The Scot who became a Central American king and one of the greatest scam artists of all time – Susan Morrison

General MacGregor, depicted in around 1825, was a Scottish soldier, adventurer and confidence trickster who from 1821 to 1837 attempted to draw British and French investors and settlers to Poyais, a fictional Central American territory he claimed to rule (Picture: The Print Collector/Getty Images)

If you were feeling your age in 1820, and weary of Scotland's weather, Poyais was the place to be. Adverts assured older readers that “Europeans generally retain their health… to good old age. To… persons advanced in life, it is the climate of Paradise.”

Younger people were catered for, too. Farmers in the land of Poyais would find “the best poor man’s country ever”. The soil was “excellent, and well watered. Horses, black cattle, pigs, poultry” grew fat and happy. In short, the land was good, the air was sweet and there was rumoured to be gold in them thar hills.

Potential settlers were encouraged to visit a Poyais land office. Edinburgh had one at 63, North Bridge Buildings. There they could buy land and book passage on ships sailing from Leith. Poyais fever rippled through the nation, perhaps aided by the fact that His Highness, the Prince of Poyais, was a Scottish war hero.

Gregor MacGregor came from a warrior clan. His grandfather served with the Black Watch. His father captained East India ships. Young Gregor, born on Christmas Eve 1786, was only 16 when he joined the colours of the 57th Regiment of Foot, just in time for a massive career boost from Napoleon Bonaparte.

The regiment was deployed to Gibraltar. Within a year, MacGregor was a lieutenant. By 1805, he had wooed and won the daughter of a wealthy Royal Navy captain. Fuelled by her cash, he bought a captain’s commission. In 1809, he reached the rank of major, and briefly served in the Peninsular campaign.

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His career, however, came to a shuddering halt. There was a disagreement with a senior officer and MacGregor left the service in something of a huff. He and his wife Maria moved to Edinburgh. He took to riding about in a fancy carriage and calling himself ‘Colonel’ MacGregor. This young man set the teeth of New Town worthies on edge. The welcome was as chilly as Highland frost, so he and Maria relocated to London, where he renamed himself ‘Sir’ Gregor MacGregor and claimed he was the clan chief.

Maria Bowater died in 1811. She took his income with her. ‘Sir’ Gregor had to earn a living. He didn’t much fancy life on the small Scottish estate he'd inherited, for all his ‘clan chief’ boasting. A return to the British Army wasn’t on the cards, given the circumstances of his leaving. What he needed was a war, and South America had them by the bucketload.

Marries Simon Bolivar’s niece

Venezuela was a good hotspot for a man looking for a fight. A war of independence against Spanish rule was raging. Revolutionary General Francisco de Miranda had recently been lionised by London fashionistas, always keen on a freedom fighter, as long as they weren’t fighting the British.

In 1812, MacGregor sold his inheritance and took off for the New World. It was a great move. The Venezualans gave him a cavalry brigade to command and he started a successful rise through their ranks. He seems to have been an effective soldier. Even de Miranda commended his courage.

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He was certainly an effective suitor, winning the love of another rich young woman, Doña Josefa Antonia Aristeguieta y Lovera, the niece of Simon Bolívar. Handy. By the time he was 30, he was a general.

At some point he stumbled on the Mosquito Coast, on the eastern seaboard of Nicaragua and Honduras. Somehow MacGregor persuaded the local ruler to give him a huge stretch of land. He had big plans for his new kingdom.

A new life in Poyais

He and Doña Josefa crash-landed into 1820s London high society with a marvellous tale to tell. Investors, bloated by profits from the Napoleonic Wars, had money to burn. And here was His Serene Highness Gregor the First, Sovereign Prince of the State of Poyais and its Dependencies, and Cacique of the Poyer Nation, to tell them of this rich new opportunity.

There was already a good sized city, St Joseph, and King Gregor assured them that there was land to be worked and precious gems littering the ground.

The money started flowing in. A respected London bank loaned him £200,000, an outrageous sum on a piece of real estate no one had actually seen, apart from His Highness. It wasn’t just bankers. People sold up everything, ready to leave and start a new life in Poyais. His Highness thoughtfully exchanged their sterling for Poyais currency so they could buy things in St Joseph's shops. He’d had the notes printed in Edinburgh.

In 1823, the Kinnersley Castle sailed from Leith, following the Honduras Packet, making for the Mosquito Coast. Did anyone mention the name Darien?

Edward Lowe recorded the catastrophe that unfolded on the beach of the Mosquito Coast on arrival. There was no city, no herds of fat cattle, no emeralds on the ground. There was jungle, rain, yellow fever and malaria. Those older passengers, he said, seeking that climate of Paradise, died first and in great numbers.

A gold mine

It was a disaster. They had been scammed. Fortunately, unlike Darien, help was at hand. The British Governor of Honduras sent evacuation ships. The survivors got back, but King Gregor had fled to France, where, incredibly, he managed to raise yet more money, £300,000, against a ‘gold mine’ in his far away lands.

He kicked about the continent for a few years, spending other people's money. He did get jailed, briefly, but for some baffling reason was released. In 1839, the cash ran dry. He returned to Venezuela, where he was naturalised and granted a pension. He lived comfortably in Caracas until his death in 1854. He was 59.

It's a dubious distinction for Scotland, but he remains one of the most successful scam artists of all time.