaneers, I cared not for loot. My measure of success lay in the number of Spaniards I vanquished. I was never cruel; I did not torture or harm unarmed foes. But in the aftermath of the battle, as I surveyed the field or the ship’s deck strewn with corpses, my eyes blazed with a fierce light. How my story ends is a mystery, for even my chronicler O'Exmelin lost track of me in the final chapters of my life.